The Lazy Life

If you're ever feeling really stressed out, then Gandoca, Costa Rica is the place to come to, that is as long as you're not attached to the Internet, cell phone, comfortable beds, air conditioning, refrigeration, and all the other creature comforts of home! There is virtually nothing to do in this "town" (and I use that word very loosely).

Arrival: I worried that the taxi driver was going to let me out on the road from Sixaola (border town to Panama) and Gandoca because the road was completely flooded in places. He kept saying Dios Mio! Translation: OMG! Fortunately it was a truck or he probably would've dropped me at the side of the road to navigate the remainder of the 15 km journey on foot with a 45-pound backpack. He managed to get me all the way there and I didn't even flinch when he charged me 10,000 colones ($20) instead of 7,500. Who was I to argue? It's not as if he spoke English anyway and my ability to argue in Spanish . . . Well, let's just say that's limited.

A girl who spoke no English told me to follow her, on a path through the jungle, parallel to the beach, and eventually the path was, yes, flooded. So I slogged through it in my sneakers (what choice did I have?) to get to the station where I was greeted by Meda, a volunteer from Canada. The biologist had the day off, so Meda was the official greeter. The cook, who speaks no English, gave me a room, and I was greeted with an approximately 8x8 room with a single bed and bunk beds. The bed, with its wimpy foam mattress, quite resembles a ditch and since it rained for days on end after I got there, it was a moist ditch at that! But at least the windows have screens and I don't have to use a mosquito net at night--though others do.

It was beans and rice for dinner (surprise, surprise) that I actually enjoyed (more on that later) and then to my room at 6:30 since it had already been dark for 30 minutes. I turned on the electricity and sat down to read for five minutes when the light kicked off. The electricity is solar powered and since there had been little sun for days, there was little electricity. I read by headlamp until 8:15 and reluctantly laid down to sleep. I didn't think using my batteries up in one night was such a smart idea in a town with no stores.

I thought I would be trained on Thursday, but no such luck. So it was an incredibly long day of nothing. And again, there was hardly any electricity that night. By this point, I admit I was having one of those OMG, what the hell was I thinking moments.

But then I was finally trained on Friday and that's when I saw the turtles hatch and it all seemed worth it--even the rice and beans that I continued to eat at almost every meal. We get the occasional meat, and the occasional spaghetti. And when I get cornflakes for breakfast I am exuberant because I am so, so tired of fried plantain chips. That's why I was excited to eat a fried egg, bacon, and cheese sandwich today in Puerto Viejo, and drink an amazing chocolate milkshake and I didn't even care that it was breakfast. There are no snacks at the station, so it's three squares a day and that's it. I stay hungry most of the time, but I still throw away some food at least once a day because I can't stomach eating any more dry rice or cold fried dough.

There is one tiny store (a wooden booth actually) in Gandoca. On Saturday I bought an orange soda and a Milky Way and felt like I was in heaven for just a few minutes. An ice cold Coca Cola yesterday after a run was just as refreshing. There is also a bar next door to the "store," but I haven't been there.

The town is situated on a gravel road full of potholes, some of which cover the width of the road and fill with water on the days it rains (which has been 6 out of 10 days) and then stay full for days on end. There are 72 families, 320 people who live in this town that received electricity four years ago and phone service three years ago. It is such a remote place that you can walk on the beach for an hour and never see another person. There is an abundance of wildlife--I've seen two families of monkeys--capuchins and spider monkeys, a toucan, parakeets, a caiman, and of course, turtles, though no mamas. Too late in the season for the mamas.

But given that it's so remote, there is little to do in the hours I'm not on shift, which is only 6 hours a day. I've been going for a short run each day, taking a walk at least once a day, usually on the beach, doing lots of Sudoku, and reading some. There are only four other volunteers at the project currently (one left today and one doesn't live at the station with us so we don't see her much). So that leaves three of us living at the station, and the other two leave on Saturday. If no other volunteers arrive (they're supposed to on Saturday), then I'll be left by myself for four days with no one but the cook and the coordinator to keep me company. Did I mention that I have had many, many hours in which to contemplate the meaning of life? I'd love to say I have the answer to that for you, but, alas, it is not to be found in Gandoca. Which is definitely far removed from American life. The locals sit for hours in a hammock on their porch or in the yard and do nothing, absolutely nothing, for hours on end. I don't know how they do it. I can relax, but there is only so much time one can sit and think, particularly if there's no input.

But I guess I have adapted. I actually was a little anxious coming into town today because it meant circulating in public again (and wondering what I look like since there are no mirrors at the station; I did borrow one one day to see what I looked like and was startled to see that I look no different. Good thing I'm low maintenance!) and having to communicate with people in Spanish. But many people here speak English, just not the one who had to sell me the alarm clock or the one here in the Internet cafe. But I was able to read a menu in English and order in English--nice way to start the morning.

I guess my biggest annoyance are the mosquito bites. As I sat at the hatchery last night scratching my left foot I realized it felt a lot like Braille. And then I realized it was Braille and that the mosquitoes had spelled out "Fresh Meat." The right one feels much the same. I'd estimate the total number of bites on my body at 50--that's conservative. I use repellent when I can, but that doesn't include when we're at the hatchery, and if that's at night, then you're definitely fresh meat for them.

Everything else, though, the arroz con frijoles at most meals, the cold showers (feel good in the heat actually), the moist ditch of a bed, the incessant rain we had for days, the lack of entertainment, the constantly dirty feet from the mud and the sand--well, I've gotten used to it all and the thought of another 6 days there isn't a bad thought, though I do hope that more volunteers show up. There's only so much time one can spend with oneself, hey?