Clash, Bang, Catastrophe

“What the fuck am I doing?” I ask myself nearly every day.

Without plans for the future, lost and confused, I find myself chewing on any little thing that wanders astray from my self-micromanaged schedule, savoring the flavor of self-deprecation until all I have left to taste is a bland, indescript mush. In moments of lucidity, I realize my mind is just catastrophizing daily annoyances into disasters that play footsie with despair. However, victory tends to be short-lived. Nowadays, I feel mostly like I’m scrambling up and down the sides of a deep swimming pool, hoping to at some point gain enough momentum to reach the edge and pull myself up.

When negative thoughts flood my head, I try to take on an asset-based view of my situation. Relatively-speaking, I have a lot going for me and very little to complain about. I have an apartment with a full kitchen (important for a foodie like me), a pleasant, mild-mannered roommate, my own office for escaping the heat and recuperating from work, and a boss who’s actually not an asshole – he only has tendencies. As for my job, it has and continues to sustain my interest since it poses intriguing questions about the lives of tiny, colorful animals who have no idea why we lumbering, bipedal creatures are picking them up and manhandling them. So what’s missing?

While discussing my restlessness online with a friend, she suggested I might be lacking my usual support network. Good point. I had not realized until about a month ago, when my family visited, how much I had missed them. Although we sometimes fell back into our usual bickering, I still wished I had had more time to spend with them. Family is very important in Latin American cultures; it’s common for people to go home and hang out with their parents and siblings on weekends. Interpersonal dialogue, between family and even strangers, tends to be much more playful than the typical conversations (if any) had between family or strangers in the States. Gone is the awkward, mostly silent dinner with parents. Instead, picture a table roaring with laughter over the recount of an embarrassing moment and/or one sibling making fun of the other, each playful jab being met with a sharp, witty comeback. In face of this, I started reflecting upon the ever evolving role my family has played in my life, how I have always counted on them being available and attentive, how I have in adolescent relapses lacked patience for their expressed concern. It is a continuous struggle to strengthen instead of strain relations as I realize that in my most uncertain, lost moments, I reach out to them for advice.

But when even advice from family fails to ward off doubt, I turn to friends. Many people in my social circles, myself included, have dispersed to all corners of the world, making a heart-to-heart conversation difficult to have if not impossible. Over the months, I have tried to adjust, albeit reluctantly, to receiving the occasional email response or Skype call, the brief instant message sent on someone’s way out. But none of the aforementioned means of communicating comes close to sitting down on a couch, drinking a cup of tea, and chatting the night away with a dear friend after baking a batch of chocolate chip cookies. So now what?

I could go home. Build a life for myself somewhere and settle down. Or continue going from one seasonal job to the next. Either way has its appeals. If I do continue traveling, I could find a city along the way, and like a sponge to water, greedily soak up its offerings of art, film, and music until I am drunk on creative energy and then hop to my next middle-of-nowhere gig. What earnings I have managed to keep a hold onto will get me through at least a few more countries I reckon. So, I’m leaning towards adhering to my theory on any worthwhile pursuit in life. That is to say, I’m going to ride this wave until it crashes.

Song of the day: Daniel Johnston’s “Story of an Artist”
Current record on repeat: The National’s High Violet (stream it for free)
Literary goldmine: The Millions

So Much Beauty in Dirt

Last week, I returned from a much needed vacation to the highest peak in Costa Rica, Mt Chirripó. It was a thrilling escape to the mountains where I soared free and alone, plunging into the dry crisp air while birds that sounded like rusty swings called to and fro. When chilled night arrived, the warmth and safety of my trusted sleeping bag beckoned me once more. I went to bed early, as early at 7:30pm, in order to wake up at 4am and be out hiking by dawn. With sleep still in my eyes, I relished the gentle early morning light that would induce a startling array of color, a full spectrum of green, blues, and reds, from the shrub-covered valley.

Yet, as much as I enjoyed being back in a familiar atmosphere, I couldn't help but long for the rainforest. I wanted to be out looking for frogs and chancing upon other animals. In comparison, the Talamanca range is a barren land, void of the thriving biodiversity of the lowlands. All that sounds is the wind.

However, when I returned to the rainforest, my heart sank. It was raining, as usual. The bus passed my stop, so I had to walk back to the turn-off on a narrow highway that tractor trailers use, a walk I thought could potentially be life-ending. When I got to my house, I secretly hoped that it would be how I left it - near spotless and tidy. But sure enough, there were still a couple cockroaches lying motionless on their backs and several black oblong insects that I never see alive, only dead with their insides a clod of white exploded out of one end. My constant companion, the mosquito, buzzed about looking for a bloodmeal. She reminded me that no, I am not at the top of the food chain. And no, I will not win this battle to keep my house a separate, sterile entity from the rainforest. In fact, all I can really do is sweep back whatever encroaches upon the edges, like a forest invading a pasture, to keep from being totally engulfed.

What is it that makes life feel more tangible nowadays? Enough for me to eschew a life of familiar security for one of limited comforts and great uncertainty? Simple. Something will happen. Maybe our field vehicle will break down. Or I will get stranded and spend the night in my office due to the storm that flooded the road home. Or I will see my first terciopelo lying in the middle of the road, about a meter long, its head smashed in by the shovel my landlord wielded to protect his family from harm. Whatever it is, something new and exciting will happen. I will pass through foreign territory, plantations of pineapples or bananas bordered by worker housing. Warning signs of pesticide use and restricted access will glare in red letters from their metal posts. I will wonder about not only the welfare of the frogs in such an environ but the health of the people. Of their children playing in the streets. Of class tension, social stigmas, and what role I play and could play in it all. And while caught up in my uncertainty, my doubt, my selfish stress and insecurity, something will bring a smile to my face. Then, if I observe carefully enough, still my mind enough for just one second, the beauty and harshness of life will manifest themselves all at once before my blinking eyes.

Sloth Sighting!

To my surprise, my first sloth sighting did not happen when a group of tourists, about a week ago, excitedly shouted, "There's a sloth!" Even in broad daylight, without binoculars or a spotting scope, this elusive creature was just too quick for my naked eye to see. But luckily, tonight, some colleagues and I saw an individual crossing the cable bridge that connects the two sides of the station.

This rather unfortunate sloth was in the arduous process of climbing towards our side of the river when we spotted it. However, upon being blinded by our headlamps (we stood at the end of the bridge, a few meters away to give it space), it hesitated and hung uncertainly on the cable by its claws, wondering what to do next. Then, it hurriedly - for a sloth - started going back the way it came, and with every two steps, would look over its shoulder at us to see if we were still there.

Yep.

And so, after a few minutes of waiting and watching the poor creature backtrack unnecessarily at undoubtedly a record pace, we decided to pass it on the bridge and allow it to cross over in peace. That said, I got to see my first sloth about a foot away, looking bewildered at me in the low light of my headlamp. I can only hope that it got to the other side of the bridge alright, at least until the noisy group of middle school American kids find it.

Costa Rica, Pura Vida

For the past week, I have been slowly adjusting to my new home in Costa Rica. My body is still not acclimated to how insufferably hot my house gets by 8-9am; the heat waves radiating from my awesome tin roof make for a pretty rude awakening. I've also been fighting an ongoing war against the little creatures (read: cockroaches, carpenter ants) that scavenge my kitchen for food scraps. However, with enough OCD cleaning, they seem to be backing off. We can only hope.

I haven't been working much in the field yet because our vehicle is out of commission. It broke down the day I arrived, so I've only worked two nights in the field...and by work, it was only three hours of looking for froggies instead of the usual six. However, we did find, just as we were wrapping up, an otherwise beautiful Scarlet-webbed Treefrog (Hypsiboas rufitelus) sitting atop a palm frond. Unfortunately, it had a serious case of chytrid fungus on its skin. Poor little guy.

On a brighter note, this little one, and presumably its family of five, decided to visit me at my office today (or rather, I saw jumping little red things and decided to catch one).

Strawbery Poison Frog (Oophaga pumilio)

I've got more than 50 frogs whose Latin names I need to memorize. This little one isn't too hard to remember since, clearly, it's just a poisonous strawberry with blue legs. Yet of course there are a ton of other interesting wildlife to lolligag at, so hopefully I'll get to learn their names too (birds are a bit impossible, but I think I'll be able to cover the herpetofauna at the very least). If only I could finish my office/lab work...

Chiapas, Mexico

So I did my visa run to Mexico and have somehow gotten stuck here. But not in a bad way. The city where I am is full of history, culture, art, music...people seem so wealthy here, financially, compared to Guatemalans. But it's not a static, tourist Disneyland either like Antigua. Locals live here, frequent the historical center, and don't all live off tourism though it seems like plenty of them do. I manage to escape town by doing a work exchange on a nearby farm and it's hard work, clearing the beds of weeds, thinning out patches of carrots, or hauling sacks of compost all under a blazing, high altitude sun. The saving grace is getting to listen to the Zapatista version of NPR on a portable fm radio which plays not only mariachi and songs from the rebellion but segments of interesting public service announcements and of course, Zapatista propaganda.

Unfortunately, I have to keep this brief as my last post got deleted and the sun is out. Will update again soon.

Christmas in Xela and a 2-month update

This past Christmas was the first time I spent the holiday away from my family. In Guatemala, everyone celebrates Christmas the day before. So, for Christmas Eve dinner, my flatmate and I baked our respective comfort foods: a pavlova (she's a Kiwi) and an apple crisp (I'm very North American). We then went over to my host father's aunt's house and watched Willy Wonka the remake, which was super creepy, and listened to firecrackers going off all over town. Everyone loves setting off fireworks in Guatemala to celebrate something, whether it's just a birthday or a national holiday, and so rarely a day goes by without me hearing them. It's also not just kids who do it. Even middle-aged folk have fun lighting them on the sidewalk and scurrying away to escape the deafening noise. But anyways, I digress. Once the clock struck midnight, the entire family and I went around the table hugging one another and wishing each other Feliz Navidad. It was very comforting for me to be welcomed into my host father's family, especially since I am so far away from my own. We then had a traditional dinner of paches as they say in Xela, otherwise known as tamales, the former being of potatoes, the latter of rice, before exchanging gifts.

On Christmas Day, some friends and I attended an epicurean potluck dinner at a communal yoga house. After satisfying our stomachs with macaroni and cheese, vegetable stew, mashed potatoes, and other savory delights, we sat around a fire ablaze in an old metal drum on the terrace, drinking wine and exchanging real life ghost stories. It was not something I would ever think of doing on or associate with Christmas, but it was certainly a memorably chilling night for all.

Today, I was supposed to go on a hiking trip but instead, I came down with a cold. Admittedly, I am feeling rather restless as I have been in Xela for nearly two months and am anxious to explore the rest of this incredibly beautiful country. The landscape, formed by volcanic activity, is nothing like anything I have seen before. From pine-cypress highland forests, to humid and misty cloud forests, to tropical lowlands and sunny beaches, Guatemala, as small as it is, has unbelievably rich cultural and biodiversity. It goes without saying that I have loved every hike I've gone on thus far and am eager to do more.

View of a chain of volcanoes from the top of Volcán Santa María

Looking down at Xela while descending Volcán Santa María

A sleepy morning in Santiago Atitlán, Lago de Atitlán

To update some of my older posts, I think my former Spanish teacher was a bit misinformed. There is a ton of foreign aid and investment in terms of development and well, the U.S. is “Guatemala's largest trading partner, providing 36% of Guatemala's imports and receiving 39.2% of its export.” There you have it. That means Levi's jeans are made in Guatemalan maquiladoras, labeled in the States, and sent back to Guatemala to be sold for an inflated price. What's more, I went to Xela's biggest paca, essentially a clothing flea market with piles and piles of clothes heaped on table after table, sometimes even in the bed of a pickup truck, most of which is sold for 1Q a piece (roughly 12 cents). While browsing through a row of jeans hanging on a wire, a familiar white and green tag caught my eye; it was none other than from Saver's, a thrift store chain I used to frequent quite often while living in the States.

On a brighter note, I would like to welcome the newest additions to our family.

Hamlet, the Great Dane. He's the biggest puppy I've ever seen.

Two new baby iguanas (other one not pictured).

I know bread's not exactly an animal, but it was a Christmas present I made for my host family because baking is something I have confidence in. Thanks goes to my father who cut out Jim Lahey of Sullivan Street Bakery's No Knead Bread recipe for me when it was first published in the New York Times back in 2006. I let the article collect dust in my desk for years until I had the guts to try baking yeasted breads last year. Since then, I haven't looked back.

Las Aves

I'm pretty sure none of these birds are found around Xela, but they make for some interesting pets. One of the toucans always tries to eat my shoes with its long but feeble beak. The parrots, however, are way more annoying; they make for a most excellent, albeit unwanted, wake-up call usually around 6 o'clock in the morning (and at other random times too, of course). Far from pleasant, I assure you.

Blue crowned mot mot (Momotus momota)

Although they feign innocence, these parrots suck big time.
(Left: Juvenile White-Fronted Parrot, Amazona albifrons; Right: Red-Lored Parrot, Amazona autumnalis)

Keel-billed Toucan (Ramphastos sulphuratus)