Love love and goodbyes

Happy Trails Carpe crew!!

On our final encounters

We sat in a circle on a square wooden platform built on the powder white sand beach in front of our hotel, a collection of aging bungalows arranged on a secluded beach like driftwood scattered amongst sea grape and mangrove trees. The platform by day functions as an area to bronze or burn and, for most visitors, drink beer or brightly colored cocktails while watching the sunlight change the color of the sea. Our repurposing of the platform for our closing ceremony matched the repurposing our Carpe Diem group in Central America brought to journey as a whole: no matter how potentially enticing, we traveled for more than drinking beer.

We sat in our circle quietly, lighting candles and placing them centrally on our trip's paper souvenirs, the candlesticks casting shadows on our words. It was the preparation of a Carpe Diem-style sacred space. Part activist, part Taos hippy as much as Portland yogi hipster, we bathed in the comforting flicker of candlelight, ready to share.

The silence of our preparation ritual was suddenly broken by the shrill laughter of a woman swigging a near empty plastic bottle of coke. She was strikingly beautiful, but disheveled and weathered. She wore a hand-woven palm frond hat high on her head, exposing portions of her long curly hair that fell messily about her head and across her face. Her large old t-shirt fell off of her shoulders, reaching her knees, its faded dark fabric bore salt stains from her sweat or from the sea. For trousers she wore tight faded white leopard leggings; for shoes, pink high-heeled sandals noticeably out of place for our location. She appeared as woman who was once fawned over and loved, but who now survived on the streets.

The woman made a space for herself in the quiet circle and started bursting into uncomfortable laughter. “Ooo, What are you doing here?” she slurred. I replied, “We are having a private religious ceremony.” A few of the students started chanting “Ohm” to diffuse the building tension. In between laughter she continued, “I am from Pakistan, where are you from?” The ohm continued into a few pleasantries, though most of her replies were indecipherable. She seemed drunk.

After a few awkward minutes of silence punctuated by her laughter and incoherent expressions, I asked if she could leave us alone for one hour.Politely I asked, “This is a final ceremony for a group that has been traveling together for a long time. The ceremony is private, we are family. I am sorry, but we need to be alone.” Gazing at me in apparent misunderstanding, I began speaking in Spanish, though midway through my sentence, she interrupted in English, “Blah, blah, blah. M*r F*r, this is MY home and you cannot ask me to leave. If I go and something bad happens it is YOUR responsibility. YOUR responsibility.”

I recoiled, castigated and confused. Was she homeless and upset that I was rudely admonishing her to leave her space? Was she merely drunk and trying to intimidate me? Was someone after her and by asking her to leave was I placing her in danger?

Her cursing continued. I languished. I could not make out everything she said, though she kept repeating that something bad was going to happen and it would be my responsibility.

I was at a loss, but needed to do something. Resorting to the futile solutions of the helpless, I tried greater force, “If you will not leave, then we will leave.” She cackled. More threats. More cursing.

I summoned the group’s help in quickly carrying our makeshift shrine out of the area, hoping she would stay behind. She didn’t. She started following our group. I was deeply concerned for her well-being, but her aggressiveness and apparent inebriation worried me more.

“You cannot follow us. If you continue to follow us I will find Foster (the owner after who the West Bay hotel was named) or the police.” I looked around at the desolate and dim hotel grounds, without fully considering the application of my words. She lunged forward, six inches from my face. “It will be your responsibility and I know Foster. Foster knows me and this is my home M*r F*r. You can’t tell me M*r. F*r.” Fearing a smack to my face, I removed my glasses.

After our moving the group to the safer and brightly lit grounds of the dive shop nearby, Jackie stayed with the group while I ran for help, trotting aimlessly through the dark kaleidoscope of sea grape trees and shrubbery to the only house nearby whose windows were lit by the flickering of a TV. I knocked on the glass, spooking a nearly-asleep man in a Lazy boy chair in the process. I yelled for Foster’s number and if I could use his cell phone for the call.Surprisingly, he didn’t find me a lunatic, for he opened the door, phone in hand. “I'll dial Foster’s number for you.”

Foster groggily answered the phone and I quickly began recounting what was happening with our group. The woman, the cursing, the following, the aggression. Did he know her? What should we do?

“You typically have nothing to worry about with her,” Foster consoled, “She has lost her mind, unfortunately. She hangs around here often during the day. With her sister, she has a twin. When the two of them were young they used to sell woven palm hats and trinkets on the beach with their father. One day they were raped, both of them. Over time I believe they were raped multiple times.” I was speechless as his story worsened. “As she got older she was still beautiful and, being poor, always attracted the wrong attention. One day a guy from the States, a really bad guy, stuck around Roatan and started giving her all sorts of drugs, calling her his girlfriend. They hung around for a bit. She was never really the same after that relationship. I don’t know what happened."

Foster called one of his sons to come over for help in case she was having “a bad episode,” which has happened, though rarely. Within five minutes, he met me at the dive shop where the group was waiting. By the time we arrived however, she had left. Before leaving she had mentioned that I broke her heart, her life, and her shoes. “I’ve known him for a long time, “ she recounted.

As quick as she had come, she disappeared. We didn’t see her again for the rest of our night or the rest of our stay in Roatan. Her beauty, her aggression, her emotion, her history, the fleeting bizarreness of the moment can’t be repainted, no matter how many adjectives we use to color our chance encounters. Most importantly, our memories or words never do justice to the experiences of the people we meet or the communities in which we primarily traverse. In our travels, the faces and the stories of those we come across lay tracks in our memory like fossils, reshaping our often rigid perceptions of human experience, if we let them.

For three months we opened ourselves up to experience the push and pull of life, learned from living, and continued to move forward. This final night together condensed the essence of our trip, and life in many ways, into one heartfelt paragraph, with laughter and tears coinciding on the same page. And like a novel one cannot put down, we continue to move forward as our story continues.

Our Carpe family of Central America, Jackie and I wish you continued learning, increasing tolerance, unending passion, continuous questioning, the strength to fight oppression and inequality, the ability to smile in the face of adversary, the ability to digest your food til you die, solid nights of sleep and, of course, good tortillas.

Goodbye Carpe Diem ITZA Spring 2011....We'll miss you!

Jackie and Alex

Bittersweet

Leaving the turtle project and arriving in San Jose was bittersweet. We were glad to be on normal sleep schedules again, but also felt the impending end of our trip. Though San Jose was different for everyone, we all enjoyed a few days of relaxation and the time to gear up for and awesome week in Roatan.

In San Jose we saw gorgeous parks and fascinating museums. Some of us went to the Jade museum, while others went to the gold exhibit. I, being so tired from the turtle project, laid around the hostel reading for the first 2 days before venturing into downtown San Jose. When I did finally venture out, I was struck by the city’s size and flavor. San Jose was interesting because it was vastly different from any other place we visited on the trip. A mix of globalization and sprawl left for a different feel down any given street. One unfortunate sighting I experienced was in the market, where they were openly selling huevos de tortuga, or sea turtle eggs. I was so angry, especially after our group had just spent one week trying to save such a beautiful species.

Jump forward to Roatan and it was smooth sailing! Roatan was the most beautiful place to wind down our intense journey. The crystal clear water, white sand, tropical fish, and stunning sections of reef were the perfect catalyst for our group to become boss scuba divers! The underwater life was so beautiful! I never knew such a sight existed; it was nothing short of incredible.

Our amazing time in Roatan was laced with occasional anxiety and sadness because of the impending end to what has been the time of my life. We all did our best to stay positive and enjoy the last week but we could not help acknowledge that our beautiful travel group/family was about to be broken up.

This trip has been full of surprises, thrills, and beautiful experiences. Even the hardest days were made easy with the help of the 11 other people who came on this trip. If there is one thing I treasure most from this experience, it is the love and support we all have for each other. It would be impossible to describe the bonds we now all share.

Thank you to all of our amazing friends and family who kept watch over us and read our blogs. We miss you tons and cannot wait to see you!

Con amor,

Patricio

sweating and soaking it in

Our new photos are live on our Flickr site! Check out these beauties...

Free Travel is fun but not free

Hey everyone!

On Tuesday April 12th we said so long to the beautiful Playa and Parque Maderas and drove to Grenada to kick off our week of free-travel. This week was different than the rest of our trip in that the students decided where we go and arrange the accommodations, transportation, and other logistics to make things happen. We were led by Kaile'a, Lukas, and Emily and they did an amazing job, as for the most part everything went smoothly and we all had a blast. When we got to Grenada, our hostel didn't have our reservation (typical of traveling and hostels around the world), but they found room for us in the end. However, soon after getting settled, Lukas, Peter, Jared and Kaile'a went back to their room to find their backpacks swimming in inches of water that was pouring out of a hole in the toilet. They changed rooms and luckily we had no further mishaps at the hostel. Over the next two days, we explored the city - eating local and street food as well as some western fare, buying gifts for friends and family back home, taking pictures, and as usual getting lost in the open air markets (mercados) and thrift stores that line the street.

Grenada used to be the capital of Nicaragua, but when the government moved to Managua, the city slowed down and people relaxed into their rocking chairs surrounded by the beautiful colonial architecture of historic churches and government buildings. At the same time, wealth disparities were ever-present. It was more visible on the city outskirts where houses lose their courtyards, and move back from the street to gain front yards, livestock, and chain-link fences. Within the city blocks and the Parque Central, we saw children sniffing glue to kill their hunger, and people hawking hammocks or selling handmaid jewelry for a living. Like the other cities we have visited and gotten to know, poverty runs in an undercurrent behind awe-inspiring churches, waiters in ties, and knock-off Hollister or ´Boy Ban´ sunglasses styles.

One of my favorite moments in Grenada was when Montana and I were walking back from the post office and stumbled upon a set of artist studios where teachers and university students were painting and printing lithographs, linocuts, and woodblock pieces. I had found an art gallery and talked to a man who was a teacher the day before, so at the studios I saw him from the street and he invited us in to look around. Much of the paper they were using was recycled or made from coconut bark. The prints depicted the artists' takes on traditional and modern Nicaraguan life. It was a treat to get to see. All in all, we were happy to visit a final Nicaraguan city before heading to Costa Rica.

On Thursday we took a four hour ferry ride across Lake Nicaragua (you can even see it on a map of the globe) to the volcanic island of Ometepe. Our hotel sat in the saddle of the two volcanoes - Conception and Maderas. On our first full day there, we walked along the lake beach for a long time, got some typical Nica food for lunch, and continued to walk along the road to Ojo de Agua, a stream contained in swimming pools. Helena learned to blow bubbles underwater, and Peter, Montana and Jared were at their usual ridiculous antics, this time in the water. That night as it was Jackie's 26th birthday, we celebrated with cake and ice cream (delish), a giant card, and smashing a piñata of Ariel the Little Mermaid. The next day half the group went kayaking, and the other half, horseback riding. I ended up bro-ing it out with all of the guys in ocean kayaks, paddling along the coast over supposedly bull shark infested waters. We reached a sheltered river tributary and saw many types of birds and floating plants going up and down the tributary's many curves. We anticipated seeing crocodiles but unfortunately there were too many people on the river that day (Or, more likely, all of the boys' splashing and racing around scared them off). Meanwhile, the rest of the women were riding horses around the island. Helena showed everyone up with her English riding skills, and they were all excited that they got to gallop. That night, our whole group was sunburned or sore or both.

The following day was Palm Sunday and our most complicated travel day. We drove by Catholic processions in the streets on the way to the ferry, and saw many people get off the boat, as Ometepe is a popular place to spend Semana Santa (Easter Week - in Nicaragua Thursday through Sunday is a paid vacation for the whole country). After the ferry and a short taxi ride, we arrived at the boarder to cross by foot into Costa Rica. The border itself is a kilometer long, full of various passport checkpoints and snaking colorful lines of people waiting with their shopping items. It took us less than an hour to be officially into Costa Rica, but for people going into Nicaragua for Semana Santa or on busier days, it can take up to 10 hours of waiting under the hot sun to complete the crossing. Sweaty and tired, we found a bus that took us to Liberia in the Guanacaste region. After spending a day there, we were off to the Nicoya Peninsula for our turtle project! Read Peter's entry below to find out how that was..It was really fun.

Now we are in the city of San Jose for a few days before flying to Roatan. It's really crazy to think that we will be going back to the States in 10 days! Parents: be aware that your child will be going through culture shock for the first week or two back. We are definitely excited to see you, but sad to bid farewell to this group that has become a family and all of our adventures in Central America. I know I will go through withdrawal to not see these best friends very often anymore. But I do not want to end on a sad note, as we still have so much to see and experience here and in the rest of life.

Happy Easter and Passover to you all, I hope the day is filled with family and friends and relaxing!

Much love, especially to my parents and Aldis and Cianan : )

Devon

Buscamos Tortugas en Camaronal

We finally arrived in Costa Rica's Nicoya Peninsula last Tuesday, wet and tired after a long day of travel in public buses and rainstorms. They fed us right away on rice and beans, and we tried our best to stay awake for their presentation on this recently created turtle sanctuary, wildlife refuge, and public access beach called Camaronal.

Four types of turtles visit this three kilometer stretch to lay their eggs, and without protection they don't stand a chance. Animals will dig up nests for food, and so will humans -- each egg sells for about two dollars, and a single nest often contains more than a hundred. We slept well that first night, despite the thin mattresses and teetering wooden bunks in our open-air dorm.

We woke up sweating in the morning heat, and, after a breakfast of rice and beans, began our daily work: building a new beach access trail, digging up unhatched eggs in the nursery, excavating drainage ditches behind the kitchen, and picking up the trash that washes up on the shore. We spend only two or three hours on these projects each day because the heat becomes suffocating around noon. After lunching on rice and beans we find ways to occupy ourselves, reading, writing, trying to sleep. But the oppressiveness of the heat makes even thinking difficult, and we pass many hours lost in inactivity and sporadic conversation. The ocean water is almost too warm to be refreshing, and its waves too violent for swimming. The beach is most beautiful just before sunset, when the sea breezes cool our overheated bodies and the sky fills with color. Playa Camaronal faces south, towards the equator-- just ten degrees away, it feels like we can almost see it. The sun sets behind a jungle-covered hill to our right, and never touches the water.

Our real work begins after a dinner of rice and beans supplemented with canned tuna, when the turtles climb out of the dark sea to lay their eggs and leave wide tracks behind them in the sand. Night patrols last from six pm to six am in three hour shifts. At these times the porch of our main building has the subdued and nocturnal feeling of an isolated military post: people scattered across picnic tables in near darkness, sipping coffee or playing cards while others doze in hammocks. Our voices are low murmers compared the the constant crashing of the surf behind us. As our designated shift approaches we gather, groggily waiting for the group before us to return with our equipment: a backpack containing clipboards, measuring tape, plastic bags and gloves. Finally we walk the short trail to the beach -- in moonlight, if there is any; with dim red-covered flashlights if not.

The beach at night doesn't lend itself to easy description. The waves roll and crash, invisible except for their glowing white foam, and as they recede the wet sand reflects the moon and starlight. The walking is monotonous and the breeze constant, warm or cold depending on the time of night. Washed up trees, polished driftwood skeletons, rise up eerily against the horizon. Something, still, is lost in these details -- the mystery and expansiveness of the ocean at night, the incredible reality of searching for turtles on a wild Costa Rican beach.

-Peter

Fun in the Sun

After packing up and leaving Leon, we headed out to Playa Madera. Playa Madera is a little beach about fifteen minutes outside of San Juan del Sur were surfers come from all over to catch some waves. Once we were over the initial awe of the amazing accommodations called Parque Maderas, we headed over to a small school in a nearby village to start our volunteer project.

The school has 78 students ranging from two to thirteen years of age divided into three classes. The first day we helped out by picking up the trash around the school and the street. There is a big problem here with the disposal of garbage. Massive amounts of trash just pile up on the roads, and the trash that does get picked up is burned in people´s backyards. The ever-present smell of toxic burning plastic is motivation to bring in more volunteers to improve the way trash is handled. We sorted all of the litter we picked up and took the plastic out with us, so that at least that little bit was not burning into the air. The saddest part is that the kids don´t seem to realize that littering and burning plastic is bad. We tried to instill some new ideas about protecting the environment as we worked. The second day we spent the morning planting over 50 new plants at the school. We planted fast-growing trees to bring shade to the yard, fruit trees to provide the kids with snacks, and a small herb garden. The kids were all watching with excitement as we worked, and happy decided on a group of students to water the plants every day. In the afternoon, we taught English lessons and ran a workshop to teach how to make recycled paper. The hope is that someone will really enjoy making the paper and decide to turn it into a business, making handcrafted cards to sell.

The English lessons were a big hit. All of the students, pre-school age to adults, couldn´t wait to learn! I worked with the preschoolers. It was hard to tell if they were really soaking up the color vocabulary we were teaching them until the next day. We returned to the school in the morning and Dariela, a five year old girl who barely spoke the day before, held up a yellow flower and started shouting "Está yellow! Está yellow!" It just about melted all of our hearts.

All of the volunteering has been juxtaposed with hours and hours of beach time every day! Almost everybody has had unbelievable success learning to surf. I, unfortunately, am not one of those people. I´m the unlucky one who has been on crutches for the past two weeks, but I´ve had a blast watching the others master the waves. They´re starting to look like pros! Aside from the occasional sprained ankle, blistering sunburn, swollen black eye, skin fungus, jelly fish, scorpion, or wasp sting, we are all still in one piece! We´re spending our last days at Playa Madera surfing, swimming, and sunbathing as the excitement for free travel builds. Check back soon to see how it goes!

Love, Emily