Mar, monos, y montañas

Part 1: Mar

I can’t believe how much has happened since we left Chitre. First we spent a week at the beach – kind of. Our homestay was in the suburbs of the city of David in a small fishing town. Every day we got into the most rickety boats I’ve ever ridden in to visit the mangroves and take samples of conches, fish, and lobsters. I never expected mangroves to grow that tall (I knew they were taller on the Pacific coast compared to the Caribbean but didn’t realize how tall that actually meant), nor did I expect them to be that muddy; sometimes we were wading through mud past our knees! The highlights of our stay in David were staying on a (practically deserted) island for a night while following the lobster divers, and going to la ferria with my host sisters. The island, Isla Paridas, was absolutely gorgeous. I felt like I was living in a postcard for some tropical paradise. We followed the lobster divers as they dove near sharp rocks with just a small set of goggles to search for lobsters. I also snorkeled for the first time and it was terrifying and amazing at the same time. I saw brilliantly-colored starfish, puffer fish that flailed hysterically whenever approached, and huge sea urchins. Others saw sting rays and sea cucumbers too! It was heartbreaking how devastated this reef was and our director said it was still recovering from a huge El Niño from 1999. Our boats definitely were not helping however, as we could feel the bottom of our boat ripping apart the reef when we left because the boat had drifted too close.

After we got back from Isla Paridas we got to go to la ferria with our host family. It was huge! They not only had rides, food, and artisan crafts, but also sold furniture, cars, and information about energy companies! The fair lasts for 10 days in celebration of the patron saint of David. It was so much fun to go with my host sisters, Adelaira (9) and Solimar (16). My favorite part was when Sol told me I was like an older sister to her and she didn’t want me to leave. We had had a three-hour conversation earlier about life and school and the future and it was incredible how much she was eager to share with me and how much she wanted to learn about my life as well. Clara, my host mom, cried when we left. It was incredible how welcoming and loving they all were and I miss them terribly. However it is exciting to finally have a host family we can keep in touch with, since they have facebook and cell phones! Sol gave me a bracelet the day I left that says “Me haces falta” (I need you) and I think of her and her wonderful family whenever I look at it.

Part 2: Monos

After David, we went to Alouatta Sanctuary for mantled howler monkeys in the highlands of Chiriquí.  The monkeys were adorable. They were rehabilitating three orphans while we were there, Coco, Nina, and M and one successfully rehabilitated monkey, Maisie, would come to visit the center daily with her wild troupe composed of her two offspring, Jack and Boo, and Macho (the alpha male) and another wild female. We spent one day walking each of the five transects to complete a population estimate of mammals living in the forest and saw a wild mantled howler monkey troupe, as well as an agouti and a squirrel. We also spent hours monitoring the resident troupe’s behavior with scans and focal follows, which proved to be very tricky with monkeys moving overhead. We slept outside in tents, which was both thrilling and terrifying to hear the constant hissing and buzzing of insects and the occasional howl of monkeys. I am now an expert tent-pitcher and trouble-shooter when it suddenly pours in the middle of the night and your tent becomes a river! It was inspiring to see the work they were doing at Alouatta and it was also great to talk to the other interns about their previous experiences and adventures. However, being in a place where everyone spoke English reminded me of how much I have become accustomed to Panamanian culture and how much I miss speaking Spanish. The majority of our group felt similarly and we all decided to play Apples to Apples together in Spanish on our last night there.

Part 3: Montañas

Now I am sitting in the office of AMIPILA (Amigos del Parque Internacional La Amistad), a local environmental non-profit in Guadalupe. Guadalupe is a small town near Cerro Punta, both of which as gorgeously sandwiched by the mountain range of Volcán Barú, the highest point in Panamá. Here we have toured an organic shade coffee and plantain plantation (which I may return to for my independent project because the couple who owns it is adorable, their story for switching to organic practices is inspiring, and the progress of their organic practices is fascinating), a coffee processing plant (where we were given a glimpse of the tedious and pompous process of coffee-tasting), and a small farm trying to go organic. I had an excellent conversation while weeding cabbages with Ana, one of the leaders of AMIPILA, and I felt perfectly at home weeding and talking like I did at Crossroads Farm on Long Island this summer. It’s incredible how weeding can facilitate camaraderie and conversation. Ana told me about the problems in Cerro Punta with the infertile soil after so many years of chemically-dependent conventional agriculture and how difficult it is to switch to organic. It was disconcerting to hear that agriculture in Panama has the same problems as the US agriculture system. Problems with our agricultural system are worldwide, not only national and it will be a long while until changes towards more sustainable and organic practices can be made.

During our free weekend, nine other students and I decided to test our stamina on Volcán Barú. We hired three guides and were determined to see the sunrise at the top. In short, we paid $40 for over 14 hours of self-torture. We started the climb at midnight after just 2 hours of sleep and I expected it to be  a long hike, but not necessarily a treacherous one: boy was I wrong. We walked sleep forested trails for half the time, and then scaled steep rock faces with our bare hands for the rest. It was definitely the most difficult, most satisfying, and craziest thing I have ever done. Over the course of the 6 hour climb to the summit I was on a roller-coaster of emotions. Sometimes I felt strong and connected to the jungle. It was as if the trees had grown their roots to help provide us with hand-holds. Then I would feel completely exhausted, like I couldn’t move another inch and my feet were like lead, and I couldn’t breathe from the altitude and I felt weak and stupid for thinking I could even attempt this climb. I would curse at any rock that proved to be an unstable foothold or yelp at any scratch or bump. Thankfully I never fell completely, but I would have fallen a good way down the mountain if it weren’t for a handy tree root. I don’t think I have ever pushed my body to such extremes. There were parts when I honestly wanted to lie down and cry, and others when I didn’t ever want to stop and my adrenaline propelled me upward. When we got to the top at 6am as the sun was rising it was like a dream. We floated above the clouds tinted with red and orange, and I took at least 40 photos of the exact same view because it was so gorgeous and I was so delirious. My 45 minute-long nap on the hard rocks was the best sleep I’ve ever had. There were so many other people at the top, but they had hiked up the day before and camped at the top for the night (a much more sane idea). After properly admiring the view and the clouds and the fact that we had done it, we slowly realized we had to somehow get back down and began our 6 ½ hour long decent. Going down was even harder because we were so tired and the slopes were so steep. It was terrifying to actually see the steep slope that we had climbed up in the dark and realize we somehow had to get ourselves down it without a sled and a helmet. Our poor guides could have probably gotten down in half the time we did, but we moved so sluggishly and my knees and ankles were screaming the whole time so honestly it’s a miracle we got down at all. I complain about the hike to illustrate just how miserable the whole endeavor was. While the hike did not cancel out the two hours of glorious success and admiration we enjoyed at the top, it remains the most difficult thing I have ever done – no contest. When we got back to our house, we bought strawberry milkshakes from this adorable old lady with a tienda who knows our academic director, and then promptly returned to our house and slept from 4pm until 8am the next morning (only being gently prodded awake for dinner by our concerned host mother). Right now all of that seems like a dream, and if my entire body didn’t still ache I would have believed it to be just that.

Our homestay family here in Guadalupe is the sweetest, with excellent fresh vegetables from their farm, and three precious grandchildren that have endless energy and curiosity!  This morning our host dad showed us his two farms on the very tops of the mountains. It’s incredible how careful he has to be to conserve soil and avoid erosion on such steep slopes. Although he was cutting down primary forest and using pesticides, he had a great respect for the land he used and left skunks and other animals he encountered alone because he knew he “was in their territory.” It made me frustrated with the lack of availability of organic practices, because he knew that there was a cost to pesticides and fungicides and deforestation, but he also had to make a living and he was doing what he could (using rainwater, using wood from the forest to make furniture, digging ditches to fight erosion and control flooding) to care for his land. We saw cauliflower, broccoli, cabbage, potatoes, corn, onions, and some fruit trees. He is so proud of his farm and it was amazing to hear him talk about how he built all the different parts of it and what he hopes to build in the future to improve it. One farm had no water source at all and is only reliant on the rain while another he invested in a sprinkler system from a gravity-powered piping system from the ChiriquI River and it has greatly improved his onion harvest. He also spoke of improving conditions for the indigenous workers he hires and is starting to build a more study house for them compared to the dilapidated wood and aluminum shacks they currently live in. The tour was truly incredible and completely shattered my previous notions of farming, now I picture the steep slopes surrounded by jungle and covered with cauliflower instead of flat planes.

Next we are headed to Bocas del Toro and I can’t believe our independent projects start in two weeks! Hasta luego!

Nature's Extremes

I had no idea what I was getting myself into when we left for Parque Nacional General de Division Omar Torrillos Herrera (or PNGDOTH). Little did I know that it would mean living in perpetual dampness and squeezing 17 people into a cabin with 10 beds and 4 ft ceilings for five days.

(photos courtesy of other people with water-proof cameras because my camera did not leave its case during the entire stay in PNGDOTH)

 Cool leaf-shaped bug that chilled on our door for a few days.

Needless to say it was no five star hotel, but our tiny cabin soon became affectionately known as the “Hobbit hole.” It was so humid that nothing ever dried and even my sheets and clean clothes in my bag somehow accumulated moisture. The park was not supposed to be this damp during our stay. Our professor told us that a strange cold front uncharacteristic to Panama’s dry season was causing the intense weather. Whenever we walked the ten minute trek from our cabin down the muddy road for meals, we were pelted with wind and horizontal rain. With the wind and rain came endless fog; there were only fleeting moments when the sky cleared enough for us to see the valleys and mountains in the distance. At one point it was clear enough to see all the way to the Pacific ocean. Someone must have taken a picture, and while I’m sad that I wasn’t able to use my camera in that weather, I also can’t help but think that some views just can’t be captured in a photo. The layers of mist and endlessness of the distant ocean would have been lost.

But above all, the wind was the most impressive. When standing at the edge of the short trail leading from the research center to the cabin, the wind would gust strong enough to knock me off balance. At times it felt like I was staring down the mouth of some vicious beast that was bellowing its discontent with my disturbance to its slumber. At night, the peaceful chorus of croaking frogs and humming insects was periodically broken by gusts of wind that shook the cabin. It felt more like a movie set than a tropical cloud forest.

 As for classes, the forest itself was our classroom. We did a different group experiment each day, the first day focusing on plants, the second on insects, the third on transects, and the last day we were able to pick our own topic. My group chose to study the behavior of leaf cutter ants when obstructions were introduced to their trails. It was fun to learn so actively (I have definitely broken in my hiking boots), and I loved that our professor only spoke Spanish so I was able to learn new vocab words and conduct scientific experiments in Spanish.

The night hike was especially amazing. We walked a simple, well-outlined trail, but despite the pouring rain we found huge insects, frogs, spiders, reptiles, and (of course) ants. I was most impressed/unsettled by this lovely specimen lurking above us in a tree. 

Before the end of the hike, our professor had us turn all of the flashlights off and we were submerged in complete darkness. It was both humbling and terrifying to realize that our artificial lighting was all that was keeping us on the trail and that without it the jungle could easily swallow us into the misty night.

The last day we presented our individual projects and celebrated with a feast. After having rice, chicken, tortillas, and hojaldres (fried bread) for a week, we were stunned to find an outdoor barbeque dinner awaiting us with a buffet of cheese, crackers, strawberries, pineapple, grilled vegetables, brownies, and chocolate chip cookies. I even had the chance to try plátanos cooked right in between the logs of the fire and my fingers turned black as I broke open the charred peel and savored the warm fruit. That night the smell of campfire smoke made the moldy, sweaty cabin smell a little bit better.

Our last morning there I was woken up at 4:30 am by the shrieks of others who had discovered a mouse in our cabin and I couldn’t manage to fall asleep again with the mousy-squeaks coming from my corner of the room. At 5:30 am we all got up to pack and clean the cabin in order to be ready to leave by 6am. Then we placed bets to see what time the “chivas” (small trucks used in the interior to transport people/ cows/just about anything) would come (they are always late) but were pleasantly surprised that we were able to get on the road by 7:30. After a short drive down the winding, steep roads out of the park (ducking occasionally to avoid getting hit in the head by tree branches), we arrived at the house of the woman who had invited us to breakfast and had one last fill of hojaldre before packing into a small bus and heading for Sarigua National Park.

On the bus ride there I had a small moment of peace. It happened when I was listening to an accordion solo of the Panamanian music on the radio while watching the familiar interior countryside pass along the roadside. I finally felt like I belonged in this country and that I was familiar with its identity. It probably had to do with the fact that I was returning to Panamanian “civilization” after living in the national park for so long, but it was peaceful nonetheless. I had finally found the “roughing it” Panamanian experience I was looking for. It was exhilarating and exhausting and I learned a lot about myself in the process. I hope to continue to be as awestruck by nature as I was in that forest during the rest of my time in the interior.

After leaving the wettest and coldest tropical rain forest of Panama, we visited the driest and hottest tropical dry forest of Panama, commonly referred to as the Sarigua Desert. It was incredible to walk through this tropical dry forest-turned desert and forget we were still in Panama. Our professor led us to the archeological site where clay shards of pottery from ancient indigenous people were found (there were so many lying around I was able to pick one up and keep it for myself). Then we explored the sand-dune part of the park where the earth shifted like sand beneath your feet, all due to a combination of wind, water, and human-induced erosion. We continued across seemingly endless dunes until the earth was cracked and hard under our feet (the result of quick changes in temperature from night to day). We trekked further into the desert to find the dwindling mangrove forest and the shrimp farms that had replaced them. Once again, the wind was awe-inspiring as it whipped across the landscape and exfoliated your skin with its endless plumes of dust. We left Sarigua exhausted, dehydrated, and dirt-covered from head to toe, but I was ecstatic to be able to use my camera again to try to capture a glimpse of the unbelievable landscape.

 Dried cow poop!

  

 Dead dried algae covered parts of the desert that had previously been underwater

 Mangroves!

Then we visited the pottery workshop of Sr. Calderon and I got to attempt to use a manual pottery wheel and had a great conversation in Spanish with the owner and his son.

 

We’re currently staying at a hotel in the town of Chitre. I reveled in a hot shower and a flushing toilet and just spend the past 5 minutes sticking my face inside my bag of clean laundry. Tomorrow morning we leave at 8am for the city of David, where I’ll meet my new homestay family for the week while we study local fisheries. I’m ready for another homestay and eager to continue improving my Spanish and can’t wait to snorkel! 

 

View of Chitre's main square from the balcony of our hotel