El fin

El fin

Week 9

Following weeks of rain and jungle, stepping off the bus from Selva Bananito to San José felt like a sudden rushing return to city and sunlight. Traffic raced, and almost two months after I had first stayed at a friend’s house in Heredia, I struggled to direct my taxi driver to the address, proud to get us there on a few landmarks and half memories. 

I spent my last bits of time in Costa Rica walking and looking, trying to remember the sky and the streets. A few days before I departed, I went to Vólcan Poas, where I peered down into the volcano’s crater at the jewel colored water rolling in its belly. The ride there was all twists and mountain greens and mist, and from behind the glass of the car window, I spotted a sloth as it sunned itself in a tree beside the road.

I sent letters to Pancho and Kenneth and Jasmin from the post office off one of the central squares and ordered a fresa-guanabana batido (milkshake) for the last time, my mind both back in the past and turning over the present. I had done a lot in the last two months, made friends, seen life from a vantage that was strange and new. I felt as though I understood, in some small way, what it meant to be a Tic@. Language, which had so frustrated me at the beginning, was now more than ever a puzzle of words through which I needed to sort, pulling out the ones I wanted, ordering them, finding tense and meaning.

On the way to the airport, the talkative taxista rattled on to me in Spanish, asking questions and pointing out parts of the city. The sun streamed in hot through the windshield. It was funny then to realize how comfortable I felt here, how much I had come to understand language and place in a way that I would never before have guessed at. And then I was at the airport, saying ciao to Costa Rica.

Fotos: 1. Poas bound 2. Poas crater

Selva Bananito Ecolodge & Preserve

Selva Bananito Ecolodge & Preserve

History: Selva Bananito Ecolodge & Preserve is located at the foot of the Muchilla Mountain in the Province of Limón on the Caribbean side of Costa Rica. The ecolodge is situated on the Stein family farm, part of which the family declared a private, biological reserve of 2,000 acres in 1994; the lodge was subsequently built as an alternative source of income. This was a moral, not economic decision, since the income from the lodge will never approximate the commercial value of the protected wood. Today, the remaining part of the Stein farm is home to a reforestation project, a cattle breeding program and a moderate-sized oil palm plantation. The Stein family further supports environmentalism in the area through the Fundación Cuencas de Limón (Limón Watershed Foundation), an NGO established in 1996 which works to protect the purity of the Bananito River, which flows through the preserve and farm and serves as a primary water source for Limón, Costa Rica’s third largest city.

…

Making my way from the central lowlands of Costa Rica to the Caribbean coast, I was driven through the small town of Bananito Sur, off the main road, and then along a gravel drive towards Selva Bananito Ecolodge & Preserve. Tucked far back into the jungle, the lodge and preserve abut the Parque Internacional La Amistad (La Amistad International Park), the largest protected natural area in all of Costa Rica. As I got closer and closer to the lodge, the small ranches and farms fell away, and soon I found myself surrounded by pure, thick selva.

Week 6

Arriving at Selva Bananito in late afternoon, I was immediately greeted by four large dogs: a mutt, two German shepherds and an Irish wolfhound. In a flurry, I was introduced to many of the ecolodge’s employees and shown around the Selva Bananito complex, which contained eleven cabins on stilts, a large rancho for meals and gatherings, an office, a stable (where the lodge’s 15 horses were tended) and the original farm house, built when the original finca had been established.

The following day, I learned about the various environmental methods implemented by Selva Bananito, including everyday composting and recycling, a system of solar panels used for all electricity and heated water, cabinas made from eighty percent salvaged wood, and a water treatment process that involved filtering dirty water through a series of lily beds, rocks and native plants (when this process was completed, the previously dirty water was as clean as the river water coming down from the nearby mountains).

I spent the rest of the week helping to wash the cabins’ patios, learning how to prepare the rooms for guests (there were no tourists at the time) and exploring the preserve and the banks of the Bananito River.

I also did some reforestation work, clearing grass and weeds back from an entire field of seedlings with a machete, untangling the fledging plants from the death grips of some pernicious vines.

Towards the end of the week, I went on my first cabalgata (horse ride) through the preserve and finca, munching on sugar cane and espying a languid and happy sloth from the back of amiable Guerrero. On another outing, we rode the horses along (and through) the Bananito River, wending through tall stands of white cane and along the white pebble shore line, stopping at an area where the river deepened and we could swim (“watch out for the caimans,” I was told). We rode back to the lodge at dusk, the fireflies popping into color all around us as the warm night sounded.

Fotos: 1. On the way to Selva Bananito 2. Ceiba! 3. One of the cabinas

Week 7

Still with no tourists at the lodge, I helped three of the lodge workers—Jonathan, Gato and José—to ferry manú wood in from the jungle, where it was to be used to repair the small puentes (bridges) that led to up to the cabins. Jonathan had discovered a fallen manú tree earlier that month, and while he and Gato cut it into sizeable planks with the Husqvarna chainsaw, José and I had the job of moving it, which involved wading waist deep through a small river. After we’d gotten the wood slabs through the deepest section of water, we tied it (very carefully) to two of the lodge horses, and then led the horses across the fields and back to the cabins.

After completing this task, I was given some small chunks of manú wood, into which I began to chisel informative signs that were to be displayed around the lodge. I wasn’t exactly a master chiseler, but after some false starts, I learned how to wield the hammer delicately enough to carve letters and forcefully enough to make an impression on the wood.

 


















It was also during this week that Gato, Jonathan and José took me to the part of the finca where the farm workers lived. Out front of their small plaster homes was a field they kept well cut, and after shooing away some wandering cows, we all played bol (soccer) until it became too dark to see the ball properly. Over the next few weeks, these pick-up games were to become one of our small traditions.

Tourists arrived just as the week wound down, and I was able to accompany a group from Virginia on a cabalgata and river swim, as well as a six-hour hike which involved rappelling down two water falls. As someone who had no prior experience rappelling (and was given all instruction in rapid-fire Spanish), it was quite the way to start!

Fotos: 4. The manú route 5. On the water fall hike 6. José helping me rappel

Week 8

A great number of tourists arrived during my final week, and I was cast into more of a managerial role, responsible for making sure rooms were clean and ready on time, that pick-ups and transfers went off without a hitch (it was a forty-five minute drive through the jungle to reach the lodge, with two river crossings and no cell service, which made things tricky) and that tourists were informed about their schedules and their cabins (water is solar heated so it may take a second to kick in, only use the provided soap, don't throw toilet paper in the toilet, etc.).

I was further responsible for helping at lodge dinners, which were family style, in the position of both server and lodge representative, which involved a lot of hasty eating around discussions before I was hurrying off to help carry food from the kitchen downstairs to the dining room upstairs.

For Christmas dinner, everyone—employees and tourists—ate traditional tamales (meat and vegetables in cornmeal dough and wrapped in corn husks) upstairs, many people sharing their favorite carols.

Just a few days before leaving Selva Bananito, I got to try my hand at the climbing tree. Using a system of levers, I was able to ascend a twenty-six foot tree, where I got a marvelous view of the surrounding selva: the long stretch of canopy, the rising of the mountain, the break where the river ran, the sky, blue with twists of white neblina. Dangling upside down and joking with José, both of us anchored high up in the branches, it felt like a pretty good place to be.

Fotos: 7. The dining room in el rancho 8. Bananito River

CECOS

El Centro de Aprendizaje para la conservación en Sarapiquí

The Sarapiquí Conservation Learning Center

Mission: CECOS focuses its efforts in four areas—environmental education, community development, conservation and tourism—in order to help form future environmental leaders, raise the organizational abilities of local communities, promote sustainable land use and connect tourists to local communities. Our programs serve hundreds of local people and thousands of ecotourists each year. These programs include environmental education, rural tourism activities, English classes, community outreach, women’s groups and scholarship funds for high school and university students.

…

After a bus ride through rain, mist and an incredible variety of green, I stepped off at the Puerto Viejo de Sarapiquí station, where I felt more than slightly ridiculous with my oversized suitcase. Thankfully, Jasmin—a just-arrived six-month-long CECOS volunteer—was waiting there to meet me, and between the two of us, we were able to fit everything into the cramped back of a powder blue Suzuki Jeep. 

And then we were off, speeding past neighborhoods until, twenty or so minutes later, we pulled off on a small road and made our way to Rosie’s house, where I would be staying with Rosie and her two sons, Pancho and Kenneth, for the next five weeks. After some quick introductions, we were off to el Centro, the CECOS building and learning center, where I met the director of CECOS, Raquel, and the two other long-term volunteers, Ashley and Elena.

After a whirlwind day beginning to learn the ropes at el Centro, I headed home to Rosie’s house, a ten-minute walk, entirely caught up in the scenery. Houses stood here and there amongst the trees and broad-leaved plants, the wide-banked Sarapiquí River rushing and twisting just across the road. Cows grazed in front yards and every now and then I’d see someone fly by on a bicycle or ride by on a horse. I passed an elementary school, a restaurant, a roadside super market and a second-hand shop before I turned right and headed into the little neighborhood of Chilamate with its stucco houses and cement verandas. A hammock hung above the old car in Rosie’s open-air garage, and inside, I could hear Jessica, another lodger from Honduras, as she talked loudly and made Rosie laugh her big-cheeked laugh.

This was Chilamate—I had arrived.

Fotos: 1. CECOS 2. Chilamate

Week 1

My first week with CECOS was kicked off with an English as a Foreign Language (EFL) Class offered to children from ages six to ten and taught Saturday mornings by Ashley. The groups were learning about different physical descriptors, and Ashley was excited to have my blue eyes and blonde hair to throw into the mix before we all went about drawing pictures of our best friends and describing their appearances. (Read more about CECOS' EFL classes here.)

The next day, I attended my first charla (discussion), where Geisel explained to a group of ecotourists about pimiento (black pepper) farming and cheese-making in her nearby community of El Roble. Jasmin—our Spanish/German/English-speaker—translated, and afterwards we got to sample some of Geisel’s arepas and queso.

Later, Jasmin and I helped a local instructor teach a clase de baile (or more accurately, we provided additional dance partners and bumbled around), where we learned the steps to merengue, salsa, soca and bachata, all traditional Latin American dances.

Jasmin and I also embarked on our first reforestación endeavor during this week. The Sarapiquí region is situated in the San Juan-La Selva Biological Corridor, where great emphasis has been placed upon connecting isolated tracts of forest through strategic reforestation of cleared lands. In doing this, animals can range freely (increasing habitat for such species as the jaguar and Great Green Macaw), bird migration routes are strengthened, and general biodiversity is promoted.

CECOS gets seedlings for this reforestation work from a nursery funded by the Instituto Costarricense de Electricidad (Costa Rican Institute of Electricity), which is making efforts to offset the negative environmental impact caused by its hydroelectric dams. Farmers participating in these reforestation programs are also given additional benefits from the government and the opportunity to turn unusable land (often steep or marshy areas) into productive sites.

During this first planting, Jasmin and I were accompanied by two ecotourists from Muscatine, Iowa. As well as reforesting about one-hundred roble coral trees, we also learned about various native fruits from local farmer Marlin, who was only too happy to show us around his extensive garden. (To read more about this experience, check out my post on the CECOS volunteer blog.)

Finally, my first week was capped off by a visit to Cahuita and the Caribbean, where Irene, a sociology graduate student conducting research on piña farms, Jessica and I managed to enjoy the salty waves (despite some rain).

Fotos: 3. EFL class 4. Marlin and a carambola (star fruit) 5. Caribbean 

Week 2

During my second week as a CECOS volunteer, we hosted two large student groups from the United States. The first, elementary schoolers from Colorado, visited el Colegio Técnico Puerto Viejo (Puerto Viejo Technical High School), where we learned about the school’s various technical programs, including the care of piglets, ducks and goats. Afterwards, the Coloradan students got to connect with the Puerto Viejo students, both groups practicing their English and Spanish to varying degrees of success.

A few days later, a high school group from Ohio came to CECOS to have a charla with the CECOS youth group, JIRAGA (Jóvenes Innovadores Recreando Ambientes como Grupo de Apoyo de CECOS, or somewhat clumsily in English, Young Innovators Re-creating Environments as a Support Group at SCLC), where everything from school to sports to day-to-day life was touched on.

This second week closed out for me with the River Festival (an event hosted by a neighboring ecolodge to support artisans from the local community), where my host-brother Pancho and I explored the booths and contemplated the quick-running river from the high up bridge.

Fotos: 6. Ohio/JIRAGA charla

Week 3

On Monday morning, I was handed a bunch of fliers with information about CECOS and sent off on the bus to Puerto Viejo de Sarapiquí, where I was to ask shop owners’ permission to hang them in windows and on doors. It was a task that required a lot of courage-raising—off on my own in Puerto Viejo without the crutch of someone I knew (and who undoubtedly spoke better Spanish than me). Luckily, after a bit of practicing in my head, I had everything down and quickly ran out of fliers to hang.

Back at CECOS, I helped in redesigning the Elementary After-School Program, which had been put on hold for a few months. After much discussion, we decided to head the program in a self-sustainable direction, where we would seek mentors and teachers from the local community, thus ensuring a long-lived program.

My week continued with the planting of a whopping six-hundred trees on a finca in La Virgen, a town about twenty minutes away from Chilamate. Thankfully, Jasmin and I were not alone in this task, but were joined by the farmer, his three sons and four of our friends. After a morning of planting, we were rewarded with large amounts of home cooked food, which we were all more than happy about.

That weekend, all of the CECOS volunteers celebrated our own Thanksgiving with some families in Chilamate, eating turkey and mashed potatoes alongside rice and beans, talking late into the night in a mix of English and Spanish.

The next day, I helped to set up JIRAGA’s movie event, where the youth group turned one of CECOS’ rooms into a theater and made popcorn and juice before sitting back to watch the latest Robin Hood movie.

Also of note, this third week brought with it my first mountain biking experience: Pancho and I went for a jungle rid from Chilamate to El Roble to La Virgen and back. It was unlike anything I’d done before. The roads for the first part were wet rock paths through the forest, hills rising and falling in ceaseless waves. Riding on the shoulder of the highway for the second part, I could do nothing but tuck in behind my host brother as trucks and semis whizzed by. A few hours later, very tired and very blistered, we made it home safe and sound.

Fotos: 7. Tree planters! 8. Only 599 more to go 9. On the way to El Roble

Week 4

I did a lot of editing and writing during the beginning of this week: Jasmin asked me to put together a tree database so that future volunteers would have readily available information about the seedlings we were planting. Elena had me read through various articles about JIRAGA and the Becados (scholarship) program, while Raquel got me to edit the bi-annual newsletter and contribute to the CECOS website. I also put together the template for an ecotourist follow-up email and contacted a number of U.S. colleges with strong environmental studies programs, explaining a little bit about CECOS and the opportunity to volunteer with us. I also spent some time assembling paquetes, or basic school supply packets, which CECOS gives out for free to families with small children who find these extra expenses difficult, busting out 40 in a day. 

On Saturday, most of the members of JIRAGA and all of the CECOS volunteers went zip lining with Aventuras Sarapiquí, which involved fifteen FANTASTIC cables. I got to see the Sarapiquí region from a whole different perspective, and the last cable, which crossed over the Sarapiquí River from a very high vantage, was literally breathtaking.

In celebration of the imminence (well, sort of) of Christmas, there was a days-long fiesta in Puerto Viejo that week, which culminated in the illumination of a large Christmas tree and fireworks. Jasmin, our friend Pablo and I hopped the bus from Chilamate to Puerto, enjoying the wash of motion and people in the streets late into the night.

The next morning, we all got up (far too early) to go to Tortuguero, or "Land of Turtles," a remote national park, where a long, shallow boat drove us up a long wending river to its mouth where the freshwater rio met with the Caribbean in a strange choppy frenzy.

Fotos: 10. Zip lining group 11. Headed to Tortuguero

Week 5

Just as I wrapped up my time in Chilamate, the sun came out after days and days and days of rain. Taking advantage of this, I went swimming in the Sarapiquí River for the first time with Pancho, jumping off the car bridge into the quick current. Legend has it that after swimming in the Sarapiquí, visitors find they must return to it. (I'm still waiting to see the veracity of this story!)

At CECOS, I helped out with the clases de cocina, where our local instructor taught groups of French ecotourists about traditional Costa Rican dishes (and we volunteers were fortunate enough to snag whatever leftovers we could scrounge).

To make leaving just a little more difficult, Rosie got a very tiny Doberman Pincher cachorro two days before I was to depart. We took to each other instantly, and I named her Eva, carting her around the neighborhood and laughing at her undeniable chispa (spark), as Rosie called it.

On my last night, friends from CECOS and Chilamate got together, baking cakes and playing with the puppy dog in a packed kitchen. After five weeks volunteering and getting to know the community, it was a fairly wonderful way to say goodbye.

Fotos: 12. EVA 13. Pancho and Kenneth

Sobre la voluntaria y el proyecto

Sobre la voluntaria y el proyecto

My name is Clare Boerigter, and I will graduate from Grinnell College in May 2014, as a Spanish major. I was able to volunteer for nine weeks in Costa Rica because of the James C. Randall ’94 Memorial Fellowship, a scholarship which enhances the study abroad experience of a Grinnell student in a Spanish-speaking country each year. My Randall project involved a fusion of my three primary interests: Spanish, environmentalism and writing.

Having been fortunate enough to study abroad twice before in Cuernavaca, Mexico, I was curious to step beyond the structure of a language or university program, which led me to volunteering. I focused on opportunities that dealt with ecological issues as—following an archaeology internship in the Kaibab National Forest in Arizona, involvement on Grinnell’s Student Environmental Committee, and five months as a wildland firefighter in northeastern Utah—the topic of environmentalism was and remains very compelling for me. Costa Rica, teeming with biological diversity, conservation initiatives and ecotourism, seemed like a natural fit. For my Randall project, I decided to write about my experiences, both informatively and creatively, as a way to engage with a larger audience and to better understand my own nine weeks abroad. “Lagartijas y luciérnagas” is my—hopefully—straightforward narrative of events, while my creative non-fiction piece Lenguas and my fictional story “Naomi” deal with other moments—the often troublesome, delicate, quieter ones.

In reading my blog, I hope you are able, in some small way, to get a sense of the places and the people that I met. Ultimately, the most powerful part of my nine weeks in the Sarapiquí region and at Selva Bananito were the friends that were part of them. Without the shelter and direction of a program, at times I felt like a wee lonesome rubber ducky adrift on open water: alone in a foreign country, speaking a language that was not my own, the obvious outsider—which is how I learned that, given even half the chance, people are—people want to be—kind.

…

Lenguas

A creative non-fiction account of my five weeks in the Sarapiquí region in the central lowlands of Costa Rica:

Jasmin is black hair and porcelain. She is familiar somehow—a known face, a half-remembered nose—and across her right foot, ink sprouts in leafy brocade. In the back of a Suzuki jeep, your maleta squats on the bench like a proud fat beetle and you sit hip to hip with her, all white and sweat and knees touching. Your eyes and ears are overcome—Puerto Viejo de Sarapiquí in a wash of motion and rain-swept shadow, Spanish running in fast-lipped loops. You focus on the driver, on his hand as he changes gears, on the rigid break and reconnection before the stick slots into the space that has been waiting for it. Puerto runs out on you and the countryside rushes in, streams about the pista in long green streaks. You have been swallowed. Jasmin cradles a plastic sack on her lap. Like you, she is new here; like you, she does not belong.

Read (coming soon)

…

Naomi

A fictional piece about memory, betrayal and the jungle:

She had gone. Sofía had gone. The media luna impression of her body on the sheet was cold under José’s thin hands. She had not wanted to come, but she had come, and now—almost a year later—she had gone. Out in the garden, he shucked a spindly jointed caña, set his teeth to the white banded meat, and sucked. He did not know where she would go. North from the river on Cacique’s bony back, north along the edge of the palm fields, then east across the rotting bridge, twenty kilometers east by way of the road that wove like a culebra up and out of the jungle. But then? Would she leave Cacique in the finca’s caballeriza? Would she walk to Bananito on her broad black feet, sit in the back on the noon bus, step out into the salty scent of el Caribe in Limón, step out into the shadow of Heredia’s Barva?

Read

Fotos: 1. Selva Bananito 2. CECOS 3.Bambú 

El comienzo

El comienzo

It was a five hour drive to Chicago from my hometown in northeastern Iowa. Fall had finally turned cold in the Midwest, and the day hung heavy and low. Only two weeks earlier, I had sat behind the driver’s wheel, stared down an unfathomably straight stretch of Utahan highway. 144 days out West, 14 back home, and now this, another departure. Geography kept getting up on me, kept moving.

At four o’clock the next morning, I stood in line at airport security. I played with the hem on my brother’s old sweater, eyed the burn marks on my firefighting boots, made use of the little familiar things.

Taking off was always the best part. Layover in Florida, the rippling blues of the Caribbean. Then descent, as though I was being absorbed into green, into broad leaves, into voracious and wriggling life.

Costa Rica, I thought, following the signs in the San José airport. It had been like looking at nine weeks of blank space: I couldn’t begin to imagine it, so I hadn’t tried.

And now, here, the blank space began to take form, to fill itself in, to become.

…

My initial ticket read October 30, 2012; my return was marked January 3, 2013. For more than two months, Costa Rica was to be home: a week in Heredia, five in Chilamate, three at Selva Bananito Lodge and Preserve. Bienvenidos.

In Chilamate, a pueblito in the lowlands of central Costa Rica in the Sarapiquí region, I volunteered at CECOS, el Centro de Aprendizaje para la Conservación en Sarapiquí, or the Sarapiquí Conservation Learning Center (SCLC). A non-profit organization, CECOS opened as a learning center in the mid-1990s and has been working to bring opportunities to local Tic@s ever since—from English as a Foreign Language classes to community charlas (discussions) to becas (scholarships) for high school and university students. As a short-term volunteer, I was involved in a little bit of everything: from planting trees as part of our reforestation project to writing and editing documents in English to lending a helping hand (or foot) to local Sarapiquí instructors at cooking and dance classes.

La oficina de los voluntarios overlooked the green Sarapiquí River; blue-jeans frogs made themselves at home on the scattering of senderos; at my host family’s house at night, I could hear the gray- and white-skinned lagartijas chirping through their reptilian throats. Rain fell hard and fast in Chilamate, a thunderous overtaking that submerged sidewalks and molded boots, and then for a few days, the sun would settle up high in the sky and the aves would open their wings, feathers fanned in bright streaks of color. Then my host brother Pancho would recite 
names and migratory patterns to me from his carefully kept birding book, whistles trilling in his throat.

Three hours away from Chilamate—south of Limón on the Caribbean coast, 10 miles from Bananito Sur on a wending, river-crossing road—stood Selva Bananito Lodge and Preserve, the site of my second internship. An ecolodge surrounded by the selva, I spent my first weeks there as part of the human minority: three Tic@s and one macha (blondie) to fifteen horses, four dogs and one cat—not to make mention of the culebras, perezosos, aves, murcielagos, escorpiones, grillos and other non-domesticated, but certainly present, animals. I cleaned rooms with the women; I hauled downed manú wood in from the jungle with the men; I cleared brush back from reforested trees with the quick whack-whack of a machete; I drove a metal carving tool into wood with a martillo to make new placards: No alimente a los caimanes / Don’t Feed the Caimans. I played bol with the Nicos who worked on the neighboring finca, and with the arrival of tourists, spoke English upstairs in the dining room, Spanish downstairs in the kitchen, serving and eating, walking up and down and up and down, neither turista nor trabajadora, but some strange species in-between.

They wanted to teach me words—Gato and José, Anita and Meche and Gris—they wanted me to know araza, the pucker-mouthed yellow fruit, and tacos, the spikey-soled fútbol cleats, and caballeriza, the sweet-smelling stable, all sweat and horsehair. Tolda for bug net, almohada for pillow, paño for rag or towel. Walking back from bol, the mud outline of the balón a perfect imprint on my white shirt, Gato pointed to the lights flicking on and off in the rising darkness: luciérnagas. Like lagartijas, which Pancho had painstakingly taught to me in Chilamate, Gato listened to me roll the syllables around with my tongue, correcting my sounds. Almost every day after, he would turn to me and ask: “y los insectos que brillan, ¿como se llaman?” 

“Luciérnagas,”  I would respond, letting the word grow from down in my lungs. 

“Eso Clare,” he would say, grinning, “eso.”

Fotos: 1. Caribbean views 2. Jungle livin' 3. Welcome to CECOS! 4. View from el rancho at the Selva Bananito Lodge