Crystal Clear Caribbean Waters

We awoke early on Monday morning, packed up the car, and headed off for a half day trip to Steps Beach.  Our destination of Rincón, Puerto Rico was over an hour’s drive away, which provided me with the opportunity to view more of the island.  One major emphasis on the research project and the courses being conducted here is how everything is interconnected, which arose as a discussion during the car ride.  The boss and another intern explained to our two new students that the numerous mountain ranges on the island divide it into seven ecological zones, which, as a result, create vastly different climates, landscapes, and ocean current patterns, among other things.  This is what causes northern Puerto Rico to be like a rainforest, as it experiences downpours throughout much of year from trade winds off of the Atlantic Ocean.  Conversely, in Guayanilla, where the center is based, the mountains block out much of this rainfall, creating a dry climate and constant sunshine during the majority of the year.  Now, I had a picture to fill in the blanks of this ecology lesson, which I had also received.  I don’t believe that the mountains are quite as high as the snow-capped giants of the western United States, but they do look dramatic, rising up from this small island and towering over the villages far below.

Once again, I was excited to return to the ocean, which seemed to stretch on forever, uninhibited by land in its westward direction.  Palm trees and other tropical vegetation grew along the edges of the narrow beach, gently leaning towards the water.  Pelicans flew overhead in v-shaped flocks comprised of three individuals.  Occasionally, one would swoop down from the trees and glide along the water line until it was nearly skimming the surface, likely searching for its midday meal.  The beach itself is named for its rock formations below the water’s surface, which drop downwards in steps away from the shore, having been carved this way by the furious waves that pound the surf.  I was fascinated even by the few algae species and sea snails that I found atop the rocks left exposed by the receded tide, since they were quite unlike those that I had become familiar with in the colder northern ocean waters.

Unfortunately, the combination of not having had a proper ocean swim in years, the constant jostling by the crashing waves, and the panic over whether or not I could breath underwater, prevented me from receiving a full snorkeling lesson, and so I remained land bound.  This was only the beginning of my frustrations on that fateful day, about which I vented the other day.  I allowed the negativity to overtake me, so that I was no longer able to enjoy the beauty surrounding me and the freedom of being away from the confines of the house.  I took a couple of strolls along the beach, studying the shore life and getting splashed by incoming waves, for which I neglected to watch in the midst of my observations. 

Upon our departure from Steps Beach, we visited the food vendor’s compact trailer for a treat of empanadillas (fried meat pies) and pinchos (kabobs).  I’ve found it quite impressive how many Puerto Ricans understand and speak English in a province where the primary language is Spanish.  Even here, the boss had a lengthy conversation with one of the servers about whales in this non-native tongue, while we waited for our food.  We took our lunch to go, as we had a schedule to stick to, and traversed back through the mountains to our home in the south.

Around the Barrio

The barrio looks ragged.  Tropical greens are overgrown and twisted together, like miniature rainforests in between houses that resemble squat, concrete boxes, barricaded by iron gates.  Some are tattered and run-down with possessions scattered around the front yards, while others are double-stacked boxes, manicured with fresh paint.  Trash lines the sidewalks and Latin music blares from the passing cars, just like back home.  Stray dogs wander the streets and take a rest on the side of the road, looking incredibly dejected.  Meanwhile, nearly every home seems to have resident dogs hurling themselves at the gates and fences to deter passers-by from setting foot on their turf. 

It was about a twenty minute walk to the bakery, where we struggled to order bread and pastries with butchered Spanish and fingers pointed to what we wanted.  The clerks seemed to be slightly amused by this, yet also, perhaps, jaded by the ignorant English speakers in a Hispanic province. 

I neglected to think about exactly how hot and humid Puerto Rico would be.  I was primarily focused on the prospect of whale research and the ocean.  However, a short walk was nearly unbearable, as if it were already the peak of summer, even though it’s still only March.  I also forgot about the bugs down south, but the mosquitoes aren’t nearly as ruthless as those that I’ve encountered in the woods of Vermont.  When I did trail work in Vermont a few years ago, the mosquitoes, assisted by black flies, ate rings around my legs, just above the edges of my wool socks. 

I’m analyzing, on average, a hundred spectrogram frames an hour.  I’m sure that will improve, as I become more confident in identifying sounds, or even just the visuals of the frequencies, instead of spending so much time hoping that sounds will become more recognizable with persistent back-to-back repetition.  I’m finding it challenging to spend the entire day staring at a computer screen, even though I was just doing exactly that at home.  It’s just as exhausting.  I still don’t understand how electronics’ screens drain one of so much energy.  But this is an important cause, a good purpose, and a useful learning experience.

Chaotic Trip Planning

I was supposed to be spending this past week engaged in preparing for my upcoming trip.  I remember looking at the newly posted work schedule, wondering if I would have enough time to brush up on my Spanish, reread the information I had found months ago on humpback whales, theodolite tracking, and Puerto Rico ecology, make travel arrangements for my next trip, organize my living space, pack, and do all of the other detailed things that I needed to do.  But I promptly fell ill with the flu, and instead, spent my week passed out in bed, trying to rest and recuperate, so I could at least get myself to Puerto Rico.

 

Even since the fever broke, I haven’t felt up to par to get anything done, not to mention I’ve just been so worried about having only a few days to do what I had planned to do in a week.  I awoke this morning still fretting about all of the last minute things that I needed to do, worrying if I’d get it all done in time. 

Before leaving for Ireland and British Colombia, I’ve felt nervous excitement at the prospect of those trips.  Now, I’m just terrified.  I don’t know if being so ill has thrown me off this much, as I’ve been battling headaches and disorientation all day still.  I’m surprised that I even managed to pack.  Or perhaps, there has been too much down time, during which I’ve been able to push off thinking about the future.  Maybe that’s another reason for this fear; the future is here, and it’s no clearer than it was before.  I’m hoping that I’ll get over this hump once I start moving again. 

Also, there was a time when I was organized and everything had its place, so that I could easily locate whatever I needed.  Now, I’m lucky if I’m able to find an important piece of paper.  Twice already, I’ve nearly lost a train ticket for my next trip, as it floats about in my desk drawer.  When did this happen?  When did my life become so chaotic?  When did I become so chaotic? 

New York City Musings

Yesterday, I caught the first bus to New York City to pay a visit to the Polish Consulate.  I will explain more on why I was there at a later date.  While I was waiting, I felt slightly overwhelmed by the constant chatter from the line of people that extended onto the sidewalk because I had not a clue as to what they were saying to each other.  I didn’t even have a general idea regarding the topics of conversation, like I sometimes can with Spanish, as I will recognize a handful of words, which help to piece the puzzle together.  Yet, I have learned relatively few words and phrases through my Polish audio lessons, thus far, and, as a result, I was only able to pick out about three or four words, never mind guessing at content.

I feared attempting to make use of my few phrases, as I worried that they might not get the hint that I only fully grasp the English language and would continue trying to speak to me in Polish, or that I would face ridicule for my ignorance.  In hindsight, these were rather irrational fears, but they were fears, nonetheless, which caused me to keep to myself and speak only in my native tongue, when I absolutely had to. 

And that was just an isolated location in a city dominated by English-speakers!  I worry what my response might be to a situation, in which I am the minority, socially isolated by the barrier of language.  I wouldn’t be able to just walk a few blocks in any direction, so that I might be comforted by the sound of familiar words.  Perhaps, this is just another one of my comfort zones that I need to break through, and further learn to cope with the element of uncertainty and the fact that I cannot know everything.

After this, I discovered Bryant Park, which is more like a rectangular area of concrete with some small trees and shrubbery planted in mulched soil, and scattered about the grounds.  Yet, it was still a lovely reprieve from hurriedness and traffic of the nearby streets.  Several box shaped stores were open on the property, selling a variety of products from coffee to pickles to winter clothing accessories.  I weaved among these little shops and the many iron patio sets, and on to the center of the park, which was void of tree cover and featured an ice-skating rink.  There seemed to be a set capacity for the rink and time allotments, as there was a long line of patrons waiting to enter the facility to get suited up.  I found a cozy table in the warm sunlight and read a book for awhile, all bundled in my winter gear, as there was still a chill in the air. 

Later, as I was wandering back to the Port Authority Bus Station, I stumbled upon Times Square with all of its flashy advertisements and television screens.  I meandered along the blue road, designated for pedestrian traffic, amazed at how I never realized for how many blocks Times Square extended.  As I waited at a corner for traffic to go by, I heard the distant sound of some sort of folk music.  I identified the source to be a live band, diagonally across from where I stood.  Their music had a Hispanic/Latin beat, but I could not place it into a specific genre with my limited knowledge of cultural music.  The band’s wind instrumentalist had a case full of wooden pipes, which he swapped in between and during songs for varying effects.

As I wandered, I also thought of what it might be like to live in such a large metropolitan area.  It would be an interesting experience for a time, but I believe that I would generally be unhappy, being so isolated from nature with massive man-made structures looming overhead and enveloped by a sense of loneliness in such inescapable anonymity. 

My thoughts then turned on the bus ride home to how it feels that I have led two vastly different lives, the crossover of which is rather unidentifiable.  In childhood, I was so socially isolated.  I vacationed with my family to big cities, stayed in hotels, and went shopping. I often dined in restaurants on the weekends and indulged in fast food at least once a week.  I regularly attended rock concerts and theater performances.  Yet, now, I prefer the country.  I have a more nature-oriented, holistic approach to life, and try my best to maintain a healthy lifestyle.  I take risks, pushing my comfort zone, yet keep a close eye on where my money goes.  It’s fascinating how drastically my personality, my goals, my values seem to have changed over the years; however, I suppose I am really the same person underneath it all, just coming into my own.