I just wanted to share a moment of complete bliss which I enjoyed some time at the start of January.
The night was clear and there was a slightly biting breeze in the night air that always makes me think about home, where seasons may change and offer greater distinction than more or less rain. The smoke of pollution and burning was blown off and there were no clouds, so that I could see the stars of this hemisphere with acute clarity and the moon was full and bright, reflecting off the river in a way that I never can manage to photograph. I assembled and lite the candle-driven Christmas decoration that was sent to me. The simple beauty of its delicate spinning and unassuming candle light sincerly filled me with bliss. I even put it on top of a broken mirror I had so that the light could be reflected and projected further. I made a cup of Chai tea that tastes like home and safety and all things comforting. And, while watching the light spin and trying not to gulp down the cinnamony tea (at least I can get two cups out of each bag), I watched a movie that was sweet, whimsical, and surprisingly rewarding. Any one of these simple comforts would make me happy, but having them altogether and with such a clear, special night made me completely, purely happy. This was largely in part to the gifts that you sent me for Christmas. Thank you all.
Sunday, February 15, 2009
Monday, November 24, 2008
A long-awaited update from the field
So much has happened in the last few months, and a lot of it unfortunate, but I will try to relate to you some of the more recent events.
Since being diagnosed with melanoma last November (a year ago now), my dad has been undergoing treatments to try to target and stop this unpredictable and damnable cancer. The first attempt at immunotherapy did not work, and the cancer reappeared in other areas of is body. Now they are trying a form of chemotherapy. There is a lot of waiting to see if the next treatment works. But my parents are kind of amazing; they really seem able to just keep living and enjoying life because what is the use of constantly dwelling on the depressing stuff. The one major problem for me with this healthy strategy is that I am thousands of miles away and I cannot share in this living business with the people I love.
Data collection is still filled with difficulties and I would literally pay for some breaks. I have had a run of particularly rough days (not finding groups, dealing with less than stellar assistants, finding myself 300+ m out of the trail system – meaning there are only trails made by passing elephants and by myself when I manually move vegetation and scamper in and out of steep rivers- and with the wrong group) this last week and took Luca up on his suggestion to go out of the forest a few days earlier than planned. I already had a nice swim in the ocean late this afternoon and am currently drinking some really fabulous local “wine” (the ingredients include tomatoes and papaya, so you can imagine what it tastes like). But, hey it does still have alcohol in it.
I am really missing Thanksgiving this year. It is my favorite holiday, but because the concept of time seems to disappear in the forest, it is hard to believe that it is already the end of November. Everyone should really remember not to take all of the food and football for granted. Just think of me eating my three eggs a day like usual. I am planning on trying out for the semi-professional women’s football team in Austin when I get back. Even if I do not make the team I still want to give it a try. Plus, I think that I will definitely be tough enough for that sport by the time I finish up here. So, I will try to make up for all the lost American sports time when I get the chance.
Death seems to be haunting me at the moment. I took care of a baby giant squirrel (scientific name: Ratufa bicolor) that I found during a storm one day after she fell out of her nest and was giving loud distress calls. I just could not leave her there to drwon in a puddle or be gobbled up by some lazy predator. She seemed to be doing well and was gaining weight during the first week or so. Then Luca and I (who were really like new parents who have to learn everything from trial and error, and who immediately take on the stereotypical gender roles with the Ratufa always shitting and peeing on me and me always preparing the food, while the “dad” got to rough-house with her and the other “fun” stuff) went out of the forest for a few days, and when we returned she seemed weaker and to be eating less. When I weighed her she had lost all of the weight that she had gained the previous week. We tried to do what we could to force her to eat, but she got worse over the next 2 or 3 days. There was even a vet in camp working with a team of cat researchers, but he seemed sort of clueless as to how to help and less concerned than I would expect. Because she slept literally inside of my sarong with me every night, I was already incredibly attached to the squirrel. On the third night she was really struggling and did not eat at all. I woke up at around 5 in the morning and knew that she was going. I threw on some clothes so as not to offend the Indonesians in camp and ran to Luca’s room with her in my hands gasping for breath once every 30 seconds or so. I knocked on his door and woke him up, screaming something like “she’s dying.” I held her and stroked her for the next 20 minutes or so until she stopped breathing. At one point the stupid vet woke up to use the facilities located below Luca’s room. Luca said “she is dying or already dead” to the guy and he just shrugged and said “sorry” in a non-caring way, and then went to pee. After she stopped breathing I tried CPR on her but her little lungs only inflated and she did not respond. I was already crying quietly by this time, but really trying to hold myself together. Luca did not cry but he really took it badly as well. Later that day when he heard the same species calling in the forest he described his reaction like being stabbed in an already-opened wound. We had failed and did not really know exactly why. I could not really talk much at this point because I knew that I would start crying audibly if I opened my mouth and this loss of control would tear down all of my emotional walls. We had to bury her quickly because in the forest things start decomposing rapidly, plus as Luca pointed out and I knew was true but still tough, she was just a body at this point. In selecting a spot, the assistants suggested we bury her where all the other failed animal rescues went, which really tore me up, particularly because of how they said it: “here is the argus peasant, the deer, the baby elephant, etc, so let’s just throw her on top like a mass grave and forget about it.” Or at least that is how I interpreted it. Within minutes of her burial they then went to slit the throats of the chickens to cook for dinner, which I do not eat and still really hate to see. Death is just much more everyday and unshocking here. Meanwhile, I think that I grieved more for that squirrel than any pet or person in my life. I think that this may also have something to do with the fact that when you work in the forest all day for months and months you really cling to the little things, and something alive, warm and breathing is more real. Luca and I literally celebrate when the ATM’s function to give us our own money or when there are some canned sardines or potatoes to eat. Hell, we even look forward to coming out to our crappy hotel for a few days where we can sleep past 6 am, use hot water, and watch miserably bad films usually starring Steven Segal (my plan for tomorrow night). At least I had Luca to be there with me when the Ratufa died, but I desperately needed someone to hold me or even fucking touch me at that moment and he did not. I am trying to prepare myself for Luca’s departure in March, but it is really going to kill me to see him go.
This must all sound pretty desperate, but then (it gets worse) two weeks ago when the same vet that pissed me off was leaving the forest, he drowned trying to cross the flooded river with the station manager. It still is not fully clear how this happened and whether he really could swim or not. He told the manager (Opo) twice on the banks of the rain-swollen river that he could swim before starting to cross. Then, only a couple of meters from the shore (before it was deep enough to swim) he started struggling and did not even try to swim or use his pack to float. Opo was still very close-by and immediately went to him, but when he reached the pack the vet was already gone and did not resurface. There was an immediate search by police, WCS people, park officials, researchers, and local people. I went to help out the next morning, swimming and searching under debris for a body. Although, I gave up pretty quickly since I did feel like much of a help. On the third day his body finally emerged from a tree-fall. I still am struggling to accept that it really happened. We cross that river every time we go in and out of the forest, and I never really felt that my life was in peril. Now, like earlier today, we are overly cautious, but it all seems ridiculous that a man died that way. When I told my parents about it they asked if I could wait until the rainy season was over to go out and just stay in until then. This is of course absurd seeing how the rains stop in February (maybe). I promise to be as careful as I can, but I still have to keep up with my research schedule.
On a more positive note, I went to see the volcano Krakatoa (really Anak Krakatoa “the child of Krakatoa”) with Luca and a visiting friend of his. It was an interesting experience and my first time on a volcano. I kept thinking that it was like an alien planet, completely desolate with sulfurous fumes and strange but beautiful rocks. I climbed part of the way up the crater, but Luca of course went to the very top and looked into the mouth of the volcano. I am sorry I did not go, but I also have the sense to know that, taking safety and time into account, it is better that I did not. The wind, even as high as I ventured, was tremendously powerful. I posted some pictures of the area and the poor departed Ratufa below.
I wish everyone a happy thanksgiving and wish that I could be there to bake you all pies and just be near you all. I will try eat something other than eggs and rice while I am out and call it Thanksgiving supper.
Since being diagnosed with melanoma last November (a year ago now), my dad has been undergoing treatments to try to target and stop this unpredictable and damnable cancer. The first attempt at immunotherapy did not work, and the cancer reappeared in other areas of is body. Now they are trying a form of chemotherapy. There is a lot of waiting to see if the next treatment works. But my parents are kind of amazing; they really seem able to just keep living and enjoying life because what is the use of constantly dwelling on the depressing stuff. The one major problem for me with this healthy strategy is that I am thousands of miles away and I cannot share in this living business with the people I love.
Data collection is still filled with difficulties and I would literally pay for some breaks. I have had a run of particularly rough days (not finding groups, dealing with less than stellar assistants, finding myself 300+ m out of the trail system – meaning there are only trails made by passing elephants and by myself when I manually move vegetation and scamper in and out of steep rivers- and with the wrong group) this last week and took Luca up on his suggestion to go out of the forest a few days earlier than planned. I already had a nice swim in the ocean late this afternoon and am currently drinking some really fabulous local “wine” (the ingredients include tomatoes and papaya, so you can imagine what it tastes like). But, hey it does still have alcohol in it.
I am really missing Thanksgiving this year. It is my favorite holiday, but because the concept of time seems to disappear in the forest, it is hard to believe that it is already the end of November. Everyone should really remember not to take all of the food and football for granted. Just think of me eating my three eggs a day like usual. I am planning on trying out for the semi-professional women’s football team in Austin when I get back. Even if I do not make the team I still want to give it a try. Plus, I think that I will definitely be tough enough for that sport by the time I finish up here. So, I will try to make up for all the lost American sports time when I get the chance.
Death seems to be haunting me at the moment. I took care of a baby giant squirrel (scientific name: Ratufa bicolor) that I found during a storm one day after she fell out of her nest and was giving loud distress calls. I just could not leave her there to drwon in a puddle or be gobbled up by some lazy predator. She seemed to be doing well and was gaining weight during the first week or so. Then Luca and I (who were really like new parents who have to learn everything from trial and error, and who immediately take on the stereotypical gender roles with the Ratufa always shitting and peeing on me and me always preparing the food, while the “dad” got to rough-house with her and the other “fun” stuff) went out of the forest for a few days, and when we returned she seemed weaker and to be eating less. When I weighed her she had lost all of the weight that she had gained the previous week. We tried to do what we could to force her to eat, but she got worse over the next 2 or 3 days. There was even a vet in camp working with a team of cat researchers, but he seemed sort of clueless as to how to help and less concerned than I would expect. Because she slept literally inside of my sarong with me every night, I was already incredibly attached to the squirrel. On the third night she was really struggling and did not eat at all. I woke up at around 5 in the morning and knew that she was going. I threw on some clothes so as not to offend the Indonesians in camp and ran to Luca’s room with her in my hands gasping for breath once every 30 seconds or so. I knocked on his door and woke him up, screaming something like “she’s dying.” I held her and stroked her for the next 20 minutes or so until she stopped breathing. At one point the stupid vet woke up to use the facilities located below Luca’s room. Luca said “she is dying or already dead” to the guy and he just shrugged and said “sorry” in a non-caring way, and then went to pee. After she stopped breathing I tried CPR on her but her little lungs only inflated and she did not respond. I was already crying quietly by this time, but really trying to hold myself together. Luca did not cry but he really took it badly as well. Later that day when he heard the same species calling in the forest he described his reaction like being stabbed in an already-opened wound. We had failed and did not really know exactly why. I could not really talk much at this point because I knew that I would start crying audibly if I opened my mouth and this loss of control would tear down all of my emotional walls. We had to bury her quickly because in the forest things start decomposing rapidly, plus as Luca pointed out and I knew was true but still tough, she was just a body at this point. In selecting a spot, the assistants suggested we bury her where all the other failed animal rescues went, which really tore me up, particularly because of how they said it: “here is the argus peasant, the deer, the baby elephant, etc, so let’s just throw her on top like a mass grave and forget about it.” Or at least that is how I interpreted it. Within minutes of her burial they then went to slit the throats of the chickens to cook for dinner, which I do not eat and still really hate to see. Death is just much more everyday and unshocking here. Meanwhile, I think that I grieved more for that squirrel than any pet or person in my life. I think that this may also have something to do with the fact that when you work in the forest all day for months and months you really cling to the little things, and something alive, warm and breathing is more real. Luca and I literally celebrate when the ATM’s function to give us our own money or when there are some canned sardines or potatoes to eat. Hell, we even look forward to coming out to our crappy hotel for a few days where we can sleep past 6 am, use hot water, and watch miserably bad films usually starring Steven Segal (my plan for tomorrow night). At least I had Luca to be there with me when the Ratufa died, but I desperately needed someone to hold me or even fucking touch me at that moment and he did not. I am trying to prepare myself for Luca’s departure in March, but it is really going to kill me to see him go.
This must all sound pretty desperate, but then (it gets worse) two weeks ago when the same vet that pissed me off was leaving the forest, he drowned trying to cross the flooded river with the station manager. It still is not fully clear how this happened and whether he really could swim or not. He told the manager (Opo) twice on the banks of the rain-swollen river that he could swim before starting to cross. Then, only a couple of meters from the shore (before it was deep enough to swim) he started struggling and did not even try to swim or use his pack to float. Opo was still very close-by and immediately went to him, but when he reached the pack the vet was already gone and did not resurface. There was an immediate search by police, WCS people, park officials, researchers, and local people. I went to help out the next morning, swimming and searching under debris for a body. Although, I gave up pretty quickly since I did feel like much of a help. On the third day his body finally emerged from a tree-fall. I still am struggling to accept that it really happened. We cross that river every time we go in and out of the forest, and I never really felt that my life was in peril. Now, like earlier today, we are overly cautious, but it all seems ridiculous that a man died that way. When I told my parents about it they asked if I could wait until the rainy season was over to go out and just stay in until then. This is of course absurd seeing how the rains stop in February (maybe). I promise to be as careful as I can, but I still have to keep up with my research schedule.
On a more positive note, I went to see the volcano Krakatoa (really Anak Krakatoa “the child of Krakatoa”) with Luca and a visiting friend of his. It was an interesting experience and my first time on a volcano. I kept thinking that it was like an alien planet, completely desolate with sulfurous fumes and strange but beautiful rocks. I climbed part of the way up the crater, but Luca of course went to the very top and looked into the mouth of the volcano. I am sorry I did not go, but I also have the sense to know that, taking safety and time into account, it is better that I did not. The wind, even as high as I ventured, was tremendously powerful. I posted some pictures of the area and the poor departed Ratufa below.
I wish everyone a happy thanksgiving and wish that I could be there to bake you all pies and just be near you all. I will try eat something other than eggs and rice while I am out and call it Thanksgiving supper.
Monday, July 7, 2008
Taking the "pisang" way out
So I thought that some of you might enjoy this story from a couple of weeks ago.
There are a number of choices available when I need to get from the forest to Kota Agung: super crappy bus, a rumured nicer bus, motor bike, the rare treat of a WCS car going out, or the wild card option of accepting a ride from whatever contraption passes your way.
When I came out last time I guess I was feeling inspired and a little reckless. Usually when random guys in random trucks offer me rides and try to chat me up as I walk towards the village (Way Heni) and bus stop, I only pause long enough to respond with minimalist "ke sana"s (roughly - I am going that way). But this time when a guy driving a banana ("pisang" whence title for post) truck seemed to take a pity on a clearly vulnerable massive, white woman walking alone out of the forest, I thought "What the hell, why not? Take the banana truck Alice and save yourself $3 and the discomforts of the bus." So, I hopped aboard and, after they finished loading up, we started off down the mountain. Of course as it turned out they were eventually going to Kota Agung, but not until later that night, so I would have to take a different bus once we got to the bottom of the mountain (more like a range of ridges but mountain sounds better). But still I would only have to pay $1 and it wold probably be faster, right. Well, not so much seeing as we first had to make a couple more banana-loading stops (Of course I was determined to help - there is a sort of tossing motion required for getting the giant stalks of bananas on top of the load in case you are interested or if anyone ever puts a gun to your head and says "load the bananas or die," which must have made for an interesting scene for the neighbors). After finally loading up two trucks, a larger one carrying up to 17 tons and our smaller one carrying about 5 tons, we started off. Due to steep inclines and tricky turns, it ended up being a slow procession. Often we would have to stop and wait behind while the larger truck made a pondorous climb and then signaled a honk some way ahead to give the all-clear. I also found myself getting curiously sleepy whenever we were driving close behind the 17-tons of bananas. While it is not uncommon for me to get tired during long drives, this seemed odd, more like uncontrollable passing out. I finally connected this sudden tiredness with the billows of pollution the larger truck was giving off in regular intervals. I was being semi-asphixiated by the carbon-monoxide and then releaved each time we got a little distance between the two trucks. I am sure that my brain cells are still thanking me for this. Still it may have been worth the adventure, free bananas, and (don't forget) $1 I saved. I also got to Kota Agung at least an hour later than the normal, crappy bus would have deposited me.
There are a number of choices available when I need to get from the forest to Kota Agung: super crappy bus, a rumured nicer bus, motor bike, the rare treat of a WCS car going out, or the wild card option of accepting a ride from whatever contraption passes your way.
When I came out last time I guess I was feeling inspired and a little reckless. Usually when random guys in random trucks offer me rides and try to chat me up as I walk towards the village (Way Heni) and bus stop, I only pause long enough to respond with minimalist "ke sana"s (roughly - I am going that way). But this time when a guy driving a banana ("pisang" whence title for post) truck seemed to take a pity on a clearly vulnerable massive, white woman walking alone out of the forest, I thought "What the hell, why not? Take the banana truck Alice and save yourself $3 and the discomforts of the bus." So, I hopped aboard and, after they finished loading up, we started off down the mountain. Of course as it turned out they were eventually going to Kota Agung, but not until later that night, so I would have to take a different bus once we got to the bottom of the mountain (more like a range of ridges but mountain sounds better). But still I would only have to pay $1 and it wold probably be faster, right. Well, not so much seeing as we first had to make a couple more banana-loading stops (Of course I was determined to help - there is a sort of tossing motion required for getting the giant stalks of bananas on top of the load in case you are interested or if anyone ever puts a gun to your head and says "load the bananas or die," which must have made for an interesting scene for the neighbors). After finally loading up two trucks, a larger one carrying up to 17 tons and our smaller one carrying about 5 tons, we started off. Due to steep inclines and tricky turns, it ended up being a slow procession. Often we would have to stop and wait behind while the larger truck made a pondorous climb and then signaled a honk some way ahead to give the all-clear. I also found myself getting curiously sleepy whenever we were driving close behind the 17-tons of bananas. While it is not uncommon for me to get tired during long drives, this seemed odd, more like uncontrollable passing out. I finally connected this sudden tiredness with the billows of pollution the larger truck was giving off in regular intervals. I was being semi-asphixiated by the carbon-monoxide and then releaved each time we got a little distance between the two trucks. I am sure that my brain cells are still thanking me for this. Still it may have been worth the adventure, free bananas, and (don't forget) $1 I saved. I also got to Kota Agung at least an hour later than the normal, crappy bus would have deposited me.
Sunday, July 6, 2008
An angry little rant from the forest
So I have had a rough couple of weeks due to near abandonment by my assistants (1 quit, 1 never showed up for work, 1 has a sick wife - ok I can understand this because I am not a total bitch, and 1 kind of sucks in the forest - I mean even I am faster than him and have to teach him the local plant names). The other day drove me to such a frustrated state that I stopped mid-trail to write an angry composistion because I had no one to rant to except myself and my data book. Well, thanks to the beauty of today's technology and my ability to read even my crappiest and most emotionally-driven handwriting, I can now share this word-for-word with all of my friends and family, and anyone else who might stumble upon my blog from the general human populous.
“There is nothing better than starting your day at -200, -100 m (i.e., “Hell”), finding the gibbons, cutting trails up hills of rattan and impenetrable lianas with mini Swiss Army Knife scissors, knowing that there is no trail at the top, losing the gibbons as soon as they see you and run like hell, and then losing yourself and having to compass you way out to finally realize that your absentee assistant is following the wrong group after conveniently forgetting the plan you made the day before!” (July 2, 2008 roughly 9:30 am)
P.s. I am going to buy my very own "parang" (traditional machete) before returning to the forest, so that I can cut trails like a professional.
“There is nothing better than starting your day at -200, -100 m (i.e., “Hell”), finding the gibbons, cutting trails up hills of rattan and impenetrable lianas with mini Swiss Army Knife scissors, knowing that there is no trail at the top, losing the gibbons as soon as they see you and run like hell, and then losing yourself and having to compass you way out to finally realize that your absentee assistant is following the wrong group after conveniently forgetting the plan you made the day before!” (July 2, 2008 roughly 9:30 am)
P.s. I am going to buy my very own "parang" (traditional machete) before returning to the forest, so that I can cut trails like a professional.
Wednesday, June 25, 2008
More night visitors
After some more fascinating and at times intimidating night visitors to the station I thought I should share some photographic evidence with my friends and family. See below.
Sunday, June 8, 2008
More new pictures posted
Hi all,
I just posted a few more new pictures from the forest, including couple commemorating my minor disasters (i.e., falling in a pool of water before 7 am and surviving a tree limb that fell 40 plus meters into my metal-roofed house at 3 am and almost convinced me that I was about to die). There is also one with three of my five assistants.
I just posted a few more new pictures from the forest, including couple commemorating my minor disasters (i.e., falling in a pool of water before 7 am and surviving a tree limb that fell 40 plus meters into my metal-roofed house at 3 am and almost convinced me that I was about to die). There is also one with three of my five assistants.
Tuesday, June 3, 2008
New pictures posted
I finally bought a new computer yesterday, so I can both get back to work on report writing and post some new pictures from the field. Now everyone can get a good look at all the fun inhabitants of my room and the lovely bastard gibbons that have been making my life difficult over the last few months. Enjoy.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
