Art Peekel

The South Island

2012-02-12T19:29:00.001-08:00

Yesterday I took the ferry from Wellington, the Capitol of New Zealand, to Picton, which is located on the north coast of the south island. The trip lasted less than four hours, and the scenery was nothing less than spectacular. Someday I'll post my photographs and then you'll see what I mean. Impressive how the giant ship squeezed between the land masses rising so dramatically out of the sea along the narrow waterway which leads to the harbor.The "Magic Bus" was waiting for us. Filled to capacity with adventurous travelers eager to experience all that the south island has to offer, the bus rolled out of the station toward Nelson, our destination. We passed through wine country and stopped briefly for a tasting. The region is known for its whites.At the hostel the desk clerk assigned me to a room with three others. This I expected because my agent Carol back in Wanganui had discussed with me the various options and the costs. In an effort to save some money, I had agreed to share accommodations, something I did regularly during my earliest travels. The surprise came when one of my roommates turned out to be a female. Didn't seem to matter to her. The other two guys appeared to take it as no big deal. Made me think of the difference between college housing from when I attended Knox to today's coed dorms. "Get with it, Art," I said to myself.She was from England, as was one of the guys. The other fellow was from Denmark. All quite pleasant. I went out to dinner with the two fellows and different woman, who was from Brazil. We had a delightful meal, followed by a stroll around the city looking for a place to buy some food for the next day. The streets and sidewalks were empty. I commented that it looked like a movie set after all the actors had left for the day.Today I took it easy. First went to the cathedral to see the stained glass windows. Quite impressive. Also walked through the oldest section of town where there are very quaint cottages dating back to the earliest days of the city. The most delightful part of the day was spent at historic Melrose House, where I had Devonshire tea and the most delicious scone ever! Reminded me of experiences many years ago with friends David, Gail, Laura and Linda in Stratford, Ontario, when we would attend the Shakespeare Festival there.Well, I must close and prepare for tomorrow. Very exciting to be on the south island. My experiences here will be so different from those I had on the north island. Not better or worse, to be sure, but certainly different. My intention is to write and post some blogs looking back on my experiences in Wanganui. I have such fond memories. And I'd like to share then with you. So, please check in from time to time.As my colleagues back at Rolling Meadows High School used to hear me say, "Life is so interesting, don't you know!" Considering what I have done the past month and what lies ahead for me, truer words were never spoken. And I consider myself truly blessed.

Best Intention

2012-02-08T11:06:00.000-08:00

I had the best intention! Really! Thought I'd post a blog every other day or so while here in New Zealand. Well, at least a couple times a week. Now it's nearly a month since my arrival, and I'm just getting around to posting my first blog. UGH!My problem, if you ask me, is thinking too big. While in Buenos Aires and especially Costa Rica I wrote very long blogs. As anyone, my guess is, who has ever written a serious, thoughtful blog can tell you, it takes considerable time. I'd often write a draft, then rewrite it several times before the final edit. In a recent conversation over Skype, a friend suggested I write shorter blogs. That seemed so simple, but really struck me as a brilliant idea. She went on to say that once I got into the swing of things I just might find myself writing more often. Hey, sounds like a plan to me. So, I'm giving it a go!Slight hitch in the plan. Helen and Henry, the couple who own the place where I am house sitting, arrived home from their two-month holiday in Europe yesterday afternoon--as I was typing the previous paragraphs. And so I had to stop.Now it's Thursday morning. Couldn't get back to this blog before now because the three of us talked constantly until we went to bed last night. More about that some other time. But soon I will be invited to join them for breakfast. That means I'll have to stop again. Probably won't write much more. If I wait to post this, who knows how long it will be.Before closing, let me just say how grateful I am to Helen and Henry for permitting me to stay in their home and to Diana, my new friend back in Palatine, who introduced me to them and several other friends of hers here in New Zealand. As I have written in emails I have sent out over the past four weeks, I keep pinching myself. This country and it's people are wonderful. My experiences have been more memorableo than I ever dreamed. Please stay tuned.G'day, mates!

Another Glorious Day in Buenos Aires.!

2010-12-08T14:08:00.000-08:00

Yesterday was another glorious day in B.A.! Sabrina, a woman I met in my sculpture class, picked me up at the condo around 10:00 A.M. We went to the military hospital here in town where William, her husband, was talking with the head administrator about playing Santa Claus for the children on Christmas Eve.

The three of us then drove to the company where Sabrina teaches English language classes to the employees. She had arranged for me to talk to a dozen engineers for about an hour. Her plan was for me to introduce myself and then permit the "students" to ask me questions about myself or "whatever...."

What a nice group! Obviously quite bright! One woman and eleven men, most of them in their mid-to-late twenties. They were very attentive while I was speaking and so engaging when they asked questions. Here are a few of them: What were your impressions of Argentina before coming? What do you think of U.S. foreign policy? How did you explain the assassination of John F. Kennedy to your students? Have you seen any Argentine movies? Do you like the movies of Michael Moore? What impresses you most about Buenos Aires?

The session lasted nearly two hours. I couldn't have enjoyed myself more. Sabrina was so delighted that she has asked me to return. She wants me to teach economics. (She told the engineers I was "an expert." And I quickly told them I was certainly NOT an expert.) Can you believe it? I'm pinching myself!

In the afternoon William took me to see the largest military base in Argentina, which is were he served for much of his 20-year career as a helicopter pilot in the army. What an impressive place. A United Nations force is stationed there. And there is a significant cavalry presence. Plenty of horses! William actually had seven there at one time.

We had lunch out on the patio of an upscale public golf club, where we talked for over three hours. I learned he was shot down and captured by the British in 1982 during the Falklands War. His experiences and attitudes regarding the military and war in general are quite fascinating.

Then he used his credentials as a retired military officer to get the two of us into the main polo complex in Buenos Aires. There are two large stadiums there. We sat in the front row to watch a polo match for over an hour. Coincidentally, sitting next to us was a gorgeous blond woman who, shall we say, attracted my attention. I struck up a conversation with her, most naturally, only to discover that she was a polo player herself. She explained that she had fallen off her horse and broken her wrist earlier this season and only a few days ago was able to compete again. I learned a lot about polo and the status of women in sports here from her.

William dropped me back at the condo close to 8:00 P.M. Better believe I was exhausted after nearly 10 hours "out and about!" How fortunate can one guy be?

PANAMA

2006-02-11T08:27:00.000-08:00

Costa Rican law requires visitors to leave the country for at least three days every three months. I arrived on November 9th. On February 3rd Sam and I headed forPanama. Our destination was Isla Bastimentos.

We left Punta Uva by bus at 8:30 am. An hour and a half later we arrived at the border town of Sixaola. There the authorities gave us the all important stamp out of the country.

The crossing was by way of an antiquated train trestle which had been converted for use by pedestrians, cars and trucks. We had to watch where we stepped for fear of falling through the spaces between the railroad ties and the wooden planks that were scattered about to provide some semblance of a walkway. The Sixaola River was wide and far below.

The Panamanian authorities in Guabito stamped our passports and issued us visas for $5 a piece. (Did you know that Panama currency is U.S. dollars?) Then Sam negotiated with a taxi driver to take us to Changuinola, where we caught a bus to Almirante on the Caribbean Coast. From there we went by boat to Bocas del Toro on Isla Colon, the largest tourist destination in the archipelago. The whole trip took us less than four hours.

Bocas reminded me of a typical tourist town with plenty of hotels and restaurants along the water and both sides of the main street. The town square with its big old trees gave it a charming quaintness.

While wandering around in the late afternoon we came upon a group of guys playing percussion instruments--three conga drums, bongo drums, a snare drum, cymbals, wooden sticks and a gourd filled with beans. This appeared to be a social club of some sort and they couldn’t have been enjoying themselves more. I could have listened to the catchy Caribbean rhythms all night.

Not far away was an unusual watering hole with a bar area built out over the sea. There were tables on a pier that encircled water lighted from beneath. We observed fish swimming by. The lack of hand railings made me wonder how many tipsy patrons had joined the fish.

After a refreshing bottle of Balboa beer apiece we carefully made our way to a pool table which was sitting on a sandy floor. Only the size was standard. One pocket had a piece of cardboard wedged in it and a plastic crate underneath to catch the balls. Sam learned the not too subtle slopes towards the cushions before I did and easily won three out of four games.

During dinner on a second story balcony that overlooked main street we joined others in watching a local fellow pulling a giant model of a jet plane on the end of a rope tied to a 4 foot long stick. After many minutes of encouragement from scores of onlookers he ran until it took off. We were told the man was “mentally retarded” and loved airplanes. His mother wouldn’t let him go to the airport there on the island so he built his model and used main street as his runway.

On our way back to the hotel we saw a dog walking along the street with a small monkey riding on its back. There was no apparent owner in sight. The two of them seemed quite content. And so were the two of us as we retired for the evening.

The next morning as we headed to the dock Sam struck up a conversation with a man who was looking for people going to Bastimentos. In no time we were on his boat speeding across the bay. Our “captain” was like a man on a mission and clearly had a place inmind for us to stay.

He docked at El Jaguar Hospedaje which was owned by his mother and operated by his brother and a nephew. It was a series of eight rooms off a single passageway with a large covered deck boasting five hammocks along with a table and chairs. The whole structure rested on pylons coming out of the sea. Our room was complete with two beds and a private bathroom. The cost was $18 per night.

As we were settling in a young man entered and introduced himself as Davis, grandson of the woman who owned the place. He was our unofficial concierge and one of the most fascinating individuals I’ve ever met. Before long we learned that he was sixteen but mature beyond his years.

I found Davis to be an extremely intelligent young man. And there was no doubt that he was well aware of it. When I told him how much he impressed me he explained that his teachers, particularly his biology teacher, also recognized that he thought and talked differently from his classmates. Consequently he was selected to participate in programs for what I would call “talented and gifted” students from around the country. Those students constituted his circle of friends.

His confidence was complemented by a pleasing personality and accented by an engaging grin. He talked at length about the history of Bastimentos and shared stories that sounded to me more like legends. As you might guess some were about pirates and buried gold guarded by ghosts. One tale was titled “TheJuicy Man” and recounted the consequences of taking too long to bury a man. I urge you not to ask for details!

Davis told us that his father was black and his mother white. His 15 year old sister C.C. was the lightest of his siblings. He was the darkest. Andrew was 13 and “in-between.” I wondered but decided not to ask if that was an issue with him.

He shared with us his opinions on the Bible and his attitudes toward the people on his island. Parents who let their young children, especially girls, wander the town late at night and the girls who have children at an early age troubled him. He expressed concern about the multi million dollar resort under construction on the other side of the island. He was clearly proud of his heritage and said he wanted to take it with him when he leaves the island, which he realized he must do to take advantage of his intelligence.

The next morning we hiked a muddy trail over to the other side of the island. Much of the land had been cleared for grazing horses. Along the way we heard the marvelous song of an Oro Pendula and then Sam spotted it with its distinctive yellow tail. There was the occasional “finca” (farm) and a primary forest as we descended to the shore.

Wizard Beach was beautiful! The water was crystal clear and the patented Caribbean aqua blue with streaks of foamy white where the surf broke on the coral reefs, sand bars and beach. At the west end of the beach jutting out into the sea was a rocky cliff draped with a curtain of lush green vegetation.

There were a couple campers, a bunch of backpackers and several surfers. Sam and I took to the sea like the proverbial duck to water. (We’ve managed to spend time at the beach every day but one since his arrival.) The waves were perfect for body surfing. So we did!

Davis was standing on the foot bridge near the hospedaje when we returned. Several similar bridges have been constructed along the single sidewalk that runs through the town. There are no roads hence no cars. When asked what he was doing he replied, “I’m counting the number of people who cross the bridge at various times of the day and night.”

Davis introduced us to his father, Jaguar, an educator and what amounts to a superintendent of schools in the region. They invited us to their house to watch the Super Bowl that evening with another tourist named Kevin, a surfer from Seattle, whose father was going to be in Detroit at the game.

Jaguar is a rabid NY Yankees fan. He watches virtually every game received by his satellite dish. “I like the Chicago White Sox and Cubs too” he assured me, “but I’m always for the Yankees.”

Baseball is one of the most popular sports in Panama. The other is soccer. Basketball comes in a distant third. Jaguar was eager to tell us about the famous Panamanian major league baseball players, especially Mariano Rivera.

I asked about basketball. He was quick to say he didn’t like the Chicago Bulls at all. I responded with a “not even Michael Jordan?” He ignored me and announced that his favorite team was the Boston Celtics dating back to the era of Larry Bird and company.

So there we were, Sam, Kevin, a couple of tourists from Nebraska who were staying next door, Jaguar and I watching the Super Bowl in the home of an Afro-Caribbean family on Bastimentos, Panama. During the half time show Jaguar got us another beer. I had to pinch myself to make sure I wasn’t dreaming.

A light rain began to fall during the second half. Sam and I hadn’t eaten since early afternoon but we decided to stay until the outcome of the game was obvious. The end came none too soon. We walked though the drizzle to one restaurant after another to find all of them closed. So we went to bed on empty stomachs but with our heads full of images and memories.

Our return trip was by a slightly different route. After boating to Bocas we took a water taxi directly to Changuinola (Farm #60) by way of an inland manmade canal. The scenery was remarkably pastoral and picturesque.

From there we hired a taxi to take us back to the border crossing at Guabito. Among the passengers were three Peace Corps volunteers. Our driver was a politician who had run unsuccessfully for the national legislature.

I thoroughly enjoyed talking with him about Panamanian politics and economics. He was more than willing to answer my many questions, including the one about the people’s attitudes toward the U.S. invasion that ousted Manuel Noriega. His comments about the Chiquita Company and the banana industry in Panama were particularly disturbing. I look forward to sharing them with those of you who are interested.

Instead of waiting for over an hour for the next bus to Puerto Viejo Sam and I decided to take a taxi for$6 US a piece. On that leg of the trip we traveled with a young couple from Norway who had their eight month old son in tow. And from there we took another taxi to Punta Uva so we could spend some time at thebeach before the sun went down.

The day after our return I received an e-mail from Davis. He expressed interest in keeping in touch. That pleased me very much and made me think of something his father said while we watched the Super Bowl. Tourist who stayed at El Jaguar Hospedaje not long ago invited Jaguar to visit them in Minneapolis. On the way there he’d like to go to New York to see his team play at Yankee Stadium.

I told him he should stop at “Peekel’s Place inPalatine” so he can see the Cubs and the World Champion White Sox. Some day he may just do that. I’ll bet you Davis will make it to the U.S. before long. There’s nothing like travel to make me realize that “Life is so interesting, don’t you know!”

Contributing Editor Sam Knowlton

NAVAJO INDIAN BLANKET

2006-01-30T12:48:00.000-08:00

If you have read any of my previous postings on this blog you may well have noticed some apparent errors. I'm referring to those of a "typographical" nature. You may have wondered why they're there--why they weren't removed. I think you deserve to know so I'm going to tell you.

Among my former students and colleagues there are those who most certainly recall my telling them about the Navajo Indian blanket. Usually my explanation came shortly after I handed out something that I had typed out. Here's a typical example of how it went. First there was an announcement by one of my students that went something like this.

"Mr. Peekel, I found a mistake! I found a mistake on the test you just gave out. It's on page three...." the student blurted out with a mixture of satisfaction and stupefaction.

Fighting back my temptation to comment on the inappropriateness of speaking before raising a hand and being called on I smiled and simply said "That's no mistake!"

"But, Mr. Peekel, it's right here. It says ...." she continued with the hint of indignation that exists in some honors students on occasion.

"I said it's no mistake. I know it's there. I put it there intentionally. On purpose!" I calmly contended.

"What? You did what? On purpose?"

Another student chimed in with "An intentional mistake? That's far out! Hey, I don't get it."

"Well, maybe you'll understand if I tell you about the Navajo Indian Balnket" I announced with a particular pleasure.

Then I told them about the time I was in Arizona visiting a friend. We went to a presentation about Native American arts and crafts. The presenter explained that the Navajo Indian blankets with their intricate goemetric designs are woven intentionally with a mistake--a flaw that is so small that it's seldom detected. The weavers believe that it would be a "mistake" to attempt to create a "perfect" design because only the Great Spirit can do such a thing. Also, the flaw in the blanket lets the Evil Spiits escape.

"So, class, that's why I don't create perfect handouts. You wouldn't want any evil spirits trapped in there, would you?"

My account is usually greeted with a few congenial nods and winks mixed with many more moans and groans. And there's always the student who is quick to come to the inevitable conclusion.

"Mr. Peekel, does that mean when we make a mistake on something we hand in ...?"

I cut the student off at the pass and said with a broad grin "Stranger, not as long as this sheriff is in town!"

Now back to my postings on this blog. You deserve a further explanation. I'll be short and to the point. My dial-up connection in my "tree house" does not enable me to access Blogspot to create my postings.

So I have to type them out an my laptop and carry my laptop into town. Because I can't transfer them onto the computer there I have to read off my laptop and type them into the computer at the Internet Cafe. Furthermore I haven't figured out how to use spell check on Blogspot.

I try to edit as I go and proof read afterwards, but I'm usually in a rush to catch the bus or beat the rain home on my bike or get off the computer because someone has been waiting forever or because I don't have enough money with me to pay for any more time on the computer or for some other reason/excuse you may consider suspect. But, hey, that's my story and I'm sticking with it.

If you've read this far you deserve to know that I'll be incommunicado for the next 2 weeks. Sam, the son of long-time friend David from my years in Appleton, WI back in the mid 60's, is coming to visit me. The two of us will be heading off to Panama later this week. Costa Rican law requires me to leave the country for a least 3 days before the 3-month anniversary of my arrival here.

We'll take a bus from Puerto Viejo to the border town of Sixaola and walk across a bridge into Panama. From there it'll be a taxi, bus and boat ride to an island just off the northeast coast of Panama. You'll find details of our adventure in a future posting.

Sam and I will also travel together to the Bribri community in Yorkin. It will be my third visit there. I have arranged for Sam to stay for several weeks as a volunteer teaching English as a second language and helping to construct additional accommodations for tourists.

I am very envious. Only my obligation to "house sit" is keeping me from joining Sam for an extended stay there. There's something very special about the people I've met there and the place where they live. The friendships we've fostered mean a lot to me.

If it weren't for my plane ticket back to the States on March 21st I'd go to Yorkin when my landlady returns from her vacation. Perhaps my travels will take me back there next year. The idea of returning as a volunteer English teacher has crossed my mind, you can be sure of that. We'll see....

ARACHNOPHOBIA

2006-01-27T12:29:00.000-08:00

The Gandoca-Manzanillo Wildlife Refuge is located along the Caribbean Coast of Costa Rica. It extends from the town of Manzanillo to the Panamanian border and covers 5013 hectares of land plus 4436 hectares of sea. (A hectare equals 2.471 acres.)

While my former RMHS colleagues Lesa M. and Scott S. were visiting me in mid December, the three of us booked a tour to the refuge. We got up early one morning and drove in their rented car less than 10 minutes down to Manzanillo. It's the last town accessible by road along the coast.

We arrived at 8:00 am as scheduled and were outfitted as recommended: high rubber boots, long pants, hats, binoculars, cameras, water bottles, granola bars and plenty of bug repellent! We were well prepared. But little did we know....

A man approached us as we emerged from our car. There was no greeting or introduction. It was all business.

"If you park there you can give me $500" were the first words out of his mouth.

I wasn't sure I had heard him correctly. Neither were Lesa and Scott. We looked at one another for some assurance.

"You can give me $500" he repeated in what appeared to be all sincerity.

"What?" Lesa cautiously questioned.

He responded "You part there under that tree and a coconut is likely to fall on your car. It will cost you at least $500!" Then he smiled.

We all smiled. That was Tino our guide. Clearly he had a sense of humor. And we were to enjoy it and him throughout our tour.

Another couple joined us. They were also from the States and teachers coincidentally enough. The three of us looked at one another after noticing that the two of them were wearing shorts and tennis shoes. Were they clueless?

Turned out they were delightful, inquistive and adventurous. I really admired his daring. But more about that later.

Tino quickly began by identifying the trees and bushes along the trail that lead us out of town. Soon we were hiking away from the sea and up into the secondary forest. Before long we came to the primary forest.

The way was not clearly marked. Frequently there were forks in the trail. At times it was difficult to see if we were actually following any kind of path. I discarded all notions of acting as a guide for other friends of mine who might want to hike there.

Plus the professional had so much knowledge to impart. We were shown how the inner portion of the banana tree could be used as a splint. Scott, RMHS trainer par excellence, found that especially interesting. Lesa and I were fascinated to see how the inner fibers of the banana stem between the fruit and the flower could be used for tea bags.

We were introduced to several kinds of birds. More were heard than seen, however. Some were difficult for me to locate even when Tino and my companions tried to point them out to me. The binoculars were of no help. Very frustrating!

We saw monkeys and sloths too. I was especially excited at the sight of my first two-toed (technically two-fingered) sloth even though it was only a big ball of reddish brown hair high in a tree. This species sleeps nearly all day long. So I shouldn't have been disappointed, right?

At the deepest point of our excursion into the refuge was a small pond. It was there we were told to expect to see Caimans. Sure enough one was sunning itself on a log. Again I was the last to see it and only after numerous failed attempts by all the other members of our party to help me. More frustration!

Caimans look to me much like crocodiles, only smaller on average I'm told. This one was maybe four feet long. Didn't appear all that threatening to me. Not from our vantage point anyway.

Tino stopped occasionally to look down into the large leaves of plants that stood 4-6 feet high along the sides of the trail. These were newly formed leaves shaped like a giant cone about 3 feet long and 6 inches or so wide at the top. Rays of sunlight hit some of them in such a way as to make them bright green and translucent.

It wasn't clear what Tino was expecting to find. After several unsuccessful attempts he asked if one of the guys would help. Scott and I hesitated long enough to give the other fellow an opportunity to step forward. He did.

He grabbed a particularly large leave and bent it toward him. The others of us gasped when we saw the dark image of a creature moving near the base of the cone. I assumed it was a huge spider.

To the amazement of the gringos in the group, especially our new amigo, out flew a bat. And almost immediately a second one followed. We could see there were more shadows still in the cone. And sure enough out flapped a third and fourth in quick succession. Before he let go of the leaf the fifth and final one escaped.

The whole episode lasted only a few seconds. The images will stay with me for a long time. Only my experiences with bats in the Maldives were more memorable. (That's a story for another time.)

There were plenty of insects on this tour. The Leafcutter Ant is among the most fascinating. They appeared crawling single file on the ground and on tree trunks carring small pieces of green leaves. (Did you know that they are actually "farmers" and grow their own food, a type of fungus, underground?)

The trail we were on passed right through a very large colony of these ants. It was nearly the size of a tennis court. There were countless little volcano like entrances. I was reminded of the 1998 animated film A Bug's Life.

Tino placed himself in the middle and asked us to gather round him. He then stomped his feet on the ground several times. Within a few seconds ants with very large heads came storming out of the nearby holes. These "soldiers" were ready to ward off the threatened attack.

Spiders were eveywhere. Many were big with interesting markings and intricate webs. Tino would point them out and tell us to stay clear. So it was shocking, to say the least, to see him grab one right off its web!

He proudly announced "This is a Golden Orb Spider! It's harmless!"

"Really? Really? Really? was my repeated response while I watched in amazement as it crept up his arm, across his shoulder, onto his neck and then his head.

He explained to us that the silk strands were used as cross hairs in gun sights. We each were given a piece of the web. (Did you know that a human hair is 30 times greater in diameter than the strand of a spider web?) I couldn't take my eyes off that spider.

Then Tino looked directly at me and said "Would anyone like to hold the spider?"

"Art!" Lesa or Scott or both of them were quick to suggest. What an perfect example of that old saying about the best defense is a good offense.

At first the suggestion simply didn't compute. Then I looked at them in disbelief. "Who needs enemies with friends like this?" I thought. There was no way...!

"I will" said the other fellow and he stuck out his hand. No sign of fear whatsoever. He seemed to relish the opportunity.

After experiencing the "thrill" he approached me with his pet spider. His motives were clear. So his offer came as no surprise.

"Here, Art, it's your turn!"

I mumbled something. Clearly it was incoherent. Even I wasn't sure what words came out. In any case nobody seemed to care what I said. All eyes were on me.

There was a chorus of "Go ahead, Art!"

Even the tour guide chimed in. Perhaps he considered it encouragement. I considered it betrayal.

I was about to say "How could you turn on me, Tino?" when all of a sudden it was as if I was transfixed. My muscles were no longer receiving messages from my cerebral cortex. I was witness to the unthinkable.

"Okay!" I stammered. There were smiles on all the faces. (Could the spider have been smiling too?)

"There's nothing to fear"Tino said to me and perhpas the spider as well.

"Nothing but fear itself" I was tempted to say.

The spider easily made the transfer and eagerly began to move up my arm. What on earth was I doing? What was it doing? My senses were on overload.

Does arachnophobia mean anything to you? The photograph taken by Lesa of me and the Golden Orb Spider could well be the classic illustration. You'll agree when you see it.

That's my most vivid and lasting memory of the Gandoca-Manzanillo Wildlife Refuge tour. The bats come in second. And the Eyelash Palm Pitvipers are in a category all by themselves. (See previous posting.)

The rain fell gently as we neared the end of our hike. What would a tour of the rain forest be without it? Tino joked that he was prepared to refund our money if it hadn't rained.

The last few kilometers were along the coast, much of it on cliffs overlooking the Caribbean. There were impressive coral outcroppings just off shore. The panoramic views were particularly picturesque.

Words cannot explain how grateful I am to Lesa and Scott for coming all the way down to Costa Rica to spend a week with me exploring the wonders of wildlife on the Talamanca Coast. In another posting I'll write about the tour the three of us took through the Moin-Tortuguero inland waterway. It too was an awesome adventure!

SERPIENTES VENENOSAS

2006-01-25T10:34:00.000-08:00

In a previous posting I wrote about scorpions. Snakes are another story. And to state that poisonous ones merit special attention is certainly an understatement.

I can honestly say that snakes, in general, don't frighten me. Don't get me wrong; I'm not like some of my former students who seemed to enjoy hnadling them. Steve C., while a student at Exeter Academy, sometimes carried his pet Boa Constrictor around with him in a pillow case. Can you imagine?

Back when I was in grade school there was this kid who carried a garter snake around in a front pocket of his jeans. He liked to scaare the girls with it. Makes you wonder what course his life took.

Until recently I had never seen a poisonous snake except in a zoo. I can remember as a young boy watching Marlin Perkins on TV. At the time he was employed by the Lincoln Park Zoo in Chicago. I was very impressed by his careful handling of reptiles on his show Zoo Parade. The fact that he was betten by a poisonous snake and almost died left a lasting impression on me.

There is a poster on the inside of the door to the porch at my jungle "tree house" with large bold lettering at the top which reads "SERPIENTES VENENOSAS." On it are photographs and descriptions of 17 poisonous snakes found in various parts of Costa Rica. Four are categorized as coral snakes and one as a water snake. I haven't seen any of them, though my neighbors told me that a friend of theirs almost stepped on a coral snake when walking up the path to their house.

Of the 12 others 8 are listed as Pitvipers, and of the 8 there are 3 Palm Pitvipers: the Black-speckled, Side-striped and "my favorite" the Eyelash. You can look them up on the Internet as I did. Frightening to read just how poisonous they are. Worse to know you are living among them.

My story involves Lesa M. and Scott S., both former colleagues of mine at RMHS, who spent a week with me here in mid December. One of the highlights of our time together was a hike through the Gandoca-Manzanillo Wildlife Refuge which is just down the road from where I'm staying. You can read a detailed account of that wonder filled experience in another posting.

I must tell you, however, about our guide Tino, who was born and raised in this area of Costa Rica. My neighbor told me "he's the best!" And that he was!

There was no doubt that he knew a lot about the flora and fauna in the rain forest. He amazed us with his ability to spot all sorts of things even at a great distance. As teachers we especially appreciated his enthusiasm in sharing his knowledge. And he had his own special way of telling us what he wanted us to keep in mind.

"Don't grab onto anything as you walk along" Tino instructed. "Even if you are falling don't reach out to catch yourself!" His voice sounded very serious.

I wondered why and thought of how natural, how instinctive it would be to try to grab something, anything. What was the danger? His explanation followed.

"First you might well end up with a bloody hand from the sharp thorns on the branch or tree trunk. There's also the possibility of fire ants and you don't want to mess with them. But most important you cold be bitten by a snake hiding on the other side!" he warned. "A poisonous snake!" he added for emphasis.

Well, needless to say that got my attention. I found myself repeating under my breath "Don't grab anything! Don't grab anything! Not even if I'm falling down! Not even if I'm falling down! Not even...!"

Our hike took us into a primary forest. There we saw trees that towered above the canopy. The six of us joining hands could not have reached around any one of the trunks. They reminded me of the giant redwoods I had seen for the first time last year just north of San Francisco in the Muir Woods.

Tino was the first to see the snake. He invited us to come take a look. On the trunk of one of those trees I saw my first Eyelash Palm Pitviper.

"Don't get too close!" he said as if he needed to. "It's nocturnal and reacts to the body heat of its potential victim. But you really don't have to worry if you keep your distance. It can strike only about half its length" he said in an attempt to reassure us.

None of us seemed all that comforted even after judging it to be about two feet long. Sleeping or not it made me nervous. Fearful wouuld be more accurate!

I did manage to take several photographs. Yes! I used my telephoto option! We saw a couple more later that morning. Someday you'll be able to see them on my "blog."

My story doesn't end there unfortunately. Part Two takes place back at my jungle "tree house" a couple days later. Credit for the discovery goes to Scott.

"Art, come here! I want to show you something!" is more or less what he said. He and Lesa had been taking photographs and shooting a video of my place and the surroundings. I didn't know what to expect.

I don't recall what I said when I say it there curled up in the branches of a small bush along side the foundation of the house. If memory serves me right my first thought was one of disbelief. It really didn't look real. But it certainly did look exactly like the Eyelash Palm Pitvipers Tino had shown us on our hike through the Gandoca-Manzanillo Wildlife Refuge.

I do remember thinking "What is that snake doing here?" Silly of me of course because we were only a few kilometers away from the refuge. And we were in the rain forest after all.

"What are you going to do, Art? was Lesa's question.

"I don't know! Do you think I should kill it?" was all I could think to say. But trying to kill a poisonous snake seemed beyond me. My heart was racing!

Scott or maybe it was Lesa said something like "Don't you have a machete?"

I still couldn't see myself trying to kill that snake with anything, even on the end of a 10-foot pole. Well, maybe a bazooka!

Then the thought occurred to me to call my neighbor Noble. So that's what I did. He wasn't there but his wife Alaine was.

"I wouldn't kill it if I were you, Art. Noble wouldn't. Just let it be" was her advice.

Lesa and Scott were keeping their eyes on the snake. I went back to them to explain. The snake was making a move. No doubt now that it was real!

"I'm going to let it go"I heard myself tell them.

"You're going to do what? either one of them said out loud or I told myself. In any case that's the message I got. My heart was racing more than ever.

A quick bit of calculus in my head and I concluded there was a distinct possibility the snake was going to take up residence (if it hadn't already) under the house in which I resided. That was more than a bit disturbing. And that's the feeling I was left with as I saw its tail disappear into the darkness behind one of the support posts.

Here I am almost a month later and there's been no sign of my "pet"Eyelash Palm Pitviper since then. You'd better believe I don't walk around the outside of the house as carefree as before this episode. And yet Noble and Alain walk between our two houses barefoot even at night. Ah, there are some things in this world that were never meant to be understood.

There are reasons . . . .

2006-01-16T13:15:00.000-08:00

There are reasons I haven't added a posting in the last four weeks. For one I've been busy hosting friends. That has meant lots of fun, including several excursions around CR.

I went with Lesa M. and Scott S., both former colleagues of mine at RMHS, on a tour to Gandoca-Manzanillo National Wildlife Refuge, Tortuguero National Park and the Irazu Volcano.

Matthew D., former student teacher of mine, and I went on the overnight Yorkin Estibrawpa Indigenous Tour and hiked to "Buena Vista."

I went back to the Yorkin Community with Steve P., former student of mine at RMHS, and we hiked across the border into Panama to see "La Catarata."

Rick H., a college fraternity brother, and his wife shared several carefree days with me frolicking along the Caribbean shore and fraternizing with my new found Costa Rican friends.

There's also the matter of my Internet hookup. Following my friends' departure I tried to access the Internet from my jungle "tree house" but to no avail. The dial-up connection has been down for several days now. UGH!

The weather while my friends were here was ideal. Since they left it has been raining almost constantly. Noah would definitely have built an ark by now. I keep telling myself that it is the "rain forest" after all! But I don't care to ride my bike into town in this weather.

So I have been waiting for my Internet connection to come back up and for the rain to stop. Your guess is as good as mine as to which will happen first. Hey, as my friends have heard me often say down here, "It's just another day in Paradise!"

If the rain lets up at all this afternoon I'll take the bus into town. That will mean waiting by the side of the road for awhile, no doubt, because the bus schedule is rather unpredictable. The return bus is scheduled to leave town about four hours later.

With any luck I'll post this later today. Plus I have one to share with you about scorions. You'll have to wait for the one about snakes. Others about the Yorkin Estibrawpa Indigenous Tour and excursions to Gandoca-Manzanillo National Wildlife Refuge and Tortuguero National Park will follow. Thanks for checking in!

SCORPIONS

2006-01-14T11:06:00.000-08:00

Scorpions are menacing looking cretures if you ask me. Even the tiny ones floating in bottles of tequila look deadly. People who wear them encased in amber or globs of plastic on chains around their necks must think they look threatening, right?

No one ever mentioned the possibility of encountering scorpins when I visited here last April. And none ever crossed my path. So I was not "on the lookout" when I arrived here in early November.

It wasn't until mid December that the first scorpion made its dramatic appearance. Lesa M. and Scott S. had spent a week visiting with me and were packed for the trip back to San Jose. They stoped briefly under my "tree house" and put their baggage down on the cement pad. Just a few moments later out from under the pile crawled a rather large insect.

"Scorpion!" yelled Scott, jumping back several steps.

Lesa and I quickly scattered, then looked to where Scott was pointing. Sure enough it was a scorpion. There was no mistaking that cute little turned up tail. It was heading for the bathroom.

"Kill it!" I nervously shouted. The thought of it residing in my bathroom struck fear in me. "Hurry, Scott, step on it!"

"You step on it!"was his instant reply.

"You've got shoes on! I'm wearing sandals!" I argued.

"Just go and crush it with your shoe, Scott!" Lesa urged from a safe distance.

There was more coaxing. Then Scott did the dastardly deed. The first stomp was sufficient. The crushed remains lay just inches from the opening under the dorr to the bathroom.

"Scott the Scorpion Slayer!" I announced in gratitude.

I wish I could tell you that was the end of the scorpions instead of just the beginning. To date there have been a total of half a dozen. Regrettably only five were exterminated.

Steve P., a friend and former RMHS student, discovered a rather large one crawling in the kitchen sink. Together we attacked it. I wounded it with an empty wine bottle and he went on to drown it.

Another appeared under the sink a few days later. It surprised me when I went to get a pan that was stored there. A quick maneuver with a wooden spoon eliminated it.

The mother of all scorpions was hiding behind the monthly calendar on the wall by the dry box that contains my computer. When I went to rip off December it greeted me. Fortunately a can of "Baygon" was handy. I had already used it to kill cucarachas and termites. It took several direct blasts to bring this one down.

The lifeless body of the fifth one was found on the floor by the door to the outside porch. The cause of death remains a mystery. Could I possibly have stepped on it without knowing?

The last one got away. It was near my bed when I first spotted it. Before I could react it scurried behind some boxes stacked in the corner. I decided not to go looking for it by moving the boxes around. No sense asking for trouble.

Locals have told me there's no reason to be "deathly" afraid. They assure me the sting is not fatal. These scorpions are not like the ones found in Mexico.

"It's like getting stung by a wasp or hornet" one neighbor told me. "The first time a scorpion stun me I took some Benadryl and went to bed like the doctor said. I was fine twelve hours later. The next time wasn't nearly as bad."

Another neighbor told me of getting stung when putting on his pants. "You've got to be careful at all times! Make sure you check your shoes before putting them on too" he advised.

His wife said she got stung when she went to dry her hands on a towel. "Scorpions like to hid in the folds of fabric" she warned. "Shake them out careflly before using them."

I now inform all my friends who come to stay with me about the dangers of scorpions. I explain that the sting is not fatal, but painful like that of a wasp or hornet. A bottle of Benadryl is on hand should the need arise.

"Welcome to my jungle tree house!" I say. "Be prepared to enjoy the wonders of Nature. And be on the lookout for scorpions twenty-four, seven!"

IT'S BACK!

2005-12-17T07:29:00.000-08:00

The white-faced monkeys come and go. People down here told me they would. Now that I think of it they never seem all that comfortable--at least not in the trees around the house where I’m staying. They always have an eye out for the guy in the window. When that guy was Mel, my landlady’s husband, my guess is he tried to scare them away.

At first they came almost like clockwork at 7:00 am. The spiny red plum sized fruit in the tree just outside the window facing west was the big attraction. I like the fruit too. Reminds me of leeche nuts. It’s sold in the Farmers Market and by women with large baskets full of them on their heads as they walk along the road through town.

There were usually a dozen or more of these “organ grinder monkeys,” as I like to call them, of all different sizes and apparent ages. They were quick, moving from one tree to another with astounding acrobatic skill and especially daring leaps. It was a nonstop Cirque du Soleil.

In the past week or so I’ve seen far fewer and not every day. They seem to be passing through or looking for leftovers. I’m hoping a few will come while my visitors are here.

One day last week a couple of howler monkeys made their appearance. It was the first time I’d ever seen them “up close and personal” so to speak. Oh I’ve heard them off and on, day and night since I moved in, but they were always off in the distance and high in the tree tops. This pair seemed content to munch on buds and leave pods at the very tips of the branches of a tree not 20 yards from one of my windows. They were at about my eye level and seemed in no hurry. They didn’t mind that I was goggling them. No signs of interest in me or fear of me.

“Cool,” I thought, “maybe they’ll drop by from time to time for something to eat. It will be great if they come when my friends are visiting.”

What I’d really like is for a group of howler monkeys to camp out overnight in the trees right over the house. Then, at about midnight, give out one of their bone chilling howls. That would be an experience my friends would never forget.

If you ever meet John N., my dear friend and formerExeter student, ask him about the roar of the lion we heard one night on the Serenghetti. The two of us were convinced it was right outside our room in the lodge. I got out of bed and closed the window.

This particular day in Punta Uva started out like most others, though a bit more on the quiet side than usual. At least there weren’t any major events by noon. No monkeys of any kind to be seen or heard. And no toucans! Even the next door dogs, roosters and turkeys were not sounding off as they do so often.

I had not slept well the past few nights due to the“serenading” of the howler monkeys, so by early afternoon I began to entertain the idea of a nap, which was something I hadn’t done since arriving in Costa Rica. That’s probably because I was getting at least eight hours of “sound sleep” every night. A whole lot more than when I was teaching, I’ll have you know.

My decision to read in bed was based on the good lighting from the window over the foot of my bed and the safety of the mosquito netting that hung down from above the bed. I assured myself of my best intentions by taking my copy of WHAT HAPPEN--A Folk-History ofCosta Rica’s Talamanca Coast and my reading glasses with me into the protected reading environment. Of course it wasn’t long before my eye lids shuttered closed and I was out for the count.

There’s no way of knowing just how long I was nodding, but when the phone rang it startled me. First there was the disorientation. Then the debate over whether or not to answer it. Several seconds and rings later I lifted the receiver.

My response was garbled as I was only semiconscious. I still hadn’t decided if I should greet the caller with a phrase or two in Spanish or simply start with English. Always dangerous to lead the caller into thinking you can speak the language, let alone understand it.

“Been there and done that,” as the saying goes, in acouple other languages. I remember well experiences in Greece while teaching at Athens College in Psychico and in Germany while visiting my friend Stefan E. and his family in Hamburg. It’s a bit like walking in a mine field because you’re never sure if the next step you take in translating your thoughts into that other language will blow up in your face.

I mumbled a “hello” rather than an “hola.” It was Noble, my neighbor. He was calling to invite me to dinner at Selvin’s, my favorite little outdoor restaurant just down the road. His wife Elaine was in Missouri visiting her mother for three weeks.

“How thoughtful of you,” I said. “I’d like that. Thanks for thinking of me!”

It actually had occurred to me earlier in the day that we might be getting together for dinner because we did so the same night last week with a few other people.

“We’re meeting at six-thirty,” he explained.

“I’ll be there! Thanks for calling!” I replied and hung up. “That was very nice of him,” I thought to myself and smiled.

I glance at the clock. Hummm..., three hours to catch more z’s. And I smiled again.

Moments after crawling back into my nest, I glanced out at the tree framed by the window that faces north. My eyes weren’t focusing; it was a“thousand-yard stare.” Nothing was registering. I was still in something of a daze--ready to doze off again.

Then a signal reached my brain: “ALERT!” It’s hard to describe, but let’s call it a reflex. My mind was telling me there was something out there I should see.

“Focus! Look carefully! There’s something worth seeing! Don’t miss this!”

Sure enough! There definitely was something moving among the leaves on the tree not 25 yards away. The thought that it might only be a squirrel did NOT thrill me. When seeing my first squirrel a couple weeks ago I had jokingly said to myself that my furry little nemeses must have followed me all the way from Palatine. (Not funny!)

Perhaps the white-faced or howler monkeys were back. But there wasn’t enough activity to suggest any of them. This was something different--very slow and deliberate. Then it occurred to me!

“The binocs! Get the binocs!” I literally rolled out from under the mosquito netting and onto the floor. Quickly to the “dry box” for my binoculars. In no time I was at the window scanning the tree with the glasses. Nothing! I tried without them.

“There!” At the thickest cluster of branches and leaves was the distinct and deliberate movement of a creature that had to be at least the size of a large raccoon. Noble had told me that raccoons and opossums live in the area.

“Raccoons this big,” he assured me with his hands about two feet apart. “They get really big around here. And they can be nasty too!” he warned. “The opossum is another mean critter, so you have to be careful.”

Oh the stories I could tell you about the raccoons who lodged in the attic of my old garage in Palatine. They thought they had first rights on the grapes that grew in my back yard. Those masked marauders were very belligerent.

Well, I didn’t feel particularly threatened by this situation, but my curiosity was certainly intensifying. I focused the glasses on the spot whereI had seen the movement. “And what to my wonderingeyes did appear but...” the sloth!

“It’s back!” I shouted (not too loud so as to scareit away). But you better believe I was one excited guy. Wish you had been there.

It was a big one--two and a half feet long, at least. The arms alone seemed almost that long. The legs were short and thick like those of a chimpanzee. I could clearly see the three narrow claws, at least 5 inches long, on the front hands. So here for my private viewing was none other than the elusive three-toed sloth (or three-fingered, as someone corrected me the other day).

The head was too small for its body. The neck was long and flexible to the point of permitting the head to turn more than 180 degrees or so it appeared. Reminded me of that famous scene in “The Exorcist.” As it hung upside down the head turned in seemingly all directions. I thought to myself “It’s doing an E.T. impersonation!”

There’s nothing much of a tail. It’s more like that of a chimp or an ape than a monkey. What I saw was a stubby thing similar to that of some dogs, a Boston Terrier for example.

I wasn’t sure of the color at first. The rain had dampened its coat and made dark streaks. Mottled gray and brown comes close, though there was definitely a hint of blue-green algae growing on its back. All this helped to create a very effective camouflage. And sure enough, just as I had read, the hair really did seem to grow in the opposite direction of most other mammals--from the stomach to the back.

It had a light gray mask over the top of the eyes and down the nose that made me think it was a negative of a photo taken of a raccoon. The face, especially the eyes lacked any expression. The way it looked and acted made me wonder if it was in a stupor.

I watch for over an hour. What little movement there was was a study in calculation and determination. It hung upside down from one branch or another in the same general vicinity for the entire time. Occasionally the claws would scratched through the matted down fur. Made me wonder if it had fleas o rjust mosquito bits like I have.

At one point it did climb part way down the very large trunk of the tree to get to a lower branch. I wondered how it would manage because there was no way it could wrap its claws, arms or legs around the trunk. At best it might reach a third of the way. But it did just fine, as would a bear or lion.

At one point toward the end of my concentrated viewing it moved to the very end of a branch to eat the most tender leaves and buds. I had read that they have a low rate of metabolism and so can live on relatively small amounts of food. Also, they don’t drink but rather get their water from licking dew and rain drops on leaves or from eating juicy leaves. Then it maneuvered to a significantly smaller branch on a different tree. Within a few minutes of the transfer there was a rustle of leaves on the branches in that area. Had it fallen?

I could see it, but not clearly even with the binoculars. It froze. Not the slightest movement as far as I could tell for several minutes. I wondered if it feared falling to the ground, especially when so very high in the tree tops? Do they ever fall?

I turned away from the window in order to take care of some things in the kitchen. Periodically I monitored the movements of the sloth. There was no movement from that spot for quite some time. So I checked less frequently.

The sky opened. There was a flash of lightening and aloud clap of thunder (both uncommon in these parts, at least during my stay). I wondered to myself “What do animals like the sloth do when it rains really hard?” I soon found out.

It had crawled up onto a branch. I watched as it situated itself so that it could wrap one arm around another part of that branch over head while wrapping the other arm around its body. It then proceeded to bury its head in its arm and wait for the rain to stop. So in the rain, at least on this occasion, it did not hang but rather sat up.

I don’t know if it went to sleep but that’s my guess. Did you know that a sloth typically sleeps more than 15 hours a day? In any case, it was there when night came.

At dawn the sloth was gone. I knew it could not have gone far, but there was no spotting it with or without binoculars. Not likely that it crawled down to the ground. Noble told me that sloths come down only if absolutely necessary to get to another tree for food and to defecate, which they do only once a weeks, if memory serves me right. (And how could you forget something like that, eh?)

You may have some unanswered questions about sloths, so let me share a few more facts that I read on the Internet. Ordinarily sloths eat, sleep, mate and give birth upside down. As a result their liver, stomach, spleen and pancreas are in different positions from other mammals. And the life span of a sloth is thought to be between 30 and 40 years.

Oh, here’s one more little tidbit. Their ancestor is the Giant Ground Sloth, which lived before the last ice age and was the size of the modern elephant. How would you like to see one of them hanging from a tree?

I was thrilled to have seen the sloth again. Perhaps it was the same one as before, but there was no way of telling because I hadn’t gotten a good look at the first one. It probably was. I’m told they don’t hang out together. (Pardon the pun.) They are a rather solitary type. Sort of like I have been the past month.

My hope is it will return. I’d enjoy seeing it again. My friends who come to visit would be intrigued. I’d love to be able to say to them “Look! It’s back!”

TOMORROW IS SATURDAY!

2005-12-09T12:11:00.000-08:00

Tomorrow is Saturday and that means Market Day. It will also be one month and one day since I arrived in Costa Rica. It will be my fifth Farmers Market. I wouldn’t miss it!

So far I haven’t developed much of a daily routine. Oh, I go to the beach at least once a day, but that may be early or late morning, late afternoon or earlyevening. I may walk for an hour or two. My dip in the sea may come before or after the walk. It’s more impulsive than anything else. You could say it’s as the spirits move me.

There’s always time for reading and writing, but I wouldn’t call that a routine either. Today I wrote right after getting out of bed. Actually started writing in my head as soon as I awoke, while still lying there listening to and looking at Mother Nature’s “Grand Opera.”

Most reading and writing happens after the sun goes down. That’s about 5:30 every day year round because Costa Rica is located soclose to the equator. The sun comes up about 12 hours later.

Today I had my coffee right away. Took a cold cup of it out of the frig. It was left over from a hot pot brewed yesterday. Cold coffee is something I learned to enjoy while living in Greece for four years. There it’s quite special. As my friend and former Athens College student Thanassis M. can tell you it’s made cold out of instant coffee. You shake it up to form a head on it that might lead you to believe it’s rootbeer. Here it’s just a plain looking cup of coffee, but the taste is superb hot or clod. If you like coffee, you’d love the stuff grown in Costa Rica.

There are two daily routines of a sort that you may find interesting and both are in the morning. On instructions from my landlady, I feed the dogs and the fish. It’s a beef bone to each of the three dogs owned by Sarah and her husband, Mel. Their names are Gigi, Rojo and Mamu, the pup. The idea is that they’ll stay around to guard the place and protect me. Mel’s son Noble lives a couple hundred yards away and feeds them at his place in the evening so I don’t have to worry about that.

The fish get six hands full of fish pellets, leaves from some bushes and peeled plantains if there are any ripe extras around. Oh, I should explain that these are tilapia and they live in a very small pond that Mel dug in a clearing about fifty yards from the house. I’m reminded of my childhood back in Palatine when I would go down to our pond which was ten times bigger than this one and through pieces of bread on the water to watch the fish, mostly bullheads, gobble them up. Mel and Sarah have given me permission to“harvest” some of these fish. I’m considering it. May serve some to my friends when they come to visit.

The only weekly routine is my trip to Puerto Viejo on Saturday. I leave by bike around eight in the morning and it takes me about 30 minutes if I push it. (I don’t literally push the bike, of course.) It’s important to get to the Farmers Market fairly early if you want to get the best quality produce. They also run out of some things in the first couple of hours.

The Farmers Market is held under a corrugated zinc roofed building that’s open on all sides. It’s not big--not quite as big as a basketball court. The vendors have their tables lined up around the perimeter facing toward the middle.

Sarah took me my first Saturday and gave me several bits of advice like which vendors have the best quality and most reasonable prices. According to her one of the grocery stores actually has some produce of better quality, She also warned me that there is one vendor who may not always be honest in weighing purchases and charging customers.

I was introduced to a few people there who sell specialty items. There’s Peter, the American ex-pat who owns a local botanic garden. He cultivates, harvests and makes his own ground pepper. It’s so good I intend to bring some back with me. One Tico (name for Costa Ricans) woman hand makes large corn tortillas that are out of this world. I always buy two! And there’s the “Quaker woman” who sells freshly made cheese, yogurt and granola. I’ve tried them all! Very taste!

The variety of vegetables is quite impressive. My shopping list often includes some of the following: green beans, beets with the tops left on, broccoli, cauliflower, carrots, celery, cilantro, cucumbers, hearts of palm (none of that canned stuff), lettuce, onions, parsley, green and red peppers, potatoes (white as well as several types of the sweet kind), squash, tomatoes and zucchini.

Among the choices of fruits are apples, avocados, bananas, coconuts, grapefruit, lemons, several kinds of melon, oranges, papayas, pineapples, plantains, star fruit, and tangerines. I haven’t purchased much because some of these are available right outside the door of my house. More about that in another posting when I describe the meals I’ve prepared.

There’s also a table under a large banner announcing opposition to the exploration for oil off the Talamanca Coast. This I’m told is an ongoing battle against the oil industry which claims not only that there are great reserves waiting to be tapped, but also that the region would stand to realize huge economic benefits. The environmentalists and other interest groups are “up in arms” and well organized. Sarah, Mel and other individuals I met are very active. There are several signs of protest along the road. I’ve picked up some of the literature (all in Spanish) and a very provocative T-shirt. Can’t wait to share them with the Spanish classes back at RMHS.

The Farmers Market is definitely a social event, like the agora in ancient Greece must have been. My first trip there with Sarah was an opportunity for her and her friends to say “adios” to each other. She and Mel were leaving the following Tuesday for four months in Samoa, New Zealand and Tasmania. I was introduced to more people than I can remember names. Subsequently, I am often greeted by people at the Framers Market with a smile, a wave and cheerful words in Spanish aswell as English. Some even call me by name. Everyone seems eager to exchange greetings and news if not gossip. It’s a very friendly meeting place!

My Saturday trip to Puerto Viejo always includes a stop at the bakery right across the street from the Farmers Market. I get a cup of their freshly brewed coffee. Black! There’s no need for cream or sugar. It’s so rich and smooth, without even a hint ofbitterness. Well sure I treat myself to a freshly baked pastry. To be honest with you, though, they don’t compare to the pastries in Austria, Greece,Germany, Italy, or several other places I’ve visited. Oh what I wouldn’t give for one of those delicious goodies my students who worked at Panera used to bring to class!

The post office is closed on Saturday, so I’ll make another trip to town some other day to check Sarah and Mel’s box hoping for personal correspondence from family and friends who don’t have e-mail and for the all important book bag. That’s the 35 pounds of books I sent in a specially marked bag with reduced postage ($1.00 a pound) by surface mail from Palatine to Puerto Viejo. I was told it would take from one to two months. So, it could arrive any day now, right?

A stop at the hardware store or any other place in town is best left for another day of the week. These places are much more crowded on Saturday morning. If you asked Adam S., my friend and upstairs tenant who is a department manager at Menard’s, he would no doubt say, “Just like here in the States, Art!” Also, when it comes to Spanish “No lo hablo muy bien.” So it’s better for me to go when the clerks can give me the special attention I need, if you get my meaning.

I’m usually heading back to Punta Uva, the specific area where my house is located, around 10 o’clock. Better not to be riding back under the mid day sun. If there’s something I need but can’t find at the market, I’ll stop at a store along the road about halfway home. I’ve gotten to know the people there and they are very friendly. That’s were I buy bottled, canned and other packaged goods--almost everything else I might need in the way of food and supplies. That includes assorted dry goods like beans, rice and pasta, as well as bug repellant, soap, toilet paper,milk, Pepsi, beer, wine and hard alcohol (in no particular order of importance).

So that’s my Saturday morning! There are slight variations due to weather. I’ve had to delay my trip there and back by several hours a time or two because of heavy (and I mean HEAVY) down pours. You could say the Farmers Market is a very special place and time of the week. It certainly is for me. And I am very happy tomorrow is Saturday!

ASSORTED FACTS, OBSERVATIONS AND REFLECTIONS

2005-12-05T09:49:00.000-08:00

I woke up this morning with a myriad of thoughts crowding my so-called brain. They were mostly observations made since my arrival here on theTalamanca Coast nearly four weeks ago. There were also a few facts that I’ve learned along the way. Others were reflections stemming from those observations and facts.

In the hope that you’ll find them interesting or at least amusing if not provocative, I have decided to share them with you. Some may prompt you to say to yourself, “Knew that!” Others may cause you to simply wonder, “Oh, really?” I’d like to think a few anyway will have you exclaiming, “That’s cool!” So in the spirit of “take’em for what they’re worth,” here goes.

Did you know that the eastern coast of Costa Rica actually runs largely east and west? When I stand on the beach here in Punta Uva and look out over the Caribbean Sea I’m pointed toward Cuba and the U.S.! And the border between Costa Rica and Panama runs mostly north and south?

San Jose, the Costa Rican capital, and Detroit, MI are on nearly the same longitude. Do you know what country you’d come to first if you sailed due east from the northeastern coast of CR? Perhaps you thought of a Caribbean island or West African nation. Well, it’s actually Colombia!

The currency of Costa Rica is the colones. The exchange rate is now about 493.5 colones to the U.S. dollar. Many places and people here will accept dollars in place of colones. Using foreign currency is not easy for me. I have to keep reminding myself that it is NOT PLAY MONEY!

The people of Costa Rica are called Ticos, and I havef ound them to be generally quite friendly. If I say“Hola” or “Buenos Dias” and smile at them, they almost always smile back and often return the greeting. They have been very understanding and helpful when I have tried to speak Spanish.

Men, especially young men, seem to me to drive no differently in Costa Rica than elsewhere in the world, whether they are in a car or on a motor cycle or scooter. And this is not a good thing. Enough said!

When busses, trucks, cars, and motorized two-wheeled vehicles pass bicyclists and pedestrians on the road from Punta Uva to Puerto Viejo they come dangerously close. Makes me a nervous wreck when I’m riding my bicycle. If you ever get a chance to talk to James D., my friend and former colleague at Athens College, ask him about the time on the Greek island of Rhodes when he and I were riding rented scooters and a super sized tour bus ran me off the road. I was picking gravel out of my palms and knees for a month.

There are guys all along the Talamanca Coast who wear their hair like Bob Marley and look quite a bit like him too. I’ve seen several of them wearing his trademark hat with the stripes of red, yellow, green and black. They also talk the way he did. Makes me wonder if it comes naturally or is a conscious thing like when Pat O’C., my friend and former RMHS colleague, used to dress up for Halloween.

Many people, young and old alike, ride bicycles and walk to town, to work or to the beach. Most amazing to watch is the individual, usually but not always a guy, who is carrying his surf board while riding his bike. And there are those who ride with no hands. That has always dumbfounded me but especially here on the pothole riddled roads.

Kids will be kids! Whenever they see me take out my camera here, they strike a pose. The other day at a pickup baseball game in a school yard along the road to Puerto Viejo several of the players shouted “photography, photograph, photograph” when they saw me aim and focus. They’ve got the classic stances down pat.

Thumbs up must be an international sign. If there are two or more near each other the universal “rabbit ears” are very likely to appear. Of course there is the occasional shy one, especially among the young children and the girls. I’ve got some wonderful photographs to share with you whenever I learn how to post them on this blog.

Plantains may look like bananas but they sure don’t taste like them to me. They are usually fried and served like a vegetable--sort of like french fries. Sarah also boils them which makes them a bit sweeter, but still nothing like a real banana.

Speaking of bananas, the tree grows from a “mother” root base. It flowers and bares only one bunch of bananas, then dies. Stefan, my German friend and fellow traveler whom I met at International Space Camp 13 years ago, agrees with me that the tiny bananas are the best.

Speaking of fruits, did you know that there are male and female papaya trees? Mel told me that only the female bears fruit. Sarah has assured me that the more nearly round ones taste the best.

I’ve noticed that there are at least two types of ginger plants around here. They are bushy and generally grow 5-8 feet high sometimes higher. One type is more ornamental and has beautifully colored flowers of different shades of red and pink. The other kind has a smaller flower but a big tasty root that’s at or just below the surface of the ground. Sarah and I quickly spotted some near her house and easily harvested them. The roots are waiting for me to use possibly in an oriental chicken dish.

Sarah makes her own ginger ale. She cuts up the ginger root into tiny pieces and boils it. To the liquid (after the ginger pieces have been strained out) brown sugar is added and the mixture is heated until the sugar has dissolved completely. After this concoction has cooled she mixes in her homemade lemonade. There’s no effervescence, but I find it delightfully refreshing!

I’ve never heard a humming bird hum, have you? The ones in this area chirp. It’s a shrill staccato peep. I see and hear them every morning outside my windows flitting about, feeding on the flowering bushes and singing their cheerful tune! No need to put out the humming bird feeders around this place!

Have you ever seen a live humming bird that was not in flight? Well I hadn’t till a few weeks ago when I noticed that they do perch on branches. They look like a sleek, trimmed down version of a tiny wren (if that isn’t a tad redundant). Of course they’re much more colorful and they’ve got a needle for a beak that’s at least an inch long.

Howler monkeys aren’t nearly as big as their “call” made me think. From the sound of their guttural “roar” I expected to see something the size of a large gorilla. When I finally got a look at one in a tree just a few yards from my house I discovered they’re about the size of a small chimpanzee.

Howlers aren’t very attractive either. No cute organ grinder monkey face on them. What I saw through my binoculars looked more like a gorilla. The ones here are all black and sometimes there's a reddish tint on theirbacks. Unlike apes, they have a very long tail which they use to grab hold of branches.

One more thing about the howlers, also called “CongoMonkeys” by locals. They aren’t nearly as hyperactive and paranoid as the white-face kind. The ones I saw went casually about their business of picking and eating leaves without seeming to care one iota that they were being observed by yours truly.

The white-faced monkeys, which are officially called White-throated Capuchin Monkeys, are an entirely different story. My encounters with them have been more like watching a tornado pass by. Imagine the whirling Tasmanian Devil on speed. Seldom did they stand, sit or hang still for more than a split second, and that was either to take a bite out of the fruit they had just stolen from Sarah’s tree or to take a “hard look” at the guy in the window looking at them. Then they’d be off again climbing, swinging and jumping from one tree to the next.

Dogs here are different. They are everywhere and almost never on a leash. Mostly they walk or sleep along the side of the road or run along the beach. Only on the beach have I seen them with anyone who acts like they own them. They don’t bark, with a few notable exceptions which I’ll write about some othertime, and only one have I ever seen chase a car. Fortunately for me it didn’t have an attitude problem with bicyclists.

I hope you’ve gotten this far and have enjoyed reading these facts, observations and reflections. Please don’t hesitate to e-mail me with your reactions. It won’t take much encouragement to get me to write more in another post. There’s plenty of material around here. And as my family and friends have heard me often say,“Life is so interesting, don’t you know!”

NO ZOO!

2005-12-01T08:32:00.000-08:00

If one can, toucan, right? I don’t believe I just wrote that. The Devil must have made me do it. My apologies to all and especially to Alan G., the Great Punster from RMHS. The subject of this entry, coincidentally, is toucans. And more...!
My neighbor Noble, he’s my landlady’s stepson, was over the other afternoon. He stopped by to use my house phone. His was out of order. It’s not so uncommon, he assured me. They’ve had electricity in this area for only ten years or so.
While we were chatting he suddenly said, “Do youhear that?”
Well, considering that I hear new sounds virtually every minute of the day and night I said,“What ?”
“That loud sound of birds?”
I wasn’t at all sure which sounds he was referring to because some birds down here make sounds unlike birds I’ve ever heard anywhere else in all my worldly travels. For example, there’s a bird that makes a sound like someone loudly breaking a branch. Kind of a snapping noise. When I first heard it and was told it was a bird I thought, “No way, man!”
“There must be quite a few of them. Toucans, I’msure!” he announced.
That got me excited. I’d seen only one here and that was at quite a distance during my two-week stay back in April. I’d been hoping to see them; they’re so oddly beautiful with that distinctively large bill.
Then he jumped up and moved quickly to the large window that faces west and pointed. “There! Over there! Yep, they’re toucans.”
I was half a step behind him searching the curtain of trees that combine with bushes and vines of every shape and composition to create a backdrop to my view from every window. He motioned desperately attempting to guide and focus my eyes. No luck. But I began to realize what sound it was he had registered. It was distinct for the high decibels and the rhythmic nature of the song. To me it sounded more like great bull frogs on a hot summer night.
“Do you have binoculars?” he asked.
I proudly replied, “Yes!” as I scurried over to a “dry box.”
Allow me to digress and explain a couple things. The feeling of pride was as the result of a memorable visit to Cabela’s in Kansas City, one of the most interesting sporting goods storea anywhere. If you’ve been there you know exactly what I mean. If you haven’t been, do yourself a favor someday and make the effort even if you have to go out of your way to get there. Mike W., my friend and former RMHS student was the first to tell me about the place. It has not only an enormous selection of merchandize, but also one of the most impressive collections of stuffed animals I’ve ever seen. It truly rivals the Field Museum of National History in Chicago. They are in their natural setting and, what really struck me, in the most realistic “live action” still frames imaginable. The one that stands out in my memory is of lions attacking wildebeest on the African savanna. (Believe me, I’ve been there!) Thanks to my dear friend and former Exeter student John P., who is a minister in the area, who took me to Cabela’s, I was successful in purchasing a superb pair of binoculars at Cabe;a's.
I also want to elaborate on the “dry box.” To say the climate here is rather damp is indeed an understatement. I’m staying only a few hundred yards from the Caribbean Sea and practically in the rainforest, so there’s plenty of moisture in the air at all times. The salt water plays havoc with all sorts of things, including computers, cameras and binoculars. Nobel, a technician at an Internet cafe in Puerto Viejo, mentioned that he’s lucky if a computer lasts three years down here. Cars have it bad too, sort of like in Chicago with the effect of the salt used on the icy roads in winter. Anyway, my landlady has three “dry boxes” in her house. One is to protect her paintings. She’s an accomplished artist who works primarily in water colors and deals with natural themes in Costa Rica. Several of her paintings adorn the walls of my temprary abode. I bought a painting of hibiscuses from her last April and hung it in my dining room back home. Another box is to keep clothes from mildewing. They are considered “dry boxes” because inside each wooden container is an electric heating element that is on constantly to keep the air and contents as dry as possible. I went to the one that houses her computer--where she advised me to put my laptop, camera and binoculars.
Back to the window I went with increased anticipation. Nobel told me where to point them. The binoculars would certainly help. I sometimes wear glasses, but only to see. (That’s what I used to tellmy students).
“I see them! I see them! I see them!” I must have said it at least three times. Playing with the focus brought them into clearer view. “Wow, whatcolors!.” The flaming red rumps and sunburst yellowthroats with the thin red necklace accented the mostly black body and stood out against the emerald green of the forest. And sure enough there were those pronounced bills. What aTechnicolor display! It was like opening to a fullpage photograph of toucans in National Geographic.
“They’re keel bill toucans,” he informed me “but the more popular name arpimd these parts is ‘rainbow bill.’” That was understandable given the array of colors on the bill. I wanted to asked him to spell “keel” so I’d be sure to remember but then it occurred to me that I could look it up in the bird guide book Sarah left for me.
“How many can you count?” he inquired.
“Gee, I don’t know, but there are five just in my field of vision!” I scanned for more. There was some fluttering. Birds flitted from branch to branch, all the time continuing their song fest. I saw others, but it was hard to keep track of them as they relocated on the branches of this single tree. “Why couldn’t they just pose like animal crackers for me?” I joked to myself.
“I think there must be at least ten, maybe twelve!” he ventured. His eyesight was significantly better than mine. And the tree was only 30-40 yards away.
“Is this usual?” I wondered out loud. “I mean do they ordinarily congregate like this? And what’s all the commotion?”
“I’ve never seen anything quite like this,” he admitted. “Sometimes they’ll fly overhead or through the trees but seldom this many of them. They’re not like parrots which fly over the tree tops in rather large numbers.”
Nobel had told me when we first met that he was born and raised in Texas, but started coming down here when he was five years old to visit hisfather who was living on this property. He spent his summers here. About five years ago he and his wife moved down here permanently.
“Something special seems to be going on, that’s for sure!” I added as if that were some sort of brilliant deduction.
“Must be that they’re mating,” he concluded. “Or it just may be they’re excited about the hawk that’s flying high above them. See it over there?” He directed my attention to a patch of sky blue.
“Yea” was all I could say as I pondered the possibilities. I imagined them mating and the hawk swooping down and clutching one of them in it’s deadly talons. I had to say it out loud, “It doesn’t get anybetter than this, Nobel!”
He too was clearly caught up in the moment. Then in a flash of brightly colored feathers and bills they disappeared into the primeval forest. But what a show! It actually lasted ten maybe fifteen minutes. I was struck with awe.
Regrettably I took no photographs because the birds were out of range for my small digital camera. I wished I had brought my Sony Camcorder to zoom in and record the event for all my family, friends and others to see. I felt so honored by Mother Nature to have witnessed this special play on Her magnificent stage. There will be other acts during my stay here to be sure. Other performers at this and other venues. No repeat performances of this particular drama however. I did hear the voice of one lonely toucan yesterday, but never saw it. And today I recognized the imagine of one as it flew high over the house, but it didn’t call out in the way that’s now familiar to me.
While writing these recollections fond memories came to me of my childhood and family excursions to the Lincoln Park Zoo and the Brookfield Zoo. How wonderful it was to see all the animals. They were all there waiting for us whenever we wanted to see them. Most memorable was Bushman, the legendary gorilla who always made me think of “King Kong.” I remember how he would play with a car tire suspended from the roof of his cage. He’s stuffed and on display in the Field Museum now. And I loved to watch the monkeys “monkeying around” in their man made environment. The reptile house was particularly frightening. Thankfully all the creatures were always in a cage, pit or pen of some sort--behind bars or a think glass wall to protect us from them and them from each other. If we were lucky we’d see the keepers feed some of the animals. That was always very special. I don’t think it ever occurred to me then to wonder about the “nature” of a zoo.
I see more clearly now. Most things in this world seem relatively unimportant to me in this time and place. And this place is no zoo!

ART PEEKEL

2005-11-25T22:37:00.000-08:00

I just created this BLOG. Stay tuned!
These postings will be primarily about my experiences while living in Costa Rica.
Unless otherwise indicated, they refer to the southeastern coast, specifically the Talamanca region between Puerto Viejo and Manzanilla.
I arrived on Nov. 9, 2005 and will be here until March 21, 2006.

Yes! I celebrated “Turkey Day” here in Costa Rica. Neighbors whom I met at a local restaurant during dinner last Friday invited me. He’s an older American who has lived here for over 20 years. His wife is a native and principal of an elementary school in Manzanilla, a tiny coastal town southeast of here. There were over 30 of us feasting on the traditional “big bird” with all the trimmings.
Life my first two weeks in CR has been wonder filled. Hard to believe it’s already been that long. Only four more months remaining. Got the feeling it will really fly by. Still exploring the area. Been riding my bike a lot. Takes about 40 minutes one way to Puerto Viejo. Have made the trip nearly every other day. Good exercise! Also go to the shore at least once a day. The Caribbean Sea is really something spectacular! Often make it in the early morning for a quick dip and an hour or so walk along the beach. Sometimes there’s no one else there. Very special!
Trying to stay out of the mid-day sun. Easy to get a burn down here (so much closer to the equator, you know). Plenty of wildlife around. Actually getting used to the white-faced monkeys climbing, swinging and jumping in the trees just outside my windows on a daily basis. I’ve almost gotten used to the rather disturbing sound of the howler monkeys at all hours of the day and night, but they are seldom seen. Saw my first sloth the other day in a tree less than 25 feet from my window. Didn’t get a photo, unfortunately. Keeping a lookout for it. Plenty of birds, especially the humming variety, and bugs. Oh, my, the bugs! (Enought said!) Only wish you could see the beautiful butterflies.
Doing lots of reading. Enjoyed Dan Brown’s ANGELS & DEMONS. Read his THE DA VINCI CODE and found it very intriguing. (Hard to believe that he was this very young kid who lived next door to me with his parents who were also on the staff at the Phillips Exeter Academy.) I highlyrecommend THE FOUR AGREEMENTS--A Toltec Wisdom Book byDon Miguel Ruiz. I think you will find it well worth reading! Also BEING PEACE by Thich Nhat Hanh. He's written quite a few books. I had already read his LIVING BUDHA, LIVING CHRIST and thought it was very thought-provoking. Just picked up“WHAT HAPPEN”--A Folk-History of Costa Rica’s Talamanca Coast by Paula Palmer. Mel Baker is my landlady’s husbandand and is quoted in the book, as is Selven Bryant, owner and cook at the best little restaurant just down the road from where I'm staying. The two of us are becoming acquainted.
Savoring a couple poems a night from THE BEST OF ROBERT SERVICE, a poet of the late 19th-early 20th century whom you might like to sample sometime. About to get into CHRIST--A Crisis in the Life of God by Jack Miles, PulitzerPrize--winning author of GOD: A Biography. Oh, the luxury of having time to read!
Will be good to hear from my friends, former students, others I've met along the way and those out there who wish to respond. My e-mail dial-up connection has been problematical at the cabin where I'm staying, but I can always go into Puerto Viejo where there’s a “high-speed” Internet connection for just a couple dollars an hour.That's where I am at this moment.