and she said.. "how you interpret the dream is probably more important than the dream itself"

Via my friend Lisa in Japan comes a nice little letter from another friend in Costa Rica, there for the purpose of collecting monkey poo - in the name of science, of course. I do not know if this is "legal" publishing material, but what the heck, it's a great little story:

Another weekend, another few near death experiences. Not having any luck getting data as the monkeys are not eating any fruit whatsoever, we decided to take a well-deserved two day weekend, instead of the usual one. Saturday early early morning we left for a 20 km hike to a completely deserted beach called Nancite. There´s a small research station there that no one´s lived in for a while that we could stay at. Now the reason that Nancite, a pristine and gorgeous beach is deserted, is largely due to the fact that the only way you can reach it is by a, at times, sketchy trail that is 20km from where we live (itself, an hour´s drive on potholes from the nearest town). So off we went, whistling away, delighted at the prospect of a break.

The way there wasn´t terribly eventlful except that I stepped right next to a hognosed pitviper who didn´t seem very happy to see me. We saw a lot of jaguar tracks, and even found a jaguar skeleton. We happily forded every river that we came to, not so happily ascended a vegetationaless mountain at midday wherein I reached that stage of heat stroke where you stop sweating and you fall down.

Made it to the beach, was so happy to see water that i left a trail of my clothes behind me, running in in my skivvies, as i just couldn´t be bothered to put the ole baywatch suit on. we went exploring in a cave that had a beach right inside of it. paul decided to stay a bit longer. i got scared as the tide was coming in, so i climbed back up the cliff face. when i looked down he was chest-deep in water and waving. i thought he was waving happily. meanwhile, i was terrified of the incoming surf, so i screamed "you´re crazy and you´re going to die" and took off up the cliff face further. turns out he was waving for help. he made it out safely, and after a few hours of apologies for abandoning him to what he believed was almost certain death, everything was okay on the home front.

that night we went back to the beach to look for turtles, and after a few hours of wandering along the beach (after some tense moments in the adjacent mangrove swamp, where i was convinced we were being stalked by a crocodile) we found one. we quietly followed her up the beach, flashlights off, until we heard her start digging a pit, and then turned a flashlight on her as she started to lay her eggs. she laid about 60, and it took her about half an hour, before she covered them over with sand and patted the whole thing down with her back flippers. she was an olive ridley turtle, who comes to that one beach, where she was born at least 20 years ago, once a year to lay eggs before disappearing into the ocean for another year. it was incredible and worth all of the sweat getting there.

the next morning, after being completely destroyed by the sand flies that are small enough to make it through mosquito nets, we spent another blissful day in the ocean, not leaving (somewhat stupidly) until 1PM. Most of the people had left early that morning, so it was me and only five others, one of whom, Eugenia, had stepped on a rusty nail and had difficulty using her left foot. we packed all her stuff and started. the first 5 or 6 kilometers were uneventful (except for again with the heat stroke and falling down at the top of the mountain). the last 13 or so, however, were plenty fun. we had just reached the wider track that is all uphill to home when it started raining. no problem. i´d brought my little red children´s umbrella and it was a happy respite from the sun. within a few minutes however, we´d noticed that the road was not a road so much anymore as it was a river. with rapids, and trees floating down it. we also noticed that the lightning was crashing very close above us. it was at this moment that i felt as if something were biting me inside of my shoe. i stopped and took it off. the good news was that there were no animals in my shoe. the bad news was that my sock, despite being constantly washed with rain water, was covered in blood. the bottom of one of my toes appeared to have completely exploded. the skin was off and all that was left was this raw, disturbing pulp. on went the shoe, and off limped Eugenia and I, up the river that was now developing rapids. the whole thing was incredible. knee deep in water, trying not to think about all of the snakes and caiman that were being flooded out of their homes, and the possibility of lightning hitting the water that we just couldn´t escape was fairly scary, but the level of water crashing through the forests, and the speed and power of it was so amazing that we didn´t really mind.

until. we, holding hands for stability and in case one of us went under, turned a corner and saw one of the largest most powerful rivers i´ve ever seen in my life. not only that, but our companions that had gone ahead of us when we both began limping so badly, were being swept down it. elvin, a friend of ours who is an incredible forest guy, but who can´t swim, had climbed a tree on one side to see if he could cross by jumping into the next like a monkey, had had the branch break under him, and he was clinging to it as he went down and under. andrew, who is 6 foot 2, had the water to his chin and was grabbing paul as he went shooting past. their bags were on our side of the river that only a few hours before had been a baking hot piece of trail. they made it safely across after andrew ran into a bit of a tree. but now it was our turn. elvin, on the other side, clung to a tree branch, held andrew who held paul who held me who held eugenia. i managed to keep a foot hold until the middle when the power of the water completely knocked my feet out from under me and i went shooting down. luckily, i had paul´s hand and they managed to drag us all out, as we floated horizontally, close enough to the shore (which itself was waist-deep water). i didn´t think at the time that i was scared, but i must have been, as as soon as i was safely back in the waist-deep water i pulled out my umbrella and opened it again. not the actions of a rational person.

anyhoo, we´re all safe, and the 5 or so kilometers after that went without a hitch (except of course, for the bizareness of trying to walk with heavy packs through rapids). and that was that.
must run as out of time, but thank y'all again for all
the emails. keep 'em coming, they're very much
appreciated.
keem.