Ninjas on the half shell... turtle power!

Day 21, Friday, July 28

Two days. Two days. Two days.

Today we are going to see turtles. That’s about the extent of our planning. I wake up and read for a bit. It’s nice to not have to run to go on a tour. I am so ready to go home. No, that thought is not random; it has been invading my mind since we got here yesterday. It’s not that I don’t like Tortuguero... it’s just hot... and, well, I don’t need a reason. I want to go home. I miss people. And it’s so close!

We get a knock on our door as we’re getting ready, and an older lady tells us that even though we made our reservation for three nights, a big group is coming tomorrow, and all the rooms are full. So we can only stay through tonight. What? Well, there is nothing we can do, so we just pay for our two nights and set out to find another place to stay. We walk down to the Hotel Mariscar, where I attempt to set up a reservation with a man in a hammock who isn’t too particularly interested in our presence. That settled, we walk to a little bakery I read about for breakfast. The very nice owner sits us out back under the shade of some plants (for which we are grateful – the heat is already oppressive, despite the early hour).

Over a breakfast of pancakes and fruit (Beth orders gallo pinto y huevos) we discuss our options. What else are we going to do here for two days? We are going to go turtle watching tonight, but what else do we want to do? I really want to get souvenirs, and I’m not positive I have enough money for a day tour... and I’m not sure I want to do one. Beth isn’t either, and when I mention that being kicked out of our room might be a sign to go back to San Jose, she perks up. That really does sound like a good idea. I mean, Tortuguero is nice, but we know San Jose. We know what we can do, and it’s cooler. Suddenly our spirits our up – we’re going home! And strangely enough, San Jose has become home. I mean, we’re really really ready to go home, but coming back to San Jose for our last day here is the next best thing.

So we walk down the street and book our turtle tour for tonight. He tells us that they do a lottery for the times, so he won’t know what time we are going until six. So we’ll come back at six. We walk to an internet place in order to make reservations at Pangea (another hostel in San Jose that my book raves about) for tomorrow night. The internet is way slow and kicks us off twice, but we are able to make the reservation. And that’s all that matters. So the plan now is to take the boat back to San Jose tomorrow; hang out there; go to Cartago for church Sunday morning (I want Beth to see the beautiful Basilica); go to the mall for the afternoon; then airport and home! Yay! We’re excited.

We head back to the room, fully intending to nap, but instead get engaged in conversation with a nice woman from Seattle. She is forty-one, but she feels much younger. We end up just hanging out on the benches outside our rooms and talking. We talk about kids (she is a social worker): Fact: Only 100 children per year are kidnapped nationally by strangers. The rest are domestic cases (moms and dads taking kids). We talk about experience versus stuff people, and how they don’t work well in relationships. She’s not just spouting crap here people; I know. It’s hard to appreciate each other when you don’t appreciate the same things. Then we talk about travel and how the experience and desire to travel has a lot to do with how you grow up. I love traveling, but it doesn’t come easy to me... or Beth. We both grew up in households that did very little traveling (the most I got were my very frequent within state trips for baseball tournaments). For me, this has only made my desire grow, but it has made the reality a bit jarring. Our Seattle friend grew up in a family that constantly moved (like many military families), so she says that she doesn’t know any other way. To stay in one place is an adventure for her (she has lived in Seattle three years – the longest she has lived in one address in her 41 years).

Nuestra nueva amiga sale por la playa, so we gather our stuff and go buy some souvenirs! I know this is silly, but I actually get really excited buying people gifts. I think about what it will be like when I give it to them, how they will react. That’s probably why I am afraid to actually watch people open them. What if they hate them? I know I shouldn’t even care... but I like to give. And today I realize that I get to give a lot. I have a bit more money than I thought, so I buy a few gifts that I hadn’t anticipated getting to buy. It’s pretty exciting.

After shopping, we hit up the same little bakery we went to for breakfast for some ice cream (me) and tres leches (Beth). It is so very hot here. After enjoying our break from the sun, I pick up a couple more things, and we go back to the room. I hang out on Beth’s bed (it is under the fan) and knit (which is strange to do in the heat) and read while she naps. When the hour hits six, we go check our turtle time, which apparently isn’t until 10. So we have four hours to kill. Okay.

So how about some dinner? Well, neither one of us is hungry, so we go back to the playground like dock and talk (while I knit). So here is what has been going through my mind, and Beth and I have talked about this, so I don’t feel mean putting it here. I’m tired of Beth in all the ways you get tired of someone you’ve spent a whole week with alone. Little things are bothering me, things I don’t need to be specific about as they are things that don’t usually bother me at home. Even though they bother me a lot here, I know they are not important, not in the long run. I’d rather be here with her than with anyone else I suppose, but it is tiring nonetheless. We are both soooo ready to be home, and with our desperation, it actually speaks very well for our friendship that we haven’t gotten in a fight (Beth says that she doesn’t think we could get in a fight, and she may be right). But we need to get home soon. ;p

Finally hunger does come, and we walk to another place my book recommends, the Buddah Cafe, for pizza and coke. It is a nice little tourist place, and though it takes a long time to get our food, our vegetarian pizza is delicious (no sausage and broccoli – gross Hannah). My favorite part of the restaurant is this huge poster right behind our table. It is a love letter to nature and a pledge to cherish it always. But the wording; I just wish I could remember all of the phrases. But here are two: “I want to give an acorn an orgasm,” and “I want to stroke a shark, but maybe I’ll just wave hello from the shore.” I love it.

After dinner, we go back to room to change, and I knit for a bit. Then, at 9:45, we walk back to the tour place to meet our group. From here we begin our walk through the National Park to see turtles. Unfortunately, se me he olvidado mis gafas, and I’m afraid I won’t be able to see them. But I should not have worried. These turtles are very large. Our guide speaks Spanish, but he has a friend of his there translating. Most of the time I catch what our guide says, but there are times I am thankful for the translation. Our group consists of two inquisitive Irish girls (one originally from Kenya – she has cool turtle stories from there) whom ask many questions to our great benefit and a German family whose daughter is interested but whose son spends most of the time sleeping on the sand. And he’s not little. If your ten year old is going to lay down with twenty people around trying to discreetly (and sometimes not so discreetly) watch turtles, leave him at home.

The first turtle we see has already laid her eggs and is in the process of camouflaging the nest. We watch her fill for a while before our guide moves us to the side so another group can look. Beth read in some book that once you see the turtles you have to leave, so I’m thinking... is that it? Do we have to leave now? Thankfully, we don’t. Instead our guide tells us all about the turtles that inhabit this island; never have I heard such a tragic tale. Firstly, there are the predators that feed on eggs. In Tortuguero the turtles face a natural predator of jaguars and a less natural predator of dogs. I have come to truly detest stray dogs. They are everywhere in Costa Rica, and here they pose a special threat. There is a law here that all dogs must be kept on a chain or a rope, but as our guide so obviously points out, few people actually take care of their dogs. It makes me angry.

So, obviously hatching is a feat. Then they have to make it to the ocean. Here waiting for the little ones are not mothers and fathers, ready to show them the world, but rather sharks and other predatory fish, ready to show them their stomachs. Adversity number two.

Number three? Well, think about the facts. With all the trouble of just growing, it is little wonder that only one in a hundred survives to adulthood. Can you imagine? I mean, it makes since as to why they lay so many eggs, and those who survive truly have earned the right to live. Which makes this last test so awful. Turtles have a lifespan roughly like that of humans; some can live to be in their eighties. Yet few do. For the last and greatest predators of this great and endangered species is us. You saw it coming, but that makes the truth no less harsh. Humans poach these giant turtles (which can grow to be a meter in circumference and close to 800 lbs for green turtles) for their shells and the meat. Should you be the one in a hundred to survive and then die of old age; well, it seems that is tragically unimaginable.

Apparently there is another turtle on the beach that has been digging her nest, and we actually get to see her giving birth. She certainly seems to be sweating it, each breath short and labored as she contracts again and again. Our guide says that while she is in this trance, we can lift her flipper softly without disturbing her. I love this opportunity, and I am relieved she is not bothered by our presence. But watching this gets me thinking: is it harder to shove more than a hundred little eggs out of a rather small hole or one very large offspring? I mean, go turtle, but damn... poor humans. Giving birth... I’ll happily wait to enjoy that miracle.

Just as we are about to leave the park, the turtle that was covering her nest when we first arrived descends down the beach to the water. She moves slowly, pushing along the sandy surface with every last reserve of her strength. We all crowd behind her, a paparazzi sans cameras, watching as she gains the sea. The waves grow around her until finally, with one great tide, she disappears beneath the water. When the waves clear, she is gone. And now it is time to leave.

We talk with our new Irish friends as we head back to our hotel and say our goodbyes at the split. I am so thrilled to get to take a shower when we get back that I barely notice how late it is. But I do notice that I am peeling. I feel like I’m losing all my color – whether it is from fading or flaking off. Beth says that I’m still pretty dark underneath, but I don’t think so. It may sound silly, but I’m rather afraid that I have gotten this dark just to shed it all before I go home... or my birthday. It’s hard for me to get dark; I wanna keep it! Okay, wining done.

I climb into bed, but there is no way I can sleep. So instead I type up my day and try to let my mind wander. It is after one, and we have to get up at five to leave, so I really should sleep. And though it takes quite a few daydreams and deep rooted conversations, sleep does finally come.