Art Peekel

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 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!

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!”

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!