Written by Emily
(I love how I alternate between two generic and not at all our own images of Costa Rican beaches to illustrate this blog).
Thankfully, no more mental death dreams had permeated Rachel´s sleeping the night before, and we were back to the usual non-sensical and obscure ones that both of us had grown accustom to. Breakfast this morning was a good one, involving many plantains, pinapple slices and fried doughy goodness. Once that had been consumed, we hit the hammocks.
A very casual few hours melted away, each of us in our own, personal literary worlds. Looking up from (i am so ashamed to admit) Twilight, I could see Joao hanging in his own personal hammock, getting well into a novel entitled ´Foursome´. I had to lol. Eventually, the relaxed pace, broken only by the welcome lunchtime Rice ´n Beans whistle, was shattered by the arrival of the other volunteers (of course including Toe-shoes) and the locals for the 3 ´o clock hatchery work.
After all packing up our various crap and equipment, we headed down to Sector B for a bit of beach-clearing fun. I have never seen such disparity in the work ethics of two groups of people as I did during this activity. Whilst the locals got mega stuck in, ripping up not only thick, mangrove roots but actual, fully grown plants from the ground, the volunteers simply meandered along the stretch of beach, pasuing only every few minutes to stoop and pick up a couple of dried leaves and mimsily throw them about 20cm up from their original position. Eventually, it was clear that the job was not going to get done to a high enough standard, and Leepo put the turtles on hold and decided that a hearty game of football would be a better idea. After a Spanish-ish argument with Jairo that went a little something like this-
Jairo-¡Émily! ¡Venga! ¡El Futbol!!!´
Me-´¡Nooo! ´¡No me gusta!´
Me-´No es facil.´
Jairo-´¡Si! Si es facil.´
Me-´¡No, no me gusta!
And so on and so fourth, i managed to weasel not only myself, but also Rach, Rachel and Abby out of joining the epic game, and instead set up a game of much more tame frizbee with Joao and Toe-shoes for company. This game went on for an unbelievable and excrutiating amount of time, but eventually, the frizbee and football crews rocked back to the station sweaty, damp from Rach´s poorly-aimed throws of the frizbee into the sea, and ragingly hungry for rice ´n beans. Before dinner was ready however, there was more fun (and showers for the footballers) to be had, and so Rach and I soon found ourselves being violently shoved around the station in a wheelbarrow by Joao, almost ending up in a dangerous, sewagey and limby heap when he decided to steam on over the large, makeshift pipe leading from the toilets.
Again, despite our ridiculous fatigue the night before, Elias and I decided it would still be a good idea to hang out in a hammock for the few hours before our patrols that night, and so by the time I had joined Mirriam, Leeza and (o yes) Toe-shoes by the station for early Sector A patrol, I was not in a good way. A few hours of walking later and my mood had not improved. That is a gross understatement. My mood had disintegrated so that poor, poor, Toe-shoes was only reciving undiscernable growls in response every time he tried to make conversation, even though he had sweetly given me his entire ration of patrol snacks, which I only munched through in a silent rage. I mean, I was even referring to him as Matt during this patrol.
About ten minutes after we had stopped for a log rest, and I was angrily crunching my way through Toe-shoes´second bag of pretzels, it began to rain. A tropical storm type of rain. Sighing a sigh that put fourth all the sorrows of the world, I pulled my sexy North Face jacket from around my waist, zipped my way into it, and not thinking at all of the consequences, put up the hood. Now, remembering that i had just had the jacket round my waist and was sitting in the sand, I think we can all guess what happened next. A cascade of sand, shells, rocks, insects and general beach debris descended down my already damp face and neck. I cannot describe the rage that followed.