Turtles, machetes, poachers, and runaways. My first experience travelling

I’d been in Parismina a week. And it was nothing like I had expected. As my first trip ‘travelling’ it was quite a shock to the system and I had not properly adjusted my expectations. I felt isolated. We were in a remote and small village, I couldn’t speak the language, and I was really struggling with the physical volunteer work (in part due to jetlag). I had romanticised the volunteer experience, and it just wasn’t what I was expecting.

First night in Parismina

When I first arrived at Parismina it was both exactly as I expected, and nothing like I expected. It was hot, the air was humid, and as I struggled with my heavy bag walking through the village I felt everyone was staring at me. As soon as we arrive, it was straight into it, no time to nap. We take a tour of the village, listen to a talk about the organisation, undertake some training, eat and then a welcome party. We meet the other volunteers, and there are a lot, including a whole class from a French school. I’m so tired, I struggle to keep my eyes open. I’m not in the mood to party. I need to sleep. But that prospect is gone, already given our first shift that night 12am - 4am, I basically sleepwalk throughout it. Jolting awake to discover I’m still walking. About 2 hours in, a storm comes through, a heavy downpour with thunder and lightening. Our shift cuts short and we finish early.

Poacher face off - just one challenge of turtle conservation

Patrols are hard. Time moves much slower in the cloak of darkness. In my romanticised world, patrols were fun - walking along a beach, joking around with friends, sun setting over the horizon. In reality, you’re wading through wet sand with the only light coming from lightening strikes and the fireflies you kick up with each step.

It wasn’t until our third night that we saw something. I spotted it first, a green turtle coming out of the water. We watched it crawl up shore and start to dig, but it laid no eggs. Poachers. He came up to us, armed with a machete, inches away from my face and drunkenly slurred something in Spanish. I ignored him, looked away as he tried to hold my gaze. Our volunteer leader spoke to him calmly and handled the situation, but the poacher continued to follow us on our patrol. A while later, other voices in the surrounding darkness sucked him back into the black. When we lapped back to the hatchery we found 6 other poachers, smoking, hanging in our hammocks, making themselves at home. They taunt us and make fun of us, threaten us. We call the police and keep patrolling. By the end of our shift, at 4am, only one poacher remains, lazily swinging in our hammock, a cigarette between his lips. He laughs at us. I have no idea what happened in this situation. My lack of Spanish skills mean I’m unable to understand the poachers, and unable to communicate with our volunteer lead. I don’t know if they took any turtles or eggs from us that night.

2 nights later we were successful. This time we watch 2 turtles beach and lay eggs. We collect them, at least 70 eggs each, and start our long heavy walk back to the hatchery. The bags are heavy, and for the first time I was actually hoping to not come across another turtle because of it. But we did. So now, carrying 2 bags of turtle eggs each between the 3 of us, we continue towards the hatchery. We cross crabs and snakes scattering across the beach. The tide comes in and soaks my shoes. That night, a storm broke through and destroyed part of the hatchery. The workers suspect some turtle eggs will not survive.

Another night, we find turtle tracks that lead up the beach, but none that came back down. No turtle. Instead, drag marks into the bushes - a green turtle lost to poachers. I was horrified.

Not all my turtle experiences were bad though. One evening, before sunset, we were called out to the hatchery to view baby turtles hatching from their eggs. We watched them crawl to the water, falling over themselves and each other, flailing their little fins in the sand.

Running away

Everyday life becomes like this. I wake up - shower - breakfast - meet with the other volunteers - read - lunch - TV - nap - read - dinner - nap - night patrol. There are too many hours in the day with nothing to do. I spend a lot of time reading, some talking. But it’s isolating when everyone speaks a language you don’t. I’m tired all the time, I feel like I’m depressed. This is nothing like I thought it would be. I dream of home and hugs. It rains during the day and it’s hot during the night. I’m covered in bites that are so sore - on my fingers, my ankles, the soles of my feet. I don’t think I can last.

I don’t know who said it first, but it was something we were both thinking. I wanted to stick it out and perservere. But at the same time, we were 7 days in and so far a lot of my experiences had been disheartening and challenging. We weren’t enjoying our time. So we just decided. We were going to leave, tomorrow morning when the first boat of the day arrives, we’ll be leaving on it.

It felt a lot to us like we were running away, in part because we were running away from a commitment we had made to ourselves, to the organisation and to the community. It also felt like we were running away because we couldn’t communicate well enough to our host family and to the volunteer leaders that we were leaving. It all felt bad.

That morning we rose before the roosters, and in the cool mist of dawn dragged our heavy bags to the docks. I questioned whether we were doing the right thing, and whether we should just ‘stick it out’, but once we were on that boat I felt such relief. And so began our 8 hour journey to Puerto Viejo.

An escape to ‘paradise’ - Puerto Viejo

I look back and marvel at how we were able to make it from a remote village 3 hours away from Limon, to Puerto Viejo without the use of internet. Travelling today in the era or Uber, free public WiFi, and smart translator apps is very different to travelling just a decade ago. Relying solely on a hard copy of the latest edition of a Lonely Planet guide book we were able to navigate ourselves from Limon to Puerto Viejo, and with very little hiccup.

Our week in Puerto Viejo was what I imagine a classic travellers experience would be. A week of meeting crazy and amazing people, local and travellers alike. A week of good and bad decisions, experiences you’ll remember for a life time. Exploring, sunbathing, skinny dipping, partying. Hair braids and friendship bracelets. In Puerto Viejo the locals and the gringos all mix. You’ll find everyone at the local bar drinking bottles of Imperial challenging each other to a game of table tennis. And when the music starts, everyone is pulsating together to rhythm of afrobeats. I loved it. I felt so immersed in Puerto Viejo - the sizzle and smoke of the outdoor grill, toothless grins of laidback locals a joint and a bottle in each hand, the drum of music catching on the breeze. Puerto Viejo may not have looked like paradise, but to me it was.

Reflections

Looking back, I don’t regret my decision. I was young and naive and severely ill prepared. Had I been more realistic in my expectations, had I learnt some of the language before heading out, had I given myself time to adjust to the time difference and new environment before jumping into the volunteer programme, I think many things would have gone differently. But I didn’t.

It seems weak to have left. To be too soft to handle living away from my lifes ‘luxeries’. But you learn. A year later I would be preparing to leave for my gap year travelling across the USA. I was so scared that I was going to make the same mistakes as last time. That I’d feel trapped and lost and unprepared. Of course, the circumstances for America are different. I can speak the language, I knew people there who I could turn to if I needed help. But I was learning from my past experience, this time I actually thought about those things before embarking. I thought about having contact details for help, I thought about giving ourselves time to settle into the new country on arrival (we ended up staying with family for our first 3 nights to help us acclimatise). And these are things I carry through now when I travel. Now when reaching a new country I will for sure have learnt some basics of the language and downloaded Google Translate on my phone. I often try to book a hotel or hostel for my first night, not an Airbnb, so that I have someone I can ask questions and get help from when I first arrive. I will only head to a remote location after a couple days in the main city to adjust jetlag and get my bearings. 

This whole experience has better prepared me for safe and enjoyable travel. And so whilst there is a part of me that feels ashamed of this story, this was my experience. And I learned from that.