Home sweet home

Home sweet home. Arrived in the states on Wednesday evening after various journeys and adventures in South America. Basically since the beginning of May, I have been on the road, storing the majority of my stuff at a friend’s place in Caracas and moving around, hunkering down where proved convenient. I call it my “experience addiction” - the desire to take in as much as possible, leaving little time to process or follow-through on what I actually experienced. Like all good addictions, this one ends when the money dries up and so I find myself back in the room where I spent a large part of my childhood and adolescence, which itself is an interesting experience.

The following is a brief overview and in the days/weeks/months that follow, hopefully I will have some pictures for visual effects.

In the middle of May, just when the nature trail was really picking up steam with tourism and among the schools, I took off for a vacation with Jeremy. We managed to hit up Margarita, Caracas, Henry Pittier National Park, Los Llanos and Amazonas. Highlights include the serenade in the middle of the “heartland” of Venezuela from the back of a moving tractor, the morning birdwatching at Henry Pittier, the 7 year old Piaroa girl and her obsession with tarantulas, the fisherman and his long canoe on the Orinoco and the spectacular views down the river of tepuis (flat-topped mtns).

I returned to Caracas and was fortunate enough to have the opportunity to housesit and “office-sit” for some friends who were in the states. Therefore, I desperately tried to scrounge together reports, papers and results that I had compiled throughout the year. At the end of May, I had the pleasure of hosting Ms. Sarah Jane White and Ms. Bad-ass Benji for a couple of weeks. We took off for Margarita and I put them to work in the public schools of the peninsula. The kids were pretty excited to see not one gringa, not 2 but 3!! walk into their school and ask them questions about parrots. Felt a bit guilty forcing volunteer work on my vacationing friends, but we justified it by saying that they were bettering their Spanish . . . and the beach is so close. . . ..

The lovely Alanalanalana left to return to her favorite year of medical school and SJ and I hung out in Margarita/Caracas while I whipped together a talk for the Conservation Biology Meeting in Brazil. With computer in tow and papers and notes haphazardly tucked in my bag, I flew off to the University of Brasilia, Brazil to present the results from our educational program on Margarita. The conference was excellent and got a lot of ideas moving around in my head. My talk was a typical first-timers disappointment with almost no one *really* interested present in the audience, no interesting questions and disasters with the actual powerpoint (like the wrong version showing up, the newer one was absent). Bueno.

I met up with one of the most inspirational organizations after the conference and had the fortune of traveling around to their project sites scattered around Brazil and learning about the work that they are doing, finding solutions that help people, nature and the goals of the organization. It is good to be reminded that really good, well-done work can come from a vision that emerges from the heart. Take that, cynics! Check them out at: www.ipe.org.br.

Returning to Caracas, I found I barely had time to take a breath before Ibby arrived for one of her life dream trips to the tabooed island floating a mere 50 miles from the shore of Florida. But first, to break her into the carnal quality of the tropics we head to Cata on the northern coast of Venezuela where we find ourselves in a hidden paradise of cocoa farms, coffee plantations, virgin forest and untouched rivers trimmed by banks of healing mud, perfect for a scrub-down. After the brief stint in paradise we take off for a whirlwind of adventures in the surrealism that IS cuba. The contradictions we shocking: the sense of freedom in a country completely restricted, the sense of safety as every move you make is being watched, the richness of the arts, the nightlife and the music that floats the old, narrow streets, yet the poverty that IS life for all citizens, the simplicity of an ox-drawn plow in the field yet the complexity of a island caught in a time so different from our modern age of machines. Truly a fascinating experience.

Before I had time to digest all of the images, experiences and contradictions of cuba, I find myself taking another trip to the airport to meet my dad and uncle Tom who arrived with backpacks in tow, ready for an adventure to climb to the top of Mt. Roraima in the south of Venezuela. Roraima is a flat-topped mountain (tepui) located on the border of Guyana and Brazil. Treks begin from Venezuela and follow a spectacular route through the savannah and up a ramp along the steep rock face of Roraima. Even though it was a challenge for both (at 57 and 64, the oldest trekkers for 2005!!), they pulled it off with style and without major injuries. The visit to Canaima was a nice rest after the mountain trek, complete with waterfall massages, baths in blood-red waters and an exciting boat ride up to the tallest waterfall in the world, Angel Falls.

Landing. Coming home. Taking in the normalness of the states is the most difficult to accept. I miss the surrealism that is Latin America. The hot, greasy empanadas in the morning and the crowd of people eating and chatting, sipping their pabelon con limón as they head off to work. I miss the music that is heard everywhere, the sound of Spanish and the general “no importa” attitude to adverse conditions.

At the same time, in light of the torment Katrina has caused, I am overwhelmed with gratefulness for all that I have. This lovely home where I CAN digest and prepare for the next adventure, my loving parents, the convenience of everything and the general sense of security. And this is more than the majority of New Orleans residents can say.