In which Tim explores the forest in sandals...

It was shortly after seven oclock on a Friday morning, and I had been looking forward to another hour of sleep before beginning a day of seeking out people to do interviews with. A voice came through the window summoning me from sleep.

"Timo! Get up! It's time to go!" It took me a minute to figure out where in the world I was supposed to be going. The sun was barely starting to peep over the surrounding hilltops. Alter attempting to rub the sleep from my eyes I remembered the hydroelectric project that my community is working on, and that I have somehow been appointed a consultant to. There is a good sized stream flowing down a mountain to join the main river, and the plan is to send some of this water along a route of pipe that gets gradually narrower (thus increasing the pressure), and into a plant that will provide enough power for three small communities. It is a neat idea, and I am glad to be involved.

Yet my enthusiasm was tempered on this occasion by the memory of my last trip up to the site. It is a three mile hike from my house to the spring that feeds the stream, and it is all up hill. The rock and gravel road eventually turns into a small, steep and narrow forest trail, then eventually the trail ends and you have the choice between scrambling up the slippery rocks that the stream cascades down, or macheteing your way through the forest on the banks, and still having to do a fair amount of climbing. It had been a long trip that resulted in not much more than looking at the stream, me taking some gps readings, and then turning around to hike home sore, sweaty and scratched up by mean plants. Suffice it to say I did not particularly relish the prospect of getting up on this particular morning to do it all again.

I was told that our plan was to follow the stream down the mountain to evaluate where we could lay a pathway for the pipeline that will eventually be installed. This being the case, I asked if I should opt to wear A) jeans and hiking boots, well suited for scrambling through vegetation, or B) swimsuit and a pair of Dominican rubber sandals, ideal for getting wet and negotiating slippery rocks. I was told without a doubt to go for option B, so I did. Off we we went up the mountain in the cool morning air that was quickly heating up as the sun climbed higher and higher. When we came to the end of the path I was hot and sweaty, and a little blistered from having walked so far up hill in sandals, but I was looking forward to the prospect of soaking my feet in a cool stream for a little while.

We came to within site of the water, and the party of eight suddenly turned and began hacking their way single file through the brush down hill. I expressed curiosity as to why we were not going TO the stream as I had been told. The reply was "Oh, we are going to MAKE a PATH today right where we think the pipe should run." Oh. I guess plans have changed. Now hiking through tight forest on nothing wider than a machete path in a swimsuit is a miserable enough venture given a lot of the plant life that likes to bite, sting and scratch. But add to that the fact that this forest runs straight downhill, and the fact that you are wearing open toed and heeled sandals that like to slip off. It makes for not the most fun of hikes. There was much stumbling, tripping, saying words under my breath that are best not repeated, and thinking about the kinds of things I'd like to do to some of these people who talk about "saving the rainforest" without ever having had to hike through one. It was not one of my shining moments. I was tired, hungry, angry and sore. My hiking companions did not find me very eager for conversation.

I made it back home to bathe, eat a good meal, and sleep for a few hours. The bad mood eventually passed, and I have been back to the worksite a few times with less frustration. Yet frustration is a BIG part of my work here, and it never goes away completely. There is the issue of communicating with my partners across linguistic and cultural barriers ("what clothes should I wear REALLY?"). There's the challenge of dealing with new environmental conditions, such as sauna-like humidity and ferocious plants. And then there's the fact that when I do come home at the end of the day, the only thing I can speak english to is my journal. It is far from easy, but I think I am learning how to deal. Toward the beginning it felt like I was having one or two days a week where the frustration felt overwhelming. Those days become less and less frequent the longer I am here. There are far more good days than bad. I love figuring out the ins and outs of the language and culture. I admire my environment far more than I whine about it. And I am learning to appreciate solitude as something that can be very healthy, for a season. I live, and learn, and try not to be too afraid of looking like an idiot as I stumble through the jungle in my rubber sandals.