July 23, 2010
As of yesterday afternoon my water situation was becoming slightly more problematic.
With the only running water in sight coming from my neighbor's tap in the middle of the clearing, I had all but resigned myself to sub-par cleansing with my Fresh Bath shower wipes (“a backpacker's best friend”) for the entirety of my stay here. If there is anything less refreshing than the slightly sticky residue of sweat, smeared dirt, and flowery-smelling detergent these wipes leave behind on the skin, it's the fact that I only have six of them to get me through two weeks. Gross.
Lucky for me, everyone else smells too.
Along similar, but more troublesome lines, after a long and exhausting day of work I visited my neighbor's tap with my two-liter water bottle so I could treat the water for drinking overnight. The tap gurgled as I opened the spigot and then made a quiet sucking noise as air rushed in. Well that's unfortunate, I said out loud as I looked at my empty bottle. Behind me, two young boys played in the dust beside the house, laughing as they chased a handful of terrified peeping balls of fluff around the dirt. Tiny toothpick legs fluttered as fast as they could but alas, they were never fast enough to escape the cunning wit of the jungle five-year old; one by one the fluffy peepers disappeared into a wooden crate beside the house where they would be safe overnight. I asked the boys what happened to the water. For several seconds they paused from their game to stare at me with what I can only describe as five year-old disdain.. No hay (there is none), the older boy finally said with a quick shrug before turning his attention back to the chicks.
Right. No big deal, I told myself; I'll wait until later and try again. “Later” came and went, and water did not arrive on its heels. I went to bed actively working to quell the vague sense of panic knocking at my door and hoped the situation would work itself out in the morning. Bang, Bang. Coo coo, CooRaaaaaw! Squitter squitter squeeeak SquealSquealSqueal. BarkBarkBarkgrowwwwwwl, Bang; my nighttime soundtrack settled in and I giggled in helpless, exhausted delight at the thought of recording the charming layers of discordant melody for one of those white noise soundtracks: “Nighttime in San Ignacio: a soothing and curious soundtrack of rare jungle discourse.”
|Moths the likes of which you've never seen...|
Photo doesn't do them justice.
I've by now become accustomed to my dance party wake up call each morning....with timeless classics like “Red, Red, Wine” (UB40), “Bad Boys” (Inner Circle), and “Be My Lover” (La Bouche) blasting into my room at 4 AM it's pretty hard not to wake up in a cheery, ready-to-dance mood (false.). At the very least it adds another layer of ridiculousness to laugh at amidst the nighttime rancor.
|Hike to water source|
|Plucky Poultry finishing my breakfast|