Agua Chocolate

8:22 p.m. Thursday, Sept. 30, 2010 – La Casa, Palenque, Mexico

***

I finally got my stitches out, with a stern lecture from el doctor scolding me for keeping them in for eleven days rather than the prescribed seven. He just said my punishment would be it hurting more as the skin had partially healed over the stitches. When I road up to the park entrance to meet up with the rest of the group, I called Sarie to let her know I had arrived so she could hike out and get me (I had no idea where they would be in the forest since we hadn't tracked the monkeys the day before). However, I couldn't get through due to a lack of service on her side, so I just dozed off in the parking lot for an hour and a half until she finally got out of the dead zone. The other assistants and I survived the final two days of Pakal observation with the knowledge that we would have a nice, four day break ahead of us. The powers that be had business elsewhere that would keep them out of the field, and also recognized that we needed some time off.

Evelyn, Liz, Brittany and I decided to stay close to home for this break, as we all have been stressing out about applying for PhD programs. Most of the deadlines are the beginning of December, so we have loads to do before then. I have schools to research, potential advisers to email, recommendation letters to request, transcripts to send and statements of purpose to write.

Today, day two of the break, we did allow ourselves to take an afternoon trip to Agua Azul, some cascades about an hour away. We had a little trouble finding a ride at first, but finally hailed what I can best describe as a truck with a trailer in the back for transporting people. Not quite a colectivo, but still a common resort for getting from point A to point B. The last time we had ridden in one was on the way back from Misol-ha, which was a windy but enjoyable ride. The trailer had been covered on the top and sides, but not front and back—allowing for sufficient ventilation. This trip, which was twice as long at an hour and a half, was much more miserable. The bed of the truck was covered on all sides but the back, where the exhaust pipe was. So our quarters were quickly filled with fumes which stayed with us for the duration of the journey.

The road was long and winding, through the hills and around hairpin turns. Motion + fumes = 4 not so happy riders. Our perky conversation turned to silence about a third into the trip. When we finally arrived it was almost 4 p.m. We recovered our land legs and walked around the park, which consisted of magnificent cascades which seemed to go on forever. We would take pictures and admire one level, then go up the stairs to see the next…on and on for about six levels. While the area is known for its sparkling, clear-blue water, the past two weeks of solid rain coupled with the recent mud slides due to Tropical Storm Matthew have transformed Agua Azul into Agua Chocolate. But we enjoyed walking around and climbing trees until the park closed.

We once again struggled to find a ride back, finding from most drivers that they usually carry people from Palenque to Agua Azul but not back. Great system. Since we got burned last time we arranged ahead of time for a driver to come pick us up, we decided to wing it today. Luckily, we were able to talk one of the people-trailer drivers into taking us back for 60 pesos. This time we squeezed into the cab up front and our lungs were thankful.

When we got back to Palenque, we still needed a ride back to the house but it was after 6 p.m., when most colectivos stop running (taxis still run but are more expensive). While we were waiting, a man who was going to be taking some workers home asked where we were going, and said he could give us a ride. However, he turned down the left fork instead of the right and took us a few kilometers the wrong way. We finally shouted up to the front for him to drop us off, and none of us paid as we were even farther from home. A colectivo came our way and took us back to Palenque, but no more passed going towards our house. So, in keeping with our transportation woes, we walked all the way home.

***

Barriers of words and water

11:00 p.m. Sunday, Sept. 26, 2010 – La Casa, Palenque, Mexico

***

Today was a rest day rather than a work day—as scheduled. It was a sunny day rather than a stormy day—as predicted. This was bad news rather than good news—as expected.

Let me explain. Thursday we set out on the first day of our third cycle, charged with finding and observing the Pakal group. I’d heard many stories about this group, because it has two extremely lively juveniles (Kanika and Emma) who like to come close and cause trouble. It is usually hardest to find a group on the first day, because they could be anywhere within their territory. It often takes two to three hours of searching before we find them. But 9 a.m. came, and no Pakal. We found Balam, and heard several groups howling in the distance, but no Pakal. Noon came, still no monkeys. 3:30, nothing. At this point it began to rain heavily and if we hadn’t found them yet, we sure wouldn’t in a downpour. So we headed out.

Though it was certainly an unsuccessful day, our spirits had somehow remained high throughout the day and the four of us and Sarie had good conversation while circling the territory hour after hour. I also enjoy hiking for the sake a of hiking, so after a while started to feel like I was on a day hike in the rain forest with no other purpose than to enjoy the sights and sounds of the jungle. My legs and feet were sorer than usual, but we would try again the next day and all would be well.

That is, until we were informed yesterday that a day without usable data does not count as a work day, and we would have to make it up on one of our rest days. Therefore, yesterday we went into the forest even more desperate to find Pakal, with added motivation. We couldn’t stand the thought of losing two rest days searching in vain. Luckily, we found them around 10:30 a.m. and collectively sighed in relief. It started to rain around noon, and we all (monkeys included) hunkered down to attempt to stay dry while still collecting observational data. It rained for pretty much the rest of the afternoon. “Peggy, I’d like you to meet Rainy Season in the rain forest, Rainy Season, meet Peggy.” While I had grown somewhat accustomed in the few weeks I’d been here to nightly downpours and just the occasional daytime rain, it now seems like the rain is coming sooner and sooner everyday.

We had three straight field days where the sky opened up just before we completed our last scan; therefore, our return trip was always a wet one. But for the past few days the rain has been taking bigger chunks out of our day. What was thick mud in the morning becomes a deep, raging brown river by afternoon. The hills become deadly mudslides requiring a vine as a rope to rappel ourselves down. It’s difficult to recognize where I am because the trails I remember from the morning are transformed into streams. And somehow we have to get all our gear dry overnight and be ready to do it all over again the next day.

But yesterday evening Dr. Estrada emailed and said we wouldn’t be going into the field today because Tropical Storm Matthew would be dumping on some additional wind and rain (although it ended up being sunny most of the day), and the data probably wouldn’t be that good anyway (in addition to it not being very safe to be in the forest during a topical storm). Unfortunately for us, this would most likely take another day from our long anticipated break. We still hadn’t finished the Pakals, and would have to go back to the field two more days before getting some time off.

Last night, after finding out we wouldn't be working today, the household (plus Katie and Chiara's two visiting friends) went to Don Muchos in El Panchan for dinner. The community of El Panchan is set up around a little river, with walkways and bridges crisscrossing around the perimeter. We left that evening still in a relentless downpour, and walked down the road until we got picked up by a taxi. When the driver dropped us off, he had to do so at the edge of the street because the parking lot was so full of water. We started to take the path through the woods to the restaurant, but couldn’t even see the wooden bridge over the river because it was covered by rushing water. With only one light between all of us, we had to inch our way along the invisible path. We cautiously traversed the narrow bridge covered with two feet of water, knowing if we stepped to the left or the right we would drop off completely into the river. But we proved our worth, and took a leap of faith off the lion’s head like Indiana Jones. When we stepped down from the bridge, we still had 20 meters left to wade in water up to our waists before we finally arrived, drenched but alive, to the restaurant. We made the trip worth while by eating delicious Italian-Mexican pizzas and staying for the fire spinning show.

Today I attempted to get my stitches removed at the local hospital clinic. Last time I had Katie with me to translate, but I figured I would be all right on my own to just get them removed. I made sure to look up the words “remove” and “stitches” en Español (“quitar” y “puntos”) and headed to town. I waited at the front desk until a man came to help me. I said in broken Spanish what I needed and he kept shaking his head, saying what I thought to be tomorrow at 8:11. I was thinking, “Why 8:11 tomorrow?” I asked him why not now, and he kept shaking his head. There were people all around me waiting so I didn’t think it was closed (though it was Sunday), but didn’t know how to get any more detailed of an answer with my limited vocabulary. I told him I had to work tomorrow but he just shrugged. This was the first real problem I had experienced with a language barrier since I had arrived. My other experiences speaking Spanish (or trying) have just been attempts at friendly conversation, in the market or in a taxi. All of which have much less at stake. It was so frustrating needing something but not getting it, and not understanding why.

The experience reminded me of my court date in Raleigh last year for a speeding ticket. While I was waiting for the judge to call me up, I saw all of the other would-be law-breakers speak to him about their crimes. Most were there for speeding, like me, petty theft or possession. But one couple went up to the front, looking scared and utterly bewildered. It was a Mexican man and his wife. From what I could overhear, they had been caught fishing at a river near their home without a fishing license. I can only imagine how confused they must have been to be summoned to court and fined just for fishing. I watched and listened as the man tried to explain to his crying wife what was happening. But I could tell he didn’t understand much of what the judge was saying either. I wanted to jump up and shake the judge and say, “Really? Don’t you have better things to do than take money from these people?!” But I remained silent and seated at my bench.

Tonight I went to see Jason play a set at Mono Blanco and then followed the Red Sox vs. Yankees game as best as I could via ESPN GameCast. The Sox failed to sweep the Yankees, shrinking their playoff chances to less than the area of a pinhead. As in, they would have to win their next seven games (three of which are against New York again) and the Yankees or Rays would have to lose all of theirs for the Red Sox to have a postseason.

Tomorrow I will try my chances again at the hospital (I figured out later the man probably meant the doctor would only be in 8-11 a.m. tomorrow) and then join the others in the field.

***

Starting to feel like a real primatologist

9:24 p.m. Wednesday, Sept. 22, 2010 – La Casa, Palenque, Mexico

***

With another three days completed, I have survived until my next rest day. I have also added six new individuals—the Balam group—to my repertoire of monkeys here in the park. The highlights of my week were on Monday and Tuesday when the Balams had some run-ins with the neighboring Pakals on their border. Both resulted in long, drawn out howling duels consisting of “dog barking,” “rooster crowing” and “dinosaur roaring.” I was on the edge of my seat, and felt like this had been what I was waiting for. This is why I’m here. Next behaviors I’d like to check off are mate guarding, copulation and birth. But two groups having a shouting match at their border was definitely exciting.

Infanticide would be fascinating to witness as well, but of course absolutely horrifying. Infanticide occurs when a new, dominant male takes over a group and either chases off, injures or kills the formal central male, along with all the infants. The theorized benefits are that the new male can ensure his genes are the only ones being passed down, and the females can begin cycling again with the removal of their infants. This behavior is not necessarily common, but definitely well-documented within Alouatta pigra (as it is with several other highly patriarchal and polygynous genuses of monkeys).

Last February infanticide was observed in the Pakal group, and three infants were killed. It’s hard to believe that I’m experiencing what I’ve been reading about in all my behavior and primate textbooks. And hopefully in the near future I’ll be leading some studies of my own!

***

Out with the wolf, in with the monkey

10:30 p.m. Sunday, Sept 19, 2010 – La Casa, Palenque, Mexico

***

Today’s day off hardly felt like a break. I did get to sleep in, but that was my only relief. The rest of my day went as follows: grocery shopping, massive house cleaning, washing clothes (by hand), showering, data entry (I was three days behind), cooking and eating dinner, making lunch for the next day and preparing my field gear. By the end of that it was bed time. For all the free time I thought I’d have, it all seems to disappear after the required chores are completed.

After my initial day back in the field (and my little accident), the next two days were much less eventful in a positive way. I got to hear my first howling bout, and started to orient myself with the forest and individual monkeys. After three days of observing the Motiepas, I feel pretty comfortable recognizing each of the nine individuals (as long as I can see all of their genitals and/or ossified digits).

Though I’d already spent 30-some hours in close proximity with them, it wasn’t until yesterday that I actually heard the howler monkeys howl from a close range. My first day in the forest I remember waking up early with Chiara and Jason and following them into the forest fragment in the dark, and I could hear eerie jungle noises like you would expect on a movie track. From a distance their calls are creepy, but standing right below them the sound is downright deafening. I’ve heard the howls likened to dinosaur roars, and apparently that’s not as crazy as it sounds. With a bit of research (OK fine, I just went to Wikipedia) I found that the Dilophosaurus vocalizations in Jurassic Park were a hybrid of howler monkey, swan, hawk and rattlesnake sounds.

It is not specifically known why the monkeys howl, and that’s part of the reason why we’re out collecting data. Our professor is trying to determine what provokes the bouts, which individuals participate the most and what their status is within the group.

***

Mexican health care and missing home

11:45 p.m. Thursday, Sept. 16, 2010 – La Casa, Palenque, Mexico

***

This morning I woke up with plenty of time to pack my supplies, don my field clothes, eat a hardy breakfast and douse myself with sulfur and bug spray before Sarie arrived to collect us at 7 a.m. This was my first day in Palenque National Park working with Sarie (the other day had been with Chiara in the forest fragment) and I wanted to make a good first impression. We were going to be following a group called Motiepa which has the largest and most rugged territory in the park. Every cycle of three days we follow a different focal group, with three in all.

It usually takes the longest to find the monkeys on the first day, as we haven’t been tracking them for the past 12 days and have no leads on their location. Today we found them after looking for about two hours. Generally we go to where they were seen last and spiral out from there, checking all their favorite trees and keeping our “noses peeled” for monkey poop. Other clues are lots of fallen leaves and stems in the area, signs they have been feeding. When they settle down to nap and eat in one area, we sit/stand there too, performing focals and scans. We don’t really have lunch breaks, we just eat when the monkeys afford us the time. By about 2 p.m. the monkeys were showing signs of waking up and becoming active; they began urinating and defecating which usually means they are getting ready to move. I took their cue, and decided it would be a good time for me to “use the woods” as well since I wouldn’t get a chance later when they started traveling.

I hiked a little ways away from the group, trying to find a secluded area hidden both from my group and the main path where guides pass with tourists. Unfortunately there wasn’t much cover provided and I had to climb up a small hill to find some. As it rains every night, the ground is saturated and muddy, and hills become thick slides. My scrub boots have little traction but hold up much better than hiking boots with the constant emersion in water. But they don’t provide much resistance on the mudslides, and as I stepped up the hill my feet slipped backwards and my torso fell forwards. It was a pretty controlled fall and I didn’t go down hard, but I caught myself with my forearms out and my left wrist landed hard on a jagged, razor-sharp rock sticking up out of the ground.

The terrain in this area is gnarly, with these unusual looking rocks sprouting everywhere from the soil. They aren’t like any rocks I’ve seen before, and have sharp pinnacles that can, and will spear your skin. Or mine, at least. I looked down at my wrist, knowing I’d made hard contact on something unforgiving but still only expecting a scratch and maybe a hint of blood.

I did not expect a gushing open wound, cut deep into my flesh and separated wide open. It was not a long cut, but deeper than I’d ever had before. I forgot all about having to go to the bathroom, and went back to tell the others with my other hand stemming the flow. We didn’t have much by the way of a med kit, but we put on some gauze and tied it tightly with a bandanna. Too add insult to injury (in the most literal sense of the phrase), a monkey decided to empty its bowels directly above me right as we were bandaging up my wound. The fecal matter got all over my back and inside my backpack, which was open at the moment. Seriously?? By this time I had lost a fair amount of blood and was feeling kind of dizzy, so we decided I should leave the forest immediately to get my cut stitched up at the clinic in town.

Katie, a PhD student who was with us for the day and knows the area as well as Spanish, walked out with me and we took a colectivo to the hospital. We had to wait an hour and a half after I wrote my name on the list, and I was starting to worry they’d just forget about me because there were so many people coming in and out and I hadn’t even filled out any paperwork. Finally they called my name and took me into the back room. Katie helped me explain what had happened, and the doctor injected the cut with several numbing shots. Then he vigorously cleaned it, which was extremely discomforting to feel and watch him jerking the skin this way and that to remove all the dirt and blood. Then he stitched me up, which I thought was neat to watch since I’ve never had them before. Although, it was surreal to see the needle go through my skin and pull it tight with me feeling the tug and resistance but no actually pain. Just the discomfort of the idea, really.

When I was all bandaged up he gave me a prescription for antibiotics and painkillers, which I figured I wouldn’t fill if they were expensive. I have travel insurance but I got the impression this hospital wasn’t going to ask for my insurance (since they hadn’t even asked for anything but my name when I checked in), and I was worried the claiming process would be too complicated and drawn out. But I went to the check out desk and she just handed me the medicine. I asked about payment and she told me it was already paid for. I knew I hadn’t when I came in (how could I before even getting the procedure done) and told her so but she said it didn’t matter. I didn’t understand her completely, but wasn’t going to argue obviously. I found out later that public hospitals and clinics are subsidized by the government; therefore, most health care is provided for free. For citizens that is, but they didn’t seem to care that I obviously wasn’t one. Yay for universal health care! Now if only my own country would follow suit…

This evening after returning from the clinic, I remembered that the N.C. State vs. Cincinnati football game was being carried by ESPN. I kept seeing tweets, buzzes and status updates from all the people I know at the game, and I had a sudden rush of homesickness. This was to be our big chance to show the rest of the country that we’re worth taking seriously, at least this year. I tried frantically to pull up a live stream of the game on espn.com, but every time I clicked “watch game live” it redirected me to ESPN Deportes. ¡Que lastima! I wanted to watch the game so badly but every path seemed to be blocked by copyright restrictions.

I finally found an outside website that had the game live, but it was so slow with everyone using internet at once at our house. The feed was broken every few seconds, allowing for no insight into what was actually happening. But I followed via play by play until finally the connection sped up for the second half and I could actually somewhat follow the action. I piped in on Twitter and finally felt connected to all my fellow students, though I wanted nothing more than to be back at Carter-Finley and on ESPN, instead of watching painfully on my computer in Mexico. I kept seeing shots of the crowd and of campus, and it sent pangs of longing through my heart. It figures that only sports make me feel this way; I feel similarly every time I get an email from my N.C. State Ultimate Frisbee team listserv about the season beginning without me.

Yet, I still can’t help but feel a little bitter that N.C. Athletics seemed to have the worst four years in recent history corresponding with my four year term: four rejections to the NCAA tournament and not a single bowl victory. Yes, I know I’m leaving out all the other sports, but I won’t pretend basketball and football aren’t the only two that matter as far as national reputation (although I'd argue that ultimate Frisbee is a close third). And now, the year after I graduate, we have real potential to join the foolhardy optimism we (and every sports fan) have always had. N.C. State has a 3-0 start and Russell Wilson is looking better than ever, and the injury bug has yet to bite us (crossing my fingers). We will be stacked for basketball season too with three stellar recruits, so hopefully I’ll get to at least witness some of that success when I get back into the country.

Also, did I mention the new, live, wolf mascot? Well, wolf-dog at least. But I need to remember to live in the present, and appreciate the work I’m doing now and where it will take me. I will move on and be a loyal Wolfpack alum, watching the games whenever and wherever I can, even if that means from my computer in Mexico.

GO PACK!

Lianne and me at NCSU Graduation :)

***

Horseback riding and Mexico's birthday festivities

11:00 p.m. Thursday, Sept. 15, 2010 – La Casa, Palenque, Mexico

***

For our last day of freedom Evelyn, Liz, Brittany and I decided to take one of the horseback riding tours through the mountain side and forest, because we pass by the sign for the ranch just about daily. For 300 pesos (about $30 USD) the man agreed to take us on a two hour tour. He brought out four skinny, little horses and saddled them up while we looked on and all secretly tried to decide which horse we would jockey for. I ended up with a chestnut mare that was bony but taller than the others, and yet my legs still extended well beneath her belly.

El vaquero took us through a field with a beautiful view of the mountains, then into the forest and through a few streams. I enjoyed the ride and was excited whenever I was afforded the opportunity to trot my horse. I haven’t ridden in years and my post was a little awkward, but I enjoyed being back on a horse again.

We got back in time for lunch, then went to town to pick up laundry and grocery shop once more before our next three field days. Normally I’ll wash my clothes in the sink on my day off, but it’s nice to give them a good, thorough cleaning once a month. Though I don’t really notice it anymore, our whole house smells like a combination of sulfur, sweat, dirt and damp clothes. Even when our bodies are clean we put on clothes that have been soaking up the peculiar smell, so we immediately pick up the odor too. The disconcerting thing is I’m becoming immune to the scent, so I now have no idea what I smell like to other people I happen to encounter on the street or in a colectivo.

As tonight at midnight is the start of Mexican Independence Day, we found out there would be a large celebration at the city square this evening. Though we have work early tomorrow, we decided we had to at least partake in the party for a little while. We went to town after dinner and walked around the fair, full of squealing children, flashing lights, waving flags and balloons. It smelled like funnel cake and there was tons of traditional music and dancing. We passed by a vendor selling a perplexing drink, which had caught our eye earlier. Our curiosity got the best of us, and we ordered a giant Michelada to share.

We watched the man prepare it by dipping the rim of the cup into a bowl of red mystery sauce (undoubtedly spicy). Then he poured Sol into the cup, along with another shot or two of the hot stuff. Last, he added a brown, sticky lump on a stick into the cup as the final touch. We all eyed it tentatively, pretty sure we were going to hate it but knowing we had to at least try it—especially on an occasion such as Mexico’s 200^th birthday. We dipped in our straws and sipped, then everyone was silent while we tried to decipher the complex combination of flavors we were experiencing. One person likened it to a bloody Mary, another to Worchester sauce. I thought it tasted like beer mixed with apple cider and tomato sauce, with a kick at the end. It was sweet and spicy and hoppy all at the small tie.

I was a fan. The others, maybe not so much. But we all appreciated the drink for its uniqueness and presentation. The sauces around the rim dripped down the outside of the cup, giving the appearance that the beer was bleeding. The lump on the stick turned out to be caramel apple and we later found out Worchester sauce was used too, along with chili sauce. After completing what we considerate our initiation and the price we had to pay to participate in the celebration, we washed it down with neutralizing ice cream. While the real party doesn’t start until midnight and the rest of the town will be up all night, we’ll be sleeping in preparation for our return to the field tomorrow.

***

Misol-ha Falls

4:45 p.m. Tuesday, Sept. 14, 2010 – Misol-ha Falls, Mexico

***

Yesterday Evelyn, Liz, Brittany and I spent the day in town, dropping off laundry and stocking up on groceries. We also spent quite a bit of time relaxing in the Mexican version of Starbucks, which I would have felt guilty about if it didn’t account for 50% of Palenque’s air-conditioned buildings. The cool rush felt like Heaven’s breeze, and was difficult to walk away from. Our other favorite refreshing drink has become licuado de fruta con leche (a creamy fruit drink), which you can order at most little food stands.

Today we decided to venture out a little more, and set out for Misol-ha, home of some dramatic falls that Jason had been telling us about. The five of us went, just missing Chiara who was taking a vacation to Mexico City. We took a colectivo ride down a long, winding, mountain road to the park. It was sunny and warm, but as soon as we got within a 150 meter radius of the falls we got blasted with a cool mist. I was competently taken aback by the falls. I’ve seen some impressive ones before, some taller, some fatter, but somehow none quite reached this high on the scale of epic-ness.

We spent a few minutes admiring it from afar, and then took a path that led behind the actual falls. Within no time we were completely drenched, but it was a rare treat to be able to look straight up and see that water crashing all around me. My respect for the power of water + gravity increased ten fold as I braved closer and closer to the direct flow, trying to get that monumental photo without being crushed or swept over by the weight of the gallons of water being dumped on my head every second. I couldn’t hear anything but the roar, or see anything but droplets being pelted into my eyes.

Jason, Evelyn and I decided to explore further and climbed our way along the cliff to another, smaller waterfall. There was a rope tied to the top that we were able to use to hoist ourselves up the slippery levels of the falls, literally climbing through the water to the top. The source of the water was a cave stream, and we found ourselves waist-deep in water at the base of the tunnel. We were prepared with headlamps, but unfortunately the rope ended after the introductory rapid, ceasing its aid. I tucked my camera into my bathing suit top and clung onto the cavern walls, clawing my way along and fighting the intense current with every step.

Two possessions that are worth their weight in gold to me are my Chacos and waterproof camera. The Chacos are the perfect shoe to climb and scramble in, sandals with plenty of support, a thick sole and lots of traction. My water/shockproof camera has followed me on countless adventures where my SLR wouldn’t have lasted a minute. Between bungy jumping, skiing, kayaking down falls and now spelunking, this thing has survived a lot of action and recorded two years’ worth of priceless memories. And somehow it always seems to make it home alive (although now I feel I will inevitably be writing a eulogy for this camera in a future blog post).

We worked our way to the base of a larger opening, where the water suddenly deepened. Jason, the tallest and strongest of the trio, ventured in. But with the current and loss of a safety wall, Evelyn and I watched from the entrance. A few huge bats flapped their way by us and out the tunnel. We marveled at the place we found ourselves in, completely hidden from the eyes of every other visitor that day.

Going back was faster, but much, much scarier. Moving upstream is a lot of work but you are in control. You move your legs against the current and place them where you choose. Going back, you are at the mercy of the water rushing past, which dictates when and where you place your feet. One step on an unsteady rock and down you go. If your grip on the wall doesn’t hold, then over you go. Once out of the cavern, we climbed back down the falls (again more difficult than going up—especially when our feet were masked by the white veil of water). Then we shimmied back to the larger falls, through the curtain of water, back to safety and back to the rest of our group who was relaxing in the sun below.

I decided to swim a little, since I was already thoroughly saturated. It wasn’t really a swimming hole though—the entire area was pulsating with waves radiating from the epicenter of the falls. But it was a fun challenge to see if I could fight the current enough to make it to the remnants of a tree sticking up above the surface about 50 meters closer to the falls. I’ve never swum so hard in my life, and I made it to the tree but was so tired I didn’t even have the strength to hoist myself on top. Getting there was enough for me, so I just let go and let the waves push me back ten times faster than I had arrived.

When we’d all had enough of the falls, we treated ourselves to some delicious food at a restaurant nearby. Our colectivo driver had offered to come back to pick us up at 4:30, so we paid him because we knew it would be difficult to find another ride home from such a remote area late in the evening. Now we’ve finished our meal and are waiting, hoping this guy will actually show. It’s raining now and I’m not too keen on the multiple hour walk home if he decides not to come back for us.

***

6:30 p.m. Tuesday, Sept. 14, 2010 – La Casa, Palenque, Mexico

***

We made it home, but not exactly the way we had planned. At 5:15 p.m. we got tired of waiting, figuring the guy had screwed us over. A couple of Argentineans and a Swiss were waiting with us also hoping for a ride back, but when our guy didn’t show we all started walking the few kilometers back to the main road. It was a beautiful walk and the rain had stopped, so I didn’t even mind. We got lucky; a car with a trailer picked the eight of us up and took us back to Palenque for only 20 pesos. Not bad, and it was a fun ride with all of us crammed in and trying not to fall out (there was no tailgate).

Now back home and dry, we’re going to cook fajitas, relax and drink the homemade sangria that has been chilling overnight. I just looked up some photos of Misol-ha Falls, and thought at first I was looking at a different place. The photos were taken during the dry season and show hardly more than a glorified trickle compared to what we saw after weeks of rain. I’m really glad we were fortunate enough to see the waterfall in all its glory.

***

Humans are primates, too!

10:30 p.m. Sunday, Sept. 12, 2010 – La Casa, Palenque, Mexico

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Today was the first day of our four day break so Evelyn, Liz, Brittany and I went to explore the world renowned Mayan ruins in Palenque National Park. We decided not to hire a guide to save money, so we did our best to see as much as we could on our own. We climbed a year’s worth of steps in just a few hours, but the view at the top of each structure was well worth it.

The modern town of Palenque is built on top of art of an ancient Mayan city state, and Palenque National Forest also camouflages the majority of the city’s old foundations. So the territories of our howler monkey subjects are in a jungle dotted with ancient, crumbling structures, and the stones we use to hop across streams have a rich history. I feel so fortunate to be working in this place and am in awe of its beauty, both natural and man-made. It definitely looks like something out of a movie, and I feel like “Diana Jones” walking around with my beige field clothes and satchel. It was also fitting because the four of us have an interest in the non-human primate side of anthropology, but this gave us a chance to experience something closer to home.

The Mayan city that is now referred to as Palenque spanned from about 300 B.C. to 800 A.D., soon after which the Mayan civilization declined and the city was overtaken by the forest. Out of the roughly 500 buildings that originally existed, 34 have been excavated. The Temple of Inscriptions, one of the most famous Mayan buildings, contains the tomb of K'inich Janaab' Pakal as well as tablets inscribed with hieroglyphics recounting historic events. This building is no longer open to the public, but is now opened only for political leaders and journalists, according one of the guides. “But I’m a journalist!” I exclaimed. He said I need to comeback with credentials from National Geographic, so that’s my plan.

Dr. Estrada came over this evening to give another talk—this one was about the conservation status of black howler monkeys and other primates across the world. It included horror stories of what happens to those captured and sold to the pet trade. The rehabilitation clinic that we work in conjunction with is starting a program where they pair the infant howler monkeys with female dogs to act as companions and provide the stimulation of fur that humans lack. This will allow them to cling to the back and belly as they would their real mother. When the juveniles get older they are put with others of their own kind, to socialize and potentially prepare for reintroduction to the wild. It was a really interesting lecture, and I’m excited that we’ll be able to see this new method being put into practice firsthand.

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