Issue #50: Helado, Snakes, and Wet Wipes: Our First Months in ESM by Monica Hart
Written by Monica Hart
We don’t always end up telling the stories that we thought we would. This is the story I have for now.
When folks heard that I would be camping on my land, many a stranger came up to meet armed with this first question: “How are you going to go to the bathroom?” I would laugh and think “nice to meet you too!” But honestly, it’s a super question and a nice change from “What do you do for a living?”
Let’s back up.
A few months ago I was exploring possibilities to rent house and car for an expedition to see just how crazy my new endeavour is: building a home on the other side of the world in La Ecovilla San Mateo (ESM), Costa Rica. I wanted to stay really close to my land and get a feel for this rectangular hill where I had spent half an hour six months before. I wanted to get a feel for the Ecovilla project, the other eco-communities, the surrounding Tico communities and everything else.
Day after day I searched, contacted, searched again… I was beginning to wonder if my pockets weren’t deep enough for fancy Costa Rica. Once, I thought I had found a casita only to reload the web-page for making reservations and in a blink of an eye the price had almost doubled.
Fortunately—(or unfortunately?), I don’t give up easily. One evening my mind broke through the walls of the box and discovered what I was really looking for on the other side of the Atlantic: the jungle. I would rent a car and camp on my land. This solved the budget problem and aligned perfectly with my intentions. After all, the first thing bringing me to Costa Rica is the weather and the wildlife.
This solution was also perfect for a nature-lover who has spent the last five years cooped up indoors in an 18th century manor house in a valley of Switzerland. Cold cloudy weather and me should never be together in the same sentence for over a week and a half. I was more than ready for a good hearty dose of fresh air.
I started briefing my 4-year-old son about the jungle: snakes, spiders, birds, jaguars… we practiced a little Spanish on Duolingo. Most importantly, he learned how to say,
“Yo quiero helado.”
I bought some compact air mattresses, a medium sized tent with big fine-mesh doors, and an extra mosquito net to hang inside the tent. I love nature but I would like to avoid scorpions in my bed. I went full MacGyver and stuffed two carry-on bags with versatile necessities pretty much limited to my camping gear, mom and toddler linen t-shirts and shorts, a mirror, 5 cigarettes of praying tabacco, a bar of Aleppo soap, toothbrush and paste, magnets, pull-ups, and plenty of wet wipes. I figured that should cover everything I would need for 3 months of camping in the ESM jungle. We were ready.
Early on a cold winter morning, my son and I climbed onto an airplane in Geneva… then in Amsterdam and after in Panama City. We arrived in Costa Rica the next night, more dead than alive. Never again will I purchase a ticket with 2 layovers just to save a hundred bucks.
Bad decisions behind us, we got here and were welcomed in the most absolute definition of this term. Some sort of stardust lead us to new Tico friends who nursed us back to health through days of jetlag and the inevitable bug we must have picked up on one of those airplanes.
Our new friends gave us exactly what we needed but didn’t dare ask for… time for me to rest and new playmates for my son. For a few weeks we built fires to make our morning coffee, tasted new foods, played “Peter Pan,” my son’s obsession of the moment, and watched the stars at night, chitchatting quietly. My son’s papa arrived a month later complete with a very large tarp (in case of dry-season rain) and a few choice essential oils. It turns out that the invisible mosquitoes of Costa Rica are fans of Franco-American Swiss people.
Now that you have a glimpse of the backstory, I will jump back to our campsite at ESM and to the real question…
“Where do we shit?”
Well, it depends. I adore a good clean secluded bathroom complete with a heated seat and Japanese bidet system with music so I don’t have to hear myself tinkle. But when I learned to camp in the deeper forests of Europe, the jungles of South America, and the deserts of the Sahara a few years ago (early mid-life crisis?), cutting the chain to the toilet was surprisingly one of the most liberating experiences. Once you do that you are free to go anywhere, literally.
There are a number of factors to consider when deciding where to place your merde. Impact on environment and logistics are the first questions to address. Given the fact that we are staying in the same spot for a while, but only temporarily, and that we are quite close to organised human infrastructures making trips to town almost daily, I opted for the doggie-bag method here. I’m not saying that it’s the most ecologic, but it felt right for this little sejour. Bonus tip: forget the diamonds—unscented wet wipes are a camper’s best friend.
With this essential question out of the way, I wish that I could describe the night that surrounds me as I write. Trickling water of the stream, the surround sound of singing bugs, toads, birds… all vibrating through me and everything at all times. My heart beats softly and my tense muscles relax.
On some nights a couple of crazy fast fireflies zip through the woods. One somehow flies right into my dark tent the moment that I step out to brush my teeth. I am so lucky to see this elegant beetle up close. I awe at the two circular bright lights on her back before showing her to the door.
Glow-worms line the river. We shine a light to see what they look like (little black caterpillars) and they stop glowing for a few minutes before restarting their light show. (Oops, sorry to bother…)
I rinse a few dishes in the stream one morning and a sturdy toad hops out from under a rock and eyes us for a while before diving back in and swimming off.
I go out to pee one night and find myself squatting over a long, thin diamond-backed snake. The dreaded venomous Terciopelo. Startled by the sudden pee shower he redresses and slithers up towards me. I instinctively back up and to the side. It happens so fast that I experience the encounter in slow motion. Not fear, but a sort of reverence surges through me the instant I see him. He crosses just in front of me and cuddles up to the roots of a tree. That night I have trouble getting to sleep… I feel joyful and full of life energy.
Ants are everywhere! The leaf-cutters carry their cargo in a stream day and night. I’ve managed to negotiate with them not to cross through our camp. The tiny ones are always there to clean up the crumbs of our food and sneak a few little bites on my toes. The big brick-colored ones mostly mosey around like lost cowboys, occasionally snacking on a fruit or lemon peel. They sometimes bite a foot and leave a mean swell. The even bigger striped ones are only interested in whatever is happening under dead leaves and stay mostly on the river bank.
When I shine a flashlight into the grass or onto the riverside, tens of little stars gleam back at me like sparkling dew drops. Spider eyes. Night is their moment to enjoy this place. Some are tiny, others are gods. (Those photos I saw on Google were not photoshopped as I had assumed!) I always wish them a good night.
Late one afternoon my son and I get back to camp exhausted and over-heated, ready to slice into the watermelon he had picked out at the ESM feria a few days before with our trusty red Swiss army knife. By the road at the entrance to our land, where the road team was working today, is a piece of watermelon rind next to an empty plastic Fanta bottle (grape flavor) and some used paper napkins. The workers enjoyed a watermelon today too, I think.
But downhill back at camp, I discover that my watermelon is gone. Nothing else is stolen from my tent, but it is full of mosquitos. Someone unzipped the door for a while. My big naive heart sinks to the ground for the day. I explain to my perplexed 4-year old about stealing. I try not to criminalise the culprit too much. This world is complicated. We cry. We are tired. Thankfully, the hours do their work and by morning I feel light again and imagine an overheated human making a rotten decision but sitting in the shade enjoying a juicy watermelon and sharing it with his overheated colleagues.
There is a night when I can’t sleep. I lay and listen to the music of the jungle. I hear a busy animal working for a long time in the leaves around my tent, probably some sort of raccoon or skunk. I’ve heard him pass by on other nights, and once got a glimpse of Pepe Le Pew, but tonight he seems extra busy. I don’t interrupt.
At sunrise I’m greeted with a curious surprise: hand-sized heart shaped vine leaves have been cut and placed in a two meter radius all around my tent. Though unlikely, I ask my son if he somehow did this the day before without me noticing. Nope. I try to find a logical explanation and remember hearing that little animal so busy around our tent last night. Could this be a housewarming gift? This sweet thought carries me through the morning.
Around town I meet many Ticos, kind, reserved, and amused when I try to explain something with the ten words of Spanish that I know. There is some serious lost in translation, but in the end I feel lots of goodwill.
I meet many people at the ESM neighbour meet-up. All these dreamers dreaming and builders building… it’s super energising and I need that in my life right now.
I’m getting ready to go back to a hard-topped roof, running water, and all of those comforts that we people like to have. Bathing in nature is priceless, but a good hot shower is also divine.
I hope that I can translate some of this camping experience into the home that I build here, or wherever I go.
I would do it again in a heartbeat.
To be continued…
Monica Hart
Thank you for sharing some insights of your unique adventure tour on the ground of our future home ESM. Hope to have you back soon. Be well. Gerry
I would guess a stray dog took the watermelon!