The Global Classroom

Three a.m. came quickly and as I packed my things together in waterproof bags in preparation for the twenty mile jungle hike to Arenal volcano, I recalled the words of Richard Schomburgk, a Prussian explorer who journeyed to the Rain Forest in 1867.

" All the pictures my imagination had painted in anticipation of the impression a virgin forest would make on me, sank like faded shadows into insignificance before the sublime reality that discloses itself upon entering it." I have done this hike several times over the past six years but each journey is new and exciting. The hike requires a four a.m.departure, eleven river crossings and a lot of route finding. I have traveled this way in February with Machete and compass, only to find in April the path is over grown and impossible to locate.

Becca and I are stepping into the forest well before day light and will emerge at the edge of Arenal lake ten to fifteen hours later if all goes well. The rains have finally let up and in the piercing beams of our head lamps tiny drops of moisture look like shooting stars as they float past us in swirling, silvery ribbons. It does not take us long to find the abandoned road that will bring us to the abandoned farms of San Gerardo. Though the road is wide and easy to locate without our lights, the severe erosion and odiferous land mines strategically placed by cows requires a certain level of awareness.

A pastel sunrise greets us two hours into the hike. In an explosion of color the sun appears directly behind Arenal volcano. From a distance Arenal is a classic example of a Strombolian volcano. The smoking mountain rises high off the shores of Laguna Arenal standing tall like a sentinel before the town of La Fortuna. In 1968 a farmer's field was changed forever when a massive explosion tore open the land, sending gases and ash racing down the forested hillsides into a nearby village. Several dozen people perished in that single event. Since that time Arenal has subsided considerably, pouring out a gentle flow of glowing lava and, on occasion, a burst of incandescent rock and ash.

It is now full daylight and the road has given way to abandoned pastures. African Saw Grass, over eight feet high, slows our pace to a crawl. Attempts to clear the way with machetes prove futile and exhaustive. Thick tangled mattes of grass are inextricable and make it impossible to see our feet. One moment we are stepping forward, the next we are extricating ourselves from the gaping mouth of a trench created by the cows. It is here that "expedition behavior" can begin rearing its ugly head, turning angels to irritable grouches. Finally we reach the river valley. After six hours of steep decent the flat terrain will be a welcome change.

The rivers are running higher than normal. The crossings will be slow and arduous. Everything about the Jungle hike seems to defy the rules of hiking back home. For example, back home I would spend some time scouting for a place to cross the river in such a way as to keep my feet dry. In Costa Rica, the mountains thrust themselves right up to the rivers edge, making scouting impossible. Here you only have one option. I plunge in up to my thigh. Slowly, feeling around with my feet, I seek out stable footing in the strong current. Inch by inch we make our way to the other shore. In the back of my mind I know the river will only be increasing in size as we follow it down stream.

Thick, wild jungle awaits us on the other side. All equipment must be tightly packed inside our pack or it will be stripped off in no time. The singing of the machetes has now become part of the routine. We are surrounded by fiery red Heleconia blossoms, thirty foot tree ferns, and giant trees with ribbon like buttress roots. We have been in the river valley for hours now. Brocket deer, peccary and jaguar tracks are under foot. Over head I here the toucans call and the cicadas trilling. Just meters away a sun bittern takes to flight, the intricate patterns of its feathers make this bird seem unnatural. The sporadic sunbeams that shower down through the dense canopy like golden swords have given way to clouds and rain drops. We pick up the pace.

The weather in Costa Rica has been very unpredictable due to El-Nino. A recent flood has already been troublesome for us due to log jambs and erosion. Here it is obvious the Earth is in constant change. Just one month ago I had traveled this route, clearing trails and marking my way. Now, tiny rivulets that I once stepped over have become ten foot deep trenches. The volcanic soil is constantly being carved away by the heavy rains. A deforested piece of rain forest deep in the interior kills the coral reefs hundreds of miles away as the fine silt washes into the oceans. In the jungle, everything is connected.

At last, nearly thirteen hours into our hike, we enter the open fields of civilization. Even the defused light of the overcast sky hurts our eyes after so long in the jungle. Though we still have four miles to go only one river keeps us from the town of El Castillo. This river is the largest and most difficult to cross. The river we have been following joins yet another larger one making the river deep, fast and sometimes treacherous. The spot I usually choose to cross, because of its run out and eddies below, has been transformed into a class three rapid in the latest flood two weeks ago. We will have to travel up stream in search of a safer place. Going down stream is not an option- I have scouted that route with a friend in the past (a very colorful and very long story).

Several hundred meters up stream we find a place that looks possible to cross. It will involve technical equipment, and full immersion. We batten down the hatches on our backpacks in preparation for the swim we are going to take. A tree twenty feet out on a small island and another one on the far side of the river will provide secure anchors for the rope we will need to use as a hand line. The first person over to the other side to tie off the tree is the joker in this pack. Looking out across the turbulent blue water it seems so simple- yet taking only a few steps out into the current to reach the island it becomes obvious we will be swept off our feet while attempting the deeper section. The rope is our only hope. Far across the valley the volcano roars. High mountains obscure our view, but periodic venting has reminded us of her presence all day.

I focus my attention on the details of tying a self releasing knot around a huge guava tree. If tied incorrectly, it is impossible to retrieve the rope once having crossed to the other side. It took less than ten minutes to secure the rope yet when I turn to look out across the river I notice the deep blue water has turned to brown. It was not the volcano after all. Listening hard, we can now make out the sound of thunder above the roar of the river. Far up the valley a thunder storm is raging. As we watch the river rises inches at a time. Moving quickly I tell Becca we must get off the island before it becomes too deep to retreat. I release the rope and coil it as fast as I can. Suddenly, out of the blue- or green in the case of the jungle- a caballaro and his daughter, dressed in rain coats shiney and slick from the rain, come galloping up on horses. Behind them are several more saddled horses. The caballaro looks at us yelling "Rapido Rapido" and motions us to grab a horse and get on. With a sixty pound pack on your back, this is not an easy thing to do.

Becca, with fluid grace, leaps up and on. Me- well, I put a foot up and begin my ascent. Wrestling with the tonnage on my back I feel like Moe, Larry and Curley combined. Eventually I cross over the center of the saddle and drop in. Immediately the horses high step the river, picking their way through the rushing torrent. Once across they burst out into the open field in a gallop. The rain comes and goes, the green looks greener than I ever remember, and life seems just a little bit sweeter.

On September 4 the Global Classroom's first intern arrived in San Jose, Costa Rica. Shelly Dockins, from Berlin, Connecticut, is participating in a four week language program while living with a Costa Rican "Tico" family. By being fully immersed in the language and culture she feels she will learn much more than if she lived on her own.

Upon completion of her studies Shelly will leave the city behind and travel to the small town of Santa Elena to begin one of the Global Classroom internships with the "Totiqui Mau" museum. "Totiqui Mau" means "Our Home" in the indigenous Maleku dialect, which is still spoken by some in a small area around Cano Negro refuge to the north. Totiqui Mau is an ethno-historical and cultural museum focusing on pre-Colombian archaeological patrimony, entomological studies, and display items that reflect the local cultural history. As part of the Global Classroom's commitment to cross cultural exchanges, and as a service to the Community, Shelly will offer her assistance at the museum in exchange for room and board. Some of Shelly's tasks will include the identification, classification and arranging of entomological displays, recording oral histories, giving slide show presentations and offering tours at the museum.