Little Sharks

My day off and I spent it in bed curled up in the fetal position. I am sick again, but when I finally got up this morning I discovered Amy came back from the field early with the same food-poisoning/bacterial symptoms. The expected intestinal cramps, gurgling, and as soon as I eat a little bread or sip a little water out it comes. We both got out the Cipro. Tomorrow I’ll have to show up to dinner and attempt rice or I’ll have the whole sanctuary coming to check up on me.

29 Nov 03

Update: my stomach flu lasted only four days after three of the five of us got sick. I’m back to eating the spicy dinner meals.

Tonight’s English class was more like daycare. The only English we got through was “Today is...” which only two students copied. Anyway, so they weren’t focused and I thought I could “cheer up the mood” by giving them monkey pictures to color. I didn’t think that I wouldn’t be able to tear them away. They grabbed at the pictures like sharks at an open wound. After they dived into the markers I couldn’t even interest them in the primate picture book. I couldn’t even get them to repeat “gibbon” and rhesus macaque,” much less write the names. At least I got “ Goodnight” in on the way out. And, they are very well mannered otherwise, putting away all the binders and markers they used.

30 Nov 03

The leaves have fallen here, crisp off the trees and it is a brisk 50F in the early morning. There was no simultaneous color burst though, it is too warm for that. Instead, the leaves simply dried out and fell—almost a non-event save for the crunchy carpet that now litters our trails. We spent most of the morning pushing through dense difficult undergrowth, me trying to keep pace with Wichian (who was trying to keep pace with the langurs) as I also scanned for snakes, bristly caterpillars, and the other numerous small dangers that are easily run into when bushwhacking. Our un-habituated group, PB, spent the day inside the Tpop loop where there are no trails, making them a difficult follow. At noon, after losing a group of ten, we heard an adult male double bark 100m to the west. Wichian and I went charging, nearly running in the direction of the sound, but only found the sole male when we arrived. Crunch, crunch, crunch, every movement an advanced warning for hiding langurs. I’ve tried tiptoeing on the balls of my feet, I’ve tried keeping to the outside edges of the soles, careful to step in areas with the most dirt showing through—all futile attempts.