Monkey Island

In late December of 2017, just after Christmas, we visited Monkey Island, a small island off a bigger island in the middle of the Caribbean. The Caribbean islands as a whole have not had native primate species for some time, but some number of decades ago that changed. A population of rhesus macaques was brought to Cayo Santiago just off the southeastern coast of Puerto Rico to establish a research colony for primate research at the nearby Caribbean Primate Research Center. Our visit was just a short while after Hurricane Maria and the research center, nearby town of Punta Santiago, and monkey island had all been hit hard.

Our trip was part of a greater series of relief efforts which would slowly help rebuild some of the town and research center. The island itself had few permanent pre-storm structures -- the monkeys had never gotten around to building any themselves -- but the few that existed were mostly blown over or, in many cases, damaged beyond repair. Thankfully the dock which is the only means of shepherding supplies to and from the larger island remained intact. Although it is always difficult to do accurate counts given there are estimated to be 1,000+ macaques broken down into a number of mobiles groups on the island at any given time, it is estimated that only a few monkeys perished during and after the storm. Shortly after the hurricane passed the first priority was repairing Punta Santiago's dock that served as the point of departure for the daily monkey chow to the island as its vegetation and limited resources cannot support the monkeys long. This was completed by the time we arrived -- though there were still many gaps in the planks and missing boards. Our task was to help with debris clearance in anticipation of the future rebuild.

For two days we ferried over to the island and hauled twisted metal and splintered wood from one place to another. It was hot and humid even in December, and, with a few older individuals participating in the venture, we took far more breaks than probably were warranted, but nevertheless we succeeded in moving individual pieces of debris into huge piles of debris for latter shuttling off the island. Along the way we were occasionally followed by monkeys, but typically more often we were ignored completely. There was a little bit of monkey sex and a bit more monkey fighting and that was it. Aside from monkey chow time -- when the monkeys would swarm and stuff as many monkey biscuits into their hands, tails, and pockets as possible before running off awkwardly on their hind legs -- and periodic monkey migrations -- when a large herd of seemingly endless monkeys would move en masse for presumably brilliant monkey reasons -- the monkeys were more scenery than major players in our Monkey Island visit. Which is probably good because they can both be ornery and disease vectors which is never a good combination (see Herpes B virus). Interspersed amongst the monkeys were a number of iguanas that seemed equally indifferent to the presence of either of us. The most surprising aspect of our trip to Monkey Island was actually not the fauna but the flora. Or rather the lack of it. While once tropical and green the storm winds had stripped most of the leaves from the palms that typically provided cover and a once shaded island was now quite sun exposed. This was true not just of Monkey Island, but much of Puerto Rico as a whole. The power of the hurricane was still clearly visible even 3 months later.

Our work on Monkey Island aside we also helped repair some roofs, scrub mold off a ceiling -- or at least tried to, and pulled up soggy old flooring from nearby homes. There were thankfully folks with better carpentry skills than our own so hopefully the efforts are lasting. Local accommodations were provided at a hotel in the capital which was almost entirely occupied by electrical workers and individuals from various governmental and nongovernmental organizations. Although the country side and city of San Juan were not as destroyed as I had feared, the impact was still clearly present as the destruction of the island's power grid led to regular power shortages even a hundred days later and traffic lights that still didn't function. We also visited with a friend of Liz's, Nicky, who worked at the primate center and lived in a nice little town home nearby. We toured some of the nearby beaches, visited Old San Juan -- which I think is a beautiful gem of a historical town -- and ate a good number of plantains in its various incarnations. Although not a huge fan of mofongo I will never turn down a good fried plantain. 😃💟🍌

Greeece

Aside from not riding mopeds, I did other things in Greece as well. Specifically, I went places. And these are some of those places:

Houston - Not only did I make the mistake of deciding to take public transportation to the airport, I made the mistake of doing it in Houston. The price for this error was about three hours of commuting, abrasions on my feet where my new sandals were not in agreement with my anatomy, and my arrival into the check-in area just as the KLM personnel were pulling up the ropes. That and the standard layer of sweat and grime that seems to perpetually cling to the humid air in Houston. Ro was gracious enough to let me stay at her place so that I could attempt this foolish endeavor, and I am grateful for her kindness. Especially when she kindly let me steal her Obi Wan Ginobli shirt which, it turns out, has no actual power to make the Spurs play better.

Amsterdam - I was here long enough only to hear my name paged overhead as my flight threatened to leave without me. Thank you Dutch customs.

Thessaloníki - The regional capital of Macedonia and the graffiti capital of the world. Here we all collectively, save Megan I guess, learned that Greeks, though generally friendly people, are terrible at giving directions. I am pretty sure Paul, Rachel, and Liz would have had to camp out in Liz's giant green suitcase had we not found them. Once settled we saw some sites, played some Uno, and, later, caught a train. Despite the locals' recommendation of Applebee's for a good restaurant, we had our first Greek dinner at a popular tourist trap after being advised by what may have been a prostitute.

Meteora - We arrived at night, wandered a bit, and then conveniently found the only French place in town where, despite the limited English spoken by the owner and the limited French spoken by us, we stayed for a night and were comforted by the French iconography and pictures of Charles de Gaulle. That was actually in a small town called Kalambaka. Meteora itself, a collection of towering stone spires and medieval Greek Orthodox monasteries, has no hotels and is an amazing and unique little enclave nestled in the middle-of-nowhere Greece. We taxied up and visited a few, but the real adventure began when we took one of the mapped out "hiking trails." In reality, however, these were less "hiking trails" and more "suggested places for a good hiking trail." The path started out accessible and clearly demarcated enough, but it quickly gave way to a difficult to penetrate collection of holly, silkworms, and loose rock. Never ones to back down we continued on towards our goal, a fourth monastery, only to completely bypass it and have Liz somehow lose her glasses along the way. A dapper looking Greek monk or goat now undoubtedly has a nice pair of light green lady shades. We departed the next day via bus as the trains were not working thanks to some May Day strikes. Where's some Pinkertons when you need 'em?

Athens Part 1 - Not much to say. We had some gyros, Megan had a crepe, Liz replaced her glasses -- I am pretty sure Liz and I saw an 80 year old transvestite -- and we went on the ferry. After I ran to four or five different ferry ticket queues stupidly looking for our tickets at the wrong place that is, but I've said too much.

Paros - Our first island. Lots of little towns spread out over a fairly large, relative to the rest of the Cyclades, island. Here I learned to drive like a Greek though I cannot say I quite ever learned to park like one. Here we also learned that we had arrived far too early in the season to actually enjoy anything in Greece. Megan couldn't find her kayaks, Liz's butterfly reserve was closed, and the mine/cave on Antiparos was inaccessible. Thankfully there was ouzo; unfortunately it tasted only partly like licorice and mostly like alcohol. As a result of the limited options we spent a lot of time at the grocery store, examining the cheeses. Actually that was the girls' thing; I couldn't decide on how much coke to buy. (Friendly coke, not coke coke.) It was also here that we learned that for Megan the louder you shake the plastic Yahtzee cup the better. I did not miss never playing that game again. We eventually left Paros again by ferry but this time without the ticket issues.

That's the first half of the trip in brief. Or, alternatively, "What I did in a Foreign Country for Nine Days in Two Hundred Words or Less."