Ecuador: Day 2

Things I learned today:

- Hacking through the jungle with a machete may look cool in movies, but in real life it’s hard work and tires you out really quickly. Also way more difficult than you might think.

- Never wear shorts into said jungle. Current bug bite count: 218. 146 on my left leg and 72 on my right.

- Doing God’s work is often unglamorous and/or seemingly unhelpful. Like moving one big pile of dirt to another big pile of dirt, or squirting water at a wall for three solid hours.

- How to conjugate three Spanish verbs.

- One can get by without knowing Spanish, simply by using the following phrases: “buenos dias,” “gracias,” “lo siento,” and “esta bien.”

- THEY HAVE MILO AT THE GROCERY STORE. Hello, Australia.

- Little kids are adorable.

Today we led chapel at the Nate Saint School for about twenty missionary kids. I led worship, which was pretty nerve-wracking since I had no idea what I’d be playing until about five minutes before chapel; we also had a lesson drawn from the story of Zaccheus (a skit, in which the title character was played by the short-statured but big-hearted Alex Hwang). After chapel, we traipsed out to the worksite for our first day of construction on Casa De Fe’s new building.

Right now, the orphanage is located in central Shell in a dilapidated old building that is far too small to house 30-40 children. A few years ago Patti Sue, the founder of Casa De Fe, managed to procure about 7 acres of land just outside of town (about a twenty-minute walk from where they are situated right now). Construction is underway of a multi-use building that’s about three times the size of the current setup; it should be finished in about four months. The children will move into this building temporarily as they complete construction on the rest of the property, which will contain fifteen small houses, the multi-use building, and a school building. The eventual vision is for the children to live with house parents, with ten to fourteen kids per “family.” Right now, Dwight and four local construction guys (Freddie, Washington, Luis, and Herman—all strong Christians who really believe in the mission of Casa de Fe) are pretty much raising this huge building from the ground up. We spent the day sifting concrete, shoveling dirt, moving boulders, spraying down bare concrete walls, and yes, clearing dense jungle with machetes. Some of us went to both Casa de Fe and the Nate Saint School in the afternoon to teach P.E., as well.

At almost precisely five o’clock, after a hard day’s labor, those of us at the construction site boarded a truck for home—seconds ahead of a torrential downpour. Kim says it’s not unheard of to get a full foot of rainfall in just a few hours; this area of Ecuador receives about 24 feet annually. After getting thoroughly soaked in the back of the almost-but-not-quite-covered truck, we settled back in to the Hosteria Shell, where we could shower and relax before dinner. Tonight we feasted on pinchos (a sort of shish kebab), French fries, corn on the cob, and fresh watermelon, spending a good deal of time playing with the Barton’s four sons (Isaac, Josiah, Nathan, and Samuel) and the two older orphans that live with Patti Sue (Jessica and Jennifer).

Each night we hear testimony from a different missionary, and tonight’s was absolutely mindblowing. Patti Sue, as I’ve mentioned, is the founder of Casa De Fe and a thoroughly remarkable woman. She spent twenty years as a mechanic in the Army, and when she retired she felt God’s call to missions. In the late 90s, she moved to Quito and began to repair donated wheelchairs; she felt it was a good combination of her mechanical skill and her heart for the disabled. However, as some doors closed and others opened (including her decision to foster two disabled Ecuadorian children), she felt God strongly calling her to Shell. Although it was difficult for her to believe at first, God wanted her to begin something that had absolutely nothing to do with her previous background as a mechanic. However, soon the idea and vision for Casa De Fe became clear.

The number of children at Casa De Fe has grown exponentially since then; right now they have 56 children and just took another today. The kids come from a variety of backgrounds but are often abused or disabled or both. Many of the older girls have been sexually abused, and almost none of the children have a normal or healthy conception of what family really means. At Casa de Fe, however, they are loved extravagantly and constantly. I can’t count the number of times a CdF staff person has encouraged us to come by and play with the kids whenever we want, or nonchalantly mentioned an experience with a child that just tugs at your heart like nothing else.

The oldest kids in the orphanage are now around 12, and Patti Sue’s hope is to eventually see them off to college or to jobs within the area (perhaps some of them will even continue to work for Casa de Fe). This means that they will soon be needing teachers for a high-school level. Something to think about?

our version of the story of Zaccheus. Nate is a tree, in case you were wondering.

Our commute from Nate Saint to CdF

The streets of Shell

construction site for CdF's multi-use building

john lin has a grudge?

sifting dirt for concrete mixing

the aftermath. this is what my legs look like now.

Ecuador: Day 1

For a country that is supposed to be in the middle of the jungle, Ecuador sure has a lot of mountains. Soaring pinnacles and deep rocky ravines make up most of the landscape around Quito—one of the tallest cities in the world, at 10,000 feet. Nestled in a valley high in the Andes, Ecuador’s capital is home to over 2 million people. When viewed from above, it’s hard to believe; at its widest point, Quito is barely two miles across. However, the city spills over to span an impressive length, stretching as far as the eye can see in both directions.

We arrived in Quito at approximately 11:00pm local time last night (Ecuador is in the same time as the East Coast, but doesn’t follow Daylight Savings so we are currently one hour behind), and were met at the airport by Kevin Skillen ’96. Kevin works in the State Department as a cultural affairs minister, promoting American culture in Ecuador by hosting music groups, speakers, and other events. As soon as we got through customs, we were joined by Kim Barton ’93, who works at the Hospital Vozandes del Oriente with her husband Paul (as a pediatrician and an anesthesiologist, respectively). Kim and Kevin shepherded us to a guesthouse run by another missionary organization, where we thankfully collapsed into bed, still delirious from a long day of traveling.

The sunshine that woke me up this morning was unbelievably welcome after endless weeks of New Jersey winter. The kitchen was full of activity, as several other missionaries were staying in the guesthouse with us; some were stationed in Quito, some in Shell (our destination). Delicious fresh melons and pineapple were sliced and waiting, along with fruit juices I had never heard of (Mora? Guanabana?), a sweet nutty cake, and much-needed coffee. At 8:45 sharp we headed to the English-speaking church a few blocks away, where we worshipped with a mixed group of Ecuadorians, Americans, and Canadians—expats, missionaries, and who knows what. It was a lovely service, and we even met another Princetonian, this time from the class of ’98. I still haven’t decided whether I believe his life story, but it’s too good not to repeat: this guy was born in Ecuador but moved to the states when he was 6, grew up immersed in gang life and became the boss of the Latin Kings (he showed us his tattoos). He wised up, went to Princeton (which is where I assume he became a Christian), majored in Econ, graduated, and set up his own business as a professional bodyguard, which he did for 15 years. After a stint as Steven Seagal’s bodyguard (does he NEED a bodyguard?) he moved back to Ecuador. Needless to say . . . quite a character.

After church we walked back to the guesthouse, packed up everything we needed (and a variety of odds and ends that the missionaries wanted to send to Shell), and boarded a bus that would take us 120 miles southeast of and 7,000 feet below Quito. Despite the seeming closeness, the mountainous terrain forced the roads into terrifying hairpin turns and tight tunnels, making the journey take about 5 hours. The scenery was absolutely incredible, however; Kim, who was riding with us, was constantly pointing out waterfalls, active volcanoes, old lava flows, rivers, and more. The Andes remind me of a combination of both of the U.S.’s major mountain ranges: tall and craggy, like the Rockies, but thickly covered with trees, like the Appalachians. Most of the journey kept us at a very high altitude, but by the last hour or so were starting to see more jungle-like flora. When we entered Shell, it was very clear that yes, we were in the middle of the rainforest.

Shell is a not-insignificantly-sized town with an interesting history. It was founded about fifty years ago by the Shell gas company to explore oil possibilities in the region; however, the indigenous people killed so many Shell employees that they were forced to flee the area. They left behind them a fully functioning airstrip, which made it much easier for missionaries to access the territory. The missionaries didn’t fare much better—this is precisely the area of Ecuador where missionaries Jim Elliot, Nate Saint, and several others were killed by natives who didn’t understand their message (the basis for the movie “The End of the Spear). However, those same tribes later converted to Christianity, realized what they had done, and became determined to help spread the gospel in their homeland.

Today, Shell is a thriving hub of missionary activity. I had always thought of missionaries as being very solitary, serving God in complete isolation. However, there is a community of missionary families here, with enough children to populate an entire school (The Nate Saint School, commemorating those that died decades earlier). We will be doing some work at this school throughout the week: we’re leading chapel tomorrow and will also be teaching Art and P.E. However, our primary work spot will be Casa De Fe (“House of Faith”). This incredible institution serves as an orphanage and school for about forty children from Shell and the surrounding jungle, all of whom have different stories and backgrounds. Some are there due to abuse in their homes; some were abandoned; many are physically or mentally disabled; some have families that can’t care for them and made the hugely sacrificial decision to place them at Casa De Fe.

At Casa De Fe, the children are clean and well-cared for, with several Tias (literally “Aunts”) who cook for them, clean up after them, and love them. Three young American women serve as teachers, most just out of college with little training or education. A young couple from Texas, Tandy and Dwight Martin, run the administrative side of things, bringing in short-term missions teams and coordinating other necessary efforts. Dwight is also in charge of construction at their new site, a few miles from the current cramped setup in the heart of Shell. Some of us will be doing construction work at the site, while others will teach, tutor, and help with the children at Casa De Fe. The entire organization is the brainchild of a woman named Patti Sue; we met her briefly this afternoon, but I am looking forward to talking to her later this week. She lives next door to where we are staying, and keeps six babies who are not yet old enough to be at Casa De Fe on a regular basis.

Right now, we are staying at the Hosteria Shell, within walking distance from all three sites (Casa De Fe, the construction site, and the Nate Saint School). I was expecting a rough hostel or guesthouse; however, the luxury of our accommodations surpassed all our wildest imaginations. It’s like a big, airy hotel, with a huge kitchen and sitting room area and a tiled back porch. The backyard has a pool, a hot tub, a sauna, and a swingset for kids (the Bartons’ four sons, all seven or younger, will frequently be around the building and playing with us). Each of us has our own bed, and each room has its own bathroom attached. Everything is clean and well-kept, and they are feeding us very well (for those of you that care, I will probably be temporarily abandoning my vegetarianism; I did some research last week on meat production in Ecuador and have decided that it is almost certainly consistent with my ethical constraints on meat-eating).

Sorry for the very long post—there has been a lot to process over the past 36 hours! I don’t have internet access right now, so I will plan to post this whenever that happens (maybe tomorrow, maybe not till I am back in the States!).

(Quito and the scenery around it)

(mountainous drive on the way to Shell)

(Ecuadorians on a gondola across one of the numerous canyons)

(children at La Casa de Fe, and also two of the Barton boys, Sammy and Josiah)

Sydney in Pictures

Here are a few pictures of my trip to Sydney a few weeks ago. I'm home now and I'll try to post a final entry within the next few days.


Sydney Harbor Bridge


Look what we found!!


Opera house :)


"Look! A sailboat! can't you see it?"


Bronte beach


Coolest pool ever! (in Bondi)


Walkway along Bondi beach


Nice overlook at Bondi


Walking from Bronte to Bondi

Whitsunday Islands-- Part II

Update: I'm DONE with finals! currently packing to leave Australia, although I'm not going to go into how I feel about that right now. Picking up where I left off in my last entry about the fabulously tropical Whitsunday Islands . . .

We awoke at 6:30am on the second day of our cruise (at least, those of us sleeping in the saloon area did, since it was time to set the table for breakfast). Apparently this is the best time of day to see turtles because it's when they come up for their first breath of the day after spending the night sleeping on the bottom of the ocean. An audible puff of air can be heard carrying across the water as they exhale the stale air, take in a deep breath or two, and then dive once more. I saw at least three turtles within fifteen minutes or so . . . incredible.

After breakfast, we headed to the famous Whitehaven beach. The sand is sugar-white, 98% silica, and so fine that there's an urban legend that NASA stole a bit of it to use for the Hubble Telescope. Whatever happened in the past, it's now illegal to take sand from Whitehaven beach. However, we spent a fun morning there lying in the sun, playing soccer, and wading in the surf looking for stingrays. CJ spent the entire morning posing people and taking pictures like the ones below; apparently the sand is so uniform in color and texture that you can manipulate depth perception easily. We had the beach almost to ourselves, save one or two other boats of tourists; our boys (and Julie, who plays for Brandeis) challenged another boat to a game of soccer and won handily :) As we had lunch and motored to our next snorkel spot, I stretched out on the nets in the front of the boat and finished C.S. Lewis's The Screwtape Letters (fantastic book!) and started on F. Scott Fitzgerald's This Side of Paradise, which I haven't yet read and supposed that I should.

We soon arrived at Luncheon Bay, another snorkeling spot popular with overnight dive boats. I think I saw more marine life here than I saw in any other spot over the trip. Not only were there tons of interesting coral formations (it's a relatively shallow area, and completely protected), but I saw anemones with clownfish (Nemo!), a colorful nudibranch, tons of graceful angelfish, many seemingly-smiling parrotfish, opening and shutting giant clams, a long, thin, silver flutefish, and best of all: a school of cuttlefish. Cuttlefish, if you don't know, look kind of like mini squid; however, they're amazingly intelligent, can change color rapidly, and are fast. I caught a glimpse of a school of about twenty cuttlefish moving together, perfectly camouflaged againsed the dusky brown of the sea floor, moving rapidly across my field of vision. I immediately poked my head above water to inform my fellow snorkelers, quickly calling them over and eagerly submerging again . . . but they had disappeared, in the space of about three seconds. Luckily, I saw the same school again about ten minutes later, and this time called Julie over to see in time. These magnificent animals were definitely my favorite thing to see over the course of the trip.

Most of the rest of the afternoon was spent lazing about on the boat (and/or plunging into the onboard jacuzzi after snorkeling in the freezing late-afternoon water). We moved to a nearby spot for another dive before the sun set; although Cookie wanted to anchor in the popular Wrasse Bay, the moorings were all occupied and we went for nearby Manta Ray bay. Apparently they can't normally moor here because of the winds and pounding surf, but the sea was calm and so we set up shop a few dozen meters from a forbidding rocky outcrop. This was the most isolated of our dive spots, but one of my favorites; although the fish here were pretty much the same as the other places; the proximity to the open ocean led to the formation of some pretty amazing coral structures. I was one of the only snorkelers who took the initiative to put on the wetsuit one more time that day, stepping straight off the back of the boat. It was a bit spooky because the water was very deep here and at times you couldn't see the bottom or any coral directly beneath you. However, close to the rocky outcrop was very shallow, claustrophobically so-- I swam on the surface of the water with coral almost touching my belly, and I think my body reacted as if I were crawling through a very small space (since of course the upward direction is no longer an option), and I almost started to hyperventilate from nerves because I couldn't find a way out of the shallow area. It seems to me that claustrophobia is a very unpleasant feeling.

I returned to the boat to find a lovely surprise-- a giant Maori wrasse had tailed us from Wrasse Bay and was hanging around the back of the boat, hoping for tidbits (they have unfortunately been conditioned to expect food from boats). We cruised out of the bay just in time to see the sunset, which was as beautiful (if not more so) as the preceding evening. Another dinner on the barbecue, another cool underwater film, and another heated discussion (this time about U.S. policy and politics-- not my forte, but sometimes you just can't let stereotypes/misconceptions lie). I also got to have another good talk with Cookie, the skipper. He basically lives on the flybridge, the highest part of the boat; he steers the boat from there, and every night he sets up a swag (sleeping bag/tarp) and sleeps under the stars, and sits up and plays his guitar (which he very kindly let me borrow whenever I wanted, once he found out that I was decently good). He'd lived all his life near the ocean and nature, hunting and fishing and sailing. He told me that he believed that there was something about human nature that was intricately tied to the sea; that no one could be happy unless they lived near water, that it was part of us. I told him that I lived in a landlocked state and had done so for twenty years, and he looked at me with such great pity in his eyes that I thought I might crumble under its weight. It's an interesting thought to ponder; certainly we are intrigued by the sea, and we fear it. Perhaps it's simply an extension of the age-old fear of and fascination with the unknown, which manifests itself in darkness or death or the future. Strange the way common threads run through all these things.

Our last morning we once again got up early to see turtles, and this time swim with them. By 7am I had donned my wetsuit and mask and was in the water searching for turtles, but after half an hour or so with no luck (not even interesting fish!) I was becoming discouraged. We had only a few more minutes to snorkel, since we had to be back at the marina by 11am and it was a good 2.5 hours of hard motoring back to Airlie Beach. I was cold and disappointed and thought to myself "God, please? I just want to see a turtle. That's all I want, that would just make this trip." Moments later, I heard a shriek from Julie and immediately swam over to find-- you guessed it, a turtle! They're really hard to find, and are loved even by those like Cookie, CJ, and Alycia, who dive with them all the time. As we slowly followed a few meters above the turtle, a bit of the bottom of the ocean started to move . . . and we had found another turtle, about three times larger than the first. It rose slowly and majestically off of the sea floor and swam parallel to the shore. We followed, awestruck, and swam with the turtle for about five minutes. It began to rise, very slowly, towards the surface; I got the feeling that it was trying to come up for air and we were in its way. However, it soon had no choice but to surface right beside us--only a few meters away!!!!-- to take a breath. Words can't describe how incredible the experience was.

The turtle dove, and we returned to the boat to strip off our gear and start packing our things as the boat headed back to Airlie beach. The divers reported that they had seen a reef shark, which was pretty cool; we had been swimming only a few hundred meters away from a 9-foot shark! We arrived at the marina, and in a somewhat anticlimactic twist, said our goodbyes and went on our way. Julie and I still had a few hours before our flight, so we walked along the beach and visited a festival that was set up there, with various booths of craftspeople and a live band that reminded me quite a lot of the Phyrst Phamily. I called my family only to find out that my sister had gotten engaged (!!!!), which put a perfect final touch on an amazing holiday. We departed from Proserpine Airport and made our way back to gloomy Melbourne, ridden with rain and final exams-- but with some very sunny memories to keep us warm :)

P.S. I will (hopefully) post one more entry about my recent trip to Sydney before I leave Australia in less than 36 hours :(

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note: I took almost none of these pictures.

Julie playing soccer on Whitehaven Beach

A turtle surfacing to breathe

SHARK-TASTIC

Clam!

a nudibranch; the one I saw was prettier

Fan coral

Maori wrasse, so called for the patterns on its face

Angelfish

The ubiquitous parrot fish; you can hear its beak scrape the coral as it eats when you're underwater with it :)

Jacuzzi on board the Powerplay

Julie and I at Whitehaven

Matt and Liz

Neirin and company

a diver-- not sure who it is?

looking into the sunset

Tropical Paradise . . . the Whitsundays

okay, okay, so it's been a month and a half since my last update. Classes/finals/college sort of took over my life. Here's a bit of an update from my recent trip to the Whitsunday Islands in Queensland...

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Travel Bucket List (abridged):

cSing in Notre Dame

cFloat down the Amazon

cBackpack across Southeast Asia

cHave a snowball fight in Antarctica

gSnorkel and scuba dive on the Great Barrier Reef

Last week I spent a serene, sunsoaked four days in the Whitsunday Islands-- a tropical beach paradise in Queensland known for its sugar-white beaches, beautiful snorkeling, and hedonistic lifestyle. It was exactly what I needed: to get away from gray, gloomy Melbourne for a while and forget about all the studying I should have been doing. So my friend Julie and I packed our bags and set off for a 9am flight to Proserpine airport.

We arrived in Airlie Beach, gateway to the Whitsundays, just after 3:30pm on Wednesday. Walking down the main street, I couldn't help but marvel at the palm trees and warm weather (around 80F). When we arrived at our hostel (Magnum's Backpackers), we had to search a bit for reception . . . then we found it at the back of a tree-lined boardwalk full of bars, cafes, and backpackers. Getting to our room was like hiking through a jungle, as the 8-bed "rooms" turned out to be small freestanding cottages along a winding path through the rainforest; ourrs had a small fountain in front of it, and was full of occupants from England, Denmark, and Spain.

We dropped our heavy backpacks (and bags of textbooks) off at the hostel and set off for a walk along the beach, noting the long posted lists of "hazardous marine creatures" (note: there are many, many things that can kill you in Australia). However, we resigned ourselves to a few hours of study before dinner, as we both had exams coming up quickly.

As I got to know Julie (we'd met only a week previously, through a mutual friend), we discovered that we had quite a lot in common, including a passion for music, a strong academic drive, and similar tastes in just about everything-- including food. Both of us were perfectly content to take a loaf of bread, a hunk of Brie, some grapes, and a bottle of wine out to the beach for an idyllic picnic supper, complete with an angsty teenage guitarist serenading the birds a few meters away.

We returned to the boardwalk outside Magnum's just in time to catch one of the "State-of-Origin" rugby games, in which the various professional players play for their home states rather than independent teams. Since it was Queensland vs. New South Wales, the game was on every television and even projected onto a large screen that had been hung between two bars, over the now jam-packed boardwalk. Most people (including, unintentionally, myself) were decked out in Queensland maroon, but there were a few NSW supporters as well.

While watching the game, we met another pair of Americans: Brad, from the University of Arkansas, and John, from the University of Kansas (?). They had both recently completed tours in Iraq and were in Australia for a break between their second and third years of school. As we talked, I discovered that John and I had almost exactly the same taste in reading; with each favorite book we revealed, the other inevitably echoed "me too!" Brad and Julie, meanwhile (who claim that they "don't read"), rolled their eyes at our dorkiness. Our woodland cottage called, however, as we had to depart early the next morning for our cruise.

Checkin was scheduled for 9:30am, so we paid our remaining balance and signed a few liability forms at the downtown office before heading over to the marina. When we arrived, there were hundreds of boats moored; sailing the Whitsundays is very popular and a huge source of tourist revenue. Our boat, the Powerplay, was a streamlined catamaran that looked built for speed. We looked around the dock at the 17 other passengers with whom we would share the voyage, and the three-person crew ushered us onto our temporary home.

The boat was not enormous, but had more than enough room for its 22 passengers. The back of the boat had an open-air saloon and galley, where we ate, and a covered area where you could sit and talk and watch the water; the front was comprised of a deck and two nets, in which you could suspend yourself just above the rushing water. Below it all were the bathrooms and sleeping quarters; above us was a small flybridge from which our skipper, Cookie, steered the boat; you were always welcome to go upstairs to soak up the sun or even just to chat. The other members of the crew were CJ, the hostess/photographer/cook, and Alycia, the dive instructor.

Oddly, when all was said and done, there were no Australians on the boat. The two female members of the crew hailed from Canada; Cookie, who took no nonsense, cracked sarcastic jokes, and had a mouth (not unexpectedly) like a sailor, came from New Zealand. Of the passengers, one couple was from Denmark, of course Julie and I from the States, and a whopping 15 passengers from England. There were at least five separate parties, but the British invasion had definitely arrived! I got to know several of these people over the next few days, and it was a very interesting cast of characters. There was Dan, a long-haired, tatooed jokester from London; Rob, Alex, and Bobby, a trio of clowns from Manchester (side note: the Manchester accent is one of the most difficult I've ever had to understand, and it's still technically English!); Donna and Stevie, traveling around Australia together; Ed and Jemima, who moved from London to Sydney a few months ago, just because they felt like it; Neirin and his trio of girlfriends, who became known collectively as "Team Nemo" as they attempted to get their scuba certifications; Matt, a recent graduate in marine biology who hoped to work in conservation; and Liz, Matt's girlfriend with whom he was traveling for a year.

We spent a fantastic few days swimming, sunning, and watching fish and turtles and the like. The first afternoon, I decided I would try scuba diving for the first time . . . it was amazing. Seeing the fish and coral up that close was unbelievable and strange; it was, as cliche as it sounds, like being part of another world. We spent that afternoon diving and snorkeling in Blue Pearl Bay, the "aquarium" of the Whitsundays and purportedly the fishiest spot.

Afternoon tea and snacks were served back onboard the Powerplay, giving us a chance to relax and socialize with the other passengers as the boat cruised swiftly south towards our next destination. We watched the sun set over the water, the orange rays reflecting magnificently over the tropical sea and filling the swiftly darkening sky with brilliant reds and pinks.

As soon as we dropped anchor for the night, the crew started the barbecue that was attached to the back of the boat (?!??? . . . typical australia) and grilled chicken for dinner (that is, for everyone else; I got pasta). The always-blunt Cookie thanked me profusely, because whenever he has "vegemeterribles" on board, he gets a break from the monotonous set menu, which apparently repeats every two days. The food was definitely much better than I had expected for such a small and limited kitchen.

After dinner, the crew rolled down a screen and a projector and proceeded to show a slideshow of photos from the afternoon, including some great underwater shots. Apparently CJ and Alycia would be armed with cameras for the duration of the trip. The slideshow was followed by a showing of a documentary called Sharkwater-- a really fascinating film, and one I'd highly recommend. The first half gives some great information about sharks and does some mythbusting: sharks are nothing like the vicious monsters society paints them to be. In fact, vending machines kill more people every year than sharks do. Sharks will only very rarely attack people, and even then they quickly realize their mistake and swim away. The second half of the film contains some shocking footage and also quite a few dirty secrets about illegal shark fishing, mostly fueled by the high demand for shark fin soup in China. Because of the enormous profitability of the fin trade (shark fin soup costs upwards of $100 per bowl), many corrupt governments ignore illegal fishing.

The result has been devastating to the world's shark population, and is wreaking havoc on marine ecosystems. The wasteful and usually illegal process of shark finning consists of cutting the fins (up to $300/pound) off of a shark (almost worthless), often while it is still alive, and discarding the rest. The sharks, unable to swim, sink to the bottom and either suffocate or bleed to death, as they need to swim to breathe. Since the fin constitutes only 2-5% of the shark's body weight, this is incredibly wasteful and environmentally damaging on many levels. Shark poaching also may be a huge contributor to global warming: by removing the sharks, smaller fish may overpopulate and feed on the phytoplankton that convert much of the world's carbon dioxide supply to oxygen. The problem is, we don't really know what removing sharks will do to our own existence, but we're killing them by the millions, decimating most shark populations by 50% or more. In short: we've got a problem.

After the documentary, I had a pretty deep conversation with the crew about the issues presented in the film, and conversation in general, agreeing to talk to PULP (Princeton U. Language Project) about maybe finding some way to help with the filmmaker's current project, which is translating the documentary into Chinese to try to lessen the demand for shark fin soup. Conversations gradually died all around the boat, and we headed to bed. The younger set of passengers, including Julie and myself, slept in the saloon area (which somehow converted into a bedroom large enough for eight people). The rocking of the boat, despite my head full of interesting and disturbing thoughts, lulled me into a deep sleep.

TO BE CONTINUED

(in the middle of finals guys, can't spare that much time!)

Airlie beach . . . or Tuscan villa?

Sunset over the harbor

Our hostel??!

Julie on board the Powerplay

Snorkeling: Me, Bobby, Dan, Rob, Alex, and Julie

Getting ready to scuba dive! Liz, me, and Julie.

a diver with Priscilla, the giant wrasse of Blue Pearl Bay

(note: she was preceded by Elvis, who died . . . this one is assumed to be his offspring)

Giant clam

Sunset over the water





Trailer for Sharkwater-- check it out!