In the Garden of Loneliness

People tend to equate the term “remoteness” with “loneliness,” as if all the major cities and suburbs in the world offer the opposite. However many people exist in the space around you, does not guarantee connection. The first few weeks here at the reserve, I believe we were burdened by the same assumption. Only having one other person to listen to all of your ideas, deal with all of your idiosyncrasies, and tolerate your off-key singing, sounds like a challenge. Alone time is key, and once you leave the presence of some you find solace in others. 

But what others, you might ask? Grab your yellow rain boots, and join me for a walk on the reserve. 

First, as you enter the forest, there is a quiet stillness that blocks the rushing of the Rio Nambillo. You continue walking to find that the ferns and grasses, despite our constant maintenance efforts, have started winding playfully into the trail. Welcome to the cloud forest, you think to yourself. You start ascending quite rapidly, sweating because of course you brought your rain jacket but it hasn’t rained. Somewhere in the bushes, the three-striped warblers make soft high-pitched calls to beckon your arrival. In the distance, the Yellow-throated toucan is chiming in with its incessantly loud yelps. 

You arrive at a junction: should you descend, loop, or continue upwards? Deciding to venture upwards, you start to notice a change in the forest. It transforms slowly with each step, fewer shrubs crowding the understory, more detritus wrapping the forest floor in a uniform blanket. And what’s that red blob moving so elegantly across the leaves? It’s a red millipede, reminding you to watch your step. 

Just as you are basking in the eerily quiet like a gem anole basks in sun flecks, a sharp cackling shatters the silence. A Golden-headed Quetzal is perched high above you, barely visible. You continue into the stillness, waiting for the next encounter, into the Garden of Loneliness. 

So you see, it is neither a garden nor is it lonely, but sometimes the best things in life are misnomers. That is, of course, besides Reserva Las Tangaras, which is brimming with tanagers.