tourista de verde

honoured guest darwindrool pontificates…

RANTS IN MY PANTS: AN ECO-TOURISTA MUCK-UP

To be an eco-tourist or not to be an
eco-tourist, that is the question. Or
is it? Whether ’tis nobler in the
mind to suffer the slings and arrows of
outrageous adopt-a-patch-of-rain-forest
programs or to take arms against a sea
of carnivorous seal pups…

Someone I love deeply just returned
from a jaunt in Costa Rica. Well, not a
“jaunt” exactly, more like a Magical
Mystery Tour. And when my ecologically
friendly traveler/beloved told me this
tale full of sound and furriness, I cau-
tiously began to stick my head up, like
Wiarton Willie, into the woebegone air.
Something smells off.

The setting was the northeastern coast
of Costa Rica, village of Tortuguero, sum-
mertime or, better yet, rainy season. The
main protagonists of this passion play were
the green sea turtles. Tortuguero (place of
the turtles), as the conservation/tourist
blurb runs, “draws the only large nesting
colony of green turtles in the Atlantic, so
protecting turtles on this beach is essential
to the conservation of the species in the
Caribbean and the world.” Then you’d
suppose the inevitable follow-up question
would he something like “How to protect
them in the best possible way?”

House lights down, curtain up, ACTION!

You’ve been in Turtletown for a cou-
ple of hours after arriving by motor boat
up the coastal canals. And you’re hangin’
out enjoying your rice ‘n’ beans pinto.
Just killin’ time, not to mention the not-
so-odd cucaracha, waiting for showtime.

And showtime it is, folks. A loud
crashing surf. A cloud-infested sky. A
cool, howling wind. On the beach. In the
dark. But you’re not alone. There’s more
eco-gringos (or gringas) muckin’ around
here, in the dark, than say, I don’t know,
turtles perhaps. But all is well because
there’s such a healthv supply of local
guides, flashlights in hand, patrolling the
sand dunes to keep everyone from bump-
ing into each other. After two hours of
slogging down the beach in search of
eco-bliss (or return on the dollar), a
youthful eco-Californian with vintage
whine pours it all out: “I just want to see a
turtle. I’m not leaving ’til I see a turtle.”

As for those thick-skinned reptilian
ingrates who stayed away in droves, I
reckon this party just wasn’t good
enough. If they can get through all the
fishing nets and marine grunge, they’re
probably on their way to Disney World at
this very moment. Little fuckers.

But for the one confused rebel that
broke ranks — there’s one in even
flock of turtles — and ended up on the
beach that night, this crud’s for you.

Welcome to the pleasure dome! Queue
right up folks and put your face right up
Nature’s heinie. Would ya look at those
eggs ploppin’ into the sand! Ooh, this is
good, babe, so good. Hey, get that light
out of my eyes! OK, your five minutes are
up. Next group! Could we maybe move
that turtle just slightly to the left, I can’t
shoot from this angle. Come on, we ain’t
got all night, ya know! Whadya think this
is, an amusement park?! NEXT!

Don’t blame me, but I think I’m
havin’ a vision. An eco-vision, maybe. I
see green. Turtles? Ah, yeah, sure. You
bet. Right. Definitely. Uh-huh. That’s the
ticket.

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