Hello again, I know it’s been a while.

Almost a year ago, I made the journey down to Trinidad and Tobago with a class of students to learn lots, and to teach a little, about tropical biological and cultural diversity. Like any good student, I tend to take notes on trips like these so I can chronicle the details that otherwise would be lost in the moment. I started to share some of the myriad of stories I collected when I wrote about my prize, but then proceeded to ignore this whole blog thing and go bullheadedly about life. Well, I guess now is better late than never to get back to my promise.

It’s solidly springtime here in Indiana, despite the calendar date, and I have been thinking about my travels fairly frequently. This rush of warm, the incessant blooming, and the beautiful din of bird songs have moved my thoughts back to the first day I arrived in Trinidad. After spending a whole day traveling, bouncing from Indianapolis to Chicago to Miami to Port of Spain (the capital of T&T), we were picked up from the airport by our wonderful bus driver / tour guide Eric and whisked away into the night to our home away from home, Pax Guesthouse. Eric climbed the bus dutifully up the dark switchbacks, guided around the bends by trees and railings that had been painted white to reflect the headlamps. Just when it felt like we would be going back and forth and up the mountain for an eternity, Eric said, “we reach”, meaning that we had gotten to our destination. As we unpacked our luggage, we were greeted by Gerard, the inviting owner and manager, as well as by a tray overflowing with ice-cold glasses of fresh pineapple juice. Rooms were assigned, the balcony was explored, and we all settled down for the night.

Since it was the tropics, the typical house design involves lots of windows, high ceilings with gaps in the upper part of the walls connecting rooms, and, when possible, wonderful fans to help the air circulate. Although the night was hot, it was not, by any means, uncomfortable. The breeze that blew in from the evening was ripe with possibilities, hinting at the exotic and mysterious country we were in, but had yet to actually see. I could smell the night blooming flowers, hear the subdued activity of the city below, and even feel the eerie yet enticing void of civilization that existed in the patch of black and dark vegetation beyond the town we had just been driven through. The mountain behind us was also still left up to our imagination. For all we know at this hour, with no lights except for the monastery that sat just above our home, the forest and rock could have reached up to the heavens.

The only thing that got me to sleep that night was the exhaustion from the rush of travel and the excitement of the weeks ahead. As I lay on top of the covers, with the wind gently ruffling the curtains to expose the vast twinkle of both unfamiliar stars and unfamiliar civilization, I marveled at the possibilities of the days to come, and reveled in the contentment of the moment.

And that was just the first night.