Another night of relentless rain meant that our work this morning was muddy business again. We got up at 7am, had breakfast (fried rice today) then met Jingan at the entrance to the forest. Besides the trail being annoyingly slick with rain, the change in the forest was a lovely one compared to yesterday. The weather inside had cooled considerably, and thick misty clouds settled on the paths ahead of us. Everything was the color of soaked greens, and all the leaves were dripping on us while we worked. The plot of soil we had to sample from was as flat as we had expected, allowing for us to finish before noon, and thankfully, right before the second thunderstorm really began. We were all drenched by the time we left the forest, which felt wonderful. Everything felt wonderful actually; to be caught in a tropical afternoon rain shower, to be completely finished with fieldwork and to have lived to tell the tale, and to be sharing this experience with such great people who I’ve really enjoyed working with. I’m so happy I decided to take this trip!
The rest of the day was spent being lazy. We visited the tourist side of Lambir Hills and laughed about how the casual visitor would have no idea what the real forest is like if this was all they saw. Gently sloping decked paths lined the way to the most accessible waterfall, which had a sandy beach replete with buoys, lifesavers, picnic tables, gazebos and a seemingly curated assemblage of foliage and fauna—and all of these niceties served in creating a very pretty photo op. But now I can see what I wouldn’t have been able to notice before; this deceptively idyllic looking patch of forest was disturbed in the past via logging, so there isn’t as much biodiversity there anymore. Once you’ve seen a primary forest, which means one that hasn’t been disturbed, you can see the difference. The trees are shorter, the canopy thinner, and the groundcover is shrubby and dense. It’s also hotter and there are more mosquitoes. I read that it takes up to 500 years for a cleared rainforest to recover completely, meaning, be like a primary forest again. Given how fast the forests are being cut down, that number is so overwhelming…
So this is the end of my trip! I’ve posted lots of photos below, and my next stop is a European tour with Au Revoir Simone. It’s going to be so strange going back to my other life! The comforts and the special treatment, the long drives from city to city, the performances and the fans…it just doesn’t seem real.
I’ll keep updating though. Thanks so much to everyone who has been following my recent adventures and for all of your supportive comments!
xxH
So much for pleasant surprises—these last two days in Borneo have been our most difficult days of fieldwork yet. I should have known that first night as I was being lulled to sleep by the soothing sounds of a torrential downpour outside my window that the consequence of that much rain is mud. And I also should have estimated by the name “Lambir Hills” that there would be hills. In retrospect, I think the leeches were the only things I was properly prepared for, and their dreadfulness was nothing compared to the horrors of scaling up the side of a slippery mountain covered in thorny palms. Every time I looked down, I couldn’t help but entertain some morbid fantasy in my mind where I’m slashed to bits by palm trees during my meters-long tumble to the bottom (ending with my being devoured by wild boar, obviously). Still, that didn’t happen, quite unbelievably, and despite my clumsiness and the mud. Although in truth, my slight avoidance of death owes more to the help provided by our Iban field guide, Jingan, than any athletic talent I might have picked up in Pasoh. Jingan practically carried me up and across entire stretches of mountain, bending back the thorny palms so I wouldn’t be clothes-lined by them, and even pointing out leeches on my shoes by using the Iban word, which sounds like “Bletch!” and is exactly how I feel about them too. I don’t know what we would have done without Jingan. He chain smokes all day long, he talks to himself all the time, and he claims he can’t identify trees but then will smash up leaves in his hands and make you smell them before telling you their Iban name. He seems to know every English word, and then suddenly, none at all. Simple things like trying to get to the waterfall become complicated games of charades and sometimes we draw pictures, and sometimes grow embarrassed with ourselves when we realize that for the past five minutes we’ve just been repeating the word ‘waterfall, waterfall, waterfall…’ each time a different syllable stressed as though that will make a difference. But when we say ‘walk finished’ he knows we want to go home, and when I appear as though my life is passing before my eyes while I cling to a vine on the side of a slippery mountain, he’ll offer me his hand and pull me up. He’s a good guy, and is very patient with us.
While sloshing through the forest today using my soil corer as a walking stick, I wondered how I could best explain to someone exactly why this fieldwork has been so physically grueling. Lots of people hike, for fun even. People climb mountains all the time. Is it just that I’m a city girl? Am I soft? So I thought I would say to someone who was wondering what doing fieldwork in Malaysia and Borneo is like, first, start by imagining the hottest most humid day you’ve ever experienced in your entire life. I’m talking about the kind of day where you’d rather starve in your apartment than go outside to buy a carton of milk. Thick, nasty, stagnant air—in NYC, this situation would also go hand in hand with the smells of festering garbage and/or rotting fish. The kind of day where as soon as you’ve gotten out of the shower and dried off, within five minutes you’re drenched again in your own sweat. Now add to that feeling, long sleeves, long pants, wool socks, and over them, leech socks which are like giant canvas socks that start at your toes and tie at your knees, hiking boots, a backpack with about five pounds of gear in it, a soil corer (a big metal pole), and just spray Deet over the whole thing. Then, just like that, walk up a mountain from 9am to 4pm. And if you’re a woman, add getting your period onto that situation, and if you’re 30 years old, like me, add just being old and out of shape on top of everything else. I think that pretty much explains what fieldwork has been like for me in Borneo. So far, Krista hasn’t really let on if this situation is any better or any worse than any of the other rainforests she’s worked in, which frankly terrifies me. I would imagine that this is as bad as it gets, but this might just be normal. She’s mentioned different bugs she’s had to deal with, like chiggers in Panama and literally ants in her pants in Guyana. She’s taken soil samples while hanging off the sides of cliffs; she’s slept in hammocks in the middle of the jungle, and she jokes that she and Giardia are “good friends.” She’s the first one up and down the mountain, talks about how much she’d like to go for a run at the end of a day of fieldwork, and I suspect she doesn’t sweat, and her hair is always PERFECT. And she’s older than all of us. If it weren’t for the other students who are in their early twenties and seem to be as humanly flawed as I am, I would begin to think that I’m just not cut out for this sort of thing.
By the end of the today, we completed sampling three of the four soil types, which felt like a huge accomplishment. (Still, I think I saw Krista’s brow furrow at the thought of how much more she would have liked to do…) We have one more soil type left to sample and we’re expecting a relatively flat landscape to take soil samples from, which will make a huge difference in how precarious the work is. Unfortunately, the logistics for the seed project didn’t work out, so we won’t be gathering seeds on this trip. I actually was really looking forward to collecting the seeds and doing experiments with them, so I’m pretty disappointed that we’re leaving here without them. Good news is that we’ll be finishing early, and not by the seat of our pants like we had previously thought, leaving us with some extra time to fit sightseeing in before heading back to KL. What I’m looking forward to most is better food. The cuisine during this bit of the trip has taken a real dive since the charge of handling all of our meals fell under the jurisdiction of two teenage boys at the canteen who seem to delight in torturing us. First they refuse to give us whatever we ask for, then they laugh at us, or sometimes they turn up the radio to a near-deafening level always when the Black Eyed Peas are on, as though they know how ashamed we are to be from the same country as them, and one of boys owns about 15 cats, and they all gather around us on the chairs and tables and mew desperately (they’re all pitifully half starved) while we try to eat our same greasy, fried noodles morning, noon, and night. We can’t tell if the boys hate us or like us, or maybe just don’t care at all, but so far as I can tell, they seem to feel towards us the same kind of apathetic curiosity a child would feel for an ant running along the wrong side of a magnifying glass. I suspect they spit in our noodles. And maybe if I were them, I’d spit in our noodles too. I imagine, to them, four un-chaperoned American women in the middle of the rainforest is a pretty unusual if not, hilarious sight.
During my last semester, I wanted to find a Microbial Ecologist at Columbia who could perhaps act as a mentor to me during my Senior thesis year, but according to my advisor, there was only one specialist in that field in the entire academic system, and she was actually at Barnard. It’s kind of hard to believe that at a school as large as Columbia, all the microbiologists would be working in the medical field, but it’s true. So I was pretty excited and nervous when I walked into Dr. Krista McGuire’s office one afternoon to talk to her about her work. I felt like I kind of had a lot riding on that conversation, because if she wasn’t willing to teach me about Microbial Ecology, then I didn’t know who would. But to my relief, Krista turned out to be a really friendly and encouraging woman, and very graciously invited me to join her on her research trip in Malaysia where she studies microbes in rainforest soil. Taking the trip meant turning down a chunk of touring (right during festival season) and summer school, but there was no way I was going to pass up the opportunity.
That was many months ago, and since I’ve spent the greater part of this summer touring with Au Revoir Simone, the research trip was pretty far from my mind, (aside the occasional doctor’s visit to get all my inoculations in order). The ladies and I traveled all over Europe, collaborated with Air, then came back to the US for a handful of dates on the West and East coasts. When we returned home last week, it dawned on me that I had about three days to prepare for a two and half week trip to one of the hottest, wettest places on Earth, and I didn’t even own hiking boots. A small fortune later, (why is tech gear SO expensive!?) I had amassed a wardrobe of insecticide-laced, wicking, breathing, anti-microbial outfits, down to the matching bras and panties. Plus a hat with mosquito netting, a headlamp (which made me think of Animal Collective), and a toiletry bag stuffed with boxes of medication I hope to never open like Cipro and Plan B (seems highly unnecessary, but my doctor insisted). And now, finally and kind of unbelievably, I’m on a fifteen hour flight to Hong Kong, with a short layover before arriving in Kuala Lumpur.
The girls and I have played shows in Southeast Asia before, in fact, we were in Singapore not too long ago, but for such an experienced traveler as I am at this point, there is something about traveling as a student that is totally out of my comfort zone, and makes me feel like a kid again. For one thing, and I realize how this sounds, I’m not wearing a dress on this flight. I usually pride myself on traveling stylishly, mainly because I’ve noticed that people are generally nicer and more helpful to well-dressed travelers, and I’ll take any additional kindness I can get at an airport. I haven’t been getting much love dressed like Dora the Explorer. When I get off this plane, there will be no sweet man waiting for me with a card that reads “Au Revoir Simone” to help me with my luggage and whisk me away in an air conditioned van to my nice hotel, which I’m not even expected to know the name of because ‘it’s taken care of’, and where I would usually first take a long bath and then lounge around in a robe for a few hours. When I land in Kuala Lumpur, my first stop is the hostel (I still don’t know how I’m getting there) where I’ll be sharing bunk beds with the other research students. While in the rainforest, not only will my hair and makeup not be done, but also I’ve been assured that I will be covered in leeches. Fungus may grow wherever it feels inclined to do so. It’s a gross fact. Have you ever watched “Survivor Man?” A friend of mine actually had a spider lay eggs in his arm. In his ARM!
I realize I sound spoiled, and I guess that’s the point. During the early years of the band, our traveling style left a lot to be desired. I slept on floors, sometimes even three at a time to one bed, and sometimes as many as six people in one hotel room. I hauled our gear from train to train in Japan, and on the London underground, and up six floors in European hostels. Typical fears ranged from theft to bed bugs. I’m pretty sure many people would have quit touring under some of the conditions we often found ourselves in, but it was a labor of love, so all the headache was worth it. And though there are still times (like touring the US) when we have to slum it a little, at this point in our careers we’re very grateful that our standards have been permitted to rise. We travel like ladies now.
In the academic world, I’m starting from scratch again. It’s a disconcerting feeling to have at 30. But there’s also a pretty great flip side—for one thing, I have three blissfully free days ahead of me in KL before we leave for the rainforest, without any photoshoots, interviews, or in-stores on my schedule. I can’t remember the last time I traveled somewhere and didn’t have an itinerary, someone telling me when to wake up and when to eat. There isn’t even one piece of musical equipment in my luggage. The only gear Krista requested me to bring was 5 boxes of latex gloves, for what purpose I can only imagine. I guess my headlamp counts as ‘gear,’ too. Either way, I’m not carrying a keyboard, which is both weird and liberating.
Anyway, I’m not really that prissy and I’m having some fun at my expense here, but I guess I’m feeling some of the growing pains of this new life I’m trying to wiggle into. And, Deet-exposure notwithstanding, I think this trip is going to be really good for me. I can’t wait to check all the little, damning boxes “Yes” on my Customs forms when I return to the States. “Yes,” I have played with some exotic dirt!
I can’t stress enough how nice it’s felt to continue to see an increase in subscriptions to Hello,Poindexter!, despite my willful negligence of blogging during these past few months while I’ve been studying at Columbia University. Thanks to your encouragement, I’ll carry on with the occasional chronicling of my endeavor to obtain a second undergraduate degree. (First one is in Photography from Parsons School of Design for those who missed Chapter One). I thank you nice readers, whoever you are, for your (always surprising) interest in my thoughts, and if it’s all really boring, well, you asked for it.
There were many times during the past semester when I thought about reaching out online for advice. It seemed that everyday I was having some kind of (uncharacteristic) emotional breakdown covering an overwhelming amount of personal issues: (including but not limited to) my lack of income from not touring anymore, my increasing student loans and the recent estimation of the horrifying final amount I will owe the government upon graduation, my potentially irresponsible decision to follow my heart into yet another career where I’ll probably never make any money, being 30 years old and having teenagers for classmates who endlessly confound me in their ability to comprehend everything completely and immediately before I have even begun digesting the concepts (thus destroying my chances of benefitting from the curve), the crappy state of the graduate studies system in the U.S, the crappy state of equality for women in the sciences, my nagging obsession with my grades (because good grades in the sciences matter?) pitted against my greater conviction that learning matters more than grades (right, scientists?), and lastly, the uncomfortable awareness that in today’s economy, I should be so lucky to be in this situation at all, and so should probably just shut up and get on with it. I wasn’t looking for sympathy, just a little reassurance that this whole science thing is really worth the trouble and expense. But after much hand wringing, I decided that if I were to ask myself if forgoing a ‘normal’ career with job security (whatever that means), a consistent income (never experienced that), and the opportunity for growth at a company (got that in my own way, I guess), in favor of a potentially resume-wrecking career in the arts has been worth it, I would say, hesitantly, yes, it has been worth it. And I’d recommend it to others. But only if there really is nothing else on Earth you’d rather do, because it takes literally everything you’ve got to give and leaves room for little else, and also leaves you somewhere between broke and Waffle House waitress (Lady Gaga and similar obviously not included in this last assessment). I have a feeling doing science requires just as much if not more. Maybe all things worth doing, do.
Constant fretting aside, I ended up with a pretty great batch of grades at the end of the semester. They’re definitely worthy of pinning up on mom’s refrigerator. And I’m really proud of myself. Although I worked hard the first time I was in college, the arts have always come fairly easily to me, so in that arena I was always competing to be the best in my class. As a science student at Columbia, I’m working my ass off just to be considered even average. And in the past few months, I met even more truly exceptional people who inspired me every single day to be both a better student, and a better person (I’m still working on that last part though). One of my classmates (and friends), Madeline Cohen, has done more selfless good deeds by 19 years old than I’ve done in my whole life. I’m ashamed of myself in comparison. In addition to taking way more classes than any freshman should take in one semester, she was always running off to go to volunteer her time for any worthy cause, from tutoring to mentoring, helping Doctors without Borders and old ladies cross the street, who knows how else she’s spending her time or how she manages it all with that halo always getting in the way. I don’t watch a lot of T.V, but I’ve tuned in long enough to be kept up at night panicking about America’s teenagers. (Heidi Montag makes my uterus shudder in protest) and Maddy might just be the exception to the rule, but she really restored my faith in young women. One of the best things for me about being around younger people has been that their commitment to ‘making a difference’ is still in tact, and it’s really infectious. They’re not naïve, in fact, many of them are really cynical—but like the good, John Stewart type of cynical. I’m really grateful to have the chance to learn from them, and hopefully won’t infect them in turn with my overly cliché, jaded and impatient New Yorker-ness.
A number of other things in the past year made truly life-altering impacts on me, which consequently culminated in my decision to pursue an Environmental Biology degree rather than one in Astrophysics. Astronomy is my heart—and it’s still the fuel that feeds my love for science. All I have to do is look up at the night sky to be reminded of why I want to chase this dream of doing science. But when I get my head out of the sky, I can’t help but see that there is so much that needs to be done down here on Earth. And since I’ve got this one chance to alter the course of my life while at one of the best universities in the world, I feel what I can only describe as moral obligation to be as useful as possible, and considering my strengths, that’s within the environmental and ecological sciences. So I’m at E3B, for anyone that’s interested, this is the program and I can’t recommend it highly enough if you’re thinking of doing something like this:
One of the last things I posted on this site was a clip from the documentary, The Cove. (Which went on to win an Oscar!) That film is what, I think, first sparked this shift in my priorities, and if any of you have watched it, I’m sure you understand why. Soon after that, I saw a film called Collapse, which was shocking to the point of being paralyzing—I liken it to taking the red pill in The Matrix. Its clear and frightening message about peak oil and the inevitable collapse of our unsustainable world is enough to convince even the most rational person that living off the grid, growing your own vegetables, and trading all your money in for gold bricks might not be as extreme a solution as you would think. I haven’t done any of those things (and am, in fact, writing this blog while on a gas-guzzling CO2 spewing Airbus flying from NYC to Lisbon) but its message has haunted me every day since I first saw it, especially now, as 70,000 barrels of oil gushes into the Gulf of Mexico per day. If you haven’t seen either of these films yet, I urge you to do so, and if you have seen them, I’d love to hear your comments.
Finally, I’m reading a book called, “The Story of Stuff” by Anne Leonard, about just that, the story of stuff—how it’s made, how it’s distributed, and what happens to it all when we’re through with it. It’s one of the most sobering reads of my life. It’s made me examine every little thing I come into contact with on a daily basis. In the course of this flight alone, I’ve been offered a plastics-based blanket wrapped in plastic, plastic headsets wrapped in plastic, a plastic tray with different plastic containers (a quick flip reveals the number “3” within the wheel of arrows—oh, great, it’s the most poisonous plastic, PVC! That’s just what I like my hot food to be in!), plastic cups, plastic spoons…plastic, plastic everywhere. And when I’m finished with my meal, where does it go? Perhaps to a megadump, and/or eventually to one of the plastic garbage islands slowly growing in the Pacific Ocean? It’s enough to make you give up or to give in—to say, to hell with it, gimme the plastic, it’s too hard to resist, it’s everywhere. But both directly and indirectly, industrial chemicals are making us very sick. This probably isn’t news to any of you, but it bears repeating. I’ve posted the video that spawned the book below.
I’m about 6 hours from Lisbon, where I’ll begin a month of touring with Annie and Erika. We’ve got a lot of exciting things lined up for this trip, the top two on my list are playing a show with AIR in Paris, and visiting Athens, which I’ve never been to before. Now that the semester is over, I’ll be checking in more often, and would love to hear from you. Any scientists out there who have advice for me? Or fellow students who are worried about loans and job prospects? Or any other equally concerned environmentally friendly people who have books or insights to share? A.R.S fans who just want to say “Hello” are also welcome, of course.
Thanks for reading.
xxH
