For the last two months, I have been keeping an eye on two gecko eggs that I keep in a jar on my bookshelf. I found the eggs in the deadbolt slot of the doorframe on my bodega, and brought them in with the intention of seeing them hatch. Gecko eggs, which are white and roundish and a little bigger than a Tic Tac (but probably don’t do much to freshen one’s breath), apparently take somewhere between 60 and 90 days to hatch after being laid (that’s after the egg is laid, not after the parent gets laid). I don’t know how long they were in the door fame before I found them, but I had them in the jar for at least 60 days before they finally hatched today.
I was out on my daily quest for a tolerable internet signal when the first egg hatched. When I got home, there was only the broken shell, and no sign of junior. The second egg looked as though it would hatch soon, as it had visibly darkened, and I resolved to see the hatchling. I had another errand to run – a jaunt to the local jungle bookstore. I had earlier in the day completed my Jane Austen novel and I needed to go and trade it in for something less modern – so I put a piece of screen over the jar and departed. By the time I returned, the egg had hatched and one tiny gecko was sitting in the jar awaiting its freedom. I was surprised at its size. It was only about an inch in length, but still seemed implausibly large to have been rolled up in a ball in that little shell. An interesting thing about geckos is that they have no eyelids. They are apparently unique in that they moisten and/or clean their eyes by wiping them with their tongues, a movement that happens so rapidly that it looks to the casual observer as if they blink.
I removed the screen and allowed him or her (it’s hard to sex a gecko without killing, it I suspect) its freedom, wishing it the best of luck in avoiding a premature death at the paws of my bloodlusting feline.
Such is the excitement of many of my evenings in Puerto Viejo.
Despite the miracles of biology, I am growing restless, irritable, discontent. I desire change. I am planning trips. Tomorrow morning, if my resolve, and circumstances, hold, I will board a bus for San Jose. My plans beyond that are unclear. I may spend some time in meditation; I may travel to the south-west to climb Mount Chirripo; or I may do something else.
I have also booked some summer travel. Sometime between the end of May and the end of July, I will fly to the US east coast. I am contemplating a bicycle trip in Massachusetts, a meditative retreat in the mountains in upstate New York, and some culture in Boston and New York City, followed by a visit to Vancouver to spend time with friends, and to attend the wedding of Michelle and Jim in September. I have to watch the budget, of course. The bike trip may not happen if the cash isn’t happening, but I will definitely be landing in Boston no later than July 23, and probably Vancouver on August 13.
I have yet to decide whether I will return to Costa Rica in September. There is a lot to enjoy, but I am finding that dissatisfaction is increasing with time. Unless I find the means to make it more satisfying, moving on seems likely. In the meantime, there is still more amateur biology.