So, we’ve now been coordinators at the Rescue Center here in Costa Rica for three weeks, and if there’s one thing I’ve learnt, it’s that life never stops surprising you.
It’s hard work. Relentless, sometimes exhausting, occasionally frustrating and, every now and again, downright bloody difficult.
But it’s champion.
You might think the most rewarding bit would be the feeling of accomplishment — knowing that you’re helping to look after wildlife, protecting it and giving these animals a better chance for generations to come.
And aye, that’s a massive bit of it.
But there’s something else I hadn’t really expected.
The people.
For me, one of the best things about being here is the people you meet. Some volunteers come for a week, some for a month, and of course, the coordinators stay for much longer. And sometimes, because you see it happening every day, it’s all too easy to forget just what these people are actually doing.
Because let’s be clear…
The volunteers are paying to fly to Costa Rica and then paying to work at the Rescue Center.
Read that again.
They have actually paid money to come halfway round the world so they can get up at dark o’clock and go to work.
And by dark o’clock, I mean STARTING somewhere between 6:30 and 7:00am.
Five days a week.
They often don’t finish until around 6:00pm.
There are, thankfully, proper breaks for breakfast and lunch, when water volleyball might break out, or someone might make the thrilling expedition to the laundry.
But this is no walk in the park.
Unless, of course, your normal walk in the park involves cleaning animal enclosures, hauling stuff around in the tropical heat, getting soaked by rain, bitten by insects and occasionally covered in things you’d rather not examine too closely.
They may technically be on holiday…
But believe me, this is NO holiday.
Then there are our fellow coordinators.
Their hours are even longer. They work six days a week. They train volunteers, organise jobs, carry out tours, deal with the daily chaos, write reports and take on a whole heap more responsibility.
And yes, you guessed it…
They don’t get paid either.
Most of them are committing three months — and sometimes even longer — to working in dirty, sweaty, smelly and occasionally hazardous conditions, getting bitten, stung, scratched and rained on, all for the benefit of…
Well…The animals.
And that’s the bit that really gets me.
We are, by some considerable distance, the oldest people here. Even Noms, who is basically a youngster compared to me, is well past middle age by Rescue Center standards.
The advantage we have is that we’re retired.
The other coordinators are taking time out from studying or working to dedicate themselves to something they believe in.
And don’t be fooled into thinking these are a load of rich kids swanning around Central America with daddy’s credit card tucked into their backpacks.
Far from it.
There are waitresses, administration workers, utility workers and people from all sorts of ordinary backgrounds. Basically, people who, like the rest of us, are watching the pennies — except they’re doing it while sweating their backsides off in the Costa Rican heat.
Which brings me neatly to my own behaviour.
Because every now and again, being an old fuddy-duddy, I get frustrated.
Someone hasn’t washed their breakfast things.
Someone has left an empty drinks can on the table.
Someone has turned up five minutes late for the 6:30am morning feeding.
And occasionally, I find myself thinking:
“For God’s sake, are we running a rescue centre or a bloody nursery?”
Then I have to stop myself.
Because I need to remind myself exactly who these people are and what they’re doing.
It’s very easy, sometimes, to feel as though you’re dealing with a bunch of teenagers who have somehow been let loose without adult supervision.
But then you remember that these same “teenagers” have voluntarily travelled thousands of miles, spent their own money and given up months of their lives to do something genuinely good.
And if your own children were this dedicated, this committed and this willing to work their backsides off for something they believed in…
You’d be bloody proud of them.
So perhaps I need to cut them a bit of slack when there’s an unwashed bowl in the kitchen.
After all, I may have been known to leave one myself.
Probably. Maybe. Moving swiftly on…
There’s a very famous line in the narration at the beginning of Love Actually, where Hugh Grant says:
“Whenever I get gloomy with the state of the world, I think about the arrivals gate at Heathrow Airport. General opinion’s starting to make out that we live in a world of hatred and greed, but I don’t see that. It seems to me that love is everywhere.”
Well, I’ve got some news for you, Mr Floppy-Haired, Stuttering Film Superstar.
Forget Heathrow.
Come to the Rescue Center Costa Rica.
Because if you want proof that goodness still exists in this world, you’ll find it here.
It’s in every filthy pair of trainers.
Every sweaty T-shirt covered in racoon poop.
Every early morning alarm.
Every volunteer who drags themselves out of bed when their body is screaming, “Are you bloody right in the head?”
It’s in the people who give up their holidays, their wages, their free time and their comfort to help an animal that probably hasn’t got the faintest idea who they are.
It’s in the coordinator who stays late to clean the animal kitchen.
The volunteers who spend their lunchtime cleaning more then they are asked.
The person who gets bitten for the umpteenth time and still turns up the next morning.
And it’s in the ridiculous amount of laughter, kindness and generosity that seems to explode from every corner of this place.
So, Hugh…
You were right.
Love is everywhere.
But I reckon you were looking in the wrong arrivals hall.
Because here in Costa Rica, goodness isn’t just everywhere…
It’s absolutely exploding out of the place.
And you know what?
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