Until recently, I spent whole days in the snowy Czech mountains
teaching kids skiing and snowboarding, and now, a few days later, I'm sitting
on a beach wearing shorts, digging with my fork into pasta in a plastic box and
watching the calm sea level. Tânia is resting next to me, with backpacks full
of maps, GPS and all the equipment needed to complete today's tasks scattered
around. Both of us have binoculars at hand, always ready to bring us closer to
some interesting events from the bird world.
I arrived in Portugal at the end of February as a volunteer for
the European Solidarity Corps. Here I joined a new start-up project of the
Portuguese Ornithological Society called LIFE Ilhas Barreira, which aims to
protect the island ecosystem in the Ria Formosa Natural Park in southern
Portugal. The project focuses on the conservation of three target species - the
little tern, the Balearic shearwater and the Audouin's gull. The latter has just flown over our heads
screaming his head off which is so characteristic for this particular species.
The lunch break has flown by fast. I try to chase away the
thoughts of having a small coffee and a traditional Portuguese pasty treat - pastel
de nata – as a dessert. I am hoping that walking around the island, the
fresh sea breeze and work will soon wake me up from the "after-lunch
sleepy mood". Our task today, and for the coming days, is to map the
vegetation on the island. We are orienting ourselves with the help of a GPS and
a map which has specific points drawn on it. Expanding a square of 2x2 metres
at each stand with the help of bulky plant guide, we are trying to identify
everything which grows inside of the square, even the plants in its strangest
stage of development.
Working in the field feeds my soul after a week of sitting behind
a computer. Although the work of conservationists may seem full of adventure
and days spent outside getting fresh air, it is one of the more enjoyable sides
of this job for which we look forward to. Everything we collect in the field must
also be processed on a computer. For example, previous days were spent sorting
photos from camera traps, together with other volunteers Rita and Tânia.
Sometimes it is a task that takes only a few hours. Sometimes bush dances in
the wind standing in front of the camera, triggering a camera trap at the
slightest movement. Likewise, if seagull colonies like to move around the area
right in front of the camera trap station, there may be thousands of them to
sort instead of a few dozen pictures. And then your eyes and ass hurt a lot
from working on the computer.
While
working in the sun, the time flies completely differently. We have completed
mapping of the last site around 4 afternoon and are slowly moving to a concrete
pier. We stop at a wooden cottage. There is a wooden table in the middle of the
porch with utensils left untidily around after the lunch feast, and a hammock
between two columns which is swaying in the wind. The place looks completely
deserted despite numerous signs suggesting one's recent presence. Tânia peers
inside the cabin through the widely opened door and soon she manages to lure an
older man out of the inside of the wooden building. Sleepily, he sits down at a
table on the sun-drenched terrace and begins a friendly conversation in Portuguese
with Tânia. I have not bad an eyelid, but my brain has been trying hard to try
and understand at least some snippets of their conversation. The feeling of joy
due to a promising understanding of parts of their discussion is promptly swept
away by another rush of inexplicable phrases. I keep reassuring myself by
knowing I would have plenty of time to learn the language - I have yet 10
months ahead of me! After the conversation which has exhausted me more than the
two of them together, we say goodbye to Senhor and his picturesque home. The
rest of our group and a small motorboat are already waiting at the pier.
Usually, there is a large cruise ship which sails to the island and back.
However, because of the coronavirus measures, its operation has been
interrupted, and a small boat trip back to the island is only available for
island workers and our ornithological crew. The cruise to Faro takes about 10
minutes, after which we walk through the streets, which are less and less
crowded every day, and we disappear into
a small house spending the rest of the day there.
Today,
two months later, I am back home in the Czech Republic. A few days after having
that nice lunch on the beach, I got on a plane and flew out of sunny Portugal.
Due to the growing pressure connected with the coronavirus situation, I have
decided to return home at the last minute, and spend a strange period of
uncertainty at home.
Spring is
in full swing. The last remainder of snow retains only on the highest mountain
peaks. Brooks are teeming with salamanders, there are jays arguing high in the
treetops, and deers are running away as they notice my presence. Instead of
Audouin's gull with a red beak, I am looking for a woodpecker with a red cap.
It's hard to believe that until recently I was sitting in shorts on the beach
watching the sea level.
All
organizations involved - SPEA, SPIN, Plan B and both National Agencies -
accepted my decision to end volunteering with understanding. I would like to
thank them all very much for this, and for everything else they have done. At
the same time, I would like to wish all the best to everyone who has decided in
a similar way or, on the contrary, those who have stayed working on their
projects.
It was an enriching experience in ways I could hardly expect
despite being funnily short in comparison to what my original plans were.
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