Goodbye Gamboa, and some reflections

Everything comes to an end. Even butterfly-catching internships in the jungle, apparently. 

I'm leaving Gamboa in a few days, and as people start to trickle out for the holidays, the weather is finally starting to turn: I arrived at the start of the wet season, and for most of my visit the weather has been pretty reliably hot, grey and stormy. But over the past couple of weeks there have been some curious changes: the air is almost... dry? And we actually have sunsets in the evenings? Even the rain is different, it's far less dramatic, and the fine mist is almost reminiscent of a muggy Scottish summer. It's not the change in seasons I usually associate with Christmas, but it is wonderful, and it makes a nice backdrop for long walks along the canal where I can reflect on what I've learned during my time here. I recently filled the last page in my journal, and I don't want to buy another before I leave in fear of exceeding the 23kg weight limit on my suitcase, so I have an awful lot of thoughts rattling around in my brain that I will share with whoever wants to read them. I fear that this post (which will not be proof-read, and will be added to continuously until I have nothing left to say) will contain a fair bit of Gamboa slander, but I think getting sick of this place is all part of its charm. And it's a good sign that I'm ready for something different. 

Sunset over the canal from my favourite sunset-watching spot

Living in Gamboa has taught me the value of a robust support system. STRI is a constant revolving door of people, which has its pros and cons: if you don't get along with someone, chances are they won't be around for long; equally, if you meet your platonic soulmates, you have a limited amount of time with them before you have to start all over again with an entirely new group of friends. A bit like trying to build a house of cards during a hurricane. It's also true that many researchers at STRI are at very different life stages to me: they're on their second or third postdoc, they're married, they have families. So it's a different environment to, say, university, where everyone is 18 and desperate to befriend anything with a pulse. That's not to say that I haven't met some absolutely wonderful people, who feature in my most precious memories from time here. I very much hope I'll bump into them at some point in the future.  

Photos from the 'last supper' (we made fritada. It was greasy and delicious)

Another funny thing about Gamboa is that most people I interact with are scientists, and this has some interesting consequences. This community is full of some of the most passionate, creative and inspiring people I have ever met, and the research that people are doing here often doesn't seem like work at all. Running around in the jungle catching lizards? Kayaking on the river watching bats? Climbing trees? Sounds like an adventurous holiday. That said, every social gathering inevitably involves at least one, and usually many more, extended conversations about research. Meaning that you work all day, and then you talk about work over a beer, and then you go your house (which you share with all of your lab-mates) and dream about ...more work. The all-consuming nature of being a scientist in Gamboa makes it pretty difficult to have any kind of a work-life balance. For me, this has generated a funny sort of tunnel vision where my whole life revolves around my project. So when things are going well in the lab, I'm on top of the world; when they're not, it feels like my whole life is a shambles. So I think it will be helpful to be able to take a step back from my particular niche of biology (which about as niche as it gets: the genomics of wing iridescence in the swallowtail butterfly genus Parides) and think more broadly about what I find fulfilling.

Then there is the actual town itself. 'Town' is probably a bit of an overstatement actually: there is the lab, the tienda/restauraunt, the hotel, and... the forest. And the canal, I guess. Living here has definitely made me appreciate the luxury of being five minutes' walk (gasp!) from a coffee shop and a supermarket. I don't need much 'stuff' to keep me entertained, but being a 40 minute drive from the nearest supermarket definitely gets tiring after a while. I was reminded of just how isolated Gamboa is when Dad visited last month, and remarked on the fact that hardly anyone lives here. Which is true! Moving back to the UK will definitely be an adjustment, but I am looking forward to having a bit more 'stuff' (and, like, human beings) within walking distance.

All the quirks of Gamboa aside, there are plenty of positive aspects of my time here that I will be taking with me as I move forward. Firstly, living here has been an opportunity to really fall in love with nature. My bedroom window looks out over the rainforest, and every morning I wake up and watch the orange morning light over the treetops and listen to the birds. After work, I go for a run, and my favourite part of this is the road up to the hotel, where the rainforest towers over you to the left. I've also been on plenty of longer hikes in the forest surrounding Gamboa, most recently to an Embera (Indigenous) community on the Chargres river, and ventured further afield to camp in the mountains under the stars. I have never felt so close to nature as I have whilst living in Panama, and it has brought me a very unique kind of peace that is difficult to find in a place as densely populated as the UK. 

Various recent nature things

It goes without saying that living in Panama has introduced me to a new culture and a way of life, but I'll say it anyway. There is a certain kind of warmth here (and in much of Latin America, as I am told) in the way people greet strangers on the street, in the music and the dancing, in the feeling of community wherever you go, even if you stick out like a sore thumb. My salsa dancing is still terrible, as is my Spanish, but both have certainly come a long way, and people have accepted me, more or less, wherever I've travelled. The way of life here has led me to question whether the social norms I grew up with actually make any sense: after all, why shouldn't you acknowledge another human being with a smile and a 'Good morning, how are you?' It seems like something has got lost as British culture has become more and more individualistic and less community-oriented. Though perhaps this is a more global phenomenon. I don't know. I'll have to travel a lot more to figure it out.

Working at STRI has also given me an appreciation for just how lucky I am, especially as a young biologist, coming from the UK. The opportunities that life has afforded me simply by being born in the 'right' place means that an academic career is relatively achievable. My 'difficult' decisions involve my choice of PhD advisor, whether I want to study in this city or that one, whether I want to start this year or next. They do not involve choosing between being a researcher and living in the same continent as my family and friends. These are the kinds of decisions that some of my friends face, and recognising this has given me some much-needed perspective coming from the Cambridge bubble. 

I know I want to keep travelling; I am keen to explore more of Latin America and to see as much of the world as I can. I am applying for graduate school this year, but if things don't work out (or if I just don't fancy it yet) I would love to spend a bit more time exploring before I settle down for a few years. The prevailing piece of advice from all the life-experienced people I have met in Gamboa seems to be: don't rush. And whilst this is much easier said than done, I will try to trust my gut and take all the time I need to figure things out. 

It's been a funny five months, but coming here was the best decision I ever made, and whilst it hasn't always been easy, it has been a time of immense personal and professional growth. I'll be back in Gamboa at some point (as everyone keeps telling me) but I'll always look back on this first extended trip as a very important time in my life. It's strange to be nostalgic for a place I haven't even left yet, like I'm being watched by my future self all the time. Hello future me! Goodbye Gamboa!