Sorry, I can't hear you - monkeys are jumping on the roof.

I’m in the Kota Kinabalu airport in Malaysian Borneo, fresh from an amazing workshop on coastal cetacean research and conservation in Kuching.  Somewhere between a discussion session being interrupted by langurs (monkeys) jumping on the roof, a morning jog on a jungle trail followed by a plunge in the fresh jungle pool, and a sunset mangrove tour accompanied by dolphins and two species of monkey, I was struck by how amazing the venue was – the Permai Rainforest Resort.  Just kidding.  I realized how amazing it was as soon as I stepped out of the shuttle from the airport and saw, through the fading daylight, the dense forest that ended abruptly on small, sandy beaches.

After our sunset mangrove tour

But beyond the spectacular setting, it was truly inspirational to be a part of this workshop – my first such meeting.  I met people whose papers I’d read and who I’d wanted to meet for many years.  I met students like myself, driven by similar interests and passions.  It was a fantastic sharing of ideas and experiences and vision, among people from the US, Philippines, Indonesia, Malaysia, Thailand, and Myanmar.  It was sobering and frustrating at times, when we tried to deal with the muddle that is “conservation”.  But on the whole, it was really exciting.  And everyone was so friendly and warm.  It’s a great research community to be a new part of, and an added bonus is that I now know people and projects to visit while I'm spending time in the region over the coming years.

I even learned from a researcher from Myanmar that bad eyesight can be remedied by rubbing your feet and legs in salt every night:

"Really? Are you sure it works?"
"Yes. When I was 13, I had very bad eyesight.  A monk told me to do this.  Now, I don't need glasses.  Try it.  In 1 week, you'll notice a difference."

Unfortunately (well, I suppose fortunately), I can't test this myself, since I don't have bad eyesight just yet.  

Amazing how a week can seem like a nebulous unit of time, somehow irrelevant; how routine can seem so foreign; how “normal life” seems like another world.  I’ve been away from San Diego for just about a week, but my mind has trouble following the track of continuous time when I’m so far (in many senses of the word) from home. 

I thrive during these travels.  My mind is constantly stimulated and stretched and tickled, even if I’m not in the field searching for animals and talking to fishermen, even if I’m not in a workshop with the dedicated, bright, and lovely community of SE Asia cetacean researchers. 

The past couple of years of my intellectual activities can probably be best described as a process of punctuated equilibrium, with seemingly long stretches of stagnation while I struggle to maintain a high level of motivation and productivity but make few big break-throughs.  It is actually a source of anxiety for me; I am often beset with worries about my abilities to be successful in school, to actually accomplish what I want to (and what I confidently proclaimed to my thesis committee that I would not only accomplish, but accomplish with brilliance and insight the likes of which have rarely been seen before). 

But then I go on a trip to some far-off land.  The stress of the weeks (and hours) preceding each trip rapidly dissolves as I am immersed in a whirl of activity and excitement and adventure.  I rediscover my passion for my work.  I learn more about myself and about the world.  I concoct grand plans.  And I also gain perspective on my life in San Diego – perhaps the distance allows me a better vantage point.

So much for trying to write more succinctly.  I think I need to get ready to board my flight from Tawau, from where I’ll make my way to the Mabul Beach Resort in the Semporna Archipelago.  I need some days of diving and beach lazing to let all those ideas stirred up by the workshop settle into my brain, after all.