The following is an account of our experiences working at the Rainsong Wildlife conservation center. We spent 1 week there from December 23rd to the 29th.
It is not meant to slander any particular person, but given the circumstances and conditions we experienced, it is necissary to voice our honest opinion. None of the following is exagerated or made up, it is an accurate account of our time spent there and the situations we were faced with.
We had to go back through San Jose and from there take a bus to Quepos and then on to Jaco. Jaco is an overrun tourist town full of surfers, jailbirds and sailors. Exactly the kind of place we prefer to avoid, but which sometimes cannot, unfortunately, be avoided.
So we stayed the night in a descent hostel there. We made some friends with some youngsters from Nicaragua on the beach and had a few beers with them.
The following morning and $40 later we took a speed boat across the Nicoya peninsula heading towards Montezuma.
Just like I remembered it, Montezuma is a pretty laid back little town right on the Pacific half of the peninsula. The locals are quite friendly and the place has a bit more of a tranquil atmosphere than many other places in the region.
We spent some time at a cofee shop on the high Street contemplating our next move. We ended up taking a taxi over the hill from there to our next project, “Rainsong.” Had we known what was to await us here, we wouldn’t have bothered.
I have been in semi-constatnt contact with the propiator of this animal sanctuary for several months. I even sent her our alloted volunteer donation early, because she claimed that the volunteer house was in need of new matresses. Since we were going to stay there for 2 weeks, we would have had to pay our $50 a week fee anyhow, and I thought now or then, doesnt really matter. Since I wanted to film at this place, I thought that getting on her good side couldn’t hurt.
We had heard stories from across the country of a “crazy woman” called Mary.
The Sloth people had heard of her, and several people in Montezuma warned us about her. How bad could she be?
So we arrived after having to pay your typicall overpriced Costa Rican taxi fee. We were dropped off outside an overgrown fenced-off property on the side of a long and dusty road. There was a small sign informing us that this was the place.
We heard comotion coming from inside, obviously caused by some sort of animal, or perhaps Mary herself?
We entered cautiously, with our backpacks, tripod and camera equipement in tow. I said “hello?” “Hello?” From the shack I smelled a definitely strong aroma of a cannabis and slowly the woman herself emerged. She was a creature of larger proportions sporting a summery Mo Mo which left little to the imagination about her phisical stature. She had blackened front teeth and blond greasy hair. She moved in the fashion one would expect of a troll or of a creature thsat would from below a bridge. She aproached us seemingly confused as to our presence.
“Are you the people with the bird?” Bewildered, Holly and I looked at each other before replying “No, we have no bird, we are the new volunteers, Stuart and Holly” Her response was “Oh I’m realy exhausted man, I cant deal with this right now, I’ve gotto rest. Let’s sort this out tomorrow. I was just in court and the hospital all week and I dont have time now.”
“OK,” we though. “Where are you staying” was her next inquisition. “I was told by you that we could stay in the volunteer house.” She replied “Oh the farm?” “Yes sure the farm.” “Well it’s up the road a bit. You’ll find it, don’t drink the water and lock your things up because these bastards will steal everything if you leave it laying around.”
She handed us a set of rusted keys and sent us on our merry way.
It is at this time that I deem it neccessary to disclose the facts we knew about this illustrious character known as “Crazy Mary,” the woman who was to be our superior for the next few weeks (or so we thought).
She hails from the great state of Texas, and, like many thigs from there, she comes bigger yet not better. Apparently she has been down here in Costa Rica for nearly 20 years now, running the Rainsong animal sanctuary. She must have had a partner at one point and her sanctuary must have been thriving at some time long ago. Judging by the pictures and the information on the web the place looks like a haven for injured and endangered animals of all persuasions.
It is the first place that Google spits at you when you type in “Costa Rica wildlife sanctuary” or anything of the sort. It seems like an ideal place to spend a working holiday, a place to learn something and be able to work in close proximity with some animals.
Over the years, however, Mary has grown increasingly neurotic, paranoid and mean-spirited. Im not sure when exactly this transition took place, but judging by the fact that nation-wide she was known as a “coock.” It must have been some time ago that her last marbles were misplaced. Mary has managed to isolate herself from the other people surrounding her. She has created a far-stretching net of enemies in the local community. She considers hersel a “wildlife warrior,” fighting on the front lines for justice and equality for all creatures. She believes she is the only one who cares about these por subjects. The woman is part of a social network of hundreds of activist groups and causes, ranging from Save the Wild Horses in Mongolia to Sabe the Whales in Antartica. This requires her to be constantly sitting in front of her computer writing blogs, posting videos about internatiional conspiracies she pics up on youtube. Literally, for any cause she comes across that is related to animal rights, anti-government, or end-of-the-world theories, she is a part of it.
I think she has retreated from the extremist front lines some time ago and now participates in her own little cyber world from her smelly dirty shack in the jungle. She belives she is one of the last true warriors who are doing something, and that she knows everything better than anyone. Any other wildlife conservation project is quickly disregarded by her or slandered. I asked her about the Sea Turtle Rescue Project and she said it didn’t exist more and that the red devil (China) has decimated the area with their dragnets and industrial fishing habbits. (This is probably true.) Some time later when I actually found a sea turtle rescue project of which Holly and I would later become part, she quickly disregarded it as a bunch amateurs and communists. She thinks people are trying to kill her. She is also convinced that Leprecauns come and steal things from her, and that ex-volunteers return under the cover of the night and release her caged animals or steal her horses and so on.
I am not trying to bad mouth anyone with this statement but someone must speak up about the situation which is to be found in this highly advertised and publicised location. Mary is extremely easily provoced and she shows no appreciation for what you do as a volunteer. The conditions at her place are atrocious and since she is a vegan, she believes that all the animals here ought to be vegans as well. So a strict codex installed by her is enforced.
When a tourist group shows up, which happens rather frequently, to view the bewildered premisis, one of the volunteers is dispatched to collect the $% donation and then they must give this group a tour of the premises.
The problem is that no one really knows anything about any of these animals here. They were injured at one point, bust most look OK to me now. Why are they caged? What kind of a tucan is this? Questions arise for which there are no answers. It turns into an awkward situation for the volunteer and the group, Mary ducks off into her shack and pretends to be too busy saving the world to answer any questions or concerns. She is very clever as to making it apear as though she is qualified to care for these animals, she has built a cyber image of her sanctuary or “concentration camp” as we came to call it, an image of liberated animals and the fight for the right and protection of these creature.
Mary is a perfect case study for any Psychologist wanting to writ e thesis about delusions of grandure and paranoia.
So Holly and I grabbed our thing and set out in the late afternoon dusk towards the “farm”. About 2 kilometers up a dirt hill there is a delapidated fence which leads you into a brush overgrown piece of neglected property. There are several larger cages unhoused and a ruin of what was once surely a structure.
I mean it still stands, but barely. We were expecting there to be other volunteers there, but we were alone, in the jungle. This must be the place, no?
Im not sure what we were expecting, but something a bit more than this.
We were quickly greeted by the inhabitants of the farm house, two goats and a wild boar who have managed to cover the entire inside of the structure in excrement and urine. These were to be our housemates since there aren’t any windows or functioning doors to keep them out.
We put our bags down cautiously and had a look around. In the back there was a semi-civilized kitchen which was locked up, and if you kept venturing into the overgrowth you found a delapidated outhouse completely rusted through and full of nastyness. The shower was a thin lead pipe that extended from the muddy river close by, over some tree branchs and into a shallow creek close to the toilet. A constant minimal trickle of stagnant ditch water drizzled down the rusted end. The actual house consisted of an upstairs baren living room with crates, rubish, 2 moldy matresses and heaps and heaps of goat shit. There was “lounge area” downstairs with a torn up couch that looked to be also covered in goat excrement and a big fridge which, once opened, exuded a foul smell, and an army of cockroaches and ants congregating around a piece of rotting fish and corn meal.
The chicken-wire doors, which were mere fasades, didn’t properly stay shut, and the whole place stunk. Then I realized the key she had given us for the kitchen and the “lock up room” under the stairs didnt work.
So after a quick game of rock, paper, scissors it was determined that I would have to go back down to face the woman and ask her for a different set of keys.
With a heavy heart I made my way back down to headquarters. I left Holly behind to guard our things and befriend the goats and the pig.
I entered the premises soaked in sweat and thirsty as a bastard.
As not to get her more riled up than she already was, I aproached her shack cautiously and gingerly knocked on the door. She opened the door (followed by a thick haze of Ganja) in a seemingly better mood. I politely told her that the key did not work and at which time she began rummaging around in her mess looking for a different set. The whole time she was cursing former volunteers and their inability to maintain the farm house and their constantly loosing things up there and making it inhabitable.
I dared to raise the question ”Is there any food or drinking water up there by chance?” She slowly, seemingly annoyed, turned to me and began to shout. Her tone of voice was so agressive that I was taken aback. “What kind of a fucked up question is that? Did you not read the volunter guidelines on the website, didnt you bring a water filter, haven’t you ever traveled before? I hate it when people don’t do their homework. It says clear as rain right here on the website about bringing your own suplies. I can’t be responsable for feeding and taking care of you people. I am fighting on the front lines every day, I have worries and bills to pay, do you really expect me to cater to you? This is ridiculus…”
And on and on she went, literaly screaming at me, waving her hands through the air and complainging and bitching up a storm. After some time it seems she ran out of steam and she stated that if I want food why dont I go to the shop? “Theres a shop? Where,” I inquired, trying to be as curteous and patient as posible. “Just five minutes down the road, didn’t you read the instructions on the website, don’t you do your homework,” and as she was about to start up again for round two, I puckered up and asked “E xcuse me Mary, what the hell is the problema here, I just asked you a question, and there is no need to freak out!” Mind you I was tyring to still keep her on my good side, for we wanted to film there with her permission. So I just grabbed the keys and walked away thanking her for the information. Good lord, I guess the people in town were right about Crazy Mary.
About an hour later I returned to the farm, hungry, sweaty and tired. I aproached the house where Holly was anxiously waiting for me. It was getting dark and we had to clean the place up a bit to make it semi-inhabiatable. I strung up our Hamocks while Holly had to go back down to Mary to get another set of keys , since she had for the second time given me a false pair. I refused to go back down and sent por little Holly to deal with the crazy women in the shack.
Once Holly returned I had set all our stuff up and made the place about as comforatable as it was going to get. We broke out our bottle of rum and cooked some pasta. Then out of the dark of the jungle we saw some flash lights aproaching the farm. This really could be anyone. Angry locals with machetees? Corrupt pólice? One thing was for certain: it wasn’t going to be Mary.
It turned out to be two other volunteers who had wised up after sleeping here for several days. They were now staying in a hotel down the road.
Alessandro an Italian/British film maker here to make a documentary about Rainsong and a French man who was trying to open his own sanctuary and was testing out several others around the region. We talked for a while with them, mostly about Mary and what to expect. Then they turned on their heels and dissapeared into the darkness, and Holly and I went to bed.
During the night the goats and the pig were constantly trying to ge tinto the upper room of the house. Scratching on the chicken-wire, Bahhhh Bahhhh and pissing and shitting everywhere. It was terrible. Thuding their horns against the rotting wood of the doorframe, going up and down the stairs, it was unbearable.
I poured water on them, I pushed them, I threw objects at them but nothing would shut them up, a ridiculus situation for which there was no clear cut solution.
The following morning, after getting barely any sleep whatsoever, we grabbed the cameras and made our way down to Mary’s. We were ready to make a fresh start of things and let bygons be bygons. When we arived the other volunteers were there already working and shuffling around the place. Basically our task there was to clean cages and feed the animals. She has a one armed capuchin who lives in a dirty small cage and make a raucus all day, banging his tail against the sheet metal roof of his enclsure. There is a baby goat, a few porcupines, some turtles, two different kinds of tucans and some squirrels, pheasants and a few other animals.
All of them must be taken care of from 8:00 AM to about 3:00 PM, and after that there isn’t terribly much to do. Mary delegates the activities around the center and sits on her computer, emerging every so often to shout some instructions.
I was delegated, as my first job, to clean the monkey cage.
“Hmmm…..you know Mary Ive never worked with primates before. I’m not really sure how to handle a crazy one-armed hyper-active monkey with sharp teeth. “ “Will he bite me” I asked in a semi concerned fashion, just wanting to know what to expect, when I opened the door and squeezed into the enclosed area with this wild animal. “What kind of a stupid question is that!” Mary Blurted from the doorway of her shack. “You shouldnt volunteer with animals if your afraid to get bit! I can’t guarantee that he wont bite you! “
Alright. I instructed Holly to keep the camera on me while in the cage, so if I get bit at least we will get it on film. I entered wearily and cleaned Tarzan’s cage. He was quite cute but wild. Jumping around obviously excited about this intrusion of his minimal private place. He jumped all over me flinging his feces and other dirty monkey buisness all around, whiping me in the mouth and face with his urine-drenched tail several times, trying to bite my elbow and going through my pockets. He was actually very cute. So I cleaned his cage with only a few scratches and bite marks to show for it. Then later that day I was filming one of the tucans, who are majestic looking carnivores-turned-vegan here at Rainsong. It was unclear why they were even here, and when I asked Mary what kind of tucan it was, she replied “That’s a dumb question, it’s a Costa Rican tucan of course.” “Hmmm… OK” I replied.
So the day went on and we did our jobs cutting vegetables and cleaning etc.
Tomorrow was Christmas and Mary had organized a field trip to have a “Christmas party” for kids in a local village. So the next day we went there. Right from the beginning the mood wasn’t a good one, we were here to work with animals not children, we had worked with kids for two years and neither Holly nor I really wanted to go to this event.
A big truck pulled up and Mary put us in charge of loading the supplies on the back of the vehicle. Someone had donated a huge bowl of rice and bread, Mary was supposed to mix some meat and veggies in there, but in the heat of the moment forgot to do so. She was wearing a Santa hat and explained that usually she “does not support Santa clause because he” according to her “promotes conumerism and capitalism.” But she was going to make an exception for the kids. How nice of her.
She demanded we pay the truck driver as we got in. She was in a seperate vehicle with Alessandro the Italian filmmaker. She was taking his documentary quite serious and basically ignoring the fact that we were attempting to make one as well. On the hour long drive there we stopped at a shop, and Alessandro came to our car visibly shacken and disturbed. “What’s the matter man” we inquired. “There is a massive tarantula that crawled over my leg and it’s still in that cramped car and I dont want to get back in. At first I saw it by the window and Crazy Mary ushered it in and told the little fella to make himself comforatable in the car.” She said “Isn’t he a cutie” and so on. Alessandro tried to protest but this was overshadowed by Mary’s extreme love for all that creeps and crawls. It was funny situation and after a while he was forced to return to the car, since no one wanted to exchange their spots with him. The prospect of being in a confined place with Mary and a big hairy spider somehow wasn’t appealing to any of us.
There were eight of us volunteers at Rainsong. All inteligent genuinely interested individuals who wanted to help. Sara and Matty, and Australian couple, Greg the Frenchman, Alsessandro, an older American couple of which the man was a veterenarian, and Holly and I. None of us wanted to be at this party but as volunteers we had to go. Mary was planning on educating the youngsters on the extremely fragile state of their environment.
We blew up Baloons and set up for the hord of 50 or more childeren and their parents. The kids were coloring pictures of animals eating and listening to stories about the environment. An educational party for the youngsters, a nice idea in theory.
Right before all the kids arrived, Mary announced that she needs a brake. “There’s so much to be done, I need to sit down. I spent the whole week in the hospital and in court and I had to deal with the police chief all week because someone tried to kill me.” When she said that, I simply inquisitively asked, “Really?” and thats all it took. Suddenly Mary started saying things that I and the volunteers thought made little sense. “Did I not speak English? Was I not speaking English? Am I not speaking English Stuart? Are you questioning me in front of everyone? Are you calling me a liar? How dare you?” She totally went of her rocker and started interrogating me about questioning her integrety. As we all burried our heads in our hands and waited for the storm to pass Mary lit up her twentieth cigarette of the day and angrily puffed away while pacing back and forth and challenging me to answer her allegations. I just sat there and looked at her in bewilderment. I didnt know how to repond without telling her to fuck off.
I stayed composed and she cooled off after about ten minutes. We all looked at each other and didnt know what to say to this ridiculus outburst. One thing was for sure, if we did not want to be there before, we sure as hell didnt want to be there now.
Some time later Mary approached me and sort of apologized. She suggested that we “hug it out.” I didnt want to. But she grabbed me and we hugged it out. She smelled bad and I did not want any phisical contact with her, but I had no choice.
Then the kids arrived. The afternoon passed, and shortly before it was time for ice cream Mary rallied everyone together. Now before anyone gets ice cream she has something to say. Of copurse gathering all the kids quietly and in an orderly fashion to listen to a speach was no easy task. She screamed several times in her terrible Texan Spanish. “Escuchame Por favor!!!!! Escuchame!!!!!” She told them all, no candy or ice cream untill you listen to me!
The room fell as silent as it was going to get. This is when Mary turned an awkward situation into a barrage of awkwardness for herself, us and anyone assciated with her. Fort he next forty five minutes Mary was screaming at these three to five year old childeren. Bellowing criticism and anger filled messages at them. “You are living in a state of Anarchy! You are murdering all of the sharks, turtles and wales in your waters…” And on and on and on. It was a propaganda speech of epic proportions. Us volunteers had to hide away out of sheer embarrasement. It was like she had finally found her pedestal and she was going to voice all of her frustrations to this audience of bedwetters and adolescant anarchists.
It was a very disturbing afternoon and I told myself if she freaked out on me again I would quit. After all, I was here to help her and to make a promotional film about her cause. Up until now we had recieved no thank you or any words of apreciation or kindness. So, exhausted from the daily events and the propaganda speech, we packed up and took the truck home. Of course Mary made us pay for the truck again.
I never found out what happened to the $200 I sent her, and then I found out that Sarah and Matty had donated $1000 to her for a new computer as well. When they arrived there was no thank you or anything, and the computer she had was a cheap $150 mini-laptop, which we even later discovered was donated by someone else as well. So the question arises “where did all the money go?”
It was a strange phenomena, that when we were done with work and back in the farm house or the beach, even though we loathed the woman, we could not stop talking about her. She had gotten under all of our skins with repeated verbal attacks and provocative actions. She freaked out for no apparent reason and was hostile to any question regarding anything about the center or her person. In general she was extremely difficult to deal with and the best posible solution, for me at least, was to avoid her presence at all costs.
I was feeding the wild boar some peanuts one evening and I think I got a little to close, because the animal freaked out and lunged for my leg with its tusks, squealing and grunting. I narrowly escaped, but por, Holly who whitnessed the incident, was cornered in the kitchen by the animal as it greedily gobbled up the nuts on the floor. Holly was so scared, she didnt dare move past the pig. Eventually the little bastard moved and Holly escaped. It was after that incident that Holly and I joined Alessandro down at the Hotel by the beach.
Alessandro was filming a documentary just about Rainsong. He had brought a suitcase full of expensive profesional equipement. He was also having a hard time getting Mary to give an interview or at least be available. But at least she recognized his purpose there, while she just about ignored me, unless I had to do something that required her instructions. Getting up every morning there was always the question dawning, I wonder what Mary will do today?
We arrived at the center arround 8:00 AM, a few days after the propaganda party. I had given Mary a new nickname, Senora Castro, since she went on and on and on spreading her message in a fashion that resembled an idealistic but authoritarian communist platform, so the name seemed appropriate. Alessandro promptly replied that in Italy she would more properly be known as “Senora Musselini.”
So we arrived at the center, and Mary was up, and ready to go. She had not slept because the previous night someone had brought her a baby howler monkey. The infant’s mother had been electrocuted on a power grid and when she fell onto the road a truck ran over her, leaving the baby lying there alone.
So someone took it upon themselves to bring the doomed baby monkey to Mary for proper care.
Mary was holding it wrapped in a towel, gently swaying the little creature who with big confused eyes glared at us. It was extremely small, and it was uncler if there was any internal damage to the animal, and the question arrose if it would even survive. Mary cradeled it and guided us to the corner of the center where there was a small circle designated with a few logs and a tree. This was the Karma Yoga Shakra Center of Rainsong. Here she would come to meditate and summon the earth’s healing powers. We all sat in a semi-circle and gathered around as Mary, in a low voice, explained to us the situation and that now we would meditate for this animal. She doesnt prescribe to conventional verterenary schools of thought, and rather relies on Karma Yoga and “purple healing light” summoned from the earth’s “shakra” to deal with these type of situations.
So we all had to take off our shoes and sit in a tight circle with Mary and the monkey in the middle. She gave us instructions and told us we need to take this serious if we want the monkey to survive. Now we must pick a one- or two- syllable “mantra” Word. Someone suggested “ohm,” but this idea was quickly shot down by Senora Castro and the word “heal” was what she intead chose. We had to chant this word and subconciously summon purple healing light from the sky and the earth and formulate our energy and push it into this poor creature. I dont think any of us could take this serious, but to accomedate her we oblidged to play along, and the session began. The baby monkey, obviously confused and scared, started to kick up a fuss and scream and squirm to get away form this mentally unstable person who had taken over its mother’s role so abruptly. He was biting her hands and pushing his little appendages in all directions trying to free himself. It was a terrible spectacle to watch and all we did was sit there in silence while Mary chanted “heal, heal, heal.” After about twenty minutes of this nonsense we were finished with the meditation sesión. I will mention that the monkey seemed more agitated than miraculusly healed.
Because Mary had to care for the baby and didnt sleep she was extra grouchy and we were assigned jobs to do to accommodate Rainsong’s newest member. I was given a machetee and sent into the fied to hack down some leaves. None of us knew quite what to do with the past thirty minutes and what had transpired, so we all just kept our mouths shut and went about our buisness. Of course the leaves were the wrong ones for which Mary chewed me out even though that was the almond tree she had sent me to. Later, of course, it turned out they were the right ones afterall, and this time we didnt hug it out. Then Mary kept trying to put this harness on the baby monkey and she enlisted Holly to help her. While Holly was attempting to put the harness on it, the monkey was going nuts and it kept biting Mary, whose raspy troll-like voice could be heard bellowing over the noises of Tarzan slamming his tail on the cage roof and the birds and everything else. It is still a voice that gives me goose-bumps and is generally consider unpleasant to hear. She almost suffocated the poor baby monkey when she wrapped the towel around its head so it wouldn’t bite her. Holly was not happy that she had to be part of this.
Then she handed the baby off, to attend to her internet duties. Just so happens that as soon as Holly had the monkey, it calmed down and was very gente and peacefull. Holly was carrying the monkey around all day trying to entertain it.
Then Mary said “OK its time for Tarzan the one armed capuchin monkey to have some free time out of his cage,” and I was put in charge of watching him.
To make a long story short, I spent the next four hours following this crazy monkey all around calling his name because apparently he needs constant attention, or otherwise he’ll run off to find some elsewhere and, according to Mary, that would be a disaster.
He would not come for the longest time. Like a town fool I was running after him with food and toys screaming “Tarzan, Tarzan…cmon you stupid monkey.” Arround 4:00 PM everyone else had left and I was still trying to catch the little bastard. Then I had him in my grasp and Mary, who of course was only there after I yelled for her to come, told me “You have to grab him by the tail.” But I didn’t want to grab him by the tail, I didn’t want to hurt him.
She said it was the only way to catch him, and it was my responsibility.
Eventually I cornered him by the shack and grabbed his tail, and he freaked out,
screaming and snapping at me. I wanted to let him go, but I knew if I did I would be there until tomorrow. So I held on and screamed for Mary. The monkey was freaking out and Mary waddles down and tried to grab him. I was like saying “Take the damn thing, please!” I really felt like he didn’t like what I was doing, and I didnt like it either. When the whole thing was over, I had decided that I was pretty mucho through with this whole scene.
None of us cared for the way she treated the animals, the volunteers and anything about her or this project. Then, the following day, she asked me “Stuart, why don’t you put your stupid camera down, why are you filming all the time anyway, what are you doing?” At that point I said “Mary, we have been in contact for months and you know that I am here to make a movie about your project!” she replied “What do you mean?” I told her “I wrote you x amount of e-mails.” “Oh, I don’t have time to read every e-mail I get was her response.
She instructed me to put the camera down and get to work and to “film on your own time. “ The entire time we were there, Holly and I were trying to get this woman to sign a release form which we had everyone sign. It was imposible to nail her down. One day a local vet stopped by to check up on a dog, I wanted to ask her some questions but unfortunately we never had chance.
A few days later we discovered ASVO, a sea turtle project right in Montezuma.
We went there and checked it out and decided to go and spend some time there.
At this point I was through with the Rainsong Project, and I was not even keen to get an interview Mary any more. In fact although I feel bad for the animals in her care, working there had become a burdan and a waste of time.
Holly and I decided to leave this project and go participate in one that appreciates our presence and where we will actually learn something.
After a few more days and several outbursts the entire volunteer group felt the same. We all felt bad for abandoning her all by herself, but we weren’t getting anything accomplished there. The last thing Mary did was single out Holly and tell her that she is the only one she can rely on and that Stuart and the rest were of no help or value, and that Stuart even demanded she should cook for him (which is total bullshit!). Once Mary said that, Holly told her off, and we all packed out things and bid Rainsong farewell.
I think it was an important experience, in that it enabled us to see how far the an apple is able to actualy drop form the tree. Now we had seen the worst and were equipped to handle most situations that might take place, while working on such projects.
People come from all around the world to work at Rainsong. They are lured by nice pictures and writeups of former volunteers. There are heaps of worth- while projects in the región, and I don’t see why anyone should waste their time and constantly be harrased and belittled for trying to help out.
The issue of Rainsong was to be reported to the Wildlife Conservation Commissioner, who checks up on these projects periodically, and I truly hope that by now someone has realized the conditions, removed the animals and shut the place down. We and the others were scammed out of our money, our time and effort in an attempt to do some good. We were taken advantage of and made to feel that our work was not worth the time we put into it. I urge anyone heading to Costa Rica and wanting to participate in wildlife volunteering to pick another project.
It is not meant to slander any particular person, but given the circumstances and conditions we experienced, it is necissary to voice our honest opinion. None of the following is exagerated or made up, it is an accurate account of our time spent there and the situations we were faced with.
We had to go back through San Jose and from there take a bus to Quepos and then on to Jaco. Jaco is an overrun tourist town full of surfers, jailbirds and sailors. Exactly the kind of place we prefer to avoid, but which sometimes cannot, unfortunately, be avoided.
So we stayed the night in a descent hostel there. We made some friends with some youngsters from Nicaragua on the beach and had a few beers with them.
The following morning and $40 later we took a speed boat across the Nicoya peninsula heading towards Montezuma.
Just like I remembered it, Montezuma is a pretty laid back little town right on the Pacific half of the peninsula. The locals are quite friendly and the place has a bit more of a tranquil atmosphere than many other places in the region.
We spent some time at a cofee shop on the high Street contemplating our next move. We ended up taking a taxi over the hill from there to our next project, “Rainsong.” Had we known what was to await us here, we wouldn’t have bothered.
I have been in semi-constatnt contact with the propiator of this animal sanctuary for several months. I even sent her our alloted volunteer donation early, because she claimed that the volunteer house was in need of new matresses. Since we were going to stay there for 2 weeks, we would have had to pay our $50 a week fee anyhow, and I thought now or then, doesnt really matter. Since I wanted to film at this place, I thought that getting on her good side couldn’t hurt.
We had heard stories from across the country of a “crazy woman” called Mary.
The Sloth people had heard of her, and several people in Montezuma warned us about her. How bad could she be?
So we arrived after having to pay your typicall overpriced Costa Rican taxi fee. We were dropped off outside an overgrown fenced-off property on the side of a long and dusty road. There was a small sign informing us that this was the place.
We heard comotion coming from inside, obviously caused by some sort of animal, or perhaps Mary herself?
We entered cautiously, with our backpacks, tripod and camera equipement in tow. I said “hello?” “Hello?” From the shack I smelled a definitely strong aroma of a cannabis and slowly the woman herself emerged. She was a creature of larger proportions sporting a summery Mo Mo which left little to the imagination about her phisical stature. She had blackened front teeth and blond greasy hair. She moved in the fashion one would expect of a troll or of a creature thsat would from below a bridge. She aproached us seemingly confused as to our presence.
“Are you the people with the bird?” Bewildered, Holly and I looked at each other before replying “No, we have no bird, we are the new volunteers, Stuart and Holly” Her response was “Oh I’m realy exhausted man, I cant deal with this right now, I’ve gotto rest. Let’s sort this out tomorrow. I was just in court and the hospital all week and I dont have time now.”
“OK,” we though. “Where are you staying” was her next inquisition. “I was told by you that we could stay in the volunteer house.” She replied “Oh the farm?” “Yes sure the farm.” “Well it’s up the road a bit. You’ll find it, don’t drink the water and lock your things up because these bastards will steal everything if you leave it laying around.”
She handed us a set of rusted keys and sent us on our merry way.
It is at this time that I deem it neccessary to disclose the facts we knew about this illustrious character known as “Crazy Mary,” the woman who was to be our superior for the next few weeks (or so we thought).
She hails from the great state of Texas, and, like many thigs from there, she comes bigger yet not better. Apparently she has been down here in Costa Rica for nearly 20 years now, running the Rainsong animal sanctuary. She must have had a partner at one point and her sanctuary must have been thriving at some time long ago. Judging by the pictures and the information on the web the place looks like a haven for injured and endangered animals of all persuasions.
It is the first place that Google spits at you when you type in “Costa Rica wildlife sanctuary” or anything of the sort. It seems like an ideal place to spend a working holiday, a place to learn something and be able to work in close proximity with some animals.
Over the years, however, Mary has grown increasingly neurotic, paranoid and mean-spirited. Im not sure when exactly this transition took place, but judging by the fact that nation-wide she was known as a “coock.” It must have been some time ago that her last marbles were misplaced. Mary has managed to isolate herself from the other people surrounding her. She has created a far-stretching net of enemies in the local community. She considers hersel a “wildlife warrior,” fighting on the front lines for justice and equality for all creatures. She believes she is the only one who cares about these por subjects. The woman is part of a social network of hundreds of activist groups and causes, ranging from Save the Wild Horses in Mongolia to Sabe the Whales in Antartica. This requires her to be constantly sitting in front of her computer writing blogs, posting videos about internatiional conspiracies she pics up on youtube. Literally, for any cause she comes across that is related to animal rights, anti-government, or end-of-the-world theories, she is a part of it.
I think she has retreated from the extremist front lines some time ago and now participates in her own little cyber world from her smelly dirty shack in the jungle. She belives she is one of the last true warriors who are doing something, and that she knows everything better than anyone. Any other wildlife conservation project is quickly disregarded by her or slandered. I asked her about the Sea Turtle Rescue Project and she said it didn’t exist more and that the red devil (China) has decimated the area with their dragnets and industrial fishing habbits. (This is probably true.) Some time later when I actually found a sea turtle rescue project of which Holly and I would later become part, she quickly disregarded it as a bunch amateurs and communists. She thinks people are trying to kill her. She is also convinced that Leprecauns come and steal things from her, and that ex-volunteers return under the cover of the night and release her caged animals or steal her horses and so on.
I am not trying to bad mouth anyone with this statement but someone must speak up about the situation which is to be found in this highly advertised and publicised location. Mary is extremely easily provoced and she shows no appreciation for what you do as a volunteer. The conditions at her place are atrocious and since she is a vegan, she believes that all the animals here ought to be vegans as well. So a strict codex installed by her is enforced.
When a tourist group shows up, which happens rather frequently, to view the bewildered premisis, one of the volunteers is dispatched to collect the $% donation and then they must give this group a tour of the premises.
The problem is that no one really knows anything about any of these animals here. They were injured at one point, bust most look OK to me now. Why are they caged? What kind of a tucan is this? Questions arise for which there are no answers. It turns into an awkward situation for the volunteer and the group, Mary ducks off into her shack and pretends to be too busy saving the world to answer any questions or concerns. She is very clever as to making it apear as though she is qualified to care for these animals, she has built a cyber image of her sanctuary or “concentration camp” as we came to call it, an image of liberated animals and the fight for the right and protection of these creature.
Mary is a perfect case study for any Psychologist wanting to writ e thesis about delusions of grandure and paranoia.
So Holly and I grabbed our thing and set out in the late afternoon dusk towards the “farm”. About 2 kilometers up a dirt hill there is a delapidated fence which leads you into a brush overgrown piece of neglected property. There are several larger cages unhoused and a ruin of what was once surely a structure.
I mean it still stands, but barely. We were expecting there to be other volunteers there, but we were alone, in the jungle. This must be the place, no?
Im not sure what we were expecting, but something a bit more than this.
We were quickly greeted by the inhabitants of the farm house, two goats and a wild boar who have managed to cover the entire inside of the structure in excrement and urine. These were to be our housemates since there aren’t any windows or functioning doors to keep them out.
We put our bags down cautiously and had a look around. In the back there was a semi-civilized kitchen which was locked up, and if you kept venturing into the overgrowth you found a delapidated outhouse completely rusted through and full of nastyness. The shower was a thin lead pipe that extended from the muddy river close by, over some tree branchs and into a shallow creek close to the toilet. A constant minimal trickle of stagnant ditch water drizzled down the rusted end. The actual house consisted of an upstairs baren living room with crates, rubish, 2 moldy matresses and heaps and heaps of goat shit. There was “lounge area” downstairs with a torn up couch that looked to be also covered in goat excrement and a big fridge which, once opened, exuded a foul smell, and an army of cockroaches and ants congregating around a piece of rotting fish and corn meal.
The chicken-wire doors, which were mere fasades, didn’t properly stay shut, and the whole place stunk. Then I realized the key she had given us for the kitchen and the “lock up room” under the stairs didnt work.
So after a quick game of rock, paper, scissors it was determined that I would have to go back down to face the woman and ask her for a different set of keys.
With a heavy heart I made my way back down to headquarters. I left Holly behind to guard our things and befriend the goats and the pig.
I entered the premises soaked in sweat and thirsty as a bastard.
As not to get her more riled up than she already was, I aproached her shack cautiously and gingerly knocked on the door. She opened the door (followed by a thick haze of Ganja) in a seemingly better mood. I politely told her that the key did not work and at which time she began rummaging around in her mess looking for a different set. The whole time she was cursing former volunteers and their inability to maintain the farm house and their constantly loosing things up there and making it inhabitable.
I dared to raise the question ”Is there any food or drinking water up there by chance?” She slowly, seemingly annoyed, turned to me and began to shout. Her tone of voice was so agressive that I was taken aback. “What kind of a fucked up question is that? Did you not read the volunter guidelines on the website, didnt you bring a water filter, haven’t you ever traveled before? I hate it when people don’t do their homework. It says clear as rain right here on the website about bringing your own suplies. I can’t be responsable for feeding and taking care of you people. I am fighting on the front lines every day, I have worries and bills to pay, do you really expect me to cater to you? This is ridiculus…”
And on and on she went, literaly screaming at me, waving her hands through the air and complainging and bitching up a storm. After some time it seems she ran out of steam and she stated that if I want food why dont I go to the shop? “Theres a shop? Where,” I inquired, trying to be as curteous and patient as posible. “Just five minutes down the road, didn’t you read the instructions on the website, don’t you do your homework,” and as she was about to start up again for round two, I puckered up and asked “E xcuse me Mary, what the hell is the problema here, I just asked you a question, and there is no need to freak out!” Mind you I was tyring to still keep her on my good side, for we wanted to film there with her permission. So I just grabbed the keys and walked away thanking her for the information. Good lord, I guess the people in town were right about Crazy Mary.
About an hour later I returned to the farm, hungry, sweaty and tired. I aproached the house where Holly was anxiously waiting for me. It was getting dark and we had to clean the place up a bit to make it semi-inhabiatable. I strung up our Hamocks while Holly had to go back down to Mary to get another set of keys , since she had for the second time given me a false pair. I refused to go back down and sent por little Holly to deal with the crazy women in the shack.
Once Holly returned I had set all our stuff up and made the place about as comforatable as it was going to get. We broke out our bottle of rum and cooked some pasta. Then out of the dark of the jungle we saw some flash lights aproaching the farm. This really could be anyone. Angry locals with machetees? Corrupt pólice? One thing was for certain: it wasn’t going to be Mary.
It turned out to be two other volunteers who had wised up after sleeping here for several days. They were now staying in a hotel down the road.
Alessandro an Italian/British film maker here to make a documentary about Rainsong and a French man who was trying to open his own sanctuary and was testing out several others around the region. We talked for a while with them, mostly about Mary and what to expect. Then they turned on their heels and dissapeared into the darkness, and Holly and I went to bed.
During the night the goats and the pig were constantly trying to ge tinto the upper room of the house. Scratching on the chicken-wire, Bahhhh Bahhhh and pissing and shitting everywhere. It was terrible. Thuding their horns against the rotting wood of the doorframe, going up and down the stairs, it was unbearable.
I poured water on them, I pushed them, I threw objects at them but nothing would shut them up, a ridiculus situation for which there was no clear cut solution.
The following morning, after getting barely any sleep whatsoever, we grabbed the cameras and made our way down to Mary’s. We were ready to make a fresh start of things and let bygons be bygons. When we arived the other volunteers were there already working and shuffling around the place. Basically our task there was to clean cages and feed the animals. She has a one armed capuchin who lives in a dirty small cage and make a raucus all day, banging his tail against the sheet metal roof of his enclsure. There is a baby goat, a few porcupines, some turtles, two different kinds of tucans and some squirrels, pheasants and a few other animals.
All of them must be taken care of from 8:00 AM to about 3:00 PM, and after that there isn’t terribly much to do. Mary delegates the activities around the center and sits on her computer, emerging every so often to shout some instructions.
I was delegated, as my first job, to clean the monkey cage.
“Hmmm…..you know Mary Ive never worked with primates before. I’m not really sure how to handle a crazy one-armed hyper-active monkey with sharp teeth. “ “Will he bite me” I asked in a semi concerned fashion, just wanting to know what to expect, when I opened the door and squeezed into the enclosed area with this wild animal. “What kind of a stupid question is that!” Mary Blurted from the doorway of her shack. “You shouldnt volunteer with animals if your afraid to get bit! I can’t guarantee that he wont bite you! “
Alright. I instructed Holly to keep the camera on me while in the cage, so if I get bit at least we will get it on film. I entered wearily and cleaned Tarzan’s cage. He was quite cute but wild. Jumping around obviously excited about this intrusion of his minimal private place. He jumped all over me flinging his feces and other dirty monkey buisness all around, whiping me in the mouth and face with his urine-drenched tail several times, trying to bite my elbow and going through my pockets. He was actually very cute. So I cleaned his cage with only a few scratches and bite marks to show for it. Then later that day I was filming one of the tucans, who are majestic looking carnivores-turned-vegan here at Rainsong. It was unclear why they were even here, and when I asked Mary what kind of tucan it was, she replied “That’s a dumb question, it’s a Costa Rican tucan of course.” “Hmmm… OK” I replied.
So the day went on and we did our jobs cutting vegetables and cleaning etc.
Tomorrow was Christmas and Mary had organized a field trip to have a “Christmas party” for kids in a local village. So the next day we went there. Right from the beginning the mood wasn’t a good one, we were here to work with animals not children, we had worked with kids for two years and neither Holly nor I really wanted to go to this event.
A big truck pulled up and Mary put us in charge of loading the supplies on the back of the vehicle. Someone had donated a huge bowl of rice and bread, Mary was supposed to mix some meat and veggies in there, but in the heat of the moment forgot to do so. She was wearing a Santa hat and explained that usually she “does not support Santa clause because he” according to her “promotes conumerism and capitalism.” But she was going to make an exception for the kids. How nice of her.
She demanded we pay the truck driver as we got in. She was in a seperate vehicle with Alessandro the Italian filmmaker. She was taking his documentary quite serious and basically ignoring the fact that we were attempting to make one as well. On the hour long drive there we stopped at a shop, and Alessandro came to our car visibly shacken and disturbed. “What’s the matter man” we inquired. “There is a massive tarantula that crawled over my leg and it’s still in that cramped car and I dont want to get back in. At first I saw it by the window and Crazy Mary ushered it in and told the little fella to make himself comforatable in the car.” She said “Isn’t he a cutie” and so on. Alessandro tried to protest but this was overshadowed by Mary’s extreme love for all that creeps and crawls. It was funny situation and after a while he was forced to return to the car, since no one wanted to exchange their spots with him. The prospect of being in a confined place with Mary and a big hairy spider somehow wasn’t appealing to any of us.
There were eight of us volunteers at Rainsong. All inteligent genuinely interested individuals who wanted to help. Sara and Matty, and Australian couple, Greg the Frenchman, Alsessandro, an older American couple of which the man was a veterenarian, and Holly and I. None of us wanted to be at this party but as volunteers we had to go. Mary was planning on educating the youngsters on the extremely fragile state of their environment.
We blew up Baloons and set up for the hord of 50 or more childeren and their parents. The kids were coloring pictures of animals eating and listening to stories about the environment. An educational party for the youngsters, a nice idea in theory.
Right before all the kids arrived, Mary announced that she needs a brake. “There’s so much to be done, I need to sit down. I spent the whole week in the hospital and in court and I had to deal with the police chief all week because someone tried to kill me.” When she said that, I simply inquisitively asked, “Really?” and thats all it took. Suddenly Mary started saying things that I and the volunteers thought made little sense. “Did I not speak English? Was I not speaking English? Am I not speaking English Stuart? Are you questioning me in front of everyone? Are you calling me a liar? How dare you?” She totally went of her rocker and started interrogating me about questioning her integrety. As we all burried our heads in our hands and waited for the storm to pass Mary lit up her twentieth cigarette of the day and angrily puffed away while pacing back and forth and challenging me to answer her allegations. I just sat there and looked at her in bewilderment. I didnt know how to repond without telling her to fuck off.
I stayed composed and she cooled off after about ten minutes. We all looked at each other and didnt know what to say to this ridiculus outburst. One thing was for sure, if we did not want to be there before, we sure as hell didnt want to be there now.
Some time later Mary approached me and sort of apologized. She suggested that we “hug it out.” I didnt want to. But she grabbed me and we hugged it out. She smelled bad and I did not want any phisical contact with her, but I had no choice.
Then the kids arrived. The afternoon passed, and shortly before it was time for ice cream Mary rallied everyone together. Now before anyone gets ice cream she has something to say. Of copurse gathering all the kids quietly and in an orderly fashion to listen to a speach was no easy task. She screamed several times in her terrible Texan Spanish. “Escuchame Por favor!!!!! Escuchame!!!!!” She told them all, no candy or ice cream untill you listen to me!
The room fell as silent as it was going to get. This is when Mary turned an awkward situation into a barrage of awkwardness for herself, us and anyone assciated with her. Fort he next forty five minutes Mary was screaming at these three to five year old childeren. Bellowing criticism and anger filled messages at them. “You are living in a state of Anarchy! You are murdering all of the sharks, turtles and wales in your waters…” And on and on and on. It was a propaganda speech of epic proportions. Us volunteers had to hide away out of sheer embarrasement. It was like she had finally found her pedestal and she was going to voice all of her frustrations to this audience of bedwetters and adolescant anarchists.
It was a very disturbing afternoon and I told myself if she freaked out on me again I would quit. After all, I was here to help her and to make a promotional film about her cause. Up until now we had recieved no thank you or any words of apreciation or kindness. So, exhausted from the daily events and the propaganda speech, we packed up and took the truck home. Of course Mary made us pay for the truck again.
I never found out what happened to the $200 I sent her, and then I found out that Sarah and Matty had donated $1000 to her for a new computer as well. When they arrived there was no thank you or anything, and the computer she had was a cheap $150 mini-laptop, which we even later discovered was donated by someone else as well. So the question arises “where did all the money go?”
It was a strange phenomena, that when we were done with work and back in the farm house or the beach, even though we loathed the woman, we could not stop talking about her. She had gotten under all of our skins with repeated verbal attacks and provocative actions. She freaked out for no apparent reason and was hostile to any question regarding anything about the center or her person. In general she was extremely difficult to deal with and the best posible solution, for me at least, was to avoid her presence at all costs.
I was feeding the wild boar some peanuts one evening and I think I got a little to close, because the animal freaked out and lunged for my leg with its tusks, squealing and grunting. I narrowly escaped, but por, Holly who whitnessed the incident, was cornered in the kitchen by the animal as it greedily gobbled up the nuts on the floor. Holly was so scared, she didnt dare move past the pig. Eventually the little bastard moved and Holly escaped. It was after that incident that Holly and I joined Alessandro down at the Hotel by the beach.
Alessandro was filming a documentary just about Rainsong. He had brought a suitcase full of expensive profesional equipement. He was also having a hard time getting Mary to give an interview or at least be available. But at least she recognized his purpose there, while she just about ignored me, unless I had to do something that required her instructions. Getting up every morning there was always the question dawning, I wonder what Mary will do today?
We arrived at the center arround 8:00 AM, a few days after the propaganda party. I had given Mary a new nickname, Senora Castro, since she went on and on and on spreading her message in a fashion that resembled an idealistic but authoritarian communist platform, so the name seemed appropriate. Alessandro promptly replied that in Italy she would more properly be known as “Senora Musselini.”
So we arrived at the center, and Mary was up, and ready to go. She had not slept because the previous night someone had brought her a baby howler monkey. The infant’s mother had been electrocuted on a power grid and when she fell onto the road a truck ran over her, leaving the baby lying there alone.
So someone took it upon themselves to bring the doomed baby monkey to Mary for proper care.
Mary was holding it wrapped in a towel, gently swaying the little creature who with big confused eyes glared at us. It was extremely small, and it was uncler if there was any internal damage to the animal, and the question arrose if it would even survive. Mary cradeled it and guided us to the corner of the center where there was a small circle designated with a few logs and a tree. This was the Karma Yoga Shakra Center of Rainsong. Here she would come to meditate and summon the earth’s healing powers. We all sat in a semi-circle and gathered around as Mary, in a low voice, explained to us the situation and that now we would meditate for this animal. She doesnt prescribe to conventional verterenary schools of thought, and rather relies on Karma Yoga and “purple healing light” summoned from the earth’s “shakra” to deal with these type of situations.
So we all had to take off our shoes and sit in a tight circle with Mary and the monkey in the middle. She gave us instructions and told us we need to take this serious if we want the monkey to survive. Now we must pick a one- or two- syllable “mantra” Word. Someone suggested “ohm,” but this idea was quickly shot down by Senora Castro and the word “heal” was what she intead chose. We had to chant this word and subconciously summon purple healing light from the sky and the earth and formulate our energy and push it into this poor creature. I dont think any of us could take this serious, but to accomedate her we oblidged to play along, and the session began. The baby monkey, obviously confused and scared, started to kick up a fuss and scream and squirm to get away form this mentally unstable person who had taken over its mother’s role so abruptly. He was biting her hands and pushing his little appendages in all directions trying to free himself. It was a terrible spectacle to watch and all we did was sit there in silence while Mary chanted “heal, heal, heal.” After about twenty minutes of this nonsense we were finished with the meditation sesión. I will mention that the monkey seemed more agitated than miraculusly healed.
Because Mary had to care for the baby and didnt sleep she was extra grouchy and we were assigned jobs to do to accommodate Rainsong’s newest member. I was given a machetee and sent into the fied to hack down some leaves. None of us knew quite what to do with the past thirty minutes and what had transpired, so we all just kept our mouths shut and went about our buisness. Of course the leaves were the wrong ones for which Mary chewed me out even though that was the almond tree she had sent me to. Later, of course, it turned out they were the right ones afterall, and this time we didnt hug it out. Then Mary kept trying to put this harness on the baby monkey and she enlisted Holly to help her. While Holly was attempting to put the harness on it, the monkey was going nuts and it kept biting Mary, whose raspy troll-like voice could be heard bellowing over the noises of Tarzan slamming his tail on the cage roof and the birds and everything else. It is still a voice that gives me goose-bumps and is generally consider unpleasant to hear. She almost suffocated the poor baby monkey when she wrapped the towel around its head so it wouldn’t bite her. Holly was not happy that she had to be part of this.
Then she handed the baby off, to attend to her internet duties. Just so happens that as soon as Holly had the monkey, it calmed down and was very gente and peacefull. Holly was carrying the monkey around all day trying to entertain it.
Then Mary said “OK its time for Tarzan the one armed capuchin monkey to have some free time out of his cage,” and I was put in charge of watching him.
To make a long story short, I spent the next four hours following this crazy monkey all around calling his name because apparently he needs constant attention, or otherwise he’ll run off to find some elsewhere and, according to Mary, that would be a disaster.
He would not come for the longest time. Like a town fool I was running after him with food and toys screaming “Tarzan, Tarzan…cmon you stupid monkey.” Arround 4:00 PM everyone else had left and I was still trying to catch the little bastard. Then I had him in my grasp and Mary, who of course was only there after I yelled for her to come, told me “You have to grab him by the tail.” But I didn’t want to grab him by the tail, I didn’t want to hurt him.
She said it was the only way to catch him, and it was my responsibility.
Eventually I cornered him by the shack and grabbed his tail, and he freaked out,
screaming and snapping at me. I wanted to let him go, but I knew if I did I would be there until tomorrow. So I held on and screamed for Mary. The monkey was freaking out and Mary waddles down and tried to grab him. I was like saying “Take the damn thing, please!” I really felt like he didn’t like what I was doing, and I didnt like it either. When the whole thing was over, I had decided that I was pretty mucho through with this whole scene.
None of us cared for the way she treated the animals, the volunteers and anything about her or this project. Then, the following day, she asked me “Stuart, why don’t you put your stupid camera down, why are you filming all the time anyway, what are you doing?” At that point I said “Mary, we have been in contact for months and you know that I am here to make a movie about your project!” she replied “What do you mean?” I told her “I wrote you x amount of e-mails.” “Oh, I don’t have time to read every e-mail I get was her response.
She instructed me to put the camera down and get to work and to “film on your own time. “ The entire time we were there, Holly and I were trying to get this woman to sign a release form which we had everyone sign. It was imposible to nail her down. One day a local vet stopped by to check up on a dog, I wanted to ask her some questions but unfortunately we never had chance.
A few days later we discovered ASVO, a sea turtle project right in Montezuma.
We went there and checked it out and decided to go and spend some time there.
At this point I was through with the Rainsong Project, and I was not even keen to get an interview Mary any more. In fact although I feel bad for the animals in her care, working there had become a burdan and a waste of time.
Holly and I decided to leave this project and go participate in one that appreciates our presence and where we will actually learn something.
After a few more days and several outbursts the entire volunteer group felt the same. We all felt bad for abandoning her all by herself, but we weren’t getting anything accomplished there. The last thing Mary did was single out Holly and tell her that she is the only one she can rely on and that Stuart and the rest were of no help or value, and that Stuart even demanded she should cook for him (which is total bullshit!). Once Mary said that, Holly told her off, and we all packed out things and bid Rainsong farewell.
I think it was an important experience, in that it enabled us to see how far the an apple is able to actualy drop form the tree. Now we had seen the worst and were equipped to handle most situations that might take place, while working on such projects.
People come from all around the world to work at Rainsong. They are lured by nice pictures and writeups of former volunteers. There are heaps of worth- while projects in the región, and I don’t see why anyone should waste their time and constantly be harrased and belittled for trying to help out.
The issue of Rainsong was to be reported to the Wildlife Conservation Commissioner, who checks up on these projects periodically, and I truly hope that by now someone has realized the conditions, removed the animals and shut the place down. We and the others were scammed out of our money, our time and effort in an attempt to do some good. We were taken advantage of and made to feel that our work was not worth the time we put into it. I urge anyone heading to Costa Rica and wanting to participate in wildlife volunteering to pick another project.
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