San Isidro to David - A hitchhiking mission

On January 17th, the eve of our intended entrance into Panama - a country of transit, of separation and union, of thin contour but thick authority -  we decided to avoid the easy yet expensive and uncomfortable bus ride through the mountainous section of the serpentine Interamerican Highway and the congested southern border crossing of Paso Canoas. Instead, we dove into the murky, unpredictable waters of hitchhiking. We were fully aware of the usual dangers associated with this alternative way of traveling, and wary of the particular risk of our undertaking, for we inescapably had to exit Costa Rica by the 19th, or else we would be forced to pay absurdly hefty fines.

We began the day as early as possible, in the fashion of what we now have began calling 'travel day', and after sharing a heartfelt 'see-you-later' with Esther, our neighbor, we set out to conquer the road. We erroneously thought that the best place to hitchhike would be the Interamerican Highway, for traffic is fluid and constant as it intersects San Isidro. After one hour of bypassing cars and trucks, whose drivers regarded us with distrust, disbelief, or mockery, we began to consider changing our spot and our route. Toute de suite, as we picked our bags up and headed to the other side of the city, a folksy local stopped a few meters down the road and offered us a ride 20 km out of the city. After a few minutes, our impromptu driver received a call urging him to return to San Isidro.

Perhaps more than any other incident that day, this opportune phone call would decisively alter the course of our hitchhiking adventure. This was an opportunity to frequent the coastal road. Our newest friend dropped us of in the western side of the city, where the road towards Playa Dominical begins. We learned that this path is preferred by those who descend towards Panama or the Costa Rican duty free paradise town of Golfito, as it is faster, straighter and more pleasant. In retrospect, it proved to be a good decision. Within a quarter of an hour we were in the back of a jeep with a couple of Jehova's Witnesses.

Much like on a snowy peak, one's emotions while hitchhiking can abruptly change from a restful blanket of powder snow into a rummaging avalanche swiftly occupying every inch in its path. Every time a friendly face breaks our expectant and patient wait to bring us closer to our final destination, an exhilaration of intrigue, nervousness and relief rushes through us.

Elated, we collect our cluster of bags and dart towards the car, as if afraid that the driver will regret his decision and take off before we can reach it.

One must be careful though, for all the excitement can play tricks on anyone, even the most responsible travelers. When a car does stop before you, remember that you most probably wont coincide with that person again, so it is always a good idea to double check your belongings before stepping out. Common sense would dictate so. It is common knowledge that common sense is not that common, although perhaps neither is knowledge. In any case, 'common sense' is often forgotten in times of urgency. That is why we recommend to turn this practice into routine.

Needless to say, we acquired this piece of advice by learning from experience, after forgetting our cell phone in the back seat of the Witnesses' car. Thankfully, a nearby information center allowed us to call our phone,  which we had remembered to charge the previous night (also an useful practice before 'travel day') and after a few attempts, they answered.

Fortunately, they hadn't gotten very far and, although a bit reluctant - understandably so - they committed to bringing it back to us. Between one thing and another, we had lost an hour of valuable time and potential rides, but we had all of our belongings and were once again ready to hit the road.

Little by little we advanced along the coastal road, including a ride which caught us right in the midst of preparing a pitiful but delicious road-side picnic. We were in no position to refuse a ride, but our half-made tuna and tomato sandwiches were not negotiable. So, we jumped into the car with the tuna half spread and the tomato half cut; juggling to stop them from dripping all over the backseat and eager to devour them.

After four kind drivers and ten hours on the road - on wheels as well as on the road's shoulder with our thumbs up - we suddenly found ourselves shelter-less, minutes from dusk, in one of those crooked, lawless towns born out of a junction, where good never stops and bad always returns. As darkness neared, we began to fear that our romance with the risk and intrigue of hitchhiking would result in rose petals on the ground. However, a desperately polite plea hurled to the swift passing of a car - one of many petitions lost in the dust and odor of the asphalt - met obliging ears. Not without prior conjugal resolution, Marcia and Andres, a couple with a turbulent past but kind and charitable disposition, turned the car around and offered us a ride to the border; and to their home.

We spent the night comfortably on an inflatable mattress installed on the kitchen floor of their humble home, ten minutes from the border. Without asking for anything in exchange, they shared their food, time, faith and life stories with us.

Having spent the best part of their youth as victims of poverty, crime and pitiless romance, both had now found in religion and each other the strength and wisdom to overcome the cruel adversities of life; which in Marcia's case included several years in prison. Not for a second did we feel frightened or uncomfortable after this revealing confession. In fact, we felt lady luck's smile shining above us once again after having found a couple so inclined to help us in such a precarious circumstance. The following morning, they prepared our last Tico breakfast (which consists of re-cooked rice and beans) and accompanied us to the frontier, where we complied with the necessary paperwork, and within an hour had entered into our second country: Panama!

This time, we only had to wait fifteen minutes for Edgar, a young Panamanian who also resorted to hitchhiking in his travels, and thus, did not hesitate to pick us up. As if it were customary when picking up hitchhikers, Edgar also treated us to a meal. Nonetheless, a meal and a ride wasn't enough for Edgar. He also took us to buy a Sim card for our phone and dropped us off at the doorstep of our hostel! Lastly, before we parted ways thinking we would never see this kind-hearted man again, he offered to take us to visit the mountains and beaches surrounding David, where one can find the touristic attractions of western Panama, aside from the over exploited archipelago of Bocas del Toro.

Incapable of wasting a chance to discover new places, just a few hours passed before we were in Edgar's car once again, heading to the famous mountain town of Boquete, a tourist favorite where an international coffee and flower festival was taking place. We spent a wonderful day in the mountains, but bypassed the festival, for it was an over hyped and overpriced magnet for easily impressed tourists and a reason for impoverished locals to spend their measly savings on alcohol. The mountains proved to be much more enticing, as we drove and walked through stunning cliffs, waterfalls and rivers. As we marveled at such a scenic contrast to the flat, dry, asphyxiating heat of David (just 40 minutes away) we discussed Panamanian politics and the ongoing power struggles between the implacable indigenous communities that reside in the mountains and the national government. The current government of Ricardo Martinelli has completely disregarded the autonomy of the Indigenous Comarcas (an Indian Reservation with the characteristic of a quasi-autonomous province) and unrelentingly sought to cash in on their untapped resources by granting construction permits to multinationals so they can build hydroelectric plants, mines and power lines to feed the increasing demand for resources and electricity in Panama City and Costa Rica.

Ironically, despite Edgar's antindustrialist comments and his advocation for traditional agriculture, sustainable development methods and the preservation of indigenous communities and the environment, he works at a hydroelectric plant; the main symbol of foreign industrial imposition, of economic disparity and rural underdevelopment in Panama. At first we were reluctant to hint at the hypocrisy of his words, but after a few more rendezvous we gained enough trust to engage in a conversation about the friction between ideals and reality, thought and action. He explained that in Panama the options for electromechanical engineers are few and limited, and that he had spent a great deal of time and money in university to end up working in low-income, low-satisfaction jobs. While we understood the desire to challenge himself and reach his full potential, we couldn't help but to think that the high pay was more motivation than the excitement of hydroelectricity or the lack of other options. Nonetheless, there is always another way.

It is precisely this type of conformism, exercised by those who know the repercussions of their actions, and who, above all, can chose other forms of employment, which contributes to the multiple obstacles in the path towards equality, justice, and sustainability. Just to clarify, we are not arguing in favor or against hydroelectric power, nor are we saying that Edgar is a bad guy - in fact he is generous, respectful and considerate far beyond the norm - but that is exactly what is frustrating, that even such an altruistic and knowledgeable person is not capable of sacrificing his standard of living or his career for the sake of his ideals or values. We believe that all of us are victims of comfort, and it is only when our own comfort is at risk, not when our beliefs are challenged, that we decide to act.

In David we stayed in a hostel called Purple House. As the name indicates, it is purple. The problem is that everything in the hostel is purple. The walls, chairs, plates, cups, blankets, furniture, decorations, doors, soap. Everything. Is. Purple. It's surprising that the owner - a serious, almost rude lady with a good heart and the need to please every client that steps in her hostel - isn't purple, or at least crazy. After a couple of days I began to feel a bit claustrophobic, or rather, porphyrophobic and was itching to move on to our next project and less monochromatic surroundings.

Thankfully, after three nights of interesting yet speculative conversations - a dogma of the backpacker - we finally managed to escape our halt and found our next destination: Soloy.

Although we didn't learn anything new about the secrets of human goodness and generosity, this experience allowed us to meet people of various backgrounds and unconditional generosity. In any case, we did ascertain that hitchhiking is not an outdated or extremely risky way to travel. Of course, this isn't true in every country, but if you employ routine caution, there is no reason to fear the worst and all the reasons to enjoy an alternative way to travel and meet people.

San Isidro del General

There's a current stereotype circulating through the Central American isthmus which declares de Ticos to be arrogant, condescending and materialistic. In our three months in Costa Rica we met a wide variety of people of all ethnicities, professions and economic classes. Granted, we didn't visit the entire country, nor did we meet the entire population, but the people we did have the fortune of meeting proved otherwise.

The fact is that, like most stereotypes, it is the stigma -and often the people whom adhere to it - that results as superficial and condescending. It seems ridiculous to expect a specific behavior from the grand majority of a population as soon as you cross the threshold of a country.
It would be interesting to investigate how such general judgments of character come to be, for, through traveling - or meeting travelers - one discovers that every person is unique, and that there are personality types of all sizes and colors in every country, region, city or neighborhood.
Of course, there are distinctive features in different cultures which set us apart from one another, which are often confused and called stereotypes. These are not stereotypes, they are traditions.
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We learned this the easy way, by tuning our daily routines in accordance to local conventions, in one of Costa Rica's most traditional towns. The most important city in the south Pacific region of the country, San Isidro dwells in the Valley of the General, cradled by the mountain ranges which forge the backbone of the country - a topographic spectacle. Comfortably sized and located, it offers an ideal alternative to the hectic, thick agglomeration of San Jose. On all sides, nature's elegant grandeur is expressed in variant forms.

The mountains host several types of ecosystems; lowland, cloud and highland forests, which alternate with each passing mile, as one circulates the torturous roads intersecting them.

To the east, the beaches offer a convenient escape, only half an hour from the city. To the west, the highest peak in Costa Rica - Cerro Chirripo - oversees the development of the whole nation. At its feet, the steady traffic of the interamerican highway and the organic plantations; in the distance, volcanoes, jungles and the two oceans compete to attract international tourism.
During our stay in San Isidro del General we became acquainted with many people whom we will remember for a long, long time.
 Everyone we crossed paths with during that month provided us with an opportunity to discover just how the stereotype strays far from the truth.

The main contributors to making our sojourn such a special experience were Rafa, our coworker and flat-mate, who casually and gleefully shared his appartment and his humor with us; Beate and Federico, the founders and directors of Planet Conservation - the reason we were in San Isidro; and of course, our sweet and affectionate neighbor, Ester, who was accomodating beyond belief, and endued us with a sense of familiar belonging which is often longed when one is away from home during the holiday season.


At last but not least, are Diego and Karina, a young and spirited couple with a perennial duet of smiles and laughter. Not even Diego's blossoming music - an original fusion of the smooth warmth of bossa nova, the irreverent passion of a Latino and the soul filled energy of writing about one's own intimacies and skepticism - could surpass their immaculate attitude towards us.
Whether we were out having fun, working, or at home, all of these people and many others made sure that we had a home, friends and family.

Despite working in an office - a rare setting for backpackers - we felt the mellowed detachment of a vacation much more than in Palmera. The main factor responsible for such an irreverent attitude towards standard office etiquette was the flexible ambiance of Planet Conservation. Federico and Beate have created a special atmosphere to work, perfectly adapted to the typical informality of the town. Music, jokes and laughter would blatantly eclipse the rustling sound of keyboards and printers. It was a rather enticing mood to work in, without being a time-consuming distraction. After all, at the end of the day, the work that needed to be done, was done.
Planet Conservation is a young organization specialized in serving as a link between tourists and students seeking to volunteer or intern at community based environmental and sustainable projects. In addition, they offer consulting to local businesses and hospitality establishments seeking to obtain green certification.

In celebration of their five year anniversary, they want to institute their own programs in order to directly participate in the preservation of the planet. Aside from routine office work such as translations or accounting, our main collaboration was in that department. We researched, drafted project proposals and searched for funding opportunities for two programs: turtle conservation and environmental education for children. In addition, we built a playground made of recycled materials in a kindergarten for children from low-income families; for which we gathered donations throughout the town.

Overall, our time in San Isidro was educational, interactive and inspirational. We were able to visit the mountains and the beach, made lifetime friendships, and met people of all characters and backgrounds, all willing to share their lives and homes with us.

Infiltrated volunteers: Matapalo

It’s remarkably inspiring to witness the amount of people who gladly sacrifice their time, and often money, to become part of a cause much larger than themselves. Since arriving in San Isidro in early December, we have had the chance to meet and work with several volunteers. Whether they are committing their efforts entirely selflessly or as a way to expand their knowledge on a specific subject, the result is undeniably constructive.

Volunteering is able to decrease the disparities in society, such as poverty, segregation and exclusion. The pillars of volunteerism; solidarity and commitment are comforting constants upon which we can rely as the driving force for the crucial adjustments we must make to our way of living; both as individuals and as a society. The principles of volunteerism are remarkably pertinent in increasing the competence of those exposed, vulnerable and weak so they can attain a safe and sustainable living situation as well as to improve their physical, financial, spiritual and social well-being. 

Although by many standards we are considered volunteers, we have decided to create a different term for our specific situation to be able to differentiate ourselves from the many charitable people we have crossed during our work at Planet Conservation. We have recently begun calling ourselves “freelance volunteers”. By no means do we intend to emphasize our work with this differentiation. In fact, our work lacks any real, or quantitative, value until we finish the journey and are able to produce substantial and defined conclusions, while ‘regular’ volunteering yields direct results.

In fact, we began calling ourselves this rather pompous name when we attempted to explain the type of work we have been doing and not many people seemed to understand that we have traveled here on our own account. While we have the most sincere respect for genuine eco-volunteering and ‘voluntourism’, we are not in the business of paying to do work. Our trip has different goals.

The benefit of being freelance volunteers is that – so far – we cohabit and collaborate with a broad assortment of people with different perspectives, backgrounds, ideas and knowledge and learn about countless topics. By volunteering with different organizations, we can improve our understanding of the obstacles, the solutions and the issues faced by enterprises intended to promote and improve the global well-being.

We do not intend to limit our work to foundations, NGOs, or government projects. It has been repeatedly but appropriately recognized that small acts can have a huge impact. Groups of organized neighbors, families and even individuals can immensely influence other people’s lives, communities and the habitat that surrounds them. These actions, born out of altruism are perhaps more effective than those of massive, institutionalized, bureaucratic organizations.

After only one week of living in San Isidro we got to discover just how powerful a relatively small act can become. Not only in the purpose of the act itself, but in the economic and moral improvement of a whole community.

Twenty-five years ago, in Matapalo, a small fishing village in the Pacific coast of Costa Rica, a humble, ordinary family dared to confront a shortsighted and selfish tradition and changed the future of a whole town and innumerable creatures. The mother, thoughtful and loving as mothers ought to be, acknowledged a problem where others only saw food and business. Attentive, she had witnessed how year after year, the sea turtle arrivals in the colossal esplanade of Playa Matapalo were no longer counted in the thousands. The locals, who eagerly awaited turtle season to consume and sell the delicious and expensive eggs, had perhaps never considered that those eggs would eventually grow to be the turtles that fed them.

Moved by what she considered a problem of utmost significance, she convinced her family to build a makeshift hatchery in their backyard. Judiciously, they would patrol the beach at night in search of nesting mothers. As the turtles placidly descended towards the ocean after finishing the phenomenal, yet arduous task of laying eggs, they would run in and carefully excavate the camouflaged pits and take the eggs to the hatchery, where they could shelter the hundreds of unborn hatchlings from menacing predators.

The family turned a deaf ear to the complaints, threats and general unhappiness of their fellow citizens and continued with this process for nearly 6 years until, in 1991, a local Costa Rican Organization stepped in and elevated the project to another level. Now, the ASVO Matapalo Turtle Conservation Program is the oldest communal turtle conservation project in the nation's Pacific coast. An area which once suffered a 100% loss of nests is now down to almost zero.

Our placement at Planet Conservation was opportune enough that we were able to spend a weekend visiting the project before turtle season ended. The motive for deploying us at the Matapalo Project was to examine and analyze how a turtle conservation program operates. For three days, we lived and worked as regular volunteers in the ASVO house. We were ecstatic about the prospect of witnessing a turtle (although not an arribada, a communal arrival of hundreds of turtles for a few nights) or perhaps the birth of a nest; but our chances were faint, given that the season was practically over. Our main hope resided on the mere eight nests that remained in the hatchery.

The first night we patrolled the beach in complete darkness for two hours, covering the four kilometers under the auspices of ASVO with the guidance of a young, but experienced volunteer. Robert is one of thousands German high school graduates volunteering abroad. A sign of a progressive country headed in the right direction, the German government subsidizes young men and women who wish to expand their knowledge and gain a bit of expertise in a chosen subject before beginning the next step of their academic career.

It was too much to ask to see a turtle, but we did enjoy the serenity of walking through a misty beach depending only on the stars and a couple of fishing boats for illumination. Patrolling is only one of the many duties of the volunteers and staff. Depending on the month, various teams ranging from one to three people keep their eyes peeled as they march through the sand retrieving nests.

The other important duty is done in three turns of four hours. From dusk till dawn, teams of two must watch over the hatchery in case of births and to keep any predators – human or otherwise – away. The rest of the volunteer responsibilities are domestic, such as cleaning the house and washing the dishes.

On Saturday, our second day at the project, we participated in cleaning duties, played a rough football match on the beach and celebrated an early Christmas with the staff and volunteers, who joined hands to cook a lavish feast of local dishes. In the afternoon, we visited the edge of a natural park; where a river, a beach and a forest have created a peaceful sanctuary. We accompanied a crew of volunteers and staff to this remote location with an honorable purpose, to liberate a young raccoon. A few months back, a local farmer had brought Miko, a cub, and his sister to the ASVO volunteer home, hoping that they could heal their wounds. Miko, unable to bury his instincts, had grown into a young, quarrelsome and rebellious pet. Sadly, the female didn’t survive surgery. After a passionate debate, the staff had decided that the most humane solution was to set him free.

On our second and final night we were appointed to guard the hatchery from midnight until four in the morning. Since we didn’t want to miss the possible, but improbable birth of baby turtles, we asked the volunteers taking the first shift to warn us in case of any hatchings. To their surprise, they encountered a nest full of nervous hatchlings, zealously waiting to flee for the open ocean.

 With the fresh, luscious taste of passion fruit mousse lingering in our palates, we eagerly bequeathed our unfinished plates and sprinted towards the hatchery.

Methodically, but unable to conceal our enthusiasm, we counted the 85 newborns and moved them to the beach in a large container. Our hands were tremulous with excitement, as we set the bucket down six meters from the water and carefully placed every single courageous little creature on the sand. Once the last of the instinctive wanderlusters had departed, the nervous giggle we had uttered throughout the process was suddenly amplified into a triumphant, exuberant laughter to escort the turtles past the breaking waves as it echoed in the dark.

We couldn’t help but compare our lives to those of the valiant young turtles. The adorable, even jocular display is a rather didactic event for us. Yet to taste the sweet tenderness of a mother’s care, they must confront many of nature’s most bitter lessons. The friable pack embarks without any deliberation on a quest towards a most unsure and ambiguous objective; life. Granted, instinct, not reason, is the driving force of their actions. But wouldn’t our lives be more valuable, and worth living if we devoted them to do what we know to be right without fear of the obstacles that may stand in our path?

Cahuita

Lulled by the sound of calypso and reggae drifting through the heat of eternal summer, Cahuita lies in tranquility between Limon, the most important port of the South Caribbean; and Puerto Viejo, a haven for nonconformist renegades, surfers, tourists and backpackers. It is is escorted by an uninhibited, paradisaical black sand beach to the northwest and the monumental jungle of the Cahuita National Park to the southeast. This minuscule town is, metaphorically and geographically, wedged between two worlds.

Originally, the animals that are currently found in the National Park roamed freely, exempt from hunters. Visitors are easily delighted by the sloths, caymans, monkeys, snakes and several species of colorful birds that approach the jungle path conquered by ants and mosquitoes.

However, the green and hawksbill turtles that once chose the secluded shore to lay their eggs have long been absent from this breathtaking ecosystem.
In the 1750s, when only the most fearsome pirates dared navigate through the sheltering reef outlining the coast, the Miskito Indians of Nicaragua traveled south following the migration patterns of sea turtles in search of food. By 1828 they had permanently settled in the prominent tip, naming it “kawe” “ta”, or “point where the Sangrillo trees grow.” The sangrillo trees were of special significance to the new dwellers, for they used the red sap emanating from the trunks to dye their fishing nets, thus avoiding the reflection of the sun on the nets through the pristine waters.

In the 19^th century, the slave ships traveling near the coast often collided with the treacherous reef. The natives, attentive and considerate, rescued the auspicious survivors who had just evaded a life of forced labor in the cocoa plantations. This altruistic practice gave birth to the current community of Afro-Caribbeans that give Cahuita its soul and essence. Today, the exotic cuisine, the long dreaded surfers, and the centenary, colorful wooden houses built on pillars serve as reminders of the town’s heritage. 
However, the traditional carefree demeanor of the Afro-Caribbean population has transformed into a lazy and detached attitude which has paved the roads of the picturesque town for foreigners trying to escape from their stressed and burdened lives. 

Increasingly, local businesses and jobs are seized by Europeans and North Americans, who arrive with more capital and proficiency. While the locals complain about the lack of job opportunities, the new residents blame them for their lack of interest and organization.

Nonetheless, there is one local whose interest in the progress of the community is unquestionable and whose struggle and determination are exemplary despite his years. His name is Winston Brooks. In an ironic parallel to his restaurant, whose superb quality is not demonstrated by its usually void tables, Winston is a man who projects intelligence and vigor beyond his humble and rusty appearance. "A duck wishing to be a chicken," he prefers the life of a farmer despite his private education and versed dialect. Thus, he hermits away in his farm, choosing the other Cahuita. The one that smells of sugarcane, labor and tar.

Although there is much to reveal about Winston and Cahuita's internal issues, we must first explain how we arrived at his doorstep.

On the morning of November 29^th, we found ourselves wistfully but eagerly descending the mountain in pursue of our next adventure; leaving behind not just a remarkable family, but friends that would live in our hearts forever. Before exiting the Indigenous Territory, we picked up Irene, the campestral and buoyant Spanish teacher at the local high school. We had helped Irene with personal and professional matters during our time there, and in return, she put us in contact with Winston, who gladly invited us to stay at his Posada. As the usual route was obstructed by the flooded river, we were 

forced to deviate and hike for three hours through an infamous location known for armed robberies which ended with a hanging bridge much more frightening than any delinquent.
For this reason, we accompanied Irene on the way out, as Leo guided us through the dodgy, yet scenic trail.

After a hasty goodbye with Irene, one of many in our incipient journey, we arrived safely in Limon, following a quiet bus ride with Leo, as the three of us certainly contemplated our imminent farewell. Although we had lunch with Leo in Limon, the lingering feeling of separation made the meal a delay of events rather than an enjoyable final feast. Happily, before we realized, we were stepping off a bus in an intriguing new destination with an incurable air of summer bliss; Cahuita.

In Cahuita, we were met by Sonia, a spiritual nomad with a distinct Spanish guise. As she would likely say, life had taken her there, where she lived in Winston’s ancestral home with her boyfriend and Winston’s ex-wife, Lucy.

The home, worthy of a museum, is a 150 year old wooden structure which appears to stand on wishful thinking and temperament, rather than firm foundations. Adjacent to it is the Posada; erected but unpainted, and the restaurant; full with potential rather than clients.

During our time there, we walked through the streets, spent hours in the idyllic white beach of the national park and befriended a few charming locals, who were pleased to converse with visitors concerned with local events. Apart from being devoured by mosquitoes and marveling at the devastating force of the laboring ants, we spotted a baby sloth, iguanas, a basilisk, troops of howler monkeys and white-faced capuchins, caymans and a friendly talking parrot.

Whenever Winston was able, we would sit down with him and enjoy a captivating conversation about local politics, imperialism, or any relevant topic about which he could offer an opinionated view. During the day, he would work in his organic plantation, where he took us once so we could learn about the difference between bananas and plantains and how to plant them.

Our experience in Cahuita was brief yet unforgettable. There, we met all kinds of interesting characters with incredible backgrounds and stories. Its rich diversity – despite its minute size – is both an obstacle towards communal understanding and progress and an attraction for tourists of any kind. Its cultural and natural wealth is an ocean of fascinating creatures and tales, where one can spend days upon days wading through stories and adventures before realizing that time has swiftly gone by.