Sounds of the Jungle, Mumble of the City

 

As a world traveler, you learn to use all of your senses. You see all of the beauty of the landscape and city with your eyes. You taste the delicious, unique food with your mouth. You smell the air, whether it’s filled with car exhaust or freshness, with your nose. You feel the shopping bags, railings, doorknobs, and cutlery with your hands. And of course, you hear with your ears, but do you ever stop and just listen?

 

I realized that I am not a very good listener because I get bored very easily, but as I lay down and shut my eyes, ready to go to sleep in my cabin at El Zota Biology Center in the middle of the rainforest of Costa Rica, I opened my ears. I listened to the call of the howler monkeys and the chirping of the poison dart frogs. I fell asleep to the drumming of the rain on the roof.

 

While I lay down for my first sleep in my empty bedroom in Athens, I couldn’t help but to listen to the mumble of the city. It was not even tourist season yet, but I still heard the chattering voices and the sudden uproar from a motorcycle. I could hear tire wheels rolling on the uneven road and squeaky brakes. There was a surprised scream followed by laughter, while a group of friends walked by the building.

 

Although we’re not in Connecticut very often, my brother, Hudson, and I sleep in the basement at home. During spring break I would try to go to bed at a decent time because I could not really blame my lack of sleep on the one hour difference jet lag after Costa Rica. I could usually hear the slight zoom of the rare cars passing by on the main street and the ruffled voices from the television in the living room right above me. Most of the time it was Chloe watching episode after episode of some stupid series on Netflix. Other nights I used the fan to block out the white noise and the creaking coming from the middle of the floorboards of the old house.

 

I also remember lying down at Companario in Drake Bay in Costa Rica and hearing the ocean. Although I was in the jungle, I heard the waves. It’s funny, but that may be the only time crashing has ever been calming to me.

 

Rolling tires and waves sound similar sometimes. It’s weird to think that we were in Costa Rica a couple weeks ago and in Greece now. The two countries are so different. The small Latin American country was relaxing and everywhere you went you would hear the familiar saying, “Pura vida!” In Athens, the most common saying you hear is, “Are you looking for somewhere to have dinner?”

 

While I get ready in the morning, I still hear the mumble and the church bell ringing at precisely 7:29. I can hear the beeps of the traffic and racket from the bikes. I hear the voices of the hundreds of locals and tourists and the occasional accordion player walking by. Every once in a while there is the strange small car with the megaphone on top that drives by blasting a robotic voice for everyone to hear. However, it’s in Greek, so I don’t believe I will ever know what he is saying.

 

Through traveling and attending a thinking school, I’ve learned how to listen. I have found myself pulling away from zoning out and carrying out many more interesting conversations. I’ve realized how much of a difference sounds can make in someone’s life and am forever grateful for having the ability to listen.