What's in Your Backyard?

Tell dem cats
they don't know where I'm at,
cuz I be pushin' twenty-fours on the Huffy
with some cheeba in my backpack.

On Friday afternoon, I set out on my bike and headed east, climbing a mile or so to a water tank that sits atop a hill.  It’s the highest point accessible by bike for a large radius, or at least the highest point with a view—and the view is spectacular.  A few miles to the south and west the Philippine Sea laps gently at the coastal mangroves.  Several small limestone islands flank the coast.  To the south, separated by several miles of ocean, you can see the island of Koror, Palau’s capital, and the bridge that connects it to the big island of Babeldaob (where I live).  To the north and east, a dense forest of dark green blankets innumerable hills and valleys.  Here and there the forest has been cleared and the hills are covered only with high green grass.

Crossing the bridge

You can also see a few fragments of the dirt roads that connect the far-flung villages of Aimeliik State, winding roads that dip and climb and twist through the jungle.  Every once in a while a car would approach and I’d watch it disappear—hidden now by a thick growth of jungle trees as it rounded a knoll—and then reappear several minutes later, looking much smaller on another stretch of dirt that seemed, because of its angle and distance, that it couldn’t be a part of the same road.  I’d watch the car for another minute, meticulously navigating the craggy trail, and then the jungle would swallow it up again.

And then it hit me: I’m in the fucking jungle.  I forget that a lot because I get CNN and take hot showers and sleep on a mattress.  But as I looked around, I couldn’t see a single city.  Not even a village.  To the east you can see at least several miles—to the north even farther—and you can count the visible evidence of human settlement on one hand.  Even in the capital, across miles of sea, a single building is the only sign of the city’s population of 12,000.

Panorama from the top

I don’t often appreciate it, but it’s like living in a national park.  I ride a mountain bike on  dirt roads through jungle and mangrove swamps to get from village to village.  I feel liberated in some way from the confining spaces and unforgiving, artificial geometry of the city and even the town.  I get a similar feeling when I imagine someone bicycling from village to village across vast African plains (and I make a mental note to bicycle from village to village across vast African plains). Yes, there are places this wild and beautiful in the U.S., but few people have the privilege of living in those places.  If you’re one of them, consider yourself lucky.

I sat there watching the sunset from the top of that hill for quite a while.  The pinkish hues of the sky were beautiful and I was almost sad to see the sun disappear behind a mountain, reducing the vivid display of color into a dull bluish-gray.  Then I remembered I was on a hill!

I decided to try my luck on a second sunset.  I threw on my helmet, climbed on my bike and started racing down to the ocean.  It was maybe three miles away and I covered the distance quickly, only having to peddle for a brief stretch.  Sure enough, when I arrived at the water the sun sat well above the horizon and the sky was even more brilliant at sea level.  I laid my bike down on the jetty and climbed down the rocks til I was almost on the water.  I found a flat rock and sat back to take in the show.

Just then, a dark, jagged rock floated to the surface.  I watched it for a minute unsure, then gradually more of it rose to the surface, growing longer and longer, and it was clear it was a crocodile.    I’ve seen a crocodile at the dock before, and I think it’s the same one (same size + I think they’re territorial) but this time it was only 15 yards away, and resting low on the rocks of the jetty, I sat about eye-level with it.

It floated, back straight, towards the mangrove, along the jetty to my right.  I wondered if it could see me.  Then, as it was about 3 o’ clock to me, it began to turn to its right.  For a moment, it was heading straight towards me.  I fought the urge to move—I figured at any rate I could clamber up the jetty and be safe pretty quickly. Then, about 10 yards away it continued turning and now traveled parallel to the jetty again, but this time away from the mangrove. Then, its head ducked under the surface, its straight body became an arc, and slicker than a lying politician it slipped ridge by ridge, underwater, and I could see it no more.  That’s exactly the point when I decided to get the fuck back up on the jetty!  So I climbed on my bike and waited another minute or so, but the croc stayed hidden and in the east the moon had finally wrested control of the sky from the retreating sun, so I went home.

Another time, I had a camera handy as I explored the ragged dirt-and-gravel arteries of the state.  As I rounded one curve, a spectacular panoramic of the Pacific swept into view, vast and sun-kissed, seemingly from nowhere.  I was so impressed by the revelation that I wanted to capture it for posterity.  As it turns out, however, it’s not a good idea to try and shoot video with the right hand whilst biking downhill and trying to steer AND operate the front brake (at that time the only functional one) with the left.  So instead of the cinematic masterpiece I had envisioned showing how cool my shit was—“Tell them cats they don’t know where I’m at,” I sang, “’cause I be pushin’ twenty-fours on the Huffy”—I ended up with evidence of me doing a faceplant.  But we live and we learn.

Until now, I haven’t written much of anything about my experience on this island because, I felt, I’m not really experiencing anything.  I have a daily routine that deviates little.  I’m a working stiff like everyone else.  But escaping myself and finding a new perspective, I saw something different.  Navigating rugged, thrilling terrain on a mountain bike.  Breathtaking views of vast stands of nearly unspoiled tropical forest, not to mention the humbling immensity of the Pacific Ocean.  Close encounters with wild saltwater crocodiles.  And I remember: life is incredible.

It’s inevitable that people will take for granted the things that come easy or seem constant. How often do we overlook the beauty of our own backyards?  When I lived in Granada, I walked daily through the medieval streets under the looming watch of the majestic Alhambra, and only occasionally looked up to appreciate its import.  There are people living in Northern Arizona who’ve never seen the Grand Canyon. There are people living in Rome who pass the Coliseum on their daily commute and never take notice.  It is sacrilege!

This is what we must do: stop.  Take a deep breath, then another, and look around at the beautiful world that surrounds us.  Whether we’re staring into the face of an active volcano in Southeast Asia or that of a smiling waitress in a diner in Omaha, we cannot forget that this rat-race we’ve been thrown into is utterly, mind-blowingly, stupefyingly, fucking amazing.  The world is my oyster; I shall not want.

- Afable

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