Log 39: Going, going, gone
I took a hot shower this morning - with real water pressure. I spent the majority of the day lying on the beach, reading my book, and drinking passion fruit juice. Needless to say, Erica was unwilling to rent me and Christine a car, so after a day or two of planning, we packed up camp and checked into a hostel on the west shore. Erica's cited reasoning for her refusing our offer was because it "would set a precedent for other campers."
First of all... what other campers? It was literally just us. Second of all, there are four available, working cars on the property - it's not like we're asking Erica to hand us the keys to her own vehicle and leave herself stranded. And third of all, what is so wrong with the "precedent" that's being set? That volunteers should have some means to leave the property and get supplies?
While I was no longer a volunteer, but still living in the camp planning our exit, I was informed that I would need to pay $50 per night to keep my tent on the property. I also technically no longer had access to the drinks and other items from the farm’s snack shack, but considering the shack is the only place that has coffee and oatmeal (which comprises at least 50% of my diet right now), that rule was bent considerably.
The town we've taken up residence in is called Lahaina. It's about an hour away from Liberty Vista. It's a lot like Paia, but much bigger, with more touristy activities going on and a number of big resorts. I like it here quite a bit. The food is good, the beaches are surprisingly empty, and I have a bed that not only has a mattress, but also is raised off the ground. I truly can't complain. Teá helped us find the hostel we're staying at - she's also been living in Lahaina since leaving the farm.
The morning of my departure, Erica trekked up to camp, unannounced, for what must have been the first time in years. She didn't say a word to me as I sat at the common table - just began bagging up the trash laying around camp and sorting through the moldy kitchen food. I got the sense that she wanted to be seen doing this work, although I'm not sure why. Cleaning your own filthy campground on your own property will not win you any admiration from me. Especially since, during her clean out, she threw out all the food I had bought from the grocery store. Upon realizing this, she apologized in her quiet, apathetic way, and pulled my bag of apples from the top of the trash. "Yeah, I'm gonna pass on those," I told her. I know what goes on in that trash.
Over the past couple days, I've been casually searching for work around town. There are lots of little gelato, ice cream, and shave ice spots that are hiring. If I could work at one, and make some money to put towards my hostel fees, I could make a nice little life here for a few weeks!
Highlight: Before Christine heads back to Maine on March 1, we planned to drive back to the farm to pick up Anastasia and have a nice dinner. All things considered, she seems to be doing quite well in her new position. She has moved into a little cabin/shed that is reserved for the farm manager (it isn't much, but it's a huge step up from a tent) and Hoku the farm dog has bonded with her. When we drove away for dinner, he raced after us for a good hundred yards. We finally turned around and tied him up back at the farm for fear he'd get hit by a car.
