Simon Says

Karl says Simon is crazy. He's lived in the jungle too long and lost his mind. Simon, on the other hand, says Karl is nuts. Maybe they both are.

Simon had his bare feet propped on the steps to his house when we walked by him on the road back to the beach. Martin, his co-worker, was leaning against the railing in front of a mound of animal skulls. Between them an array of metal dishes sat drying. Each contained the feces of a different animal. Their house, only a few hundred meters from the Baluran National Park ranger station, seemed to fit in with the dilapidated look of the surroundings.

Simon and Martin are doing research on the park, monitoring the animal population's health and the general well being of the park's environment. They report their findings to the Indonesian government. When I asked them what the government does with the information they provide, Simon curled his lips and responded, "Unfortunately, nothing. It's been very frustrating working here."

Their contract expires in six months. After five years living in the park, the two of them are looking forward to returning to Britain. "We're hoping to publish some of our papers," Simon said. "Maybe that will make this seem worthwhile. We've also got something in the pipeline now for a travel guide."

"Do you have replacements coming here when you leave?" John asked.

"No," Martin said. "We're a dying breed. Most people who do park research don't live in them. They do their research on day trips and live in the cities close to the park headquarters. It's not really the same."

"Why do you do it?" I asked.

Martin and Simon looked at each other and then at me. "We ask ourselves that all the time."

But whatever their reasons, it is commendable that they are out here. Also commendable is the way they are living. Their isn't much room for amenities in their small house. The only thing that seemed remotely like a personal comfort was one wall lined with cassette tapes. The rest of the space was taken up with books, animal skulls and drinking water bottles filled with yellow liquid and dead snakes. Computer print-outs were scattered on one of the two desks and on the other was a PC computer. The teal blue background on the screen seemed completely out of place with the drab look everywhere else.

"That looks pretty hi-tech," I said.

Martin looked at me then shined a flashlight into a pot of slimy yellow and brown goo on the floor. "This is hi-tech," he said. "We have to put the table legs in pots of grease and water to keep the ants from climbing up. The power cords to the computer are covered in grease too."

The conversation turned a corner and we began talking U.S. politics. The internet, the American health insurance system and traveling came up as did our park guide Karl. "How do you two know Karl?" Simon asked.

"We just met him a day ago," John said and he told the story of the Hotel Baru. "He's full of unbelievable stories isn't he?"

Simon laughed. "Unbelievable is probably the key word there. That guy is nuts."

During our hour talking with Simon and Martin, the sun had begun to slide away. "We'd better get going," John said. "We still have a three kilometer walk back to the beach. Are there any animals out there we should be aware of?"

Simon looked down at our feet. "You're wearing boots," he said. "You should be ok."

On the road back to the cabins, John and I imagined what it must be like for Simon and Martin to live such an isolated life in the jungle. We compared that to our previous rat-race life in Boston. In the end we concluded that they didn't seem crazy at all.