August 30, 2007
The Swedes have left and it's a quiet morning. The guides have split themselves into three groups, each sheltered under one of the grass-thatched picnic areas. Three men are playing scrabble; two are playing cards; and two men and the three women are gathered with the guitarist at the kitchen area.
The caretaker continues raking the brittle, brown, dish platter leaves into piles while the wind scatters the piles from yesterday. The 4 year-old's mom has finished washing the breakfast dishes and is lying outside their tent in her leaf-patterned grey and red-ochre sarong.
The singing group breaks up as Olga and the other woman who can carry a tune wander off leaving only the enthusiastic, perpetually flat-pitched woman before the guitarist gives up. Olga lays down on a picnic table bench, chatting with the painfully thin caretaker.
A group of five small boys from the village next door wander along the cement path trawling for tourist trash. The caretaker's daughter is singing to herself and dancing to a rhythm difficult to follow. The 4 year old has disappeared into the red-brown park office building to receive attention from her dad.
The game groups disperse into the new one-room education center and Olga falls asleep. The caretaker, who's shy smile breaks slowly, has given up his futile task and is washing a shirt at the ablution block.
