Jungle Journalings

Jungle Journalings…

* this entry from 4/10 *

Rainshowers against the thatched roof; chirps, buzzes, and croaks muted beneath the heavy drops of water.


jungle lodging

Feeling ill, I skip the morning hike, but not breakfast. The food here is fresh and trustworthy. Vegetables, omelets, fruit & yogurt parfaits. At the long dining table, Rosa Maria asks my symptoms. She believes I’m dehydrated and assigns four liters of water, 3tbs of salt, and 1 tsp of sugar a day and kindly monitors my progress.

While conversing with a frog outside the cabin, I see Papa walking down the muddy path, a big smile on his face. He describes seeing a rubber tree, a pungent smelling garlic tree, a poisonous tree where just a dab of its secretions on a dart will make it a deadly weapon, and vines that wrap around trees, suffocating them, making them collapse to the ground.

Excited by the details, I decide to join the afternoon hike.

Thick jungle vines, thick swarms of mosquitoes. Moist, muddy, and wet. Leaves slick and shiny. Inhaling and exhaling effortlessly, imagining that we’re walking in Earth’s lungs.



At least a dozen mosquito bites on my face, itchy lumps swelling by the minute. I swat the air fiercely, slapping myself by accident. Mosquitoes dodge the wailing arms. Another bite. I scratch my eyebrow and a creature crumbles in my hand. Not a mosquito, or ant, but a spider. I silently freak-out not wanting to draw attention to my lame insect battle. From my pocket, I pull out a bottle of deet and spray it furiously. It burns the skin.

Further on, another hiker -- a very nice British lady -- did not duck low enough under a plant. Fire ants are crawling on her, biting her neck. Her husband helps to sweep them off, but many are tangled in her hair.

Chirpy sounds are heard from all angles, the fanning of big leaves overhead. Capuchin monkeys hop from tree to tree. From above leaves are pulled open and tiny faces are spotted, as though peeking through the window blinds of their home.



* this entry from 4/11 *

early morning
The gray light of early dawn faintly illuminates the path. The rising sun, a peek of cooper light between the dense jungle foliage.





A plant that is toxic – when placed in a puddle, it turns the water black. A tree whose properties can cause infertility. Worker ants busy carrying leaf shards on their backs, building tunnels and walkways to an enormous ant city. Rodolpho continues to share information about the jungle, tells us that ants as well as macaws are immune to the leaves of the poisonous tree (the one which can make a dart deadly).






The chorus of howler monkeys grows louder as we approach. It’s said that their groans imitate that of a jaguar. Rodolpho stops, points up into the trees. Spots of burnt orange -- perhaps 50 ft up – the rustle of leaves, between them a howler monkey swings.

As Rodolpho walks he snaps plants, their leaves pointed in the direction we’re moving so that he knows the way back.

*

breakfast
My eye swollen, face swelling -- Rosa Maria says I’m having an allergic reaction to the spider bite and gives me an antihistamine pill. Another lump on my face has turned painful. Later I learn that an insect laid larvae beneath my skin.

*

afternoon
Footprints of tapirs, jaguars, and “bambis”. The lack of large furry animal sightings seems to bring to focus the smaller details – the translucent mushrooms, the blazing blue butterfly, and the bulging bodies of fire ants.


An arrival back to the main lodge. Hammock siestas are taken. I sit outside with Rodolpho and a ten year old boy who thinks I’m 13. I tell him it’s very nice to meet him, hopefully he can repeat that when I’m fifty. Rodolpho -- his skin leathery -- he’s making a hole in a small red and white seed, showing how to make necklaces and rings. He’s missing a few teeth, but his eyes seem to do more of the smiling.

*

nighttime
Reduced visibility heightens the sounds. Silhouettes of ancient trees, their age marked in size. The sensation of thousands of eyeballs watching. At a muddy enclave, fresh tapir footprints. Rodolpho instructs us to sit on a tree log and stay still, the tapirs are nearby. Our boots sink into the mud, suctioning sounds, and the rustling of Papa’s poncho as he slaps mosquitoes off him. Not a minute passes without someone shifting or slapping a bug. The tapirs didn’t come to visit, but in the end we had a good laugh.

*

moment I'd like to remember
Papa and Rosa Maria are seated in chairs talking about a myriad of things.

"Never give up hope," Rosa Maria says, "Life is full of opportunities, imagination is an extraordinary thing."




jungle sunsets