Intimidation, Part Five: Jungle Trek
After a fitful night's sleep, we woke up at the crack of dawn for a jungle trek that we'd scheduled. The hotel owner's uncle offered to take us on a trek on the edge of the sanctuary, away from the other tourists (read: illegal). He greeted us in the morning with khaki-colored knee socks, which we were to pull on over our pants and under our shoes. Once we reached the edge of the jungle, he pulled out a bag of what looked like powdered cinnamon. He pulled out pinches and flung them over the khaki socks, saying only, "Leeches coming." We gathered that the powder would keep the leeches from coming, at least somewhat.
Our guide (I'll call him Stan, for simplification) then proceeded to act like something out of an Indiana Jones movie, tiptoeing and then leaping from place to place. He spotted a tree with bark scraped off and jumped over, wiping his finger in the sap and sniffing it suspiciously. "Elephants coming," he whispered. A few feet farther, we found elephant dung near a pile of fallen branches. He reached down, his hand hovering milimeters from the dung. "Elephants, evening," he informed us before striding silently ahead. We all exchanged looks and followed.
Walking through the jungle catapulted me into a time and place that seemed familiar yet surreal. In the six AM sunlight that filtered through the canopy, we could see endless trees and vines covered by a thick mist. The only sounds were insects and howler monkeys up in the trees, sounding like ghosts as they called out to each other. The only movement was Stan ahead of me, pointing out a footprint or a colorful spider to my left. For the first time since Jibhi, I felt a sense of solitary calm.
Five minutes later, I ran straight into Stan as he suddenly stopped and motioned for us to listen. Straining, I could hear leaves rustling about a hundred meters away. He raised one finger to his lips and whispered, "Problem elephants. We coming." A three-hour-long cat-and-mouse game ensued as we tried to catch a glimpse of the elephants without them knowing we were there. A month ago, several people had been killed by elephants near here, he informed us. Most elephants are peaceful and relatively silent, but "problem elephants" scrape the bark off trees and crash through the underbrush.
We had been perched in one area for about fifteen minutes, and I'd started staring off into space when suddenly a giant bottom appeared through the mist. I held my breath as the bottom turned into an elephant flipping her trunk over her shoulder. Seeing the elephants the day before had been powerful, and this nearly knocked me over. There were four of them all together, casually munching their way through the jungle. Once in a while we'd hear a snurffle as one would sigh, the air blowing out through his or her trunk. In that moment, watching the elephants with the mist swirling around my legs and the howler monkeys' soft hooting above me, everything was as it should have been.
Love,
Sarah!
iPod: "Table For Glasses," Jimmy Eat World
Our guide (I'll call him Stan, for simplification) then proceeded to act like something out of an Indiana Jones movie, tiptoeing and then leaping from place to place. He spotted a tree with bark scraped off and jumped over, wiping his finger in the sap and sniffing it suspiciously. "Elephants coming," he whispered. A few feet farther, we found elephant dung near a pile of fallen branches. He reached down, his hand hovering milimeters from the dung. "Elephants, evening," he informed us before striding silently ahead. We all exchanged looks and followed.
Walking through the jungle catapulted me into a time and place that seemed familiar yet surreal. In the six AM sunlight that filtered through the canopy, we could see endless trees and vines covered by a thick mist. The only sounds were insects and howler monkeys up in the trees, sounding like ghosts as they called out to each other. The only movement was Stan ahead of me, pointing out a footprint or a colorful spider to my left. For the first time since Jibhi, I felt a sense of solitary calm.
Five minutes later, I ran straight into Stan as he suddenly stopped and motioned for us to listen. Straining, I could hear leaves rustling about a hundred meters away. He raised one finger to his lips and whispered, "Problem elephants. We coming." A three-hour-long cat-and-mouse game ensued as we tried to catch a glimpse of the elephants without them knowing we were there. A month ago, several people had been killed by elephants near here, he informed us. Most elephants are peaceful and relatively silent, but "problem elephants" scrape the bark off trees and crash through the underbrush.
We had been perched in one area for about fifteen minutes, and I'd started staring off into space when suddenly a giant bottom appeared through the mist. I held my breath as the bottom turned into an elephant flipping her trunk over her shoulder. Seeing the elephants the day before had been powerful, and this nearly knocked me over. There were four of them all together, casually munching their way through the jungle. Once in a while we'd hear a snurffle as one would sigh, the air blowing out through his or her trunk. In that moment, watching the elephants with the mist swirling around my legs and the howler monkeys' soft hooting above me, everything was as it should have been.
Love,
Sarah!
iPod: "Table For Glasses," Jimmy Eat World
posted by Sarah! at 1:44 AM
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