Nobody had warned me that howler monkeys don’t really howl. I hadn’t been expecting them to permeate the jungle with the calls of angry ghouls. I didn’t know that their rumbling gregorian chants would travel miles through the walking palms and ungurahui trees of the rainforest.
“Is it your first time here?” He twisted his head back from in front of me, gracefully moving through the cracking twigs and dangerous looking shrubs as though he were a part of the forest floor.
He had sensed my startle at the far off noises. I think he was trying to comfort me.
“In the Amazon? Yes. In Colombia? no” I responded in broken Spanish. I’d been practising since I arrived on this continent eight months ago, in late 2017.
I clumsily moved through the trail, swatting mosquitos off my face. Hopping from one paving stone to the next, following my guide. Paying extra careful attention as not to brush up against any unknown leaves or toxic creatures.
Gazing out over to a mud puddle I remembered a television show I watched years ago, where someone managed to survive a night lost in this jungle by hiding in the mud. That it was a miracle, in this hot and humid rainforest teeming with anacondas and tarantulas, that an unprepared human might make it through the night alone. Despite my own jungle hiking experiences, I still doubted I would succeed in such a miraculous survival story here.
After some more silent walking, I added – “It’s always been my dream, I mean – this. To come here” I fumbled around to find the right words “it’s my birthday”
Hop, hop, hop. The paving stones were unevenly placed and some sinking into the wet earth. I hopscotched between them like an excited small child. It was flooding season, and everything was a bit squishy underfoot. I stumbled along under the weight of my backpack, stuffed full of mosquito repellant and a bottle of celebratory bubbly wine.
“Happy birthday!” He grinned back at me broadly, not missing a beat on his well worn path. “We will be at your treehouse in just another 10 minutes, it’s just up ahead” He gestured out in front of him with his walking pole.
“we have a few rules. Before each meal a guide will come to your treehouse to walk with you. You shouldn’t walk alone out here, especially at night. It’s much too dangerous.” He paused a moment, waiting for me to absorb the seriousness of the situation and respond with a solemn nod of understanding. “Then” he announced, “Once you’re finished eating, we will walk you back to your treehouse again”
I had dreamed all my life of coming here, and this was not my first far flung adventure. It felt like I’d prepared my whole life for this moment, and I was giddy with excitement.
Up ahead stood in the forest enormous poles, leading up to traditional Amazonian treehouses. We eventually reached the base, and made the ascent up into my new lodging.
Once my guide had left, I sat swaddled in mosquito nets and opened my birthday bottle of wine – at once realising I hadn’t bought anything to drink it from. I sat for a moment, contented and sweaty. The heaviness of the jungle humidity caught up to me as I glugged sparkling wine out of the bottle. I admired a family of bats roosting in the eaves of my home, and I listened to the roaring furore of howler monkeys in the distance. Thirty two is going to be a good year, I thought to myself.
