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| Canoeing in a monsoon sucks. Photo by Jon. |
In case I wasn't sure, a day and a
half in the Nepalese jungle at Chitwan National Park reminded me I'm a city
girl at heart. Before our excursion
began, our very informative guide gave us a safety briefing on what to expect.
Cover your skin to protect against leeches and mosquitos. If a rhinoceros charges
at you, run in a zigzag pattern. If an angry elephant starts to stampede, climb
a tree. If a tiger chases you, well, there’s not much you can do; just run
really fast! I longed for the urban jungle of New York City where I knew how to
deal with the “wildlife.”
Travel is one of those rare times
when you can be utterly miserable and filled with awe. Our group huddled into these long, narrow and
very unstable canoes. As I sat on the tiny bench, to my horror, I saw the interior
was covered in giant, alien-like insects and spiders. Rusty red ants with
bulbous heads. Pea-sized white spiders. Speckled brown spiders that could fit
in your palm. And, my favorite of all, was the spider which, after I flicked it
into the river, ran on top of the water and jumped right back in the boat.
If the mutant-sized insects weren’t
enough, our canoe ride soon got more uncomfortable as the skies opened. We
were, literally, in a monsoon. My blue, tent-like rain poncho was not enough to
protect against such a deluge. Within minutes, my pants were completely soaked.
My rucksack, nestled in front of my legs, was getting drowned. As I shivered,
blinking out the biting rain that was slanted perfectly to hit my eyes, I tried
to forget my misery by taking in the lush surroundings. There were no
discerning features, just a mass of dense, green jungle and the swirling blue-gray
river. The only sounds were from
solitary seabirds diving into the rapids for their lunch and the steady
plodding oar, moving us slowly forward. As my gluteal muscles ached from the
hard, wooden chair, I reminded myself that I was on a unique, once-in-a-lifetime
journey. Being on a canoe ride along the Rapti River in the middle of the
Nepali jungle was pretty amazing.
I wanted nothing more than to get
off of that boat, until I saw our landing point. There was no pier. I saw the
vague outlines of a muddy “path” leading up a bluff. “Oh no no no. Let me stay
on the boat!” I said, probably not to myself. Our intrepid guides positioned
themselves strategically on the hill, and proceeded to fling us, one at a time,
from one guide to the next until we reached the very top. And finally, the wonder overcame the despair. As I stood among elephant grass that was
taller than my 1.6 meter frame surrounded by the rhythmic chirping of some
unseen bird (or frog?), I was in a place unlike anywhere I’d ever seen before.
And the adventure was only beginning.
