VII. Fire Ants and Jungle Rot

No travelers arrived, but instead of a day off, Maow, boss of the Thai Jungle Adventure Tour company, decided to test me to see if I could keep up with her. Maow was the perfect name for her, everything about her suggested a cat; the way she moved, the way she seemed ready to pounce when she didn’t move, the way she smiled whenever I finally realized that she was messing with me.

The test began at the river, which Maow quickly crossed, hopping from rock to rock. I’ve never been any good at rock-hopping, so after falling in a few times, I gave up and waded across. My feet got soaked, but it was a hot day, so it seemed logical to let my boots dry on me.

There were no paths on the other side of the river, as far as I could see, but that didn’t stop Maow. Her family hunted in this jungle for generations. This was a walk in the park for her. After about an hour of chasing her, I finally caught up at the top of a cliff.

“Now what?” I asked, catching my breath, but she was already gone.

I peeked over the cliff. Maow was climbing down a lattice of gnarled roots.

“Are these strong enough?” I called down.

She looked up, shrugged, and kept going. Being worse with heights than I am with rock-hopping, I crawled over butt-first and tested the top root. Once I decided it could hold my weight, I felt around for the next one, and tested that. I wasn’t taking any chances. The song from Santa Claus is Coming to Town kept playing in my head, “Put one foot in front of the other, and soon you’ll be walkin’ ‘cross the floor-or-or…” although it didn’t technically apply.

When I finally made it down, Maow was already scrambling away. I ran after her, over fallen trees, through ditches, and up a steep hillside. I edged my way around the corner of a narrow ledge, blindly feeling for something to hold on to, when I put my hand into a nest of something; a burning, biting nest of something. My hand was covered with tiny red ants ─ Fire Ants! I don’t know if that’s what they’re really called, but I liked the sound of it.

I tried shaking them off, but they stayed on. I tried picking and blowing them off, but they stayed on. I tried wiping them off on my pants, but they stayed on. In the process, they managed to make it to my other hand as well, burrowing between fingers. My hands were burning and blistering but there was nothing I could do about them; I was losing track of Maow. I ran down the hill after her, waving my hands in the air like a cartoon housewife being chased by a mouse. Fortunately, there was a river at the bottom of the hill. I plunged my hands in the soothing water. Had I actually been a cartoon housewife, there would have been a hissing sound and rising steam.

“Hey! Whatch’you waiting for?” Maow yelled from atop a huge boulder above me. She was hanging onto a vine, “Come on!” She jumped off the boulder and swung right across the river.

By this point, my enthusiasm had dampened somewhat. Aside from my blistered hands, I was sticky, sweaty, encrusted in mud, and my feet were starting to itch. Still, I’ve always been a sucker for a Tarzan vine. I climbed up and Maow flung the vine to me. In a literal leap of faith, I swung across the river, forgetting all my pain, my irritation and self-pity.

God, I loved the jungle!

The next morning, my feet were purple and swollen to twice their normal size ─ Jungle Rot! I don’t know if that’s what it’s really called either, but, again, I liked the sound of it. I should have taken my shoes and socks off to dry when I first got them wet. Now my feet belonged to the Elephant Man.

I pried open my toes and wedged in my flip-flops; not that it mattered, I couldn’t walk anyway. Maow dragged me to the back of the pickup truck and threw me in. She drove me to the local clinic where a doctor plunged a long needle right into the bottom of my very sensitive foot. “If the shot really needed to be in the foot, why only one foot?” I thought. But I didn’t ask. I didn’t want to seem ungrateful; the treatment only cost a dollar.

The doctor gave me some cream and a baggie full of pills (Thai clinics always give you a baggie full of pills; no matter what you go in for). Three days later, my feet were back to normal. I was walking again and jumping and skipping around. I think it was the pills. I don’t know what they were, I never asked. I didn’t want to seem ungrateful.

VI. Jew of the Jungle, Part Two

I was lost in the jungle in Thailand.

And I was responsible for three other lives, armed with nothing but a map that might as well be drawn on a cocktail napkin. How the hell did I get here? One week ago I was in the States, sitting on a couch, watching Star Trek reruns and now…

I don’t know how long I was standing there retracing my life steps, no doubt with some dopey look on my face, but the group sensed that something was amiss. Maybe their Mighty Jungle Guide didn’t know what he was doing. Maybe he was just a guy like them who happened to fall into the job with nothing but a cocktail napkin to guide him. What would they do? Would they panic? Would they mutiny? Would they take my napkin?

“What’s that in your hand?” Cost finally took off his headphones. Now he’s aware… great.

“This? Nothing…”

“Here, let me see that,” Adolph snatched it from my hand and inspected it, “It’s a piece of crap drawing! What’s going on here?!”

“Oh my God!” Frannie hyperventilated, “We’re lost!”

“We’re not lost,” I assured them.

I slowly surveyed their faces; Panicked Frannie to Bemused Cost to Seething Adolph, who I just knew was thinking, “Jew Bastard!” But they weren’t circling in on me, not yet. I stalled for time, trying to figure out my next move. Should I brass it out, pretend I knew what I was doing? They would probably see right through me. I decided to come clean, in a way.

“We’re not lost. We’re just slightly off-trail.”

“What does that mean?” Frannie demanded.

“It means we’re going to back-track. We’ll find where we came in and retrace our steps until we get back to the main trail, okay?”

After a bit of grumbling and what-choice-do-we-haves, everyone took a section of the clearing’s perimeter, searching for a small trail, footprints, broken rattan, anything that might suggest we came from there.

“I found something,” the Dutchman yelled, his headphones back on.

It seemed right, so we went, back through the rattan, back through the deer trail, and finally to the elephant trail. Amid great relief there was still a problem. We couldn’t follow it all the way back, we would end up where we started. Our only option: continue backtracking and hope that the right way to the waterfall would present itself. We carried on, arriving again at the wrong way red arrow.

“Here it is. Here’s where you went wrong,” Adolph proclaimed.

… filthy Jew! Come on, say it, you know you want to.

“No, I told you before. This arrow is wrong.”

“You also said to trust you and we got lost.”

I glanced up ahead at the alternate path. It was clear, wide, easy to follow. I began to doubt Tom myself. After all, what did I really know about him? I just met him the other day. He could be wrong. Worse yet, he just might have a warped sense of humor. I didn’t know what to do. I waited for some kind of divine guidance, and maybe that’s what it was: I heard the sound of rushing water. Was it there all along?

“Do you hear that?”

“What?”

“The river!”

“So?”

“We’re going to the waterfall, right? That’s where the river has to be heading! Everybody stay right here! I’ll be right back!”

I ran, following the sound of the river, hurtling through rattan and, after several yards, there it was; whitewater, gloriously rushing downhill and, thank God, in only one direction. If we kept the sound of the river close and to our right, it would have to lead us to the waterfall. That would show the German. I turned to strut back, then stopped. I couldn’t see where I came from. I was lost again.

“Hellooooo…” my deflated cry.

“Helloooo…” I heard back in German and English accents.

“Keep yelling so I can find you!”

I followed their sounds, most of it curses. On the way, I don’t know how I missed it before; I stumbled across a clear path, complete with a red marking. An elephant path, and it followed along the river.

“I found the right trail!”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m positive! Let’s go! Follow my voice!”

In my excitement, I ran down the trail, the group behind me, shouting at me to slow down.

At the end of the trail, Tom was waiting for us on a large flat boulder with our picnic. Behind him, a lake with a misting, thundering thirty-foot high waterfall. Overjoyed, we stripped to our underwear, jumped in, splashed around, and then ate the best cold fried rice in the world.

After lunch, sitting alone on the boulder, I worried that Tom would be informed of my mishap -- no, incompetence. Adolph and Frannie walked by, stopped, and discussed something, glancing in my direction. Here it comes, I thought, the big showdown. Adolph climbed the rock and sat next to me.

“You know, in Germany, I am a schoolteacher. Young children. One thing I have learned is that if you don’t know the answer, the children can always tell, and if you pretend or lie, they will lose faith in you. What you did back there was the right thing,” he slapped me on the back, jumped off the boulder, and returned to his wife, who forced a smile. I wondered if there was a word in German for feeling relief, pride, and shame at the same time

Behind me, Cost was dancing, waist-deep in the water. He saw me and waved. I asked him his real name, but he couldn’t hear me.

V. Jew of the Jungle, Part One

“There are no maps to the park!?”

Tom chuckled, “What, you think you’re in Yellowstone or something? This is Thailand.”

We sat in the cab of the company pickup truck, parked at the trailhead, Tom was behind the wheel. He reached past me to grab a tattered notebook off the dashboard and tore off a piece of paper. He drew a map: a line, a couple of circles, a square for the final destination.

“There are red trail marks on some of the trees, but don’t trust them,” he said.

Twenty years ago, park rangers marked the elephant’s feeding routes, making instant hiking trails, but in the years since, many of the trees were knocked over or the bark chewed off.

“Here there is a large tree with huge roots, taller than you. You can’t miss it. After about kilometer or so, you’ll come to a fork in the path. There’s a tree in between with a red arrow, but it’s pointing in the wrong direction. Go the other way.”

“Tom, I don’t think I’m ready to take a group by myself.”

“It’s no big deal. You’ve been on this trail before.”

I had been on the trail once, two days before; my one day of Jungle Guide training. Tom took me along on a group trek so I could get a feel for the job. Unfortunately, the surroundings still overwhelmed me; the Tarzan vines, the gibbons whooping in the trees, the great hornbills winging overhead. I gawked the entire trek, playing and kibitzing with the travelers, paying no attention to the trail itself. I should have been up at the front with Tom, learning the way, instead of pulling up the rear. But it was too late now. Tom handed me the map and I got out of the truck.

I officially met my charges as they piled out the back. First was the German with the closely trimmed moustache, “My name is Adolph, you know, like…” he redundantly placed two fingers under his nose and heiled, “… but of course, that was along time ago.”

“Of course,” I wondered if he always said that to Jews to put us at ease. If so, it wasn’t entirely successful.

Next, his wife Frannie, a brittle Englishwoman, who made it quite clear that jungle trekking was her husband’s idea. Finally, the Dutchman, Cost. I think it was Cost. It sounded like Cost. I never got a correction; he had his headphones on all the time. I could say just about anything to him and get the same nod in return.

Tom called to me from his seat and said to meet him at the waterfall (the square on the map) in an hour and a half; the trek shouldn’t take longer than that. He would be waiting there with fried rice and bananas. I wanted to ask him to lead the trek just once more, but I knew it wouldn’t happen.

“See you later,” he chimed, speeding off with a backhanded wave.

I drew myself up, assumed the posture of the confident, seen-it-all Jungle Guide, and forged ahead onto the trail. Everything seemed fine; the trail was wide and easy to follow. We passed the occasional red mark, which, although I was told not to trust them, bolstered my confidence. We eventually came to the aforementioned tree, its huge roots like flying buttresses seven or eight feet tall where they connected to the trunk. We took photos, played on the roots, and then moved on. The next mark, after about a kilometer, was the “wrong” arrow. I followed Tom’s instructions and went the other way.

“Hey, the arrow says that way!” Adolph observed.

“The arrow’s wrong. Trust me,” but I saw doubt in his eyes.

The trail was still wide for another half kilometer, then narrowed. I didn’t think much of it, it was still clear enough to follow. Then it narrowed even more. The elephant trail had become a deer trail. I consulted my scrap of paper without letting the others see. There was nothing to suggest this development, just the crooked line that represented the whole trail. I pressed on, hoping for the best. The deer trail became a rodent trail, sharp rattan leaves drooped over it from both sides. Frannie and Adolph complained that the rattan was cutting their legs, but there was a hint of trail, so still I pressed on, making poor attempts at good humor; jokes about getting the “Full Jungle Experience.”

I lucked out, or thought I did. The rodent trail opened up ahead. I rushed the group through the cutting leaves to a clearing.

“See? No problem at all!”

“My legs are bleeding!” Frannie pointed out to me.

Wiping blood off of my own legs, “I guess we should have worn long pants, heh heh…”

“You should have told us!”

I couldn’t tell her that I hadn’t expected it either. Adolph glared at me, then tended to his wife’s scratches with first-aid from his fanny pack. I left them to their wounds and resentments and searched for the rest of the trail.

I walked around the whole clearing, but there was no obvious path to be found. It seemed like a good time to start worrying. Maybe there was something on the map… of course not. By now I had turned around so often that I couldn’t tell where we had come in. Every direction looked the same, like jungle. The full import of the situation was slowly dawning on me.

I was lost.

In the jungle.

In Thailand.

To be continued…

IV. I Become a Jungle Guide

As night fell we were herded into the tour company pickup truck and went off searching for animals. Driving along a narrow road cut through the heart of the jungle, we were given two portable spotlights and taught to methodically comb the bush with the beams, seeking the reflected glow of animal eyes. As I sat in the back of the truck’s open bed, it occurred to me that if we did run into elephants or tigers, this vehicle would offer no protection whatsoever.

We drove for a couple of hours, stopping every time we saw a glow. We would wait, training both beams onto the area until we could spot the animal. Most of the time it turned out to be small monkeys, deer, or civets (a cat-like creature related to the mongoose). One time we spotted a chicken near the road. Tom said it was a Jungle Chicken, but I couldn’t see the difference. I was beginning to think the flyer was all hype, when we heard a large rustling in the bush. Tom stopped the truck. He turned off the ignition and told us to turn off the spotlights. Whatever it was, we didn’t want to scare it off. We waited; hearts pounding, wondering what it could be. The rustling got louder and closer, becoming more distinct. The ground thudded from some great weight. Branches were twisting, tearing, cracking, and crunching. Then, bursting through the bush: an elephant! A real elephant in real life, not on the Discovery channel, not in the zoo, but a full grown wild elephant eating dinner.

Actually, “eating” is putting it mildly. It would wrap its trunk around a bunch of bamboo, tear it off, and shove it all into its mouth; twigs, leaves and branches. Although the elephant was making a lot of noise, we were told to be quiet; not to spook him.

Nobody could stay quiet, of course. We were all too excited. The elephant got annoyed, and after it had had enough, turned towards us and charged. Tom jumped into the cab of the truck and turned the ignition but it wouldn’t start. Of course, it wouldn’t start. The elephant was rapidly approaching, travelers were screaming, the engine droning and straining. It finally started, but instead of taking off, we rolled backwards, right into the elephant. Everything happened in slow motion as the elephant and I came to within inches of each other, face to face. My entire field of vision was filled with elephant.

An odd stillness came over me. I turned to the travelers and with a calm yet commanding “SSSSHHHH,” they quieted. The elephant just stopped. We just sort of looked at each other as Tom got the truck got into gear and pulled away.

We watched behind us as the elephant made a derisive snort and turn back to its dinner. Apparently it was a bluff. He just wanted to eat in peace. Later I learned that the elephants here make bluff runs all the time. You can tell by the position of their ears. Nobody mentioned that before either.

The next morning, the tour being over, I threw on my backpack, ready to move on to the next adventure. I had no plans other than for Fate to take me by the hand. I said my goodbyes to Tom and Maow and they offered me a job. This took me by surprise. I told them I’d have to think about it.

I took off my pack and sat down on a bench. They turned to leave, to give me time to think, making it maybe two steps before I said, “Yes.”

I like to think I was offered the job because of the way I dealt with the elephant or perhaps my nonchalance over the leeches. But the truth is that I was traveling on my own, with no plans or attachments, and spoke halfway decent English. Anyone with those qualifications might have been offered the job. It just happened to be me. The Hand of Fate reached out to me quicker than I expected. How could I say no? There was no money in it. 100 baht for a full day tour, 50 baht for a half day. With the exchange rate of the time, it worked out to $4.00 and $2.00, respectively. They would, however, cover room and board, and there would be enough Tuna Fish Ice Cream to last a lifetime. Plus, it made for a great first postcard to the folks back home:

Dear _______,
Well, I’ve been in Asia for less than a week. I’ve had a balloon popped out of my hand by a blow-dart wielding vagina. I’ve been sucked by leeches, swarmed by bats, and charged by an elephant. Oh, by the way, I’m working as a Jungle Guide.
Love,
Phil

Even my father was impressed.