Mr. Bean Goes to the Jungle (Darién - Part 2)

I signed up to sample the Darién, but it turns out the jungle intended me as the main course. From the village we set out on foot looking for monkeys, parrots, and all manner of creepy crawlers. Panamanian Rambo in front, my guide Solante in the middle, and me behind. I name everyone who carries a machete Rambo. They move with ease, even with their machetes, while I am the hopefully endearing but hopelessly bumbling lead in an episode of "Mr. Bean goes to the jungle". Slipping, sliding, and tripping, snorting mosquitoes out of my nose, and cursing like a pirate while oohing at the hummingbirds.

This narrow trail, if that’s what you want to call it, alternates between a steep hilly muddy mess that sucks your feet in and knee deep river crossings. A kind of quicksand mud that is determined to keep your shoe at each step. Balance is essential, as you’re surrounded on all sides by all sorts of plants, some of which are what I’d call outward killers - with large spikes coming out of their stems, and others closet killers - seemingly innocent leaves that are as sharp as blades.


Ironically I didn't expect so much water in this rainforest - Google Maps doesn't show any tributaries. I thought the deep green was dense forest, but actually it just meant "idk". Somewhere, buried deep in the product backlog is a sad JIRA software development ticket about adding topography to the region. How are the narcos to cross the gap if their app isn't accurate? On second thought, maybe the mystery is a feature, not a bug.


I'm damn proud - 7 water crossings in and my feet are dry, in borrowed boots a size too large. Until, like the dainty graceful being that I am, I stumble, sink in the mud to my thighs and the water comes rushing in. Oh cruel world. Here I am taught that this yoga pose is also a way to get water out of your boots.


Now add sloshing to my slipping, sliding, and tripping. I try to not disturb the autobahn so diligently built by the giant ants. It's remarkable - a sea of leaves levitating across a little dirt road. You can see the ants carrying pieces of palm 3x their size. With that kind of upper body strength they would be amazing at muscle ups. I should see if they want to try Crossfit.


I'm assured yet again that the producers of Lara Croft never actually left LA. Poor thing would have been red and blotchy in five minutes flat in that getup. Using a pugnant perfume of 98% deet mixed with 100% sweat in 95% humidity, the buzzing mosquitoes should immediately drown on my skin. This is the one place where a burqa would actually be wholly appropriate and functional tactical gear.

After a half-day of battling the mud and mosquitoes, we reach our destination - the campsite that is home for the next couple of days. It is a wooden platform with a metal roof. No facilities, no water, no beds. Not very different from some of the other “houses” we passed by on the way. Hang up your hammock, swim in the river down below, pick a plantain from a tree.


I become deeply cognizant of just how helpless I am here. The bugs and the terrain are unforgiving. Here humans have accepted playing second fiddle. There’s one question in my mind - how do they live?

Sure basic needs are plentiful. When you need food, you pick a fruit off the tree. Water - just go to the creek. Not much second order planning or cooperation needed. But what about the mind? Does intelligence evolve differently in such an environment? What kind of despair would a potential physicist feel here, a great mind reduced to picking fruit, tending to a fire, mostly sitting around? Do the ambitious leave or are they never made here in the first place? Would you scream and rip your eyes out at the lack of ability to dominate your environment? I realize I’m constantly thinking, reading, writing. I do not know how to just be still, to deal with downtime. And it's unnerving.

Swatting away the mosquitoes and feeling near 100% humidity, another thought nags at me - you can't win here. Mother Nature simply won’t be conquered.