A Journey Into the Jungle

Posted On January 6, 2021

Life is a journey without a TripTik®. That might make sense to you if you are old enough, or if you’ve ever been a AAA member. If it doesn’t make sense, let’s just say it is very different from a triptych. But I digress. The salient point is that we don’t always know where we are going, or what obstacles lie ahead. In some respects, that is what makes life interesting, fun, and mysterious. It can also be nerve-wracking.

When I moved to Seattle in the late ‘70s, sight unseen and without knowing a soul, I had no idea what I was getting myself into. Would I hate my job? Was this just a temporary move or a permanent relocation? For the most part those early years were fun – it helps to be young and unencumbered, when mistakes are not so consequential and can be corrected with do-overs. I was lonely at times. But I trusted that sooner or later, through the mysterious workings of happenstance and serendipity, a few people would reveal themselves as lifelong friends and soulmates. 

That turned out to be the case when I met Barry, who like me was a native New Yorker and recent transplant to the area. He spent time working for the forest service in Oregon before taking a job in Seattle as a primary school biology teacher. Barry was a natural educator – his love of flora and fauna motivated and informed his teaching, and his compunction for puns and corny jokes made him a “fan favorite” with students and friends alike. We hit it off immediately. Barry was a bit older than me, and already somewhat of a seasoned international traveler. The closest I had ever come to an international adventure was when I sampled the food court at the mall. So, when Barry floated the idea of taking a trip to Mexico over the Christmas holiday break, I enthusiastically agreed! 

A month or so later we checked into a small hotel in Puerto Vallarta’s Old Town. Even in December it was oppressively hot and muggy. “Now remember,” Barry said, “you really need to be careful about what you eat and drink.” Advice noted, we roamed the town that day, getting the lay of the land and sampling the bars and discos. Back at the hotel pool we met Brenda and her husband, a young couple vacationing from San Francisco. Brenda raved about their excursion earlier that day – a hike to a spectacular waterfall in the jungle surrounding Puerto Vallarta. Barry’s ears perked up. An adventure into a dark mysterious jungle? Why not – we were in! 

The next day at Brenda’s suggestion we looked for Carlos, the guide she and her husband used the previous day. We canvassed the downtown area, where there were plenty of enterprising locals ready to sell their services, but Carlos was not among them. Barry – who knew some Spanish but was not fluent – solicited the services of anyone who knew about a waterfall in the jungle, supplementing his Spanish with pantomime. He was met with vacant stares. Eventually, a sparkle of recognition appeared in the eyes of a grizzled, older gentleman with sunbaked skin. The old man nodded his head, and after agreeing upon a price, motioned for us to follow him. He walked slowly with a limp, us following behind, away from the glitzy tourist area and into a ramshackle collection of small houses in various states of disrepair, nestled deep in the shadow of the jungle. 

He motioned for us to wait, and a few minutes later, a young man of perhaps sixteen appeared, holding the leashes of a horse, and what I believe was a burro. I got the horse. We saddled up and with our young guide leading the way, we headed into uncharted territory. Waterfall, here we come!

The youngster held a rifle, which didn’t sit well with me. In Spanish, Barry asked him why he had it, to which he replied “cougar,” or something like that. That seemed to make sense – why not have some protection from wild animals? Then as if to prove it worked, he raised the rifle and fired a shot into the sky. The noise startled my horse, which galloped away while I held on for dear life. The horse and I eventually calmed down, and we rode, and rode some more, deep into the jungle. 

An hour passed. When queried by Barry, our young guide seemed to indicate “not much further.” We continued on a rough trail through dense undergrowth and verdant forest, until we came to a shallow river, the rapid water gurgling around smooth rocks. In the middle of the river was a boulder, and seated on top was a man, holding a rifle. At that point I realized we were doomed. Our guide had conspired to take us deep into the unknown, away from civilization, to meet up with his partner in crime, where they could now easily murder us and take our money. Nobody would ever find our bodies. My heart pounded. 

A long moment passed – to my relief nothing untoward happened. My fear subsided (replaced now by embarrassment at my paranoia), and we crossed the river. We rode for at least another hour – were we ever going to reach our destination? At last, our guide announced that we were, finally, here! Only one problem – no waterfall. What was in front of us was a very tiny lake, actually more like a pond, or… a watering hole. Not quite what we expected! We made the best of it, though – Barry jumped in to cool off, while I drank some bottled water. The sun was high above the dense canopy, heating the humid air and delivering misty vistas. Anonymous creatures surrounded us with their vocalizations. The jungle smelled of life. We soaked up the bright sunshine and enjoyed the lush scenery. Soon we headed back. 

By the time we returned I had spent close to six hours on horseback. This city boy raised not far outside of Manhattan could barely walk. At the hotel that evening, Barry fell ill. Had he ingested some contaminated pond water on our jungle excursion? Montezuma‘s Revenge! Luckily, I was fine, and joined Brenda and spouse for dinner. Barry, the seasoned traveler, had to spend a day or so in bed before recovering, and the rest of our vacation was comparatively speaking, uneventful.

In retrospect, that trip is what spurred me on to see more of the planet we live on. I’ve traveled quite a bit since then; explored more of the jungle, so to speak. When Barry wasn’t teaching, he pursued his love of birding and the natural world, frequently traveling to remote and exotic places for months at a time. He passed a few years ago, into the ultimate unknown, with more than his fair share of trips into the jungle under his belt.

Our journey through life is an adventure, and not without risk. But at least in my experience, I’ve found the best times – and I’m sure Barry would agree – often occurred when I wasn’t fully aware of what the road ahead had in store for me. When I didn’t have a TripTik®.

© 2021 L. Wechsler.   All rights reserved.