We went to the jungle. We survived. (Toughest part: the overnight bus ride where Isaiah and I took turns losing our lunch in the bathroom thanks to curvy mountains, a break-happy driver, and our Dramamine locked away in our luggage under the bus.)
Once there we recovered and saw monkeys and parrots and birds of all kinds. Our guides invited us up-close to giant tarantulas—not having realized we’d been running into those hairy friends from the comfort of our own bedroom for the past two years.
We took boat rides and hikes and soaked up some delicious sunrises and sets. We went with Tarantula Tours and the guides’ vast knowledge made the trip. One of our guides had grown up in the depths of the jungle, never journeying into town (a 6-hour hike followed by 4-hour motorboat ride) until he was 11-years-old.
He knew all about what plants you could eat and the healing properties they offered. He showed us the palm tree that actually moves up to 30 centimeters per year by putting down a new exposed root out front and losing one from the back. A walking tree.
Our time was enjoyed thoroughly. And with flashbacks of balancing ourselves in the tiny bus bathroom fresh in our minds, we left the jungle via plane.