Thursday, April 1, 2010

En la selva, en la noche

Four hours on the cheripita, a small uncovered metal boat, and one painful sunburn later, Frances and I were climbing the steep concrete block path up to Madre Selva, our home for the next two months. We drop our bags in the screened in enclosure we chose for sleeping, and make our way down to the kitchen to help unpack the food.

That done, we head back to begin the process of scattering our belongings.

Our sleeping house is basically a large screened in building with a bunch of wood frame beds lined up neatly inside. Frances chooses a bed on the far side of the room and I pick another one right next door. Mattress, sheets, pillows, a bug net for the bed, and it is starting to look pretty homey. Stretch sigh, and collapse.

A knock on the screen door followed by a soft "Hola?" interupts our lazing.

Frances and I bestir ourselves to find Julio, the caretaker of the research station, peering in from outside. We smile and invite him in and he looks at our set up and then at us. In a voice I can barely hear, he asks us if want something. A few stumbling exchanges later we find ourselves helping him set up a tent inside the building, into which we move our beds.

Now, this may seem a bit much, you know...a screened-in tent set up inside of a screened-in building. Well let me clear that up for you right now. IT IS NOT!


Night number one:

I lie on my back, prostrate in the heat. It is pitch black, like being in a cave, but despite this fact, my eyes are open and staring, roving aimlessly in the nothingness, as I try to track the various sounds. All around me, the nocturnal world is coming to life. Crickets are chirping, frogs are peeping, croaking and barking, and birds are hooting and trilling. This is not the cause of my roving eyeballs. Proximal noises, shuffling and scooting sounds coming from too close for comfort places.

And then... patter patter patter: the sound of fast moving feet. Above me...or below me? It sounds like it is on the surface of the tent. I bat at wall, making the whole tent sway and shudder. "What was that?" asks Frances, and a light comes on, blinding in the absolute darkness. I squint, listening still, "I thought I heard something on the side of the tent..." We both scoot forward on our bunks to tug at the zippered entrance, making sure it is closed all the way so that nothing can sneak in while we are asleep. A small measure of comfort in this strange environment. We lie back and eventually drift to sleep, the sounds of the jungle blending into the background.

Buenas noches en la selva.

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