Travel Journals XI: Into the Wild
*Spoiler Alert*
In the interest of preserving my mother's sanity, I should mention that, in spite of the title, I do not die of starvation in Alaska. I do not in fact come to any harm at all. Sorry to those of you who are disappointed, but you really ought to re- evaluate your motives for reading this. Seriously, that's a little warped!
There has been a great deal written about the tropical forests. One school of literature, penned by presumably excitable individuals who need to get more fresh air, chiefly involves sending the protagonists out into the deepest jungle and menacing them with giant venomous snakes, gargantuan spiders, flesh eating ants, disease, starvation, heatstroke, scorpions, killer bats, mosquitoes, monsoons, dinosaurs, quicksand, blood thirsty cannibals, ancient curses, slavering jungle cats, and a thousand other perils until you wonder why the hero ever got out of bed in the first place.
This is, of course, all ridiculous exaggeration. I have only ever seen one wild snake in all the hours i spent in the jungle and it disappeared into a termite mound before i could tell what species it was. As for big cats, they are unbelievably wary. they seem slightly more substantial than ghosts. I dearly hope to see them but so far, the only evidence i have of their existence is a set of year old claw marks in the trunk of a tree and the track of a very small leopard. However, if you happen to hear drums and chanting in the depths of a jungle valley, it is very prudent to head the other way. There is no savage tribe on the warpath, you are in the presence of hippies. If you don't beat a very hasty retreat, you will be subjected to the kind of mindless regurgitated new age philosophy that makes being boiled alive seem pleasant. talking to hippies that live in the jungle is taking your face into your own hands!
There is another more accurate style of writing about the jungle that is as littered with phrases like "vital ecosystem", "delicate balance" and "biodiversity" as a Indian village is littered with plastic water bottles. Possibly this cannot be exaggerated enough.
What is surprisingly absent from both styles of writing is any mention of the surpassing beauty, subtle enchantment, and deep and familiar tranquility of the jungle. Massive trees with tall buttress like roots and twisted, gnarled trunks that appear top have been shaped by some giant hand form an immense living cathedral. Sunlight filters through the canopy penetrating the cool verdant shade of the forest floor. the trees are festooned with twining creepers, fluorescent colored flowers, and lethal looking thorns. oddly shaped fruits and leaves of every imaginable shape and shade of green ornament every branch. some unfortunate trees have become entwined in the fatal embrace of strangler figs. a magnificent parasite that is as beautiful as it is deadly. the uncontested monarch of the Indian woods is indisputably the banyan tree, a large spreading rambling interweaving tree that is almost an entire forest in itself and one of the best climbing trees in all the world.
The forests here would be captivating enough if they weren't utterly teeming with life. everywhere one looks there are spires of termite metropili, tiny lizards no larger than my pinkie, bustling insects, butterflies, and jewel bright birds with songs that sound as though they were digitally generated. a sudden crash in the canopy betrays the presence of slender, graceful Hanuman langur, an elegant grey monkey found throughout India, or two toned rust and cream Malabar giant squirrels the size of puppies. Hornbills flap through the branches with maniacal laughter and large birds of prey launch into the air before you can get a decent look at them. the undergrowth is rattled by grey jungle fowl who resemble domestic chickens so closely that if you saw one in a village you wouldn't think twice and handsome ash colored mongoose bustling around on private errands. early in the morning among the songs of drongos (an attractive black bird with long streamers on it's tail) wild parrots and coppersmith barbets (a small green bird with a monotonous metallic call that i have yet to actually see) you can sometimes hear the distant bellow of gaur (enormous wild oxen that are seven foot at shoulder and entirely muscle bound. it is my current goal in life to see them in the wild!). If you are extremely lucky you might spot a herd of sambar (large, handsome, and impossibly timid wild deer) as they flee your approach or golden chital with their lyre shaped antlers and gorgeous fawn dappling. Sounders of wild boar shuffle through the undergrowth like clusters of incredibly noisy shadows. to see these animals in their own environment, especially the first time you spot them is an indescribable experience. it feels like a thrill and a benediction at the same time. i cannot properly convey the sense of wonder it gives me. i am now even more determined to find wild elephants and tigers!
My first morning on Paradise beach found me awake shortly after dawn. perhaps it was the jet lag or just the excitement of being in a new place, but i found myself very much awake and alert at what i would ordinarily consider an ungodly hour. instead of swearing and pulling the covers back over my head in the vain hope that the morning would go away (which is usually what i do under these circumstances,) i dressed quickly put on my boots and headed off into the hills. this was the pattern that would shape my mornings for most of my sojourn in India. Paradise beach was not surrounded by deep thick impenetrable jungle but genteel second growth forests with clear paths running through them between villages. this network of trails proved to be perfect for my purposes. they were mostly clear and winding with only the occasional other person on them. the trails led through forest land around the walls of villages, orchards scrubby hillsides perfect for surveying the surrounding mountains and watching the ubiquitous braminy kites play the wind there was also a path that led around open country on the mountainside that descended at a near impossible angle into the sea. this was a favorite haunt of birds and also a wonderful place to watch dolphins the trail led on to a picturesque lighthouse and stopped abruptly at the sea cliffs. one morning i was foolish enough to attempt to follow the cliffs back to the beach and wound up climbing back for hours over precarious rocks that would have spilled me directly into the hungry water below if i wasn't careful. on my first day i learned another extremely important lesson about staying on the trail. back home during my walks i have the habit of following the "game trails" this is usually rewarding because you can see where the animals have been clearly and it increases your odds of seeing something interesting. this is relatively safe too because the trails are kept reasonably clear by the animals movements in a temperate forest. in the tropics this is an extraordinarily silly thing to do. guess how i know that? several hours into my hike i found myself neck deep in thick underbrush shoving through it with all the grace of industrial farm equipment. sweating profusely and swatting away various kinds of friendly and curious insects i thought to myself: "This is a really stupid thing to do. this is exactly how you get bitten by a snake" a minute later i felt something pointy hit my big toe. as you might imagine this didn't do much to improve my state of mind. i plowed my way to the nearest clearing as quickly as possible, tore off my boot and sock to examine the damage. my foot was utterly unmarked. i didn't bother to explore further to find the cause of this prick. my theory is that a thorn close to ground level just happened to hit my foot in such a way as to find the hole in my shoe and give me a good scare. i consider myself extremely lucky that this was the only consequence of my foolishness. from that point on i was much more careful about staying on the path. even along the main roadways one could rely on seeing something worthwhile. just before the fishing village there is a rice paddy fringed by majestic palms. this paddy is home to a large colony of egrets. so the unbroken field of crayon spring green is accented with elegant wading birds of the purest cleanest white.
Random side notes
editorial actually appearing in one of the local papers:
Portuguese Culture has had no impact on Goa
By Jose Ramirez
last week a woman on the beach approached me and informed me that i was a "very white boy" as this was immediately followed by an attempt to sell me beads, we can assume it was intended as a compliment.
In the interest of preserving my mother's sanity, I should mention that, in spite of the title, I do not die of starvation in Alaska. I do not in fact come to any harm at all. Sorry to those of you who are disappointed, but you really ought to re- evaluate your motives for reading this. Seriously, that's a little warped!
There has been a great deal written about the tropical forests. One school of literature, penned by presumably excitable individuals who need to get more fresh air, chiefly involves sending the protagonists out into the deepest jungle and menacing them with giant venomous snakes, gargantuan spiders, flesh eating ants, disease, starvation, heatstroke, scorpions, killer bats, mosquitoes, monsoons, dinosaurs, quicksand, blood thirsty cannibals, ancient curses, slavering jungle cats, and a thousand other perils until you wonder why the hero ever got out of bed in the first place.
This is, of course, all ridiculous exaggeration. I have only ever seen one wild snake in all the hours i spent in the jungle and it disappeared into a termite mound before i could tell what species it was. As for big cats, they are unbelievably wary. they seem slightly more substantial than ghosts. I dearly hope to see them but so far, the only evidence i have of their existence is a set of year old claw marks in the trunk of a tree and the track of a very small leopard. However, if you happen to hear drums and chanting in the depths of a jungle valley, it is very prudent to head the other way. There is no savage tribe on the warpath, you are in the presence of hippies. If you don't beat a very hasty retreat, you will be subjected to the kind of mindless regurgitated new age philosophy that makes being boiled alive seem pleasant. talking to hippies that live in the jungle is taking your face into your own hands!
There is another more accurate style of writing about the jungle that is as littered with phrases like "vital ecosystem", "delicate balance" and "biodiversity" as a Indian village is littered with plastic water bottles. Possibly this cannot be exaggerated enough.
What is surprisingly absent from both styles of writing is any mention of the surpassing beauty, subtle enchantment, and deep and familiar tranquility of the jungle. Massive trees with tall buttress like roots and twisted, gnarled trunks that appear top have been shaped by some giant hand form an immense living cathedral. Sunlight filters through the canopy penetrating the cool verdant shade of the forest floor. the trees are festooned with twining creepers, fluorescent colored flowers, and lethal looking thorns. oddly shaped fruits and leaves of every imaginable shape and shade of green ornament every branch. some unfortunate trees have become entwined in the fatal embrace of strangler figs. a magnificent parasite that is as beautiful as it is deadly. the uncontested monarch of the Indian woods is indisputably the banyan tree, a large spreading rambling interweaving tree that is almost an entire forest in itself and one of the best climbing trees in all the world.
The forests here would be captivating enough if they weren't utterly teeming with life. everywhere one looks there are spires of termite metropili, tiny lizards no larger than my pinkie, bustling insects, butterflies, and jewel bright birds with songs that sound as though they were digitally generated. a sudden crash in the canopy betrays the presence of slender, graceful Hanuman langur, an elegant grey monkey found throughout India, or two toned rust and cream Malabar giant squirrels the size of puppies. Hornbills flap through the branches with maniacal laughter and large birds of prey launch into the air before you can get a decent look at them. the undergrowth is rattled by grey jungle fowl who resemble domestic chickens so closely that if you saw one in a village you wouldn't think twice and handsome ash colored mongoose bustling around on private errands. early in the morning among the songs of drongos (an attractive black bird with long streamers on it's tail) wild parrots and coppersmith barbets (a small green bird with a monotonous metallic call that i have yet to actually see) you can sometimes hear the distant bellow of gaur (enormous wild oxen that are seven foot at shoulder and entirely muscle bound. it is my current goal in life to see them in the wild!). If you are extremely lucky you might spot a herd of sambar (large, handsome, and impossibly timid wild deer) as they flee your approach or golden chital with their lyre shaped antlers and gorgeous fawn dappling. Sounders of wild boar shuffle through the undergrowth like clusters of incredibly noisy shadows. to see these animals in their own environment, especially the first time you spot them is an indescribable experience. it feels like a thrill and a benediction at the same time. i cannot properly convey the sense of wonder it gives me. i am now even more determined to find wild elephants and tigers!
My first morning on Paradise beach found me awake shortly after dawn. perhaps it was the jet lag or just the excitement of being in a new place, but i found myself very much awake and alert at what i would ordinarily consider an ungodly hour. instead of swearing and pulling the covers back over my head in the vain hope that the morning would go away (which is usually what i do under these circumstances,) i dressed quickly put on my boots and headed off into the hills. this was the pattern that would shape my mornings for most of my sojourn in India. Paradise beach was not surrounded by deep thick impenetrable jungle but genteel second growth forests with clear paths running through them between villages. this network of trails proved to be perfect for my purposes. they were mostly clear and winding with only the occasional other person on them. the trails led through forest land around the walls of villages, orchards scrubby hillsides perfect for surveying the surrounding mountains and watching the ubiquitous braminy kites play the wind there was also a path that led around open country on the mountainside that descended at a near impossible angle into the sea. this was a favorite haunt of birds and also a wonderful place to watch dolphins the trail led on to a picturesque lighthouse and stopped abruptly at the sea cliffs. one morning i was foolish enough to attempt to follow the cliffs back to the beach and wound up climbing back for hours over precarious rocks that would have spilled me directly into the hungry water below if i wasn't careful. on my first day i learned another extremely important lesson about staying on the trail. back home during my walks i have the habit of following the "game trails" this is usually rewarding because you can see where the animals have been clearly and it increases your odds of seeing something interesting. this is relatively safe too because the trails are kept reasonably clear by the animals movements in a temperate forest. in the tropics this is an extraordinarily silly thing to do. guess how i know that? several hours into my hike i found myself neck deep in thick underbrush shoving through it with all the grace of industrial farm equipment. sweating profusely and swatting away various kinds of friendly and curious insects i thought to myself: "This is a really stupid thing to do. this is exactly how you get bitten by a snake" a minute later i felt something pointy hit my big toe. as you might imagine this didn't do much to improve my state of mind. i plowed my way to the nearest clearing as quickly as possible, tore off my boot and sock to examine the damage. my foot was utterly unmarked. i didn't bother to explore further to find the cause of this prick. my theory is that a thorn close to ground level just happened to hit my foot in such a way as to find the hole in my shoe and give me a good scare. i consider myself extremely lucky that this was the only consequence of my foolishness. from that point on i was much more careful about staying on the path. even along the main roadways one could rely on seeing something worthwhile. just before the fishing village there is a rice paddy fringed by majestic palms. this paddy is home to a large colony of egrets. so the unbroken field of crayon spring green is accented with elegant wading birds of the purest cleanest white.
Random side notes
editorial actually appearing in one of the local papers:
Portuguese Culture has had no impact on Goa
By Jose Ramirez
last week a woman on the beach approached me and informed me that i was a "very white boy" as this was immediately followed by an attempt to sell me beads, we can assume it was intended as a compliment.
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