21/04/08: mother earth's diaphragm, sinister parrots
Took an incredibly small plane to Canaima. Claire was sitting copilot, with me and some guy sitting behind, and a young Spanish couple behind us. I was feeling pretty nervous, as small planes have a tendency to crash, but put myself at ease by thinking of what a crazy nineteen years it's been, and what a way to go! Am still alive, though, obviously. As we were about to take off, Claire said, "I feel like like we're going to Jurassic Park." Yeah, pretty much.
We are quite literally in paradise. Our room comes with a hammock on the front porch, and a view of the waterfalls. The hotel, which is spread out more in the manner of a village than a hotel, is housing barely anyone else. This was a much-needed escape from fickle human bullshit. Tomorrow we're going to head to Angel Falls, if meals are included here, because otherwise it's too bleeding expensive. And this afternoon we're going to some other waterfalls, apparently. I'm a piss-poor tourist, really; never remember the names of things, just kind of languidly take it all in. But that's the way to do things, if you ask me. Might I add that I'm lounging in a hammock as I'm writing this. Yes, life is good, as they say.
Yesterday afternoon, Claire and I went out on our first excursion, with a big group of people- Frenchies and some Dutch people, including one fat older woman who insisted on lagging behind constantly while puffing on cigarettes. We took off on a long-ass canoe that was docked on a small beach where, unexplainably, a large white queen-sized bed with a canopy stood out among the sand. It looked like something out of a surrealist film, and I intend to catch a nap on it tomorrow.
We walked behind our first waterfall and then Claire and I sat beneath it, letting the fresh water cleanse us. It is in a moment like this that you find it incredibly sad that some people go their entire lives without sitting under a huge waterfall, cupping their hands and pressing them to their lips to let the cool water down their throats. Nothing clears the mind like the deafening roar of water all around you. It's enough to change the way you see everything, like your first drug experience or sexual encounter, except no one makes you feel guilty about it after. I don't really care if this makes me sound like some cheesy lunatic hippie, because I only sound that way to someone who hasn't experienced this before. But everyone should; it reminds you of who you are, not who you should be or what you wish you were, or what they expect from you. Suddenly the door is open, all expectations are gone, and it doesn't matter if the world ends, because at least you're a part of it.
Our guide, a little Native named Jose, who reminded me of a muppet and something else I can't quite place, laid on his stomach, letting the water fall straight on his back. Let me tell you, this guy is hardcore...
We went for a swim nearby another waterfall that was mostly dried up. The water was red, making me feel like I was bathing in a giant pool of iced tea. I had to resist the urge to drink it, and only did so by considering that perhaps the biblical plagues were upon us. I was kind of nervous about swimming around these parts at first, even though Jose said that of course there were no piranhas or alligators around. Claire jokingly cracked, "Anacondas!" which of course made my imagination go in all sorts of directions, and in my mind's eye I could see a giant CGI snake slithering towards me, right before I say some typical B-movie one-liner. Unfortunately, or fortunately, I never saw those Anaconda films.
After our excursion, we had dinner and went to bed incredibly early, which was a good thing because we had to wake up at 4:30 this morning to head off to Angel Falls. This time we were traveling with the young Spanish couple and Jose. It was pretty fucking amazing, with our boat gliding through the still water that mirrored the sights all around us- the tepuis, large black mountains with flat tops, kissing the billowing clouds, the sky pink as the the sun was beginning to rise. It had rained the night before, which often results in makeshift waterfalls from the tepuis. If one didn't know much about the way things are, one could conclude that the tepuis are full of water, and every once in awhile some pissed off, vengeful god pokes holes in them as some sort of slow, clever way of drowning the world and killing us all. You can see the water flowing from miles away. Yes, the gods have poked holes in Mother Earth's diaphragm. Their semen will drown us all! Oh, but that's not a good way to look at it, and the water is really quite beautiful, which I suppose is proof that it really isn't semen at all, even god-semen.
We spent hours on that boat, but it seemed like nothing at all. Claire and I were discussing the possibility of being tree-people for a year, living in the jungle, exploring, getting to know the Natives and even speak a bit of their dialect. We would do extensive research on the area and the wildlife, of course. And I'd keep writing every day. Maybe even do a film on it after the fact. One could develop in many ways living out here. It would be awhile from now, of course, and we probably couldn't even do it because most of this area is a national park, but I refuse to give up that easily. Not without a fight, I say!
There was a long, uphill hike to get a proper view of Angel Falls, and the path consisted of mostly large rocks and tree roots. By about halfway-up, my legs felt like rubber, my feet were protesting loudly from within my Converse, and my temple was throbbing. I felt like an old car that was slowly overheating, ready to give out. Of course it got steeper at this point, and I somehow managed to trudge along after a five minute break. The pay-off was worth it, however, as we got a spectacular view of Angel Falls in all its glory. Water that resembled a light fog, billowing slowly down from a particularly high and glorious tepui. We sat up there for awhile, looking, taking pictures, closing our eyes and letting the mist and wind cool us down. It was hard to believe that only minutes ago we were wheezing, dripping with sweat, and cursing our young but clearly out-of-shape bodies, as well as whoever came up with silly, obtrusive things such as tree roots and large rocks. But I suppose you have to suffer to see the Angel Falls, which are far too beautiful for the lazy and dim-witted.
We were reluctant to leave, but we had to, so off we went. On the boat trip back it began to rain heavily, and it took us about a half hour to finally escape the rain, although it chased after us. Our final stop was at a small waterfall and pond, given many nicknames due to the fact that baby-makin' takes place there. Claire and I sat beneath the waterfall and let the pressure of the water massage our backs. Swam for a bit, but it was pretty cold after all that rainfall.
When we got back, there was cake and coffee waiting for us. We were drenched, but I couldn't resist. We were eating at the outdoor tables when a small green parrot approached us. Thinking it was cute, I offered it some cake, and we took pictures of the little guy. Suddenly, I heard a loud swoop, and this giant red parrot is perched on the umbrella of the table, looking down at us. I looked up at the parrot, and then down at the cake in my hands. Oh shit, I thought. This bastard's serious. And look at those claws! And look at that beak...
Now, a normal person would probably not be frightened by a parrot, and why should they be? However, my very first memory, at two or three years old, is actually of a bigass parrot such as this one biting my pinky finger, drawing blood and everything. So my history with parrots is not exactly a good one. However, I fucking love cake, especially after a long day of hiking and hard rain, and no way was I going to let the bastard take it from me.
I looked on, scared shitless, as the bird hoisted itself down with its beak, which would have been entertaining if I wasn't so creeped out. I tried to hurriedly eat the rest of my cake, but started choking on it halfway through, making damn sure to cough into my hands so it wouldn't notice I was expelling food and begin to attack me like a baby bird eating its mother's vomit. Oh, I was careful, all right.
After finishing the cake, I took a picture of Claire beside the parrot, and then she tried to take one of me with him, too. I was hesitant, keeping my distance. Although these birds have magnificently beautiful feathers, in bright shades of red with blue and green, their faces are a whole other story. I can't think of how to describe the skin around the round, crazed eyes and the menacing beak except to say that it resembles the surface of a human brain. I gingerly stepped towards it, but before Claire could get a decent frame, the nasty bugger took a slimy green shit on the chair he was perched on, and flew off.
Well, fine, I thought, but I'm going to have to get used to your kind when I become a tree-person. And so I've left it at that.
We are quite literally in paradise. Our room comes with a hammock on the front porch, and a view of the waterfalls. The hotel, which is spread out more in the manner of a village than a hotel, is housing barely anyone else. This was a much-needed escape from fickle human bullshit. Tomorrow we're going to head to Angel Falls, if meals are included here, because otherwise it's too bleeding expensive. And this afternoon we're going to some other waterfalls, apparently. I'm a piss-poor tourist, really; never remember the names of things, just kind of languidly take it all in. But that's the way to do things, if you ask me. Might I add that I'm lounging in a hammock as I'm writing this. Yes, life is good, as they say.
Yesterday afternoon, Claire and I went out on our first excursion, with a big group of people- Frenchies and some Dutch people, including one fat older woman who insisted on lagging behind constantly while puffing on cigarettes. We took off on a long-ass canoe that was docked on a small beach where, unexplainably, a large white queen-sized bed with a canopy stood out among the sand. It looked like something out of a surrealist film, and I intend to catch a nap on it tomorrow.
We walked behind our first waterfall and then Claire and I sat beneath it, letting the fresh water cleanse us. It is in a moment like this that you find it incredibly sad that some people go their entire lives without sitting under a huge waterfall, cupping their hands and pressing them to their lips to let the cool water down their throats. Nothing clears the mind like the deafening roar of water all around you. It's enough to change the way you see everything, like your first drug experience or sexual encounter, except no one makes you feel guilty about it after. I don't really care if this makes me sound like some cheesy lunatic hippie, because I only sound that way to someone who hasn't experienced this before. But everyone should; it reminds you of who you are, not who you should be or what you wish you were, or what they expect from you. Suddenly the door is open, all expectations are gone, and it doesn't matter if the world ends, because at least you're a part of it.
Our guide, a little Native named Jose, who reminded me of a muppet and something else I can't quite place, laid on his stomach, letting the water fall straight on his back. Let me tell you, this guy is hardcore...
We went for a swim nearby another waterfall that was mostly dried up. The water was red, making me feel like I was bathing in a giant pool of iced tea. I had to resist the urge to drink it, and only did so by considering that perhaps the biblical plagues were upon us. I was kind of nervous about swimming around these parts at first, even though Jose said that of course there were no piranhas or alligators around. Claire jokingly cracked, "Anacondas!" which of course made my imagination go in all sorts of directions, and in my mind's eye I could see a giant CGI snake slithering towards me, right before I say some typical B-movie one-liner. Unfortunately, or fortunately, I never saw those Anaconda films.
After our excursion, we had dinner and went to bed incredibly early, which was a good thing because we had to wake up at 4:30 this morning to head off to Angel Falls. This time we were traveling with the young Spanish couple and Jose. It was pretty fucking amazing, with our boat gliding through the still water that mirrored the sights all around us- the tepuis, large black mountains with flat tops, kissing the billowing clouds, the sky pink as the the sun was beginning to rise. It had rained the night before, which often results in makeshift waterfalls from the tepuis. If one didn't know much about the way things are, one could conclude that the tepuis are full of water, and every once in awhile some pissed off, vengeful god pokes holes in them as some sort of slow, clever way of drowning the world and killing us all. You can see the water flowing from miles away. Yes, the gods have poked holes in Mother Earth's diaphragm. Their semen will drown us all! Oh, but that's not a good way to look at it, and the water is really quite beautiful, which I suppose is proof that it really isn't semen at all, even god-semen.
We spent hours on that boat, but it seemed like nothing at all. Claire and I were discussing the possibility of being tree-people for a year, living in the jungle, exploring, getting to know the Natives and even speak a bit of their dialect. We would do extensive research on the area and the wildlife, of course. And I'd keep writing every day. Maybe even do a film on it after the fact. One could develop in many ways living out here. It would be awhile from now, of course, and we probably couldn't even do it because most of this area is a national park, but I refuse to give up that easily. Not without a fight, I say!
There was a long, uphill hike to get a proper view of Angel Falls, and the path consisted of mostly large rocks and tree roots. By about halfway-up, my legs felt like rubber, my feet were protesting loudly from within my Converse, and my temple was throbbing. I felt like an old car that was slowly overheating, ready to give out. Of course it got steeper at this point, and I somehow managed to trudge along after a five minute break. The pay-off was worth it, however, as we got a spectacular view of Angel Falls in all its glory. Water that resembled a light fog, billowing slowly down from a particularly high and glorious tepui. We sat up there for awhile, looking, taking pictures, closing our eyes and letting the mist and wind cool us down. It was hard to believe that only minutes ago we were wheezing, dripping with sweat, and cursing our young but clearly out-of-shape bodies, as well as whoever came up with silly, obtrusive things such as tree roots and large rocks. But I suppose you have to suffer to see the Angel Falls, which are far too beautiful for the lazy and dim-witted.
We were reluctant to leave, but we had to, so off we went. On the boat trip back it began to rain heavily, and it took us about a half hour to finally escape the rain, although it chased after us. Our final stop was at a small waterfall and pond, given many nicknames due to the fact that baby-makin' takes place there. Claire and I sat beneath the waterfall and let the pressure of the water massage our backs. Swam for a bit, but it was pretty cold after all that rainfall.
When we got back, there was cake and coffee waiting for us. We were drenched, but I couldn't resist. We were eating at the outdoor tables when a small green parrot approached us. Thinking it was cute, I offered it some cake, and we took pictures of the little guy. Suddenly, I heard a loud swoop, and this giant red parrot is perched on the umbrella of the table, looking down at us. I looked up at the parrot, and then down at the cake in my hands. Oh shit, I thought. This bastard's serious. And look at those claws! And look at that beak...
Now, a normal person would probably not be frightened by a parrot, and why should they be? However, my very first memory, at two or three years old, is actually of a bigass parrot such as this one biting my pinky finger, drawing blood and everything. So my history with parrots is not exactly a good one. However, I fucking love cake, especially after a long day of hiking and hard rain, and no way was I going to let the bastard take it from me.
I looked on, scared shitless, as the bird hoisted itself down with its beak, which would have been entertaining if I wasn't so creeped out. I tried to hurriedly eat the rest of my cake, but started choking on it halfway through, making damn sure to cough into my hands so it wouldn't notice I was expelling food and begin to attack me like a baby bird eating its mother's vomit. Oh, I was careful, all right.
After finishing the cake, I took a picture of Claire beside the parrot, and then she tried to take one of me with him, too. I was hesitant, keeping my distance. Although these birds have magnificently beautiful feathers, in bright shades of red with blue and green, their faces are a whole other story. I can't think of how to describe the skin around the round, crazed eyes and the menacing beak except to say that it resembles the surface of a human brain. I gingerly stepped towards it, but before Claire could get a decent frame, the nasty bugger took a slimy green shit on the chair he was perched on, and flew off.
Well, fine, I thought, but I'm going to have to get used to your kind when I become a tree-person. And so I've left it at that.