Me (quite happy): "So where are you from?"
Dude (incomprehensibly): "Inng..mufamufa..grrr..."
Me (a little confused): "I'm sorry, I didn't quite catch that."
Dude (speaking louder this time): "Inggglun..muffffa."
I stare at him stupidly for a bit, and catching my puzzled look, he tries again, "Inglun!"
He then looks at me for some response, which I couldn't give because I still couldn't understand what the hell he was saying. Finally, I begin to feel impolite, so I nod gravely and say, "Really? I've never met anybody from that country."
He looks at me and says, "No Inglesh?"
"Ohhhhh!!! English!!!" I say excitedly while everyone in the truck looks at me like I am a half-wit.
While I've met my share of Brits, most of them were from London. It turns out anybody who lives north of London will likely be completely unintelligible. If they speak to you, look pensive. This facial expression will score you an additional twenty seconds of processing time to try to figure out what they're saying.
****
There were ten of us signed up for the trip, and we were all piled (on top of each other) in the back of a truck. Nothing makes me rejoice more than an uncomfortable closeness with complete strangers. However, under those conditions they were not strangers for very long. :)
We finally started our hike at noon. There was a lot of walking, mostly uphill. This proved to be a formidable challenge for somebody recovering from a fractured pelvis. One hour later, I had huffed and heaved my way to the top. It was a difficult climb, but I was rather proud of myself. My shirt was even damp with perspiration from my efforts. (Okay, who the hell do I think I'm kidding? My shirt was absolutely drenched, I resembled a cherry tomato, and I was huffing like a steam engine.)
As I sipped my water and recovered from my trek, our guide, Jungle Jim spoke, "Okay. The easy part is behind us. Now we begin the difficult part. All uphill. Ready everyone!!" (I'm not kidding about the names here. We had Jungle Jim and T-Bone leading us. If those names don't inspire confidence, I don't know what would.)
During the next few hours it became abundantly clear that I was not on a trek. I was on an reenactment of the Bataan Death March. Up, up, up we climbed. Then we stopped. Then we went up, up, up once more. Fortunately there were a few girls who turtled along at my same pace. I began to hunch over my walking stick like it was a sacred relic I was guarding from the rays of the sun. After a lot of water breaks, we persevered, making it to the camp for sunset. (The view was totally beautiful, making my sweaty climb worthwhile times ten. I just can't resist over-dramatizing things.)
That night some hilltribe children came by to sing and dance for us. It was a happy cacophony of sound. It was our turn to sing to the kids, and after some agonizing turmoil and lengthy group debate, we chose to sing, "If You're Happy and You Know It". (Important decisions take time.) I gave the kids pencils, because the Lonely Planet made it very clear you should not pass out candy unless you can "pass out dental care as well."
That night I ran into a bit of trouble. I've never been a huge fan of the squat toilet. They frighten me. Greatly. I avoid them whenever possible, but I could not avoid them this trip. In the light of day the squat was daunting, but at nightfall it was downright menacing. Therefore, I decided to wait to daybreak to pee. Unfortunately, it was about eight hours until daybreak. I didn't sleep so well.
As I sipped my water and recovered from my trek, our guide, Jungle Jim spoke, "Okay. The easy part is behind us. Now we begin the difficult part. All uphill. Ready everyone!!" (I'm not kidding about the names here. We had Jungle Jim and T-Bone leading us. If those names don't inspire confidence, I don't know what would.)
During the next few hours it became abundantly clear that I was not on a trek. I was on an reenactment of the Bataan Death March. Up, up, up we climbed. Then we stopped. Then we went up, up, up once more. Fortunately there were a few girls who turtled along at my same pace. I began to hunch over my walking stick like it was a sacred relic I was guarding from the rays of the sun. After a lot of water breaks, we persevered, making it to the camp for sunset. (The view was totally beautiful, making my sweaty climb worthwhile times ten. I just can't resist over-dramatizing things.)
That night some hilltribe children came by to sing and dance for us. It was a happy cacophony of sound. It was our turn to sing to the kids, and after some agonizing turmoil and lengthy group debate, we chose to sing, "If You're Happy and You Know It". (Important decisions take time.) I gave the kids pencils, because the Lonely Planet made it very clear you should not pass out candy unless you can "pass out dental care as well."
That night I ran into a bit of trouble. I've never been a huge fan of the squat toilet. They frighten me. Greatly. I avoid them whenever possible, but I could not avoid them this trip. In the light of day the squat was daunting, but at nightfall it was downright menacing. Therefore, I decided to wait to daybreak to pee. Unfortunately, it was about eight hours until daybreak. I didn't sleep so well.
I am going to write about day 2 & 3 later. This post is already obscenely long, and I doubt I've held your attention, except for you, Mom!!
2 comments:
Did you turtle as slowly as the boys did when they were coming across the hall? :) I MISS YOU@!!!
Yes indeed, your Mom does read (and reread) all of your blog, and then retells it to Dad. PR person, that's in a Mom's job description, isn't it?--ha!
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