He furrows his brow for a bit before smacking his fist against his open palm. We don't really know what he's getting at, but we nod anyway. (I like to be agreeable.) He motions for us to wait while he summons a taxi-driver.
Pursuant events went something like the following:
Jon and Monique: "Thale Ban?"
Taxi-Driver (smacks his fist against his open palm): "Stamp?"
Jon and Monique (more emphatically this time): "Thale Ban?"
Taxi-Driver (smacks his fist harder against his open palm): "Stamp?"
Monique to Jon: "Guess we need a stamp? Maybe that's how they pay for park entrance?"
Jon to Monique: "That could be it."
Monique (pleased with her cleverness): "Stamp!"
Jon and Monique stand about smacking their fists against their palms repeatedly in a monkey-like fashion. They are happy kids. They negotiate with the taxi-driver and hop in the back of his truck.
About thirty minutes later the taxi-driver stops. We exit the vehicle. There is a small shack with a sign marked "arrivals" and "departures". We are herded to the "departures" line.
A great deal of confusion ensues. Why are we purchasing park entrance tickets in the departure line? What's going on? I spy a couple, who for some inexplicable reason are holding their passports in hand.
I step in front of her and blurt loudly, "Do you know why you got that stamp?" A confused look crosses her face before she finally says, "Our visas are expiring tomorrow. We are going to renew them in Malaysia." "Ohhhhhhhhh," I reply sagaciously, "we're at the border." (Yeah, so I didn't exactly help refute the "Stupid American" stereotype.)
So I renewed my visa, which consisted of wandering over the border line for twenty minutes then wandering back. We were then dropped off at the park.
The bungalow we stayed at was really nice. Two rooms, an ensuite bathroom, that sort of thing. Unfortunately, we were sharing the room with a spider. A very large one. A hand-size one. Typically I'm not too squeamish about bugs, but when they're bigger than me, I get a bit skittish. We decided to stop by the park headquarters to ask if they can assist us in killing the mutant. (When I say to help "us" to kill the spider, I really mean Jon.)
Jon decided it would be unmasculine to ask the little park lady to come kill the spider for us, so he eased into the conversation by asking if the spiders around here are poisonous. "Ahhh noooooo. Not harmful. Not harmful." the park lady says with a giggle, "Spider? Shoo, shoo, shoo the spider." She waves her hands at us in a 'shooing' motion to indicate the ease of the spider extraction procedure.
So we wandered back home, armed with nothing, but prepared to do battle with the giant beast. Jon procured some equipment (namely a bowl to cup over the spider) and I opened the drapes. The spider, perhaps sensing danger, climbed out of our home by exiting through a hole in the window onto the porch. Since we were psyched up for battle, Jon chased it around on the front porch with a broom for a bit, and I placed duc-tape over the hole in the window. We felt very proud of ourselves. Unfortunately, our glorious moment would not last long for long.
After we shoo-ed the spider, we decided to go on a short jungle trek. We put on some bug spray and headed off happily into the woods. A hundred feet into the woods, I spied a small freaky-looking worm cartwheeling toward me. (It was brown, about a half-inch long, and stood straight up on one it. It moved by toppling from one end to another. Perhaps leeches?) I shrieked and flung my sandal off. While I balanced on one foot, not unlike a gangly flamingo, Jon removed the horrible looking thing from my shoe. I recovered my wits and bravely plowed on, until a few feet later another one came at me. There was more screaming and shoe-flinging. Jon pulled it off my shoe again. We continued onward. Another came at me, etc. etc. This process repeated itself about 5 times until Jon's nerves were finally shot (my screaming wasn't so soothing), and he suggested heading back to cover my feet with socks.
We were half-way out of the woods, half-way clear, half-way to home, half-way safe, when I saw one worm its way under my sandal strap. As I screamed in sheer terror, it tipped forward and bit down, suctioning onto my skin. Hysteria ensued.
As I wailed loudly and frantically, Jon attempted to pull the leech off of me. It didn't want to come off. At all. The poor guy was hunched over my foot for quite some time. While he attempted to pull it off, I screamed helpful advice from time to time, such as, "Get that thing off of me. I don't care what you do. Get it off of me right now." Then I sank back into hysterics and some semi-deranged laughter.
The leech was removed. Jon triumped, earning my fervent admiration. We returned home. I showered whilst recovering from my trauma. Upon my emergence from the shower, I discovered Jon had been intimate with several blood-suckers. In what can aptly be described as a kamikaze attack, four leeches had climbed over his hiking boots and up his pants, where they suctioned to his legs. Fortunately for all parties involved, he removed them before I could witness the spectacle.
After our ill-fated foray into the woods, we decided to take a nap. It was a good recovery period. We wandered out in time for dinner at the Park's cantina. We had a seat at the restaurant, and Jon spied a huge green bug was on the wall behind me. While we waited for our food, a stray cat came along, pounced on the huge green bug, and gobbled it up before my disbelieving eyes. (The bug made a most unappetizing crunching sound as it was consumed by the cat.)
Once we finished up our dinner, Jon decided it would be wise to check on the prevalence of the leeches in the area. If we knew what paths the leeches were on, their feeding times, and the impact rainfall had on their feeding behaviors, we would know how to fight back. A bunch of guys were playing the guitar at park headquarters when Jon ambled up and packaged all of our concerns into the following succinct phrase: "You know leeches?" Yeah, they didn't so much know leeches, nor Jon's handsignal for 'leech'. We were told to come back the following day when an English-speaker was on staff.
1 comment:
highly entertaining story...and congratulations on choosing a school! You will have to convince the bro to come visit now. :)
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