Into the Selva (Jungle)

Michelle writes:

Romolo agreed to take us on horseback and muleback to the jungle. Kathy called to see if the conditions were acceptable for this outing. Yes, we’re going. Kathy’s mule, Gitana, hadn’t been ridden for months and was at the neighbors. It was time to get her saddled and ready for the day. After some maize and water with salt and sugar, the mule was sweetened up and obedient. 

Romolo arrived alone. Often another man will accompany him on these days of special service to hermana (sister) Kathy. I was to ride Romolo’s horse, while he rode another mule.  I hadn’t realized I was on a stallion until later.

Kathy and I had western saddles with stirrups and saddle horns. Romolo’s saddle was a mule’s work saddle and a wooden V-shaped frame meant for carrying loads. My rear end was thankful for the shaped-leather seat as we set off. Taking a road unfamiliar to Kathy, we passed women washing dishes in the outdoor sinks, children playing in the yard, and as we crossed a creek, and women doing their day's laundry. 

Allowing the animals to pick their own path, we climbed on a rugged, rutted trail. We passed a large area being cleared of trees for cattle pasture. With the intensity of the sun, it now looked like death and desolation compared to the otherwise lush green. As we rode along the spine of a ridge, the view would occasionally open. A majestic tree, the Ceiba, sacred to the Maya, came into view, the broad canopy reaching to the heavens. My camera couldn’t encompass its grand scale. As the trail became increasingly steep, crossing logs and 18' drops, all I could do to calm my racing heart was put my trust in God and this animal that had passed this way before. We came to a cardamom field, where we dismounted and led our animals, due to the steepness of the terrain.  

From there we traveled by foot. Romolo took the saddle off his mule while Kathy and I waited, holding the ropes of our animals. Because Kathy’s female mule was standing in front of my horse, he started to whinny and was no longer acting calm. Then I looked more closely: he was a stallion! I should have known; all the male animals have their parts intact. There are high testosterone levels in this country!  We quickly separated the two animals and restored tranquility.  

Romolo cleared the path with his machete as we descended to a steam. We walked along and through the water until we came to a series of pools connected by small waterfalls. At our destination, we dropped our packs.

Romolo produced a snorkel mask from his pack!  He had come to go crabbing. On his belly, wearing swim shorts, he peered into the deep pools of water, then came up with a smile.

He had seen a crab. With the homemade harpoon gun loaded, he stuck his head again in the pool, and this time came up with a crab attached to the end of his line. He was excited; it was going to be a good day. 

We followed along as Romolo slowly moved upstream, peering into the deeper round pools, looking for crabs and snails. I carried the plastic gunny sack that was filling with the bounty from this delicatessen in the jungle. Kathy decided to stay at a large pool to bathe, while we pushed on. Navigation became more technical as we picked our way up and over boulders and downed trees. Romolo was the hunter in pursuit, and finally, I decided to stay put when we reached another steep ascent. 

I sat, enjoying the beauty around me, listening to the chatter of the birds mingle with the babble of the creek. What a gift to be here among the people, experiencing their culture. How many Americans have visited this sacred place where clean refreshing pools provide food?   

I returned to the larger pool and Kathy, where we both bathed, laughed, and shared the wonder of this daily ritual: women coming to the river to bathe. It is uplifting to take the time to gather at the river, to wash away the heat and sweat of the day in the cool flowing waters, to chat with family and friends. The communal bath has long been a part of many cultures. With our large homes and inside showers and bath tubs, we in the USA have lost some of this sense of connection. 

Romolo returned for lunch with several pounds of snails and five crabs. He gathered firewood and used dead palm leaves as tinder to quickly start a fire. We washed the crabs in the stream and made soup. Kathy’s small kettle hung from the end of a branch over the fire. We added snails and juice from our can of sardines. 

Romolo and Kathy had brought tortillas, which are necessary for every meal. We dove in, cracking the shells with our teeth or by tapping them with a knife. We enjoyed the savory meal, which tasted like any other crab I have eaten. The snail meat was harder to retrieve. The hard scale that had been the foot was first pulled off, then with the tip of the knife or tip of the crab claw, we slowly pulled on the easily-retracted body. With luck, the elongated body pulled out, only to coil into its tight spiral when released.  

Satiated, we sprawled out for the afternoon siesta. The shade along the cool creek was the perfect place to rest during the heat of the day.

With the coming spring weather, I hope some outdoor picnics are in your future!