WHY MY CHILDREN’S HAIR IS GREY ALREADY
When I embarked on a trip to Central America recently, my adult children had all kinds of concerns.
“Now, Mother, you don’t speak the language, do be extra careful.”
“Watch your baggage.”
“Be sure to take your malaria pills.”
“Stay close to your tour leader.” And on, and on, and on.
But they didn’t tell me not to swing over the jungle like Tarzan. So I did!
It was so scary, I couldn't believe I was that daring! It was in a rain forest at Villa Blanca, Costa Rica, where one of the attractions was a “canopy tour.” (Jungle, as in Tarzan’s day, is not politically correct; the word is rain forest.) Some of the trees are 150 feet tall, and the undergrowth for thirty or forty feet up is so thick you cannot see up through it. Therefore, a canopy tour, usually consisting of a small gondola gliding over the jungle--oops, rain forest—allows one to look down from above at what was unseen from below.
When traveling, my motto is: “Sieze the moment. Experience everything.” So my friend and I signed up, plunked down our colones, and donned helmets and harnesses. I had an uneasy feeling. All this to ride in a gondola? It turned out to be the no-frills, stripped-down tour!
We hiked to the site and climbed a rustic stairway up to a platform in a huge tree. From there, a cable was strung for what looked like an eighth of a mile down to the next platform, and I would get there hanging in my harness from the world’s highest clothesline. Self-propelled. The harness hooked onto a pulley, and wearing heavy leather gloves, I would supposedly control my rate of descent by pulling down on the cable ahead of the pulley. It was a terrifying moment when I took my last mortal breath, finally let go of the guide’s hand, and stepped off that platform into space. Then, worried about going too fast and crashing into the second platform, I stopped far short and needed to pull myself backward, hand over hand, up to the platform. When you are hanging ninety feet above terra firma, you find the strength to do anything.
I had three more swings to go, and the rest were a delightful thrill. While waiting on the second platform for others of our party to come flying in, I watched the antics of howler monkeys only fifteen feet away. They are always far up in the trees. Now I was on their level. By the time of my second, third, and fourth swings, I had mastered the technique, could stop and go, and admire the orchids and other fauna that need to grow up a hundred feet or so into the sunshine to survive. This upper canopy was completely different, and what a view I had.
We had climbed up to the first platform. At the fifth, and last one, I expected to climb down. Woops! Another surprise. We had to rappel down--a long way. I really didn’t want to spend the rest of my life up in Tarzan’s trees, so… . It turned out to be surprisingly easy. By this time, I had become such a daredevil, I was swinging out and repeatedly pushing off from the massive tree trunk as I descended.
It was a fascinating, exhilarating adventure, but when my children heard about it, they nearly died. Perhaps I’d better not tell them about lodging four miles away from Arenal Volcano, which blasted us out of bed at 2 AM, with a booming eruption; or the long swinging bridge, which nearly dunked me into the cayman-infested Sarapiqui River. They’d ground me for good.