The bugs are worse than they've ever been and the scratching is at an all time high.
At breakfast, Marlene casually asks if anyone is interested in visiting a monkey sanctuary, to which all 14 of us almost lose our minds. We walk through Mocagua, continuing pass the village and arrive at the end of the flooded forest. Our guide is an adorable older man, grinning with few teeth and he shuffles into a rickety canoe with an outboard motor.
We delicately get in the boat, which is far less stable than the canoes we've been in, and our guide takes off at a leisurely pace through the trees, running into every last one of them on our way to the sanctuary. Its like Amazon bumper cars! As we arrive at the sanctuary, we are actually gasping to see the monkeys are running free and climbing on the people who arrived before us. Its amazing! We clamour out of the boats and go towards them.
The monkeys at the sanctuary are mostly pets who are now being rehabilitated to be released into the wild. There is a beautiful wooly monkey (who the guide warns us is extremely aggressive and hates women), two howler monkeys - one who is a cranky toddler (more to come on this), and some squirrel monkeys who are so cute, they are like real-life sock monkeys. There is also a sly capuchin who is world's greatest opportunist. I think of the movie 'Monkey Trouble', which was my everlasting dream as a kid to have a monkey.
The monkeys are everywhere - jumping on people's hats and backpacks, stealing silica packs from camera bags, running between the trees and biting. Oh yes, I said biting. The cranky toddler goes around nipping people and fighting with the other monkeys until coming over to check out my backpack. I zip it closed (do you know how hard it is to get a gluten-free granola bar in these parts of the world?) and he looks around before crawling laying down in the space between me and pack. My maternal - or more likely primate - instincts kick in and I pretend to search him for flees. He quickly falls asleep as I groom him, and only wakes up to make whiny noises as other monkeys poke and prod him.
We listen as the sanctuary guides inform us their efforts and the future of the monkeys. All is well until the sky opens up and rain begins to fall like a waterfall. I don't want to stand up because Cranky Howler looks peeved that his nap is being interrupted and I'm not looking to be nibbled. He jumps down, runs under a chair and makes screaming noises. As I walk past him towards the overhang where the rest of the class is huddled, I pause and extend my arm - which I guess is a sign of buffet. He runs up my pant, looks me dead in the eye, and bites my forearm through my shirt. We have a staring contest for what felt like 3 minutes but was more like 3 seconds until he decides to let go and our boat guide comes over and scolds him in Spanish.
Leanna, Jordan and I rub our bites with iodine wipes and as the rain lets up, we are guided back to the boats. Bumper car part 2.
Our free time is spent wistfully lounging in our cabins before having a lovely last dinner. Everyone gathered to celebrate Lee's birthday with cake and laughter. Just as we wrapped up the goodbyes, it started raining and by raining, I mean pouring. Torrential. I guess that's why they call it... the RAINFOREST!
We ran back to our cabin in time to find it absolutely infested with cockroaches (why don't they call it the roach forest?). I find three crowded around my "Bug Be Gone" essential oil like it's some kind of buffet and the irony is not lost on me. Cucaracha bloodbath ensues, I kill 6 in less than 3 minutes and my hatred (or shameless fear?) knows no end. Moving in constant flow, flip flops in either hand, it becomes a scene from the movie 300 and I yell "THIS IS SPARTA!" to the sound of crunching shells.
I brush my teeth and run squealing into bed, checking 3 times over that there is nothing inside the net with me. This is not how I wanted the trip to end, hands covered in mosquito bites, sun-burnt arms, and a possible rabies infection from that adorable little jerk monkey. But here we are and this is the adventure and I wouldn't have it any other way.
Well no, I would have way less mosquitoes.... but whatever. You know what I mean.
I turn off my head lamp and the rain slows to a light drizzle when I hear a sound that is like a wave, washing through the forest, rolling towards me. A bolt of lighting and everything goes silent expect the roar of the rain - rushing through the jungle. The thunder claps behind it and then the rain hits our cabin and the sound is deafening.
I know I should go to bed. I know I have a very early morning tomorrow, but there is no better place to stay up all night, reading One Hundred Years of Solitude by Gabriel GarcÃa Márquez. I lie here in my quarantined bed - tucked away from the others - listening to the rain pound the woven palms on the roof, missing Steed, and my phone, and my clean clothes.
