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Leo leads us off to a clearing on the top of a hill. He pulls back some vines that come from a tree so high it looks like they are falling from the sky. My friend grabs on and swings out. Reaching the farthest point, he lets out a primal scream. I figure it's some kind of Tarzan thing. Smiling and breathing hard, he hands me the vine. "Just don't let go," he advises. I grab on, hearing my parents' voices again, "Watch out where you step," as I lift my feet up. I swing out and suddenly the ground below me drops out and I realize I'm quite high. The vine takes me back to solid ground and we move on.

Back into the rhythm -- right, left, stick. I begin to notice that we're not exactly on any kind of path anymore. Our guide seems to be cutting away at the brush fervently with his machete to carve our own path. How the hell does he know where he's going? It all looks the same. Then I think, this is his neighborhood, I suppose he'd wonder how I know where I am in New York.

This all seems plausible and I just hum along when Leo stops and puts his finger up to his mouth quizzically. Slowly, he walks back where we just came from and pauses again, his eyebrows pointing inward. We've been zig-zagging for hours on unknown paths and now our guide is lost. He tells us to wait while he goes on a reconnaissance mission. Leo heads out into the woods and suddenly he's gone. We're four hours into the woods, off any semblance of a path. I start to panic. Where are the lemon ants, where's the anti-snake serum?

Finally Leo returns and we're on our way. I still think he has no idea where he's going, but eventually he finds a slice in a tree from a machete or brush that's been trampled by human feet. We make our way to Leo's home, a thatched hut on stilts. A parakeet hops by me as I tear the boots off my swollen feet. I notice Leo propping up a passion fruit in the middle of the dirt yard. He kicks a baby pig out of the way as he raises a six-foot-long bamboo blow gun. While loading the gun, he explains that if he were hunting, the dart would be soaked in poison first. The dart slices the fruit perfectly in the center. I must try. All I can think is: Don't suck in. My darts land one by one on the ground, way short of my target. Leo laughs loudly.

It's time for us to leave. I'm exhausted, sweaty, filthy, hungry and I probably have malaria, but all I can think is that I don't want to go back.

And so this is my advice for anyone who has ever said, "Don't wander away from the group": Get lost.
salon.com | Feb. 8, 2000

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