We trudge down the path in the dark, the humidity already
startlingly heavy so early in the morning.
Our flashlights bob, lighting the path in front of us. Suddenly, our guide stops short, a giant
tarantula caught in the pool of light from his flashlight. We gather around to look, me hanging back at
the edges of the crowd, glad for my closed toed shoes. It skitters down the
path, back the way we came and I breathe a sigh of relief that I won't have to
worry about it following us, running over my feet, or crawling up my leg.
Finally we make it to the base of the pyramid. We're one of the first groups there, and our
guide reminds us to be silent at the top.
At the very top Deborah urges me to climb the last steep stairs as high
as we can go to watch the sunrise.
They're terrifyingly steep, and I'm afraid I'll tumble all the way off
and down to the jungle floor, but I inch up them til I sit with my back against
the wall. More groups join us, but we're
all mostly silent, shifting, rustling, and occasional whispers all we can hear.
Until the howler monkeys start up. It's otherworldly. It sounds like jungle cats, lions of leopards
or something equally terrifying, are fighting in the trees below us. Their deep throaty roars and growls are
fascinating and unsettling at the same time.
Slowly, the sky turns from black to grey. There's a tiny
tinge of pink above us, but not the spectacular oranges and purples I was
hoping for. It doesn't matter, because
slowly, out of the morning mists, we begin to make out shapes. More temple
pyramids appear in the distance, their tops rising above the canopy of the trees,
mist clinging to the edges. Everything
is still. The howlers have stopped
crying. It's the sort of moment that makes 3 am wake up times, and pitch dark
walks through tarantula infested jungle totally worth it.
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