Horseback Riding through the Jungle

Ok so I hate horseback riding. Every time I’ve ever gone horseback riding, it’s been in Central or


Claire, the happy birthday girl


South America on horses that look like they haven’t eaten in weeks and aren’t too happy with the prospect of carrying a giant gringo anywhere. So I end up sitting on top of this horse with my feet scraping the ground trying to kick the damn thing from my awkward position in hopes that I might motivate the horse actually take me somewhere, while the horse indifferently eats grass.

The first time I went horse back riding was while I was working for Club Med in Mexico. I had spent the night before hanging out with a friend that was quitting and we ended up drinking an entire gallon of gin between the two of us. I thought that I had the next morning to sleep in, but it turned out that somebody was sick and I had to fill in on a jungle horseback trek with a bunch of kids. I pretty much just stuck to the back of the group while trying not to be sick all over my horse. Anyway, this pretty much put me off the whole idea of horseback riding. Though, you would think it would have put me off gin.

Anyway, since I’ve been a tour leader I hadn’t gone once. However, this is my last trip after all and my pax always seem to enjoy it, so this time I decide to give it a go.

There are ten of us going and I get a white horse with the optimistic name of Hercules. This time I actually enjoy myself. We walk almost the whole way, enjoying the splendors of the wetlands: the low rumble of distant howler monkeys, the 747 like approach of the Jaiburu stork (a giant bird about 4 feet tall) and the pleasure of going through the Pantanal without getting your feet wet. Usually you end up wading through knee deep water, which is a little distressing when you know there are caiman, piranha and anacondas about. At the end of the trip Max splits us up into two groups, those who want to gallop back to the farm and those who want to walk. Now I promised myself I wasn’t going to gallop, but the horse seemed to be doing fine and its name was Hercules, so I decided to give it a go. At first when I gave him a kick he just started at a very uncomfortable trot, but when I gave a slap on its behind he took off. All of us went flying through splashing water. Hercules, though he looked to be asleep most of the day, now woke up and decided that he wanted to lead the pack. I was going as fast as I thought you could go on a horse until another horse pulled up along side us and Hercules kicked it into another gear. If this horse had tires it would have laid down rubber. After a couple of seconds racing the other horse I decided that was enough for me and my testicles and slowed the horse down and walked the rest of the way.

That afternoon the activities were jungle hike or piranha fishing. I decided that my efforts would be best put to use in the hammock and just had a nice rest of the day doing one of my very favorite things: swaying in the hammock with a nice book and a cold beer.

That night was Australia day commemorating the first time a man named Bruce fought a crocodile with one hand while drinking a beer with the other, all the while in barefeet and short shorts. To top that off, it was Claire’s birthday. After we sang Happy Birthday, Neil sang a remarkable Elvis song. Some of you know that I do a fair imitation myself, but while I pretty much just stick to the easy early stuff Neil blew me out of the water with Suspicious Minds cerca 1975 with shaking hands, pouty lips and everything.

Neil is another character. You know, the kind of people who seem one of a kind. I feel very lucky this trip to have two characters and Neil is the second one after Leigh. He loves singing, especially Elvis and comes out with just random shit all the time.

Since we had a rather lackluster effort on the boat in Paraty, it turned out that we had plenty of sangria mix left, so I threw it all in a bucket, while Max and Paulo made us a towering bon fire. The group definitely redeemed themselves this time and we were dancing and singing around the fire until late in the evening. When Claire went to bed she told me that she her lullaby was Living on a Prayer by Bon Jovi sung at the top of our lungs.