Lost In The Jungle

The Artistic Diving Resort six kilometres south of Sipalay is a real hit. There is a cheap backpacker room, but everything else is quite upmarket. Pool bar with a view of the sea – and really good music. Coconut palms and a white beach. A small village nearby. There are only holidaymakers here, and only couples. Travelling alone is difficult.

I have to see something, I’m just not a pool potato. On the beach to the south. A huge staircase leads up into the nothingness of an urbanisation that has never been started. After three kilometres, the path ends. A small path leads into the jungle. I think about it for a moment: no shirt, no water, midday heat. Then I set off. Bad decision.

After a while, I come to the hut of a lone forest worker. I ask him if I can walk through the jungle back to Artistic Diving. He says yes and points me in a direction that my inner voice tells me is wrong. She is right. An hour and a half later, I’m in the middle of the jungle. Path becomes stream becomes impenetrable jungle.

I only go as far as I’m sure I can find my way back. So until here. I’m sweating profusely and my heart is beating hard and fast. I’m thirsty. I’m still pleased that I can actually find my way back the first 300 metres – the path is barely visible. Then I’m already lost. The path is gone, and turning round several times does nothing but confuse me even more about the direction of travel.

I learn that when the sun is almost vertically above you, it is relatively useless for navigation. Green hell. On the one hand, I find it quite amusing that you can get so lost only about two kilometres from a road. On the other hand, with a sticky tongue and the first cramps coming on at a heart rate of 120, panic starts to set in. I try to calm down. Stand still. Think about it. How did the last episode of “Alone in the Wilderness” go?

All water flows to the sea. So I follow a depression. The sun is burning down on my shoulders. A slight headache confirms clean dehydration. Unfortunately, everything here is karst. Sometimes water goes underground to the sea. That’s the case here. I’m standing in a hole. I climb over the back edge, make my way through the jungle and after a while, unexpectedly, I find myself right in front of the woodworker’s hut.

It’s easy from here. Down to the road, follow it over a few hills for four kilometres and down to the resort. I’m soaking wet. Shower, pool, pulse calms down. A litre of Coke for the blood sugar and a litre of water to combat the headache. Stupid decision today. But good preparation for the big plan in a few days’ time.