Welcome to the Jungle

Indiana Jones is hot. And so, stupid little puppies that we are, we all want to be like him. Or simply be him. So what do we do? We run to the nearest travel agency and book an adventure trip. For the next 10 days, life will mainly consist of peddling in a canoe, eating fish and rice (without any salsa), sleeping under trees while being eaten alive by the largest mosquitoes known to mankind, basically constant suffering and complaining who on earth decided this was a good idea. And why? Because some Disney movie tells us it will give us all the satisfaction we ever wanted (and needed), not to mention a mind altering experience that will improve our social, cultural and sex-life.

Is this really what we want, though? Of course not. We just want to escape our lame, boring cubicle life for a moment or two and show everybody that we don't need that flat-screen high definition plasma TV with 7.1 surround system or the self-cleaning oven that teaches us to play Mozart while preparing a delightful 9 course meal. But just because we had to be brave on that drunken night or simply to prove a point to somebody we don't even like to begin with, we find ourselves in the middle of the jungle of a country we didn't even know existed until yesterday with an Indian guide whose name can not possible be pronounced without surgically removing parts of your tongue and in some cases some minor lobotomy. So what? We are adventurers, right? Besides, how bad can it be, we're in this together. And we, very likely, would be 3 Israeli's who insist on talking to each other and nobody else in the loudest possible voice, an Italian guy we dislike from the very first second, two middle-aged women who shouldn't be there in the first place but decided that this year, they should do something else for the Easter holidays rather than the usual cruise on the Nile and finally, mister know-it-all who keeps interrupting mister Indian guide because he read something completely different on Wikipedia.

So of we go, in the kayaks, for what will probably be the worst couple of days of our life. Of course, afterward, when we tell the story to our friends, it will be the best experience ever and everybody should do it. It brings you back to nature. It gets you in touch with your inner self. And all the other crap the no-good full color brochure promises us it will do. During the trip we do see the piranha (strangely enough, it does look exactly like the one in the brochure), the crocodile watches us with it's daunting red eyes from the exact spot it was supposed to be at and the howler monkeys give us their best performance, by pure coincidence on the spot the Indian chose for us to put our tents up.

And so it goes, on and on, until finally, after a couple of exhausting days, we all sit around the campfire for the last time, give the Indian his well deserved tip, thank him for a mind-blowing experience and exchange addresses, phone-numbers, emails and Facebook addresses with people we hope never to see again. A jeep brings us back to civilization, where we'll spend 2 more days to recover before flying back and tell everybody about the adventure. Of course everybody wants to hear about our brave adventures and stares breath-taken at the pictures from our brand new 12.1 mega-pixel digital camera, now looking even better on the giant television set in the living room while sipping on a apple-martini. 'So, would you do it again?' 'Of course, but next year, I think I will climb Mount Everest.'