and cried and cried.
Plenty of my friends had had children and I don’t know why this one was more of a shock than any other but it hit me really hard. Maybe I would have handled the news better in London and
it was receiving such a stark reminder here, in a tropical jungle, of all places, of what others had that I didn’t that affected me so strongly. My life here in Borneo was child-free and
there’d been none of those reminders about what I ‘should’ be. The people I hung out with were generally older and even if they had children they were grown up. Feeling left
behind hadn’t crossed my mind the whole time I had been here – and even for months before I left the UK, as I’d been so absorbed with preparing for my adventure. In a way it was
like relapsing on the booze after going cold turkey for a while – just one hit affected me so much more strongly than before. It took me a good 20 minutes to calm down and compose myself
before I could go back on deck.
I felt like such a ridiculous, hysterical
woman
explaining when Steve asked me what was wrong. I kind of mumbled out my answer while he put a comforting arm around me. He didn’t
laugh at me, he didn’t try to push his case again; he was kind and understanding and it felt nice to be able to count on him as a friend.
When we reached them, Greg and Debs said they had seen elephants a day or so earlier. We immediately got started on round two of the Great Elephant Hunt but still had no luck. Greg and Debs came
with us, showing us the places where they’d had sightings before. There was a muddy footprint here, some trampled grass there, but no actual elephant life. Steve and I were starting to think
we were cursed. We hadn’t come across a crocodile, either, even though several yachties had reported seeing a large one, which seemed to get bigger with every telling of the tale, until it
reached a massive 5 metres from snout to tail tip.
As a change of scene from the main river, Greg took us in their dinghy up a small tributary where, he said, macaques liked to hang out. It was barely wider than the boat and we had to push
branches away from our faces to work our way in. Dejected by our unsuccessful day’s safari – there weren’t even any monkeys there – we took advantage of the shade to have a
rest and a drink. We were chatting about how unfair it was when Greg asked: ‘Why is there an elephant over there?’
I thought he was joking but he was looking off into the bush and I
followed his gaze. And there he was: a male with short tusks, standing, on his own, staring at us. He had approached so quietly that we hadn’t heard him coming. I assumed that elephants would
make a lot of noise, snapping every twig they stepped on, but no. It was like an apparition.
The elephant stood on the spot, swaying his trunk from side to side. He took one small step forwards, tentatively, but then moved backwards again. He did this a few times while we stared.
‘I think he wants to get in the water to go for a swim,’ Debs said. ‘But he’s too scared to do it while we’re here.’ Greg and Steve grabbed an oar each to
punt the dinghy backwards to give the elephant a bit more space. The elephant’s behaviour was flighty, like a bird that has seen a tasty crumb it wants to get hold of but it isn’t sure
if it’s safe to go forward to snatch it up. Except he was 2 metres tall and weighed more than the four of us and the boat we were in combined.
After a few minutes of toing and froing he made up his mind that we were too much of a menace and turned away and lumbered off into the trees. We were so close to the river bank that I was able
to scramble up after him. I walked in the direction he was going slowly, partly because I was barefoot and also because I was wary of the rest of his herd suddenly coming charging towards me. I
think Steve was a little bit startled by my behaviour – she’s too much of a wimp to swim in the sea but brave enough
Plenty of my friends had had children and I don’t know why this one was more of a shock than any other but it hit me really hard. Maybe I would have handled the news better in London and
it was receiving such a stark reminder here, in a tropical jungle, of all places, of what others had that I didn’t that affected me so strongly. My life here in Borneo was child-free and
there’d been none of those reminders about what I ‘should’ be. The people I hung out with were generally older and even if they had children they were grown up. Feeling left
behind hadn’t crossed my mind the whole time I had been here – and even for months before I left the UK, as I’d been so absorbed with preparing for my adventure. In a way it was
like relapsing on the booze after going cold turkey for a while – just one hit affected me so much more strongly than before. It took me a good 20 minutes to calm down and compose myself
before I could go back on deck.
I felt like such a ridiculous, hysterical
woman
explaining when Steve asked me what was wrong. I kind of mumbled out my answer while he put a comforting arm around me. He didn’t
laugh at me, he didn’t try to push his case again; he was kind and understanding and it felt nice to be able to count on him as a friend.
When we reached them, Greg and Debs said they had seen elephants a day or so earlier. We immediately got started on round two of the Great Elephant Hunt but still had no luck. Greg and Debs came
with us, showing us the places where they’d had sightings before. There was a muddy footprint here, some trampled grass there, but no actual elephant life. Steve and I were starting to think
we were cursed. We hadn’t come across a crocodile, either, even though several yachties had reported seeing a large one, which seemed to get bigger with every telling of the tale, until it
reached a massive 5 metres from snout to tail tip.
As a change of scene from the main river, Greg took us in their dinghy up a small tributary where, he said, macaques liked to hang out. It was barely wider than the boat and we had to push
branches away from our faces to work our way in. Dejected by our unsuccessful day’s safari – there weren’t even any monkeys there – we took advantage of the shade to have a
rest and a drink. We were chatting about how unfair it was when Greg asked: ‘Why is there an elephant over there?’
I thought he was joking but he was looking off into the bush and I
followed his gaze. And there he was: a male with short tusks, standing, on his own, staring at us. He had approached so quietly that we hadn’t heard him coming. I assumed that elephants would
make a lot of noise, snapping every twig they stepped on, but no. It was like an apparition.
The elephant stood on the spot, swaying his trunk from side to side. He took one small step forwards, tentatively, but then moved backwards again. He did this a few times while we stared.
‘I think he wants to get in the water to go for a swim,’ Debs said. ‘But he’s too scared to do it while we’re here.’ Greg and Steve grabbed an oar each to
punt the dinghy backwards to give the elephant a bit more space. The elephant’s behaviour was flighty, like a bird that has seen a tasty crumb it wants to get hold of but it isn’t sure
if it’s safe to go forward to snatch it up. Except he was 2 metres tall and weighed more than the four of us and the boat we were in combined.
After a few minutes of toing and froing he made up his mind that we were too much of a menace and turned away and lumbered off into the trees. We were so close to the river bank that I was able
to scramble up after him. I walked in the direction he was going slowly, partly because I was barefoot and also because I was wary of the rest of his herd suddenly coming charging towards me. I
think Steve was a little bit startled by my behaviour – she’s too much of a wimp to swim in the sea but brave enough
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