Matt's Idea of a Vacation

Most people relax on beaches, catch up on movies, or at least lounge on a couch in their vacations. Not this guy. Mostly, this is endearing. To a point.
We climbed the beautiful mountain which always catches the sun in its descent from the village sky. We call it the mountain of the sentinels, after the giant columns composed of red rocks balanced unlikely like figures stoicly watching over Pellel. Villagers call it after the only person ever knoiwn to have climbed it. They don't know any living person who has. People don't hike here. I lament this with other Americans, but it makes sense for a few reasons. 1) Nature can be cruel here; people get hurt. And it's not like they can call an ambulence for help. 2) No sky-scrapers to provide contrast and appreciation. Only trees and hills and trees and hills... 3) Societies here have their longevity and subsistane on which they pride themselves. America prides itself on its short hisory of discovery, exploration, conquering nature...
Although, there was definitely one person who climbed up to the sentinels. The evidence is a piece of earthenware pottery we found in the caves (which we also didn't know existed). How cool?! MB, I've already decided we're taking you here so you can teach us geoarcheological coolness.
The view was amazing from the top, even though it's not even green season. It was remarkable mostly in its timelessness. River, trees, fields, mud huts. No roads, powerlines, buildings, airplanes, cars... This view could have been one from several centuries ago.
Of course, it wasn't all picture-perfect. As Matt was giddily exploring caves with his headlamp, I stayed at the cave mouths, dodging the bats he disturbed as he yelled, "Incoming!" Two hit him squarely in the face. I could hear my mother and Petie screeching in my imagination.
A rock broke off and sliced Matt's thumb so deep it was reminiscent of my foot cut from May. Unbelievably, we'd forgotten bandaids. So instead we sliced off the hem of one of his sleeves and wrapped up the bloody mess with that. And the adventure was just beginning.
Many of you may remember my long-standing proclaimed fondness for bees. Something about their stripes, stingers, honey, the fact that you can pet bumble bees while they pollinate, and my childhood perception that as long as I didn't flail at them, we'd have an understanding that they wouldn't sting me. I even expressed my positive feelings toward them on this day. And the sister fates heard and were thus tempted.
While clutching at a 60° slide of a mountain side, a heard the first buzz in my ear. I had a hand on a slight pockmark in the hill, the other on a tuft of grass. I couldn't flail even if I wanted to. It stung. Then another. And another. And then I had the mountain slide on one side of me, a plummet below, and a cloud of angry African Killer Bees on my other side. Matt heard my howling and alternatively ran away and told me to run. I ran/ slid, my non-flailing resolve over. They attacked my face, my head, neck, ears, arms, and a stripe of hip that peeked out. I touched my head and felt bee bodies squirming under my hair. I later picked bee carcuses out. I was pulling stingers out the following day.
In the midst of the madness, I dropped my sunglasses. They were literally only two feet away. Easy to pick up. Sunglasses that I love and are hard to get here. I left them. I could not imagine subjecting myself to any more seconds of stinging agony than I needed to.
They found Matt too, in case you were wondering. So there the two of us wailed and ran and swore. I was sobbing some reasoning pleas with the bees that in retrospect seem hilarious, "PLEASE stop! We're not in your territory any more, and we're just trying to leave! Please, please..." At some point I stumbled ahead of M and descaled the mountain without knowing how. I slid and grabbed at things and was quite a cut-up bloody mess by the end. M admitted later he was quite surprised I didn't fall off the mountain. So the killer bees stayed with us for what M estimates was only 5 minutes and what I think was 5 hours. It thoroughly sucked. And hurt into the night and next day. I hate bees. (at least African ones)
The next day, we went to my closest waterfall. It was a beautiful narrow angel staircase of a waterfall. Smooth white trees dripped their roots over the edges in such mystical beauty that it made us think of good spirits reincarnated.
The only adventures we had involve the baby crocodile M found one of the ascending pools (I was napping below and didn't see it) and avoiding a forst fire that swept over a hill we'd just been on. We watched it consume the mountain like lava while we watched safely from the other side of the riverbed and thanked our lucky timing.
We also had a combined 4 flat tires in 3 days. And I'd include my quads on the list of casualties.
All in all, it really was a lovely time. I just feel like now... I could use a vacation!