The Mister and I are notoriously terrible at being tourists. We really love the three B’s – bed, buffet and beach – wearing a triangle path between the three during the typical getaway. This time, however, we made daily excursions – partly because our accommodations didn’t have a beach to lounge on and mostly because our destination was so incredibly rich with natural, unspoiled, uncommercialized sights to take in. On our third day, we decided to hike up to a cave. The trail was steep with sharp rocks jutting out everywhere – not a walk in the park by any means. It is necessary to hire a guide, especially for the cave exploration and a nearby village is the primary source. Our driver asked for a guide and a wiry, older woman offered her services. We were initially a little unsure about her abilities, but as it turned out she wasn’t entirely human, as far as we’re concerned.
Reasons why our guide was not human:
1) She has had 7 children
2) She hiked the entire way barefoot.
3) While I was sweating profusely, she barely glistened despite the fact that she was covered in the customary modest covering, including cloth that covered her mouth and nose.
4) She carried Lola on her back the entire way down the mountain and was always at least 20 feet down the trail by the time we had managed to pull our aching bodies off the rock we were resting.
5) Even with Lola on her back, she did not sweat.
6) When I fell and twisted my ankle (typical), the guide grabbed my leg and did this weird pulling-slash-squeezing technique that hurt a LOT, but my ankle never really got swollen as it usually does when I sprain it.
I swear this woman was a machine. Now whenever I play the “what would you take with you to a deserted island” I’d choose my Transformer Guide because I’m pretty sure that her arm is really a saw and her leg, a jackhammer and her finger a drill.