Bird watching vs car mending

 The volunteers for bird watching diminished significantly when the start time was mentioned: 6:00 a.m. being far too early for most. The alternative activity, which grew in numbers, was having another go at finding the rattle in Ham’s car. This has been going on for a few days (well, actually since Luang Prabang, many moons ago) without success. We’ve played around with the easy stuff—tappet clearances, exhaust noises, loose nuts and bolts, pinking, quality of fuel, etc.—to no avail. Today it was the turn of the loose rocker replacement.

The bird watchers set off at a more reasonable hour (the guide not being so agreeable to such an early start). First, we were kitted out with rather natty leech socks. We hadn’t reckoned on leeches and were now questioning our choice of clothing. 

We entered the forest. The canopy was thick, the air heavy. The noises were of screeching, flapping, rustling—all vertically upwards.

Now, your correspondent sports an old neck injury (titanium disc, if you must know), and this position is not comfortable. Further, it is undignified, as some of the photos will attest. It requires one to rock backwards on the heels whilst arching the back. The effect of this is to give the appearance of a large tummy. It is only a trick of the light, an unfortunate perspective issue; my tummy is mostly flat, with abs (! Ed).

Anyway, we trudged around for quite some time—creeping, bending, listening—but frankly not really seeing. Until—yes, until—we spotted our quarry: a Giant Hornbill! Actually several, but I don’t want to boast. Satisfied, we began our walk out of the jungle. It started to rain—soft, refreshing rain at first, then harder, more insistent rain, culminating in a downpour. We retreated to a raised hide.

Nellie noticed a leech and squealed, followed by an hysterical Bumble who found three. Not to be outdone, I found a steady supply on my legs, arms, inner thighs (I know). Our guide told us to leave them until they’d had their fill, when they’d drop off, resealing the wound. I felt like Tony Hancock in The Blood Donor. I didn’t have enough blood to share with a dozen leeches. I started ripping them off—trying to, at least. The guide sprayed some noxious liquid on them, which made them wriggle and then burst, red stuff spurting everywhere. The hysterics continued as more were found on Nellie and Bumble, a situation that continued in the car back to the hotel and even more in the shower. What sacrifice for a hornbill or two.

The car menders, when we returned, looked not at all chipper. The fix hadn’t worked. A video has been sent to David. Ham is being stoic on the outside but internally he has butterflies. “It’ll be fine,” we keep reassuring…

I should mention that two of the car menders—both of whom had important roles in mending the car—were karaoke-ing last night.

Meanwhile our man in Hampshire has found his way into a ploughed field.