I still feel the rush of excitement as I lay in my bed reliving the memories of last night’s trespassing excursion in the expansive jungles of Parque Lage in Rio de Janeiro.
Adventure is in my blood. It is life at its fullest. I want to know this world intimately and explore as many of its mysteries as I can in my short time here. When I am on an adventure I feel most alive, my heart beats louder, my vision seems sharper, and my mind more alert. I feel a surge of unspeakable wonder when I am confronted with open possibility, exotic imagery, and new, unfamiliar situations.
The thrill and wonder beckon me.
When I was a child I lived in a house with a big yard that wrapped around it. It was a playground for fun and adventure with a vast front lawn, gardens full of flowers, vegetables and bugs, a climbing tree in the back (perfect for spying into the neighbors living room), an old canoe full of stagnant water with it’s own ecosystem of squiggling mosquito larvae and other tiny water creatures, a greenhouse that my father built for his plants, a clubhouse he built for us kids, the tool shed full of wide shelves to lay on, and the big wood pile which served as a way to climb onto the rooftop.
Our favorite activity was the monster game. My brother and I would go outside after dark and ring the doorbell over and over until our dad had no hope for silence but to come out and engage in our sport. He became the monster and we ran from him, sneaking through the bushes, hiding in the trees, climbing the woodpile onto the roof to escape his grasp. Sometimes my dad would conceal himself under a tarp in the garden and snarl as we approached, causing all hairs to stand on end as we fled shrieking. Sometimes, with a deep growl, his face would emerge over the fence we were hiding behind causing us to drop everything and run for dear life.
The spirit of adventure has stayed with me as I’ve gotten older. It has been the times I’ve strayed off the beaten path that make up the best experiences of my life.
One of my favorite memories is meeting up with seven adventurous strangers from all over the world in Beijing. Connected by the Internet we concocted a plan to spend the night on the Great Wall of China. We met up early on a brisk, and misty fall morning and hiked Jiankou, the “Wild Wall,” an extremely steep, crumbling and forbidden section of the wall. With not a tourist in sight we made our way along the endless path overgrown with plants. Snaking along the top of the Huoyao Mountain we came to settle on the tallest peak in the “high-flying eagle watch tower.” We gathered wood to construct a fire inside one of the chambers and huddled close together to generate warmth in the chill of the frigid fall night.
The Great Wall of China
Inside the “high-flying eagle watch tower.”
I love the intensity of my heartbeat when I am thrilled with fear like the time I climbed the Brooklyn Bridge. It was a tranquil Thanksgiving night and while most people (and we hoped most cops too) were sedated by their big turkey dinners, my friend and I swung around the suicide gates far above the ground and walked up the long, steep cables of the iconic bridge. At the top of the cables we climbed a final ladder bringing us to the top platform where the American flag stood, gigantic, flooded with light, and waving in the wind. Breathing deeply, we were filled with a sense of triumph as we enjoyed sweeping views of lower Manhattan, Brooklyn and the East River glistening with lights under the foggy sky.
The cables of the Brooklyn Bridge leading up to the top of the towers
Walking down the cable of the Brooklyn Bridge
I have never felt more alive then on the chilly night I spent alone in the Mayan ruins in Palenque Mexico. Prompted by a desire to see the ruins in a different way than the overpopulated tourist trap that it had become, I disappeared into the jungle during the day and hid out for several hours waiting for the park to close. Night fell and I snuck back onto the grounds under the cover of darkness to spend time in solitude on the ancient pyramids and in the courtyard of the great palace where the Mayans held their ceremonies. Surrounded by ceaseless lightening flashes, I passed the night counting shooting stars and imagining the ruins around me in its finest hours. I listened to the wild sounds of howler monkeys, bird calls and strange bugs. I practiced rounds of yoga to warm myself and reflected on my life in far away NYC. In the early morning, without a wink of sleep I made my way to the Temple of the Sun and watched the sunrise over the horizon, giving light to the expansive jungle. Shortly after, I retreated back into the tangled undergrowth. I fell asleep on an old tomb before I rose again and reemerged, dissolving into a mob of tourists after the park had reopened.
Sitting on the Temple of the Cross at the Palenque ruins in Mexico
Now I am in Rio de Janeiro working on FlutuArte, an art project I started with my friend Maxine Nienow. Rio is a city rich with potential for thrill and wonder. Lush nature is present everywhere and coexists with the urban landscape. Late last night as the FlutuArte team and I were finishing dinner we were talking casually about making plans to go out or watch a movie. I suggested the guys have a boy’s night and go out to Lapa to find some live music. Maxine and I were toying around with the idea of watching City of God and then the spark of adventure ignited our hearts.
“Let’s sneak in to Parque Lage and explore the Botanical Gardens!” I said.
An adventure in Jardin Botanica would entail hopping the wall dividing the city streets from the feral jungle. Once inside we could explore abandoned castles, waterfalls, caves and untold mysteries. It was a plan filled with endless potential. We had to do it. The excitement was contagious and soon there were ten of us ready to go, equipped with water, snacks and flashlights.
With great anticipation, we filled an collectivo van and made a beeline to the jungle.
To be continued…
