Why We Lost the Vietnam War: Just Another Day in The Finca

I wiped the sleep from my eyes and tried to peek through the boards that make up my wall to see if the store was open. It wasn't and I had exactly 30 minutes until I was due to follow my neighbor, Beli, up into his farm to work all day. The community store not being open was a problem as it held whatever I was to make for breakfast and lunch. I got ready and packed all the essentials. Camera, two bottles of water, water filter, machete, iphone, machete sharpener. The store opened and I darted towards my delicious future of eggs for breakfast and pb and j for lunch. Just in time. As my feet sucked themselves into my boots they were already gone with me running after. There is no “lets go” here. There is just looking into the eyes and then walking away.

I caught up quickly and could already feel the weight of my long pants, long sleeve shirt, and heavy duty plastic boots. This was going to be a grueling day but I was ready. Only the night before I was bent over in the latrine feeling the effects of amoebas crawling around in my stomach looking for a fight. I gave it to them. I swallowed 4 cloves of raw garlic and woke up with enough energy to keep my promise to Beli that I would work with him. Now the challenge was keeping up.

I've written before about the sheer strength and endurance of the people here but I feel like I need to go over it again. I've never seen any one group of people such as them that are able to climb straight up a mountain for 2 hours without stopping, without eating before hand, and without drinking any water and then rest for five minutes and start working. I've also never seen anyone take a punch like a Ngabe. After talking about for so long I finally got to show Salomon what UFC was one night. He was interested, but quickly came with a statement I will never forget. “A Ngabe would beat all these guys” is what he told me. I quickly explained that these were highly trained fighters that spent half their lifetimes working towards this moment. He responded with “have you ever seen a Ngabe fight? They don't give up and you could never choke a Ngabe like these guys are being choked. They are just too strong”. The thing is is that I don't doubt it. These guys punch each other in the face as hard as they can for fun after working all day hiking up mountains swinging machetes and carrying 100lb sacks of cacao on their back for a mile at a time. Did I mention that they pretty much only eat boiled green bananas and many sleep only on planks of hard wood. Tough.

There was 4 of us which is the normal working group and I was hiking right behind Beli with the others following. Machete in hand and boots sinking into fresh deep mud I felt alive. That was until half way up when I was sure my heart was going to stop all together. It was only 8 in the morning and the sun had only been up for awhile but it seemed like we were trapped in a sweat lodge on a treadmill pointed straight up. I knew I was falling behind when the boy that was part of our work group and half my age started pushing me up the hill from behind. I was struggling and trying to keep up was taking its toll. About ¾ of the way up I called for a break to no avail. Wasn't happening. We were almost there and a lot of work to do so stopping was out of the question except to fill our containers with water from the stream. I filled my water bottle filter as I knew I would need it.

As we made it into the farm I could feel my body going into a state I can only describe as shock. It seemed that it had deified all expectations and decided to find a second wind. We got straight to work only stopping to sharpen machetes. Almost no talking was done with most communication coming from the grunting, screaming, and yelping that is the work yell of gritando. Think Tarzan going through puberty stepping on a nail. I quickly got into it and I was in the zone. Slashing ground cover with the rainforest canopy above. Little light escaped to the forest floor as my machete sliced through shrubbery, small trees, and long hanging vines all while yelling the call of a jungle worker. It was liberating and the sounds from the other workers worked as an energy builder like no other. Each one calling out for the next one to work harder and yell louder. Hours peeled away only stopping to drink water and sharpen machetes.

Other than one snake and one large owl most animals stayed away with reason. We made our presence known and they were wise to take heed. Soon the rain beat down on us and slowed my body down to a crawl. Eventually looking like a mad man swinging a machete in the jungle aimlessly switching hands as blisters began to swell and muscles began to fail all together. I was spent and knew the hardest part was ahead.

We spent another 30 minutes or so finding what we would cook for dinner which was baby fern heads and a type of cilantro before we started to make the decent down. It took every little bit of energy I had left in the deep core of my body not to fall down each muddy cliff and rocky grade we went down. A normal trail would have been a switchback. That just takes too much more time to a worker where time is the enemy. Straight up. Straight down. You fall, your in trouble.

I made it down and crawled into my house to pass out into the hammock only to wake up 30 minutes later in the sweltering heat my tin roof started to put off. I smelt terrible and looked even worse. Muscles barely able to hold myself up I struggled to get to my shower.

So this is why I think we lost the Vietnam war. There was just no way we were ever going to be in good enough shape and tough enough to withstand the same conditions they were accustomed to and evolved around. Just wasn't happening. Gringos don't belong in the Jungle. I'm living proof. 3 days have gone by and I'm starting to get some control of my legs back. I expect to make a full recovery by next week.