Continued from Part I: The Road to Cambutal

The annoying yet somehow endearing bark of the hotel rooster woke us up around six. After a breakfast of champions—steak—we set out south for the last little leg of our trip to Cambutal. The dirt roads were pothole-ridden while chickens and puppies scampered in and out of our path. We eventually came to what we had been searching for—a fork in the road—a checkpoint we were to meet a man in a black Nissan Sentra. This man Campo, which means “field" or "farm” in Spanish, was a small little farm owner who was looking to sell a lot of over 300 hectares. He stood welcomingly and asked us to follow him to his ranch.

At his house, he stood proudly at the door and introduced us to his family and our horses—being that the property is only reachable by an hour horseback ride.

“What are the horses' names?” I asked Campo.

“Campo” he said as if he had misheard me and thought I asked him his name again.

I re-asked the question and again, got the same answer. Apparently the land owner, all of his horses, and our guide for the day—a weathered gaucho wearing a green baseball hat and white collared shirt—were all named Campo. Easy enough I figured.

We popped up onto the horses and began our ascent into some of the most fascinatingly wild mountains I had ever seen.

Now, I am not a fan of horseback riding because, well, it really hurts. Let's face it: animals were not meant to ride each other (maybe with the exception of squirrel on hawk). In my opinion, the pain and neutering effects of riding a horse is simply God's way of reminding us of this fact. Rebecca has ridden horses all her life and was enjoying the opportunity to laugh at maybe the one thing she is better than me at. About 45 minutes into the hike we appeared to be nearing the top of the finca (farm). As we cut across giant plains and through rainforest trails, the views were unreal. At one point the horses led us through a tunnel-like passageway with rock walls about 15 feet high, with barely enough room for a set of human legs.

“This is the stuff commercials are made out of” I announced, feeling very rugged and tough. The longer we rode though, the more confused I got, thinking to myself that we must've reached the finca by now. Our guide, Campo did not know time very well (or perhaps at all) so his response to our pleas for a time estimate was only a giggle and somewhat of a vague point off in the distance to what was maybe the furthest mountain top in sight. “La finca” he would say as he pointed, like a revolutionary raising his sword—we had to follow.

About 2 hours later we found ourselves near desperate, with every one of human Campo's ambiguous points becoming more and more aggravating. Rebecca and I decided to draw the line and tell human Campo that we could not go any further—that we had a meeting we had to get back to in the afternoon. He acted almost offended, like we had turned down his wife's meatloaf or something. In an effort to compromise, I asked him “seriously, how much longer?” With that loveable grin, he told me 15 minutes. We had to continue. We had climbed miles and miles into some of the most remote mountains in the world and stopping 15 minutes short would have been anticlimactic.

The horses had just started to scale the last mountain when finally, I got a bit of revenge on Rebecca: her horse Campo started doing this bizarre sideways jump up the cliff and started to fall, at which point Rebecca looked like she was falling off. I started laughing hysterically in true payback style until she was getting trampled, at which point I curiously requested her beach apartment and new digital camera for keepsake. She was OK and after a few select words, she got back up. “This *censored*ing sucks!” She shouted, as if there was some customer service representative she could go to or refund she could receive.

The peak of the property looked out over hundreds and hundreds of miles of forest. The ocean sat quietly in the distance, clouds surrounded us, and hawks floated at eye level. Rebecca, in true chain smoker fashion, took one out and lit it up: nothing like high altitudes, rigorous cardio, and some Marlboro smoke in the lungs to get a nicotine addict in the mood. We rested for a few and smiled, as if we had finally reached Cambutal. We stopped smiling when we realized that we had to get back—another 3 hours. It wouldn't be fair to Rebecca if I didn't mention that as I was trying to get back on my horse, I kicked him and he ran—throwing me off towards a barb wire fence—one of my NikeShox popping off and landing in some fresh poop. But in all reality, what would happen next, would outshine any of the day's misfortunes.

Rebecca's horse wasn't doing so well. It was walking like Rebecca would be, if she had climbed a few miles of mountain carrying a human on her back. His hind legs would collapse every now and then and it appeared to be developing a fear of heights. At one point in our path home, a tree had fallen, blocking the trail. Human Campo got off his horse and went at the tree with his machete, which is the equivalent of trying to saw a carrot with a toothpick. While we waited, Rebecca got off her horse and went to drink some water, when she made the wrong step. All of a sudden, the ground under her gave way, leading her to slide down what looked to be a steep cliff. As she fell she grabbed onto the roots above her, essentially dangling her over the edge—Stalone style.

I couldn't believe it and my eyes lit up with excitement. As she lay, grasping the root, she screamed for Campo. She looked at me, and asked me, what now has become the quote of the trip. She asked me, with this strange calmness, “Am I OK?”

Now, I wanted to tell her the truth—that she was pretty close to falling down a steep cliff into a river bed maybe 100 feet below. But no, that would have been bad—the proverbial straw of bad news that broke Rebecca's back. “You're fine” I lied. “Just hang on! Campo! Ella necessita ayuda!”

He casually walked over, with that all too nonchalant look on his face that you just wanted to punch, but you couldn't because he was such a nice guy. He reached down and with two firm grasps, hauled Rebecca back onto land. At this point, when I realized all chance of danger had subsided, I broke out in the hardest most disturbed chuckle I have ever experienced. Then, as she stood up, she released a rock which had been supporting her in her moment of suspension. The rock, cracked and as we all stood back, it tumbled down the cliff, bouncing and smashing into the hard rock down below. Rebecca too, took a moment to enjoy the moment.

“Get me the *censored* home” she screamed at human Campo—a request that elicited laughter from the old gaucho.

“Get me the *censored* out of here” she screamed at horse Campo.

Then to me, as I could barely breathe from so much laughter, she said something that I will never forget, “Matt, I swear when we get back, I'm going to sue you.”

I'm not sure what she meant by this. Had she intended to say “Matt, I'm going to kill you” and maybe chosen the wrong word? Or did she really want to sue me? If so, what was she going to sue me for? What did I do? I was on the trip just like her. That line, “Matt, when we get back I'm going to sue you” is something I'll never forget.

On the ride down, I took off my shirt because I was sweating so much. I knew I would get sunburned but I figured it was sort of something you have to do when you're on the equator—like getting a hotdog at Wrigley Field. As drained and fatigued as I was, it was hard not to appreciate everything around us and it was easy to get sentimental: to reflect on how I could become a better person or to swear to God that I'd change my ways. But that would be sappy and I am a very tough guy.

To make a long, arduous, tiring, and difficult story short, we made it back to the ranch nearly 6 hours after leaving that morning. Dinner that night tasted better than ever. The restaurant, Los Pelicones, was a simple place and served up a mean arroz con guandu. There was a giant boa constrictor wound around a pillar and its slithery head would venture out near us and hiss, as if to let everyone know the restaurant was closing soon. Rebecca and took deep sighs and toasted to Panama. We toasted to Cambutal.

Check out the photos from the horseback ride that would never end. Also, get in touch with me about that cheap Land I Found...

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