It’s while hanging from a harness halfway down a 60m waterfall on the flanks of an active volcano in Costa Rica that my mind slips back to snippets of conversation I caught in the back of the troop carrier on the way to the canyon. “The monkey drop is probably the worst, but also the best … Don’t climb the ladder, but if you do there’s no way back down.” I tapped that last one into my phone, as though I might need to refer to it at a time like this.
Channelling my inner Daniel Craig, I kick off against the canyon wall and rappel into the waterfall, until I’m dangling in a gushing torrent. There’s a flash of green jungle as I flail my body in circles, straining my toes for the rocks below. The rope goes slack and I stand at the bottom on the canyon amid the deafening drone of cicadas; drenched and discombobulated, but feeling more alive than I can remember. I turn and see a rope ladder leading up a cliff. A voice from above calls out, “Climb!”
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