Mist hangs in the air, thickening into the distance. Ferns the size of streetlamps loom up and hang down in the mountain jungle. Green, waxy leaves bigger than elephant ears obscure what the fog cannot. The light drizzle falling through the sky is filtered by the canopy into slower, fatter drops that drip into puddles, ripple, and disappear. Drip. Drip. Drip. It is the only sound. Nothing stirs.
A swishing of leaves interrupts the stillness. It’s coming from deeper in the valley and is growing steadily louder. The swishing sound is overtaken by the thudding of footfalls on stone. Two pairs, three pairs, more pairs. Louder still. Soon they’re so close that a great huffing and puffing can be heard. The wheezing and thumping crashes through the underbrush, knocking fern and leaf aside.
“I should’ve brought my inhaler,” Matt mumbles.
Omar leads in front of him, the tico having no problem with the temperature or the hike up the mountain. Thibault and Wallis bring up the rear as the group treks up Cat Ba Island in the south of Halong Bay. Matt is the only one breathing heavily.
“It’s like Jurassic Park out here,” Wallis observes, her voice as awestruck as if she had seen real dinosaurs.