DEEP NIGHT, IN A TROPICAL JUNGLE ATOP A MURKY RIVER, MIST RISES LIKE A GHOST.
I am nervous. Actually, I am scared. Really scared. In my mind, crocodiles and tigers are already stuffing me with forest herbs for their rollicking jungle feast.
Kham, a boyish, 42-year-old river guide, is undaunted. After all, this is his backyard. Standing at the prow of our slender long-tailed boat, Kham plunges a sturdy bamboo pole into the shallow, inky waters of the Nam Et River, and eases the skiff effortlessly into the darkness. It is pitch black except for Kham’s headlamp, which he aims with predator-like precision to pick out a slow loris here, a barking deer there, an impassive monitor lizard hanging motionless on a gnarled trunk.
I am part of a small…
