Rough hands, John Wayne, dangerous. These are all things that the Braunfisch brothers have never been described as. How rugged are we really? I’ll give you a hint: we had to have a talk prior to departure about why we can’t bring our knock-off Louis Vuitton duffle bags to a country where they let lemurs poop on them for fun. However, our morning activity was under the impression that we were “active” people.
To put it in perspective, we are active. We’re up in the gym working on our fitness more than Fergie, but we’ve been told that we only exercise the “pretty muscles.” Yes, and your point? It’s 2017, I don’t need to make sure I have strength to make my sod house on the Great Plains, I’m just trying to look like the spicy boys that my grandma “accidently” stumbles across on her internet searches. This morning was not for “Vogue” active people; it was for Malagasy people who literally live in the jungle.
At 7 am, we met our guide at a local national park, let’s call her Chumbawamba, and Chumbawamba took us through very cool, virgin, protected forests. At first, we were joking around, walking on paths, making up our own lemur calls (which sounded like late night films from East Asia), but Chumbawamba started to randomly dart into the uncharted, dense, slippery-mud-covered forest at lightening speed. She was darting around obstacles in this hazardous terrain like Stuart Little in the movie “Stuart Little,” while us oafs were lagging behind, covered in sweat, hoping that she would stop. Those prayers were answered though. She stopped alright. She stopped and told us to “wait here.” For 30-40 minutes we simply stood in the middle of a dense, Malagasy jungle alone and did what all rouged explorers do. We started to film a cut-rate, Myspace-worthy music video to a few top 10 hip hop songs. It’s safe to say that we saved the day. Our long limbs and rhythmless contortions Milly Whopped, Nay Nay’d, and Whipped those lemurs out of their hiding places.
Once Chumbawambabalu stopped us from burning down the forest with our fiery moves, we actually found some lemurs perched high in the trees. There were very cool, interesting, and unique looking, but after sprinting through the forest for another hour or so, we decided to ask our Sacagawea how much time we had left (after about 3 hours and 15 minutes of intense hiking). She did some mental math, and as we were anticipating 45 minutes to 1 hour and 30 minutes, she slapped our silly a**es with a big fat 3 hours remaining. We immediately told her we’d like to be returned to safety.
Afterwards, we went to Lemur Island, which required a difficult canoe ride for 15 seconds to reach, and we were swarmed by these little fellas. These little brothas climbed all over us, were some of the cutest wiener dogs I’ve ever seen, and they had a secret power. Much like I do when I’ve indulged on my private stash of Fiber One bars, they would spontaneously evacuate their bowels wherever and whenever they’d feel the urge. More frequently than not, it seemed like Josef’s essence gave them that urge often. Overall, I give the Lemurs two greenish brown nuggets up.
The day was good, we’re exhausted, and our internet has decided to just completely rebel (that’s why this is being posted late). At the same time, we can’t be too upset with the connection in the middle of the Malagasy jungle. Please give a generous offering of goat to the Malagasy spirits for an internet connection quicker than Fat Hans at field day, so you all can see our tasty pics and videos. They’re real. I promise.
With pooped-on shoulders,
Josef “did that lemur just dab on me?”Hans “I’m no archeologist, but I’m covered in lemur poop,” and Christian “Three MORE hours? For that reason, I’m out.” Braunfisch