Tales from the Jungle: Ophidiophobia

I stood with an orange-spotted anaconda around my neck, waiting for someone to snap a picture.  Accessorizing with a necklace that could constrict at any moment is not how I pictured spending my last vacation in Peru, and yet, there I was, smiling stupidly.

See, as far back as I can remember I’ve been afraid of snakes.  On a fourth grade field trip, I remember running through the reptile house, shielding my eyes with my palms and looking straight ahead, too afraid to meet the eyes of a boa or a python. The first time I saw someone holding a constrictor on the streets of Key West during a family vacation, I had a similar reaction: run.  My fear of snakes is so ingrained that I can’t even do a Google search for the word “snake”— I’m too afraid of what I may find.

So how did I come to find myself with an anaconda draped around my neck in Iquitos, Peru?  Maybe an accurate way to describe it is peer pressure. All of the other interns here have traveled to Iquitos, leaving my roommate and me listening to second-hand experiences and praises for weeks.

“It’s unlike anything I’ve ever seen,” our co-worker, Eric, bragged. “One of the best trips I’ve taken in my life.  You have to go.”

“But what about my fear of snakes?” I asked, imagining the jungle to have a snake dangling on every tree branch, the grass infested with slithering bodies and darting tongues.

¨Didn´t see even one, ¨ Eric countered.  ¨Don´t let that hold you back.¨

Reluctantly I booked my plane ticket and began my mental preparation for a snake-filled adventure. Being a highly anxious person, I always feel my best shot at reducing stress is having a plan for the worst case scenario, no matter how ludicrous that situation may be. So what I imagined in this case is that at one point or another, I´d be bitten by a poisonous snake during a jungle hike or in my slumber at the lodge.  Sounds silly, but I truly believed there was a good chance the lodge manager would have to ferry me to the local clinic after a snake attack.

The other thing I do to prepare myself for a possible snake encounter is to review everything I know about snakes.  This preparatory work is highly annoying to anyone within listening distance, because for weeks on end I blabber on about how snakes can open their mouths 180 degrees and swallow their prey whole; how they can slither, swim, leap and climb with their legless, wingless, finless bodies; how with one swift movement, they command so much power, while I have always been awkward, shy, clumsy, indiscrete. To be a snake, then—so natural, so adaptable—is to be the opposite of me.

My roommate, Maureen, was perhaps the best person I could have traveled with to the jungle. That´s because she also has high anxiety levels and understands all my mumbo-jumbo about needing to mentally prepare myself and have an exit strategy.  This trip forced her to confront her greatest fear, too: flying. So in the weeks leading up to our trip, many of our conversations were held completely in the world of worst case scenarios: What if the plane crashes? What if the plane crashes in the middle of the jungle and we survive, only to find ourselves surrounded by hungry snakes? And, perhaps worst of all: What if there are snakes on the plane, as chronicled in the notoriously terrible Samuel L. Jackson movie of the same name? We tried our best to come up with hypothetical solutions for everything.

During our conversations, I also organized my fear of snakes into perceived threat levels.  The psychological term for this, I later learned, is a ¨fear ladder.¨ My fear ladder is categorized, much like terrorism threats, by color:

•    Highest threats—Black, brown, and dark green snakes. Also: cobras, rattlesnakes, and anything over 3 ft.
•    Mid-range—Brightly colored snakes (even though these tend to be more poisonous than black or green snakes).
•    Lowest threats—Albino snakes. Can´t be sure why, but I have a sneaking suspicion that maybe it´s because I saw Britney Spears hold one at the MTV Video Music Awards and still live on for many more pelvic-thrusting, lip synching years…

Britney paving the way.

Of course, when I arrived to the jungle, I was happily surprised to have no immediate reptile encounters. In fact, the encounter didn´t come until we visited the local zoo.  Remembering my fourth grade experience, I knew the dreaded moment was most likely upon us.

Trying to diffuse the situation, Maureen asked our tour guide, Gino, if we´d be seeing any snakes during our visit, explaining my fear to him.  This was a grave mistake, as Gino not only answered in the affirmative, but used the opportunity to tell a series of stories about encounters he and every person he´d ever met had had with snakes. One involved his hand swelling up for two weeks after being bitten (in turn legitimizing my own fear of a poisonous snake bite), while in another story, he chronicled the tragic story of a hunter being swallowed alive. 

These were like ghost stories to me, and my fear grew with every tale; as I rounded each corner, I expected to find snakes slithering at my feet. Or, even worse, dropping suddenly from the branches above.  My face became flushed from the heat and the fear. I tried my best to stay behind Gino and Maureen in the event of a snake encounter, but not so far behind that a snake could slither out of nowhere and come biting at my heels. 

Just when I thought I couldn´t take the suspense any longer, the climactic moment came:  ¨There the man is standing, waiting to take your picture with the snake, ¨ Gino said calmly.

¨Can´t we just take a different route? ¨ Maureen asked, noticing how my body had stiffened.

¨No, we have to walk this way to see the other animals, ¨ Gino explained.

¨That´s okay, ¨ I tried to gulp down my fear. ¨Let´s just walk past it and move on.¨  

¨But it´s not going to hurt you, ¨ Gino insisted.

I shook my head.

He laughed. ¨You´re the first American I meet who’s afraid.  Strange.¨

¨Really?  Because I know lots of people who are afraid of them, ¨ I retorted. ¨Maybe they just don´t come to the jungle.¨ What I really meant to say is, Maybe they´re not stupid enough to come to the jungle.

Gino laughed again, walking towards the snake.  He plopped down next to it on the bench, where it was coiled, liberated from its owner, allowed to slither freely.

The anaconda did not move.

¨See? ¨Gino pressured.  He began to pet the snake´s sculpted body.

The snake´s owner hustled over, excited to reign in the sale. He was old, tanned, and wearing a tank top and beach shorts. ¨¿Una foto?¨ He encouraged. ¨Tres soles. Varias posturas.¨ Varias poses. As if I even wanted one.

¨Tiene miedo,¨ Gino offered, pointing to me in my cowardice.

The old man, determined not to lose the sale, hurried to pull out a book of pictures, which he believed would assure me of the snake´s good track record. There were bikini-clad girls wearing it, grown men making kissy-faces at it, even a girl who looked no older than 8 wearing the oversized constrictor on her petite frame.

Gino pointed at the last photo.  ¨See? Even the little girl´s not afraid.¨

Do you kind of want to hold it?¨ Maureen broke in, the only reasonable voice of the bunch. She understood my mixed fascination and fear, noticing how my eyes were transfixed on the anaconda´s every movement.

¨Yes,¨ I admitted. ¨But I think there´s a 50% chance I will flip out.¨

¨Want me to hold it with you?¨ She offered.

I nodded. ¨As long as you hold the head.¨ It was a ridiculous request, but I knew it would make me feel better.

With our consent, I watched as the toothless man eagerly draped the black bodied, orange-spotted beast over Maureen´s shoulders, still holding onto its head.  Then he offered the head to me.

I bristled again, my heart rate quickening. This wasn´t how the arrangement was supposed to work.  Maureen was supposed to hold the head and me, the less scary lower half. Normally I am somewhat timid in expressing my desires, but in this case, which I neurotically considered one of life and death (despite countering photo evidence), I abandoned all reservations.

¨La cabeza para ella, ¨ I insisted, pointing to Maureen.

The man nodded in acknowledgement, motioning me to the other end of the snake, which he lifted onto my neck and shoulders. He put the tail in my right fist and the head in Maureen´s left.

At least it had orange spots, only a medium threat...

I expected the snake to start coiling, but it did not move.  I realized it had probably been heavily sedated to interact with tourists, and that I was just perpetuating its torture by giving the toothless man my business. For the first time in my life, I felt something close to compassion for a snake.

But it was too late now. The anaconda was on me.

The sensation was so surreal that I can´t accurately describe it. For all the anxiety, all the mental preparation, all the hype, the snake-holding itself does not hold a prominent place in my memory. Because Maureen and I were sharing the burden, the anaconda´s weight was not overwhelming.  And because the jungle beast was sleepy and inactive, there was no movement to recall.

The snake hung limp and lifeless over our sweating bodies, like a large prop. Only an occasional flick of the tongue indicated its true vitality. 

¨Chicas valientes,¨ Gino said, nodding approvingly after the photos had been taken and the snake had been removed from our shoulders.  ¨Let´s go.¨

But I knew it wasn´t as simple as that. Just because I´d held a drugged anaconda once did not mean I would forever be cured of my fear. I had been somewhat prepared for this encounter; the greatest fear comes from surprise ones.

Still, it was a step forward, so I kept walking.