Heart of Darkness

The pitch-black jungles of Oceania. It has been hours since you left town with your guide, hacking through the undergrowth and swatting mosquitoes with every step.

The light is already beginning to fade, but there is no sign of the camp. In the dying twilight, you emerge into a clearing at the foot of a great mountain.

It looks like a small primitive village, populated by tribesmen with colorful painted faces, bows and spears always by their sides. One of the men, more decorated than the rest, steps forward to greet your guide, who gestures toward you and says, “This is the one I told you about. We are ready now.”

The chieftain turns to you with a solemn visage and seats you in an ornate chair by the fire. He exhales a spicy smoke into your face, runs his thumb in a pattern over your forehead and shouts something in his native tongue.

All the other villagers instantly drop to their knees and bow their heads, facing the mountain peak. A moment later, the ground begins to shake violently and great plumes of smoke billow from the summit.

That is not a mountain, and this is definitely not a “guided wilderness tour.”