The chief and several of the tribesmen had generously carved roasting sticks for us with machetes and presented them to us. The students took over, cramming multiple marshmallows on a stick and proudly showing the indigenous children how to hold the toasting wand just so to achieve that illusive golden-brown skin on the prized marshmallows. Mayupa's youngest citizens caught right on to the game and even enjoyed the inevitable flaming stack of sugar blobs. They were delighted with the s'mores concoctions and ate as many as they could in the time provided, washing them all down with classic Coca-Cola that we had brought along in a cooler. It was an unforgettable moment, though one punctuated with the pricking of conscience as we offered a banquet of cultural imperialism out in the Venezuelan bush.
Students are sometimes hard to read.
After our final morning of splashing in a lake and crossing under a waterfall, I thought they'd enjoyed the trek. Suddenly, the dozens of mosquito bites didn't matter anymore.