When I was twenty-four, I lived in a remote Mexican jungle among the area’s Indigenous people. The palapa I and two companions called home had a thatched-palm roof and dirt floor, and no electricity, plumbing or pit toilet. We drank from and bathed in the nearby river like the natives. (Pictured: “housemate” Richard Watson)
Me inside my primitive home, located twenty miles from civilization through roadless jungle. A few weeks after this photo was taken, an attack left me mortally wounded, turning my starry-eyed getaway in the tropics into a hellish struggle for survival.