Found in Translation
Mad, frothy thrashing rocks the canoe when the snout is indeed bound. This is the same river where we swam with pink dolphins earlier in the day. I swam in here? Is this really happening? He’s actually going to haul this beast on board-here, with us? The croc is on a rampage, it’s jaw in the boat. I see big teeth. The canoe is shaking and Joaquin is yelling at me, spouting like the raging waters. I stand stoic. I don’t move because I don’t understand Joaquin and I could excuse myself saying I have trouble understanding undereducated native speakers or I could say Bolivians are hard to understand because they tend to omit crucial syllables at the end of their words, but the truth is there is no excuse for a translator who doesn’t get what the hell the guide is desperately trying to say.