Is it on Sunday, the most couch-potato day of the week, whose aura of laziness spilled over into the camp, in a world in which the calendar and time of day otherwise actually degenerate into waste?
At this event with the popcorn, the buckets full of Coke, the Taylor Swift guy and a set of rules that you can only really remember in the area between Hoboken and Tunkhannock?
Or does even the toughest camper just have to let his soul, his navel, his soul dangle at least one day a week in order to regain his strength? Maybe a little bit of everything, but what is certain is that the mountain festival in the jungle camp developed into a very wellness-like lack of events, and not because that was exactly what was on the agenda at the jungle test this time – namely wellness.
It seemed more as if everyone needed to recharge or perhaps, at least in the case of Heinz Hoenig, needed another kind of interim briefing in order to even realize what the phase was. In any case, Heinzer neither knew what a jungle test was nor what his fellow inmates were called.
The former is perhaps still understandable. Anyone who has never eaten their bread in bed, who doesn’t know how crumbs sting, is saying: Anyone who doesn’t have to take an exam has no idea how ankle-high you stand in slots while you rub stars off rusty sockets so that the cot neighbors can get something get behind the gills. Fair enough.
But the fact that the thing, well, what’s his name, but the Hoenig doesn’t even know the name of the man with the glasses, the quiet one with the headband or the spirited one with the red hair, was quite shocking. But be that as it may – the jungle only comes once a year, so maybe it’s all just part of the tactic. Next weekend the Hoenig will probably be crowned king, then such little things will be long forgotten anyway.
Like a lot of other things on this sleepy Sunday. That Mike and Leyla simply downed drinks and inhaled pizza during the treasure hunt while we ate air and chatter around the campfire? Somehow it doesn’t matter a bit. That there was also a flirtatious spark between the renegade gourmets?
Also of slight interest, even for Kim, who would have had at least a tiny bit of need to talk to Master Mike – now we’re getting into it here – but nothing there. Sure, there was a bit of a low-speed attempt to engage the increasingly gaunt Heiter in conversation, but he let it roll off like Tarzan let the tropical rain.
As part of the previously mentioned jungle test, Lucy and David showed in the first camp-specific challenge where the bartel gets the must, where the hammer hangs and the iguana has the curls. What Leyla had screamed in two nanoseconds a few days ago, these two now performed with such deep relaxation, as if they were waiting for the herbal massage on the beach at Ko Phi Phi.
Lizards, rats and cockroaches don’t seem to bother them at all, and at the end Lucy cheers loudly, stealing ten stars from the jungle god. You’ll certainly notice: If there’s rhyming here, then the signs really point to success.
Not much else happened, apart from two or three words of wisdom from the leftover vat of a disused fortune cookie factory: What you can do, you can do, and what you can’t, you can’t do. No matter how big the bump on your butt is, you shouldn’t scratch it, otherwise something will really happen.
And: once “maybe” is not a time, twice is a dismissal. In other words: After Anya missed being voted out by a rat’s tail the day before, this year the time had finally come. In an either/or finish, the choice fell on her and Heinz. One was trembling, the other was probably just wondering what the names of the man in the colorful shirt and the woman with the crew cut were called, when the irrefutable verdict was made:
Anya has to leave the camp after Caro’s voluntary departure and Sarah’s deselection. Tears, consolation and Trallala followed, and there were only nine people left. Another rhyme, time to pull the ripcord here. There’s more going on again on day 11, bet. Of course we’ll stay tuned.
