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part of your body they deem most delicious. As they bite, they inject an anticoagulant into the wound, which makes you bleed copiously until the leech gets its fill and drops off. We unenthusiastically check naked Neil over for additional parasites and, finding none, encourage him to put his clothes back on immediately.
    Back at camp, Neil is still bleeding, and the spider is still clinging to the wall of his cabin. Fed up, he abruptly storms over to the 4x4, slams the door, and rolls up the windows. Eric joins him, and the two of them lock the car. The rest of us just stand there looking at each other. I walk over and knock gently on the jeep window, which Neil rolls down an inch.
    “Hi there. And what in the hell are the rest of us supposed to do?”
    “I don’t know,” Neil says sharply. “But I’m not getting out of this goddamned car.”
    Carter and I tentatively push open the door to our cabin. On the far wall is a tarantula the size of my hand. It skitters into the corner as we enter. Exhausted and out of options, Carter and I lie down side by side on the wooden shelf. I make the mistake of rolling over and peeking under the platform, where I come eye to eyes with two additional spiders of an unidentifiable but equally colossal variety clinging to the underside. Carter and I keep all of our clothes and shoes on as a layer of protection and slip a single mosquito net over both of our heads. I tuck my exposed hands into my armpits, and we unabashedly spoon each other for dear life. I’m not sure if it’s owing to fear or fatigue, but we somehow manage to forget to film any of this; a pity, since, in the four seasons to follow, the shacks in Endau Rompin remain the single worst sleeping arrangement in Destination Truth history.
    Morning finds me sore and cramped, but at least a giant spider isn’t stuck to my face. Carter and I make our way down to the river, where we wash up in the cool water and eat rice prepared by a local woman from the camp. I crack open a warm beer as Neil and Eric come limping out of the car. At least they didn’t sleep any more comfortably than we did. After packing up, we bid adieu to Mr. Chu and make the long drive back toward Johor Bahru.
    Back on the main road, we make a scheduled stop to interview a man named Vincent Chow, a naturalist who works with the government and seems to be the local authority on Bigfoot. I’m half expecting him to be a loon, but instead he turns out to be a fascinating and passionate scientist. He’s a gracious host, warmly welcoming us into his home, where we talk for well over an hour. We sit barefoot in his study drinking tea and discussing the endless variety of species in the jungles of Malaysia. At one point in the interview, he leans in and whispers, “Go into the jungle with curiosity, and you will find beautiful things.” A smile breaks out on his face. “The true secret to seeking the unknown is in the looking , not the finding . The journey is what matters.”
    I don’t fully process it at the time, but he’s just unwittingly homed in on the heart and soul of what Destination Truth will aspire to showcase.
    With Vincent’s words still ringing in my head, we drive back toward Johor Bahru. On the edge of the city, traffic suddenly comes to a grinding halt. Ahead of us, mobs of locals stream through the streets toward the lights of a passing parade. Carter grabs the camera, and we jump out of the jeep. Gupta, uncharacteristically concerned for my safety, quickly parks the car and comes running after.
    The celebration turns out to be in honor of Chinese New Year, and we slip in between dancers, dragon puppets, and white-powdered dancers who wink at me from atop neon-lit floats. The streets are hot, humid, and utterly alive. I hop on the back of a truck full of Malaysian children and join the procession. Gupta scans the crowds as we go, trying to keep pace from the sidewalk. Carter bobs and weaves with the camera, documenting the frenetic