Cool Creatures, Hot Planet: Exploring the Seven Continents follows Marty & Deb Essen’s wildlife-oriented adventures on all seven continents. Each chapter is full of adventure, humor, political commentary, and interesting facts.

Here’s a taste of what you’ll read in Cool Creatures, Hot Planet: 

• Adventure (from the Borneo chapter): 

Our guide had abandoned us deep in the jungle. Deb and I were unarmed and didn’t have a compass or a map. Our lives were now in the hands of four rough-looking, knife-toting men from the Iban tribe. We trudged single file up a faint trail. Three Iban led the way, followed by me, Deb, and another Iban.

My first concern was my wife’s safety. Although the tribe had supposedly given up headhunting for good in the 1970s, what would they do with an attractive blond-haired woman? I tried to form a defense plan, but the results never came out in my favor. I was outnumbered and out of my element. I glanced along the line to size the men up. I looked behind Deb. The Iban in the rear had his gun pointed at her back! 

• Humor (from the Europe chapter): 

Upon landing in Madrid, we retrieved our luggage and walked directly to the automobile rental counter.

Since our recent travels hadn’t changed my inability to sleep on airplanes, once again I was faced with adjusting to a foreign land after being awake for more than twenty-four hours straight. I was barely functioning by the time I signed the rental car contract and crossed the parking lot to the attendant’s booth.

“Your car is in stall number twenty-two,” said the attendant in English.

“Gracias,” I said.

Deb and I lugged our belongings to the stall and gazed down at a tiny two-door compact. “This isn’t what I ordered,” I said. “I reserved a station wagon, so we’d have a place to sleep if we ever got stuck without a hotel room.”

I walked back to the booth. “Excuse me, sir. You gave us the wrong car.”

“Your car is in stall number twenty-eight,” he replied.

I ambled down the row and spotted a silver Opel wagon. I inserted the key into the rear hatch lock and turned it—nothing. I pulled the key out, reinserted it, twisted it, and jiggled it, but it still refused to open.

“Let me try,” said Deb.

After Deb’s try failed, I trudged back to the booth. “Excuse me, sir. I think you gave me the wrong key. The hatch won’t open.”

The young, gangly, bald, and oh-so-cool attendant gave me a “you are a stupid American” look, sashayed over to the car, inserted the key into the rear hatch lock and turned it—nothing. He pulled the key out, reinserted it, twisted it, and jiggled it, but it still refused to open.

“So, I’m not such a dumb American after all,” I whispered under my breath.

The attendant removed the key and inserted it in the driver’s side door. “You need to open the hatch by turning the front door lock, like this,” he said.

While I loaded our luggage into the back, the attendant returned to his booth. When I finished, I shut the hatch with a typical amount of force. Instead of locking tight, the hatch door protruded out of line, as if it hadn’t fully latched. I raised the hatch again and slammed it shut—same result. I tried one more time, with brute force, but it wouldn’t latch.

“Let me try,” said Deb.

After Deb’s try failed, I trudged back to the booth. “Excuse me, sir. The rear hatch won’t shut tight. I think it’s broken.”

The attendant gave me a “you are an incredibly stupid American” look, sashayed over to the car, and with two fingers gently closed the hatch.

“See, just like this,” he demonstrated again, pushing down the hatch as if it were made of fine china.

Satisfied the car was quirky, not defective, I thanked the attendant and started the engine.

“Don’t forget to put diesel, not gasoline, in the car,” he said before I shut the door. 

• Political Commentary (from the Antarctica chapter):