Into the Amazon
Trip Start
Sep 07, 2005
1
15
124
Trip End
Aug 18, 2006
Near Manaus, Brazil
Thursday, October 6, 2005
The agenda this day was unclear, but for the first time on our trip it was not our fault. The guides who were ostensibly in control of the lodge, and were thus responsible for our activities, etc. didn't speak great English and weren't big on over-communicating no matter what your chosen tongue. All we knew was that we were to spend one of our remaining two night in the jungle and the other something that was described as a native house
doing dishes
. We had requested a private arrangement so that we could hike through the jungle with just us and our guide (because we figured that might increase our odds of spotting some animals), but with all the confusion surrounding our booking, it was not clear what we would end up with. At this point we were feeling fairly certain that we would find our booking agent when we got back to Manaus and some hot words would need to be exchanged.But without much in the way of ceremony, we were asked to get into a boat with a few other folks, and we were told the boat would be heading off to spend some time at a waterfall before some member of the group would return to start their jungle trek and camping experience. We figured that had to be us, so we went along with the program.
After a 45 minute boat ride in the hot Brazilian sun, we reached what the locals thought of as a tributary village. The Rio Negro, the part of the Amazon we were on, as several decently sized smaller rivers that feed it, and this small village was located toward the end of one of these tributaries. What is more, this tributary, also has a small waterfall in it that was formed when the founders of Manaus needed to extract rock from the river to build their city.
Hike to native house
The village itself was comprised of about 30 families whose small wooden houses were designed to float. This was essential because the river rises and falls about 40 feet between the wet and dry seasons, so any permanent structure built near he river must either be very strong and tall or very far from the banks of the low river.
We spent about two hours hiking in the jungle around this small community and then returned to the waterfall for another hour to take a dip, buy a drink and cool down. While in the jungle, our trusty guide introduced us to several unique species of plant, flower, root, and vine. Very few of these green creations had particularly memorable or recognizable names, but each was claimed to hold the cure to some form of human malady. To overcome malaria, for example, you were to grind up the leaves of a small plant that is found near the base of a large tree. If you attacked by a particular snake you were to ingest the root o a particular shrub - and so on and so on. Most of the guide's wise (or at least convincing) words went in one ear and out the other, but near the end of our little nature walk the guide stopped quick and quickly swung his machete high in the air. A small dark green snake with a light colored belly had darted out near our guide's foot and he had swiftly but sure lopped off its head
inside guest house
. This dramatic moment was made more poignant when our guide told us that a bite from this snake a man will die within a few minutes. It was at this point that all the members of the group started to watch where they stepped and tried to re-remember the particular roots that would save our lives if our guide was not as quick with his machete.But with a little luck and some relief, we emerged from the jungle and spent some time unwinding in and near the waterfall. For some reason, the water in and around these man made falls just reeked. We couldn't quite identify the source of the stench, but we immediately agreed that swimming or otherwise going near the water was out of the question. After about 30 minutes in the blazing hot sun, however, we changed our minds. We donned our swim suites and hopped in the water. It didn't take long for the smell of semi rotten algae and generally stagnant water to remind us why were hesitant to swim, so our time in the water was brief.
After yet another boat ride back tot he mid-river lodge, where we had spent the previous night, and we were ready to start our hike into the jungle. The general idea was to hike with our guide into the jungle and find a place to camp for the night. The schedule called for us to leave the lodge by about noon and to arrive at the 'trail' head at about 1:30
Party with locals
. Just as we were about to hope in the motorized canoe, however, a fast moving Amazon storm came through and rapidly changed our plans.We are from Colorado, so sudden unpredictable changes in the weather are not usually too shocking, but the speed and ferocity that was demonstrated by this Amazonian downpour caught us a little off guard. At 1:15 the sky was blue and the water was calm. By 1:30 however, the entire crew and the majority of the guests at the lodge were hurriedly scurrying to tie down their possessions. We were even conscripted to help prevent the large floating house that the crew slept in from being pulled away by the wind into the larger and much more turbulent channel. At about five minutes before two we asked our guide if he though we would be going into the jungle that day. He said that no, in these conditions he was certain we would not start the trek that night. Not more than 10 minutes later the storm had passed and its only remnants were the streams of water sliding off the roof of the lodge and the looks of utter bewilderment on the faces of the guests who were sure only minuted before that they were about to meet a watery demise. So after we re-gathered all our stuff and made a quick decision to combine forces with another trio of trekkers who were going our with what we assessed to be the better of the two guides, we were ready to go.
waterfall
To us, the somewhat late departure spelled near certain doom once we got into the bush because we were sure that all the bad things that can happen in the jungle happen at night. But to our guide this was just another night; he took it all in stride.
The boat ride up the river took longer than we expected it to, so by the time we arrived to the shore at about 4:45 and immediately began hiking. Although we had originally contemplated doing a far more adventurous hike that would take place in a far more remote and far less frequently trafficked part of the jungle, when night began to fall and the sounds of the jungle found our ears, we started to see the value of the more tame trip we had undertaken.
The hike took us through a part of the jungle that fell far short of our expectations of what a jungle should be. Not only were we walking through a non-rain forest habitat, but the sheer abundance of life we had expected was just nowhere to be found. Each tree or plant that our guide used to explain some interesting fact about the native flora or fauna had a visible abundance of gashes and lines from where he or other guides made similar cuts to explain the same interesting tid bits to other travelers. This was of course a little disappointing to us because after a while it began to feel a little less like an adventure and a little more like a ride at the amusement park. We knew this to be an unfair and unproductive outlook, but when we finally came upon the 'camping' spot for the night our perspective was revalidated. The spot that our guides had chosen for us to sleep was pretty much set up before we arrived. Large branches had been dragged together from the surrounding forest and lashed tougher to form our sleeping quarters. Between these bits of wood were slung our hammocks and mosquito nets, and not too far away was the ready-to use table and fire pit.
Despite the cookie-cutter nature of this overnight endeavor, the entire evening turned out to be quite an experience. Night fell fast and hard. A thick inky blackness overtook us so fast that were were taken aback by the brilliant flashes of fire flies flickering in the surrounding air.
Dinner preparations were underway as soon as our bedding had been set-up. One of the guides worked on starting a fire and the other prepared the chicken. In essence, this amounted to his ripping a whole chicken in half and stabbing a sharp sturdy stick into each portion. Once this prep-work had been completed he simply shoved the chicken-free ends of the stick into the ground near the fire and the cooking process was underway. RIce, oranges, and bananas accompanied our chicken feast and once the meal was complete we hardly remembered that mid-way through the cooking process one of the two chicken halfs had fallen onto the ground. We were all hungry enough that bacteria or no, we were going to finish that bird.
Midway through our evening meal our guide, Carlos, began recounting tales from his previous jungle adventures. Carlos hailed from British Guiana and had been tromping through the jungles of Brazil for the past 7 years. By itself this was not amazing, for several other guides had amassed similar amount of experience. What made Carlos so amazing was the fact that his 7 years of training began when he was only 13 years old. He was the oldest surviving member of his parents' family, so when he turned 13 he left the home to go look for work. His knowledge of the jungle and apparent lack of geographical awareness led him south to Brazil where he started working as a guide's assistant near the border between Brazil and his country of origin. He made friendly with a few other young men from British Guiana and as the tourist market matured he followed their lead deeper into Brazil and eventually to the Manaus-based tourism company that made him an official tour guide.
Earlier this year Carlos took part in a one month trip through the jungle where he and several other native guides led a group of National Geographic film crew and scientists through the amazon. Carlos was never clear on what they were looking for, but he was sure they never found it. What most amazed Carlos was the abundance of stuff that his American guests required for this 30 day excursion. His words rang true when that night was coming to a close and we noticed that Carlos and the other guide did not bring hammocks or ground covers. After us guests were safely tucked into our relatively safe sleeping quarters, the two guides stretched out on some broad planks of wood that were near the fire; neither of them had any form of protection from the jungle and my guess is that they both slept better than any of us novices.
Day broke early the next morning to the sound of squirrel monkeys playing and eating in the trees immediately above our camp and the smell of freshly brewed coffee in the air. Carlos reported that when we were asleep a small black cat of some variety had walked by quite close to our camp. He had spun some pretty tall tales of jungle adventure the night before, but despite our skepticism, we decided that we wanted to believe him on this one. So to our way of thinking, we almost slept in the jungle with a wild cat of some sort. In fact, in our minds the odds were good that it was the extremely rare and exotic black jaguar.
But all good things must come to an end. so after we had had our fill of monkey watching and more than our fill of scrambled eggs, coffee and bread, we hiked back to the boat and again set a course of the lodge.
The plan for this third and final night in the Amazon was to finally break free of the group travel we had been taking part in and set off on our own with just the Portugese speaking guide, Flavio. Again, prior to beginning this final adventure, we bid farewell to our fellow travelers, and made preparation to head out alone. But as our guide started to explain what was in store for us over the course of the next day or so we started to have second thoughts. Flavio spoke zero English, and despite his best efforts to pronounce his Portugese words slowly and clearly, we just weren't getting. It was at this time that we started to realize how fortunate we had been to have fallen into the company of Cristiano, our Italian friend who spoke fantastic Portugese and perfect English. He has been translating all the insights from our guides for us and without him we were sure we would have been either lost, confused, or both.
So with a little luck and some sketchy math we were able to persuade Cristiano to join us for this final foray into the Amazon. With a bag of food, a large water-cooler style bottle of water, we were once again motoring in the back of a canoe into the jungle.
The extreme dryness of the river, however, made it impossible for us to begin our trek at the normal spot. We were forced to tie up our little boat several kilometer short of our final destination: the much anticipated native house. From what we had been told this so-called native house was the home of an elderly Amazonian couple who had been living in this simple house for as long as anyone from around those parts could remember.
So we hopped out of our boat and into the near mud that surrounded the banks of the river. As typical out of shape Americans, we were not particularly well prepared for this semi-rugged jungle hike, but as it turned out, we were not the weak links in our trekking chain. Cristiano had clearly been gifted with more than his fair share of brains, but physical activity was not his strong suit. Ever time the trail got the least bit slippery or we had to cross a bit of water over a small log, our Itialian friend added more and more mud to his clothing. He was a great guy and we very much want to stay in touch with him after the trip, but if there is anything we can do about it, we will not be bringing him along on any particularly athletic activity. Nevertheless, despite our hiking mate's lack of physical prowess, we survived a 5 kilometer journey and were soon sitting at a small sun hut near the so called native house.
At the sun hut we happened on a group of farmers who use this spot to rest during the hottest parts of the day. This good natured bunch of men in their middle 30s and 40s were at first a bit shocked at our arrival, but after a few friendly words from our Itilian compatriot, they warmed up rapidly. Soon we were sitting on benches under the sun hut chatting about nothing in particular with a group of locals who no sooner expected to see and meet us than we did to happen upon them.
Thanks once again to the superb language skills of Cristiano, we were invited to accompany this group of farmers on a 'fish hunt'. Apparently there was a still wet part of the river not more than 2 kilometers from where we were resting that the men often went to catch fish. Having successfully nabbed a few fish two night before that, we figured we would tag along to see what we could catch. Before the trip could begin, however, the man who was generally regarded as the crew's leader, decided that he needed to make a run to the nearby store to pick up some spirits for the rest of the day. Another hour later the man and his enormous flat-bed truck come rambling back to the hut with enough alcohol to pickle a battalion of Russian soldiers.
Most of the five men began this fish hunt with an ill-fitting pair of shoes on their feet and a bottle of Cachassa, the local drink of choice in their hand. The man who started us off on this trip, however, had no shoes at all, and instead of a bottle of liquor he carried a long sturdy stick in his hands that had a small trident affixed to one of its ends. As far as we could see, this was the only form of fish catching device we had for this so called fish hunt. Even with the Itailian's linguistic skills, we had no way of knowing what this afternoon had in store for us.
We set off from the sun hut at about 4 PM and soon realized that our hunting ground was actually the floor of the river. During the dry season, when the level of the water was low, large expanses of the riverbed were left dry. This was the land we crossed over to found the fish-able portion of the river. With each step we took, the ground under our feet sank down up to 6 inches. Eventually our wanderings took us to a small creek no more than 10 feet wide that wound its way through the thick woods and underbrush. Each time we came to a portion of the creek that was clogged by sticks and weeds the fishing party would watch the man with the sharp stick as he leapt into he water and poked violently into the water in hopes of spearing a fish. Nevertheless, their efforts did not seem well coordinated, so each time a large fish was in sight, the fish would somehow slip past the highly inebriated crew. In truth, we learned this was much less of a fishing trip than an excuse to consumer the Cachassa.
After admitting defeat, the trek continued. The leader informed us that there was something he wanted us to see. We gladly obliged as the bushed and vines around us grew thicker and more impenetrable. Eventually we came a small body of water that the crew used to wipe the dirt and mud from their clothes and hair. Once it was our turn to enter the dirty water, the leader asked us if we knew where we were. Clearly, by that time we weren't even sure we were still in Brazil, so our mere expressions were enough to signal that we did not know where we were. He told us that this was one of the Amazon's many sources. We had traced this particular branch of the river back to its source. This 10 foot circle of water was not visibly fed by another stream or river and over the course of our hiking that day we had basically traced its path back to the larger Amazon tributary on which we began our journey.
Miraculously, we made it back to the sun hut before nightfall unharmed and were told by our guide that we would have just enough time to make it to the native house to bed down for the night. But our newfound friends had another idea. They proposed that we continue on with them for the evening. Their idea was that on the way to the village they lived in we could stop off at a local bar and continue the party. This plan was appealing for two reasons. The fist was that it would prevent us from having to re-trace our steps through the riverbed in the heat of the next day; and the second reason was that our guide offered to let us stay in his house for the night near the same village. Aside from the fact that the owner of the only vehicle that could put this new plan into motion was more than a little drunk, this sounded like a good plan and a sure path to an interesting view into life in the Amazon.
We carried on along the trail we came in on to the native house. This house was indeed the home of an elderly couple who held themselves out as natives of the region, but the fact that they had a TV and refrigerator which were powered by a generator made this anything but a native house. We spend a little less than an hour wandering around their grounds and allowing the Itilian to translate explanations about the area into English for us. Finally, after explaining that we would not be spending the night with them, we were back on the trail. Perhaps they were a little miffed that we did not want to stay with them, but the last thing they told us as we were leaving was to be careful that we did not step on the cobra that was on the path between their house and the sun hut.
As we made our way back to the sun hut,however, it was soon clear that snakes were not the only danger on this path. Several members of the aforementioned fishing party came running toward us through the woods. In their drunken state they had managed to disrupt a nest of wasps who had in turn decided to exact a vengeance on their flesh. The entire group took a large detour on the way back to the hut and miraculously managed to avoid both the angry wasps and the deadly snake. Sadly, the other men in our party had not been so luck. All told, the 3 men who had interacted with the wasps had about 20 stings between them. We gave them what relief our sting-ease ointment could provide, and were somewhat relieved to find that the wasps and the excitement had sobered up the driver of the truck considerably. By about 8PM we all piled onto the back of the wooden truck bed and were off the local watering hole.
The next stop on our trip was an interesting but far too lengthy exercise in local culture. We insisted on buying a round of drinks for the men to thank them for their hospitality. One round led to another and before you knew it the Italian and the leader of the group were fast friends. They were two men from two very different worlds, but with enough liquor and enough Portugese, they were able to find common ground. We covered a wide range of topics with them discussing everything from Brazilian football to American trade policies. At first the group was a bit put off by our unwillingness to drink with them, but after a few more rounds that seemed not to matter too much.
Finally, after a harrowing ride back to the village, where the truck and its driver covered at least twice as much ground as an drive would have required, it was time to say goodbye. The Itilian, who had insisted on buying several of the rounds, asked that we d our part by giving the group's leader a token of our appreciation. With some reluctance, we thanked him for his hospitality by giving him our trusty pocket knife. He was immensely thankful for this token of our gratitude, but we were a little concerned that it might prove to be a very un-wise gift to give him as he didn't seem to understand the locking and un-locking mechanism that controlled the blade. After what seemed like an hour long good-by, we were off to spend the night at Flavio's house on the river.
When we agreed to spend the night at Flavio's house we may have had slightly different pictures in our minds of what his abode would look like. We followed Flavio down a trail using a few small flashlights we had with us. None of us, save Flavio, knew where we were going, so it was a bit of a shock when on of our last foot-steps before reaching his house was into the Amazon itself. Flavio, and his one armed father had build this floating house to rise and fall with the seasons of the river, so it was literally on the water. And not just any water from the mighty Amazon, but the slow almost stagnant variety of water you find in a ways off the main channel. This house was literally at the edge of a ses-pool. The water was rank and disgusting along every dimension. When you shone a light into it, even at night, you could see the lines and swirls of petroleum from nearby boats. That particular section of the river also served as a bathroom for some 30 families in the area. so the smell was obviously beyond description.
In addition to his house being on the water, Flavio's house was also small. Our estimation was that it was about the same size at our first studio apartment in Chicago. It could not have been more than 550 square feet, but at least half of its size, and importantly the half of the house we would be using for the evening, was only partially indoors. The 'room' Flavio strung our hammocks up in had walls on only three sides. The floor was only partially covered, so one of the three hammocks was so close to the end of the room that from inside the hammock you could literally reach down and touch the Amazon.
So we three weary travelers crawled into our hammocks for the night and tried to get some sleep. With all the local liquor the Itialian had consumed, he had not trouble getting to sleep. But Cori and I were not so lucky. Cori was keen enough and un-wise enough to notice that one end of the house played host to a small swarm of wasps. This and the general mayhem that is caused by the sounds of jumping piranhas, frogs, and a few dogs from the village insured that Cori wasn't going to get much sleep. My problem that night was not the noise or the bugs, however, it was my hammock. Not only was it dangerously close to the water's edge, but it was also strung up in such as a way as to be almost completely useless. It was constantly making an effort to pitch me off into the vile waters of this Amazon house, so I too woke the next morning having slept no more that an hour that previous night.
The next day we were so taken aback by Flavio's remarkable hospitality, that we soon forgot about the less than ideal sleeping circumstances we endured the night before. Flavio and his wife had somehow managed to prepare a plowman's breakfast for us. They had scrambled eggs, bread, oranges, bananas. His wife had even made us very unique banana shakes for us.
We took a 3 hour canoe trip later that morning and returned to yet another massive feast cooked up by Flavio's wife. She had cut up about 6 medium sized fish and had fried them up whole in a vat of some sort of cooking oil. Rice, more oranges, and even a bowl of pasta for our Itialian friend complemented this feast. The food was not out of this world, but the hospitality certainly took the cake. I insisted on having the lady of the house take a seat as I used the foul water to clean the dishes. She didn't know quite what to make of this turn of events and I am sure Flavio was not a big fan of my enlightened ways. Nevertheless, the day was a great insight into a more simple way of living.
Flavio spent the next hour or so bailing water from the canoe that would be used to take us back to the lodge and by 2 PM that day we were ready to get back on the boat and head for Manaus. Our time in the Amazon did not very closely match the expectations we had for this particular adventure, but we did mange to have a great time and are sue this is a part of the world we would like to come back to at some point.
