Step Into My Thimble

8-23-2001
Not yet satisfied with my riverside adventures in the pampas, the next day I was to take a trip out to the jungle, with different guides, different people, and entirely different adventures. The day started off auspiciously by raining. Rain isn’t such a big deal in the US really, there are wonderful inventions like storm drains, and pavement, and chemically treated nylon that keeps the rain out in a big way. Needless to say, Ruerrenabaque was lacking in all of the above. Initially, I thought I would be going out for another spin in “Santiaguito II” and that the poncho the agency gave me would only really be used “in case”.

Imagine my surprise when my two guide/cooks, Bernardo and Luis, led me out to a motorboat! I hastily donned my poncho and we took off, the rain immediatly deciding at that time to start beating down harder. “Two and half hours to the camp” Bernardo assured me as he crawled under the waterproof tarp with the supplies, leaving Luis to drive the boat and me to sit up front and enjoy the lush scenery along the riverside, rain splattering in my face and soaking through my poncho in about twenty minutes. Imagine those plastic coated curtains you get in elementary school nurses offices and give it a kinky picnic tablecloth sort of pattern and thats what your intrepid hero was wearing, looking in all probability like what HP Lovecraft termed “The Fungi from Yuggoth”. Take me to your leader and give us mop heads to eat.

The rain stopped about an hour into the ride, too late to save my clothes, but all that hardly mattered. On both sides of me massive cliffs crawling with vegetation rose up, providing shelter to flocks of multicolored birds. Red and turquoise parrots and green budgies flapped around shrieking and hooting like Lexi with a fistful of my scalp before returning to the safety of their cliffside caves. The most amazing thing was the trees that seemed to grow horizontally out of the side of the cliff, the victims of erosion that still held on dearly for life.

The camp was nowhere near as luxurious as the pampas. Lean-tos were built of wood and bamboo and the roof material was plastic tarp. Our beds were a couple of pads over the raised plank platforms (to keep you above the snakes and ants Bernardo smilingly replied) topped off with mosquito netting. I proceeded to wander around the campsite while B & L made lunch. Yes, I know that it sounds very colonial and frankly I felt that way. They would lay my dinner out all nicely and then proceed to eat amongst themselves in the kitchen area. I felt like some british fortune hunter with my “boys”. Huge green vegetation grew all around us, gigantic plants with leaves like green feathers swayed in the wind, vines crawled up the sides of trees, and if it wasn’t for the paths hacked through it, I would never have been able to see a damn thing. I did however, find some very interesting caterpillars all around the camp. One was fuzzy and yellow and another was fuzzy and blue with a butt that looked and moved exactly like a second head in order to throw off potential attackers. Another was green and smooth with a pink head and a fork like rear end that was gracious enough to poop something that looked like a little avocado. I also saw a huge thick line of ants moving across the ground from one hole to another. It looked like the ants in the middle were running some sort of gauntlet with a thick line of other ants just remaining stationary forming some sort of wall on both sides of the others, waggling their limbs but not moving. Typical to form I hawked a big loogie into the middle of it and broke up the formation. The longer I stay here the more I regress. Heidi will feel so lucky and in love when I come off the plane and begin howling and grabbing her by the hair and not letting go and drooling on her arm. Yeah.

Beyond the bugs and the big leafy vegetation there wasn’t a whole lot to see. My vision is horrible so when Luis and Bernardo led me off on a jungle walk after lunch I would agree and claim to have seen anything they pointed at. More interesting were the unusual animal calls that both these gentleman could let fly. Whistles for monkeys, grunts and clicks for wild pigs, it was amazing to hear the same noises made by animals in answer! I could not hope to reproduce these sounds. I can’t whistle to save my life. Its a skill the old man didn’t pass down.

Bernardo was also nice enough to point out several medicinal plants as we encountered them. Most were for mosquito or insect bites, but there was one tree whose roots looked exactly like big red dongers, circumcized and all. Bernardo gleefully slashed off a root that put me to shame and explained that the ooze from this stuff would firm you up if you were having problems. I held it gingerly and then dropped it when I thought he wasn’t looking.
After dinner we went on a “night walk”, and the stars shone brightly through the holes in the canopy. The only thing I saw was a snake that was slithering across our path. Apparently it was very poisonous, and Bernardo sent the hapless Luis to beat it to death with a stick. He did and then we stood over it for awhile before going on. I also heard something crashing around in the bush, something big, and the boys claimed it was a tapir, but for all I knew it could have been some fungi from Yuggoth. What the hell do I know, I’m from Farmington Hills?

Next day as we were having breakfast we were visited by a bunch of tamarind monkeys similar to the ones we encountered in the pampas. They chattered at us from the trees as we ate (we could not feed these monkeys or they would always be a plague to the camp) before moving on by amazing us with displays of acrobatics. Luis whistled and chirped at them and they happily replied before moving on. We then hopped back in a boat for a ride out to those nifty cliffs I had mentioned earlier. It was still wet from the rain the day before, but we climbed the cliffs anyway, slipping, dropping rocks down on each other, and grabbing on roots and vines for support. From the top of the cliff we had a great view of the river and the surrounding jungle, and all kinds birds flying around below us. There was a tree full of squawking parrots right nearby. It was breathtaking. The scary part then was the way down, but my guides fashioned with vines more lines so that we had a more stable climb down and actually it was more fun than climbing up. From there we walked back through the “green hell” (for those of you who joined me on that ill fated expedition in May) to the boat and headed on back to Ruerre, with splendid memories and ticks clinging to my belly that I had to pull out. That was rad. I might have more in spots I can’t see. More fun for la reina de me corazon!!

8-21-2001
Tired of high altitude adventures amongst indian women in fedoras and bright sweaters, I decided to head out to the Amazon basin of Bolivia. The tropics take up a very large area of south america, and I figured I’d best head that way and get a taste, if only to reacclimate myself to the heat of Wichita when I return.

I headed north by plane to the town of Ruerrenabaque, which offers all sorts of tours of the pampas and jungle into Madidi national park. Getting lazy, I decided to splurge and take a flight down there with TAM, the airline run by the bolivian military. The airport itself was on the outskirts of La Paz, on an airforce base, and there was a constant stream of uniformed and armed servicemen coming through. Typical of the military, they felt no need to keep informed their customers as to why we failed to leave on time, or really why we left four hours late. I don’t know, and never will know. The plane itself was a prop, like something out of the fifties. I white knuckled the whole hour ride because I didn’t know which jostle or bounce was part of the ride and which was something failing and sending us to a fiery doom into the desert, or later, the jungle. The runway was gravel, cut out of the middle of the jungle that surrounded us in all directions. The heat beat down on me immediatly in a way I hadn’t felt since July 9th when I left Kansas City to head south. We took a junky old bus into town and I was struck by the massive changes in lifestyle an hours flight can make. Everything was so green. People ran around half nude and bugs attacked us in great swarms. It reminded me of other jungles I had known, and I felt comfortable. I settled in to the small town and prepared to meet my tour group the next day for the ride to the Pampas.

The next day we departed for the camp in the Pampas, which is nothing like what all you educated people are thinking. It is not the argentine pampas, with gauchos and bolas, but it is a ranching area, despite a profusion of vegetation. We left in a 4wd truck that was named “Santiaguito II” that bumped and tossed us ovver the dirt roads that were cracked and mangled by the cycle of rain and sun. We popped one flat, and the two canucks in the car and myself sat back and imagined having to walk in the heat to the nearest village, which was “only” 40 min by car away and there was very little traffic as well. Our driver switched tires, completly unaffected by the flat, and we pressed on, him showing us a special button on the dash that allowed Santiaguito to “whistle” at passing ladies. We used it in the village of Santa Rosa to great amusement by all.

We pulled off alongside a river back and were ferried to our camp by dugout canoe. The agency had cut a camp out of the jungle and hammocks swung in the breeze for afternoon naps and our stuff was left in the screened over dormitory. We set out after lunch to fish, but had little luck catching pirana, as was the objective, but we did see plently of alligators. The river itself was not wide and alligators were everwhere, on the back or sitting in the water with just their eyes poking above the surface of the water, watching us, sizing us up. We went out that night with flashlights and our guide, a jolly fellow named Aurelio, grabbed the smaller ones around the neck after stunning them with the light from the torch and held them out for us to examine. By small, I mean they were about the length of your arm. The stars were incredibly bright, and sitting in the dark at the front of the boat I was able to see the milky way very distinctly. We went home rather happy, and huddled under mosquito netting for protection from the bugs. I had bought some repellent called REPLEX in La paz and it seemd to do the job, although I wondered if it was slowly poisoning me or not.

Next morning was the hunt for anaconda. We put on our rubber boots and our best Steve Irwin impressions and slogged through a shallow, belillied lagoon looking for an anaconda to pull up. Marcel, another guide, ended up pulling a six footer out of the water by its tail and then grabbing it by the back of the head so that we could all feel it up and watch it shit all over an english guy who wanted it put around his head for a photo. The snake was really scared, so it was easy to mess with. As it was slithering away I grabbed it by its tail one more time for a tug. I’m a repressed animal abuser, but I successfully fought the urge to swing it around my head like a lasso. The anaconda left my hands smelling of crap anyway.

The afternoon is when I and my two Canadian friends got really interpid/stupid. We decided to pole down the river (the river swarming with alligator, piranha, and anaconda mind you) and catch up to marcel and co at the fishing spot in the dugout canoe rather than take the motor boat. What could have been disaster if we had flipped the canoe ended up being a really peaceful float, and surprisingly there was nothing in the way of wildlife to see, perhaps because we were jabbering too much and they all decided to take to the water. Once we arrived and started fishing, I caught a pirahna! They’re not very big, but those fangs are not to be toyed with. I let marcel put it back in the water, because pirana teeth aren’t really the fashion statement I’m trying to project.

I failed in teaching the bolivian staffers how to play euchre. My michigan ghetto pass is revoked.
Final day we took the boat to see freshwater dolphins and monkeys. THis part of the river was teeming with alligators, but also plenty of capybara (you all know the rodent fascination) that we got right up to on the boat. Although he was nervous, he stood his ground and we got to look right in the eyes of the oversized woodchuck. At one point we rounded a corner and chased off some six or seven alligators and then Marcel invited us to jump in and swimwith the dolphins. ONe had pink skin. Their faces were different from Flipper’s, but I didn’t get a good enough look to describe it. Later we arrived at a place with these lovely gold and black little monkeys that actually came up to you to eat the bananas out of your hands. My india-induced monkey phobia was put on hold for these cute little buggers, who were just tiny and adorable. I had seen them in the zoo in Santiago, but now I got to see them in the wild.

That was my three days in the pampas. I went to the “selva” or jungle as well, but I just do not have the energy to keep writing. I’ll include more later, but I’ve got another plane ride to get back to la paz. Ta ta for now!

8-12-2001
While my enamorada was enjoying life and Brichtaburgers out in the Great Lakes State, I myself was living the nautical life out on Lake Titicaca, the highest lake in the world. I found myself first on the Peruvian side, in an ugly town by the name of Puno, which ran tours out to a couple of the islands on the lake, and also floated out to the islands of the Uros. The Uros themselves wove their islands out of a reed that grows along the shores of the lake, and embarked on a floating existence to keep out of the clutches of the warlike inca and aymara indians that live in the area. To this day they still do live on their islands, although intermarriage has diluted whatever “pure” uro existed and now they pretty much look and dress like everyone else, except that they live on these man made islands that give under your feet when you step aboard. Imagine stepping onto an island of hay bales and you have kind of an idea of the experience. They live in houses that are pretty small but mostly made of this reed, although the occasional tin roof and wooden windowframe makes an appearance, depending on which island you get to. I myself was on a boat of peruvians and we stopped at a very large island with a lookout tower in the middle, so you could overlook the reedbeds, and some of the floating islands. They kept chickens, ducks, and pigs running around as well but the thing they wanted most was to sell you the same gewgaws you could get anywhere in peru. Colored sweaters, gloves, etc etc. The simple fact is, if it wasn’t for the tourists, these people would all be working in Puno and not freezing their fannies off in flimsy reed houses out on a lake that gets damn cold at night. Apparently most of the menfolk do anyhow. Our boat operator claimed he was Uro, for example. One special souvenir that all the Peruvian kids wanted were the taxidermized ducks that came complete with bendable necks and wings, and the little boats made out of the reed that looked almost like the ones the Uros occasionally still used. True to my scrooge nature, I bought nothing, but did pose with a woman on the ship’s daughter for a photo. My daughter with the blue eyed devil. A true family heirloom.

Past the floating islands the boat takes you out to some real live islands, Amantani and Taquille. Taquille is the usual stop for day trips, and since I didn’t want to take all my stuff out to Amantani I just ended up spending a couple of hours on Taquille, renowned for its weavers, Quechua native language, and a complete lack of dogs on the island to boot. The boat I was on was some kind of local trade boat that brought loads of rice, bread, butter, and other goods over to the island. I rode up top on the roof and enjoyed the sun, the deep blue waters, and the nifty mountains rising all around the lake. Upon immediate arrival, everyone is forced to climb a very steep staircase up to the ridge of the island, and while the acclimated islandfolk ran by me with fifty pound bags of rice on their back, the high altitude had me huffing like my mom having an emphysemal episode. Eventually I made it and was pleased to find lovely cobbled paths and houses that seemed relativly prosperous all over the island. If there were shiftless households on the island, I never saw them, although I didn’t have time to truly explore everything. A quick lunch, some walking about, and I had to catch the boat back to the mainland. On the boat back I watched an old lady spin yarn and a guy weave half a cap in the three hours it took to return back to Puno. Very fast hands.
Next stop was the Bolivian side, in a town called Copacobana (not the beach referred to by ‘Ol Blue Eyes, that’s in Rio) that was much smaller and more pleasant, except for the heaps of garbage all around. The islands near here are the Isla del Sol and Luna, the Isla del Sol being the birthplace of the Incas and their gods, and the center of the universe. The island itself is wonderful, which secluded little coves and beaches and views of the lake and mountains that put Greece to shame. If only the water were warmer, then we would have all sorts of horrible resorts all over it. Alas. I myself avoided the incan ruins boasted on the island and had some bread and cheese on the beach, with some donkeys to keep me company. The Island of the Moon was smaller and more restricted in where you could wander and I had to catch my boat. Frankly, I wish I could have spent more time on the sun island and hiked about, enjoying the clear skies, warm sun, and the occasional chill breeze coming off the mountains. Also, more llamas stared me down and twitched their ears in greeting. I swear, at some angles they look like somebody is in a big furry suit and he’s just messing with the gringos for laughs. Fear the llama.

Sunsets on the lake were fabulous, the only downside being I had to see it with an Australian pollack and not a certain special someone. To dull the pain I drank a local rum that was actually colored red and vomited all over my hotel room floor. Yo ho ho.

8-15-2001
Ok, I’ll admit from time to time I have an interest in things archaeological, and whether this be from the teachings of WMU prof extraordinaire Dr. Alan Zagarell, or too many Indiana Jones movies (my mom went to HS with Harrison Ford, maybe he’s my real dad) I couldn’t really say. But to have the opportunity to be in Cuzco, Peru, the heart of the old incan empire, and to have Macchu Picchu just a short four hour train ride away I would be a total jerk to skip that just because it was way over priced and overblown wouldn’t I? Well wouldn’t I?

Don’t worry guys, I sold out and took the train there as a daytrip yesterday, leaving Cuzco at six am and arriving around ten thirty or so with a bunch of other sleepy gringos. The train runs through mountains that get progressivly more and more lush, a green I usually associate with summertime, and at sea level, not 8 or 9,000 ft in the air and in the winter. The town was Aguas Calientes, known for its hot springs (which I hadn’t the time to visit and I don’t take my shirt off at the beach anyway) and the fact that its 8km from macchu picchu proper. We exited the train and had to immediatly run the gauntlet of markets to get to the buses that take you to the top of the mountain. The road is narrow and full of switchbacks, having just enough room for buses to pass each other at certain points up or down. Occasionally, you have to back up to make room, and then you think about dying in a bus in Peru and whether or not anyone would even bother to come to your funeral or not. Luckily, this scenario hasn’t been played out yet, but I have lots more fun rides by bus to experience so get your black suits pressed. At the top you shell out your $20 US to enter the park, the sun beats down on you, and you take in the splendors of the giant green mountains all around, and the ruins of macchu picchu itself, which sprawls over two different mountainsides. Here is where I usually try to get some sort of feel for the place and the people that live there, and time and again in macchu picchu I was unable to do so because of the warbling of pasty tour groups or because I was in the way of some idiots camara or camcorder. What the hell are you going to film stones for? You get to have an eye for stones here in Peru, and you learn how to tell the difference between actual Incan stonework (which is cut very precisely, and can be curved as well) and restoration attempts (which are stacked stone and mortar, thatchwork, or concrete) which I guess somebody somewhere seems to think adds to the aesthetics of the place. This happens all over Peru, whether at Macchu Picchu, or the ruins surrounding Cuzco. Regardless of my criticisms, Macchu Picchu does inspire by sheer size, and when you climb up to a higher point and look down, you can imagine sun worship and human sacrifice occuring here on a grand scale. I tended to imagine tourists rather than incans, but I guess you can’t entirely disassociate from your present environment can you? Tourists are part of it, a huge part of it. They’re everywhere. You think you can find a secluded corner to sit and think and process what you’re seeing and you find you’re in the middle of a tour group pontificating on Incan ceremonies and politics, or listening to some boob tell his wife how he videotaped an interesting staircase just over his shoulder. God, I wish I was that guy’s kids. You could only imagine the type of fun they have together!

What did I like best about Macchu Picchu? Everything but the ruins and the people. Frankly, I think Incan ruins are boring because all that is left is the stone. They have very little stone Iconography, and most of the gold was melted down by the spanish. The best stuff in my opinion is the stuff carved from spondylus (a red shell very valuable to the incas), and the human sacrifices which they have found buried on sacred mountains, kids raised to be sacrificed because they were blemish free, smart, and pretty. All it really gets them is drugged and bashed over the head and stuffed in a hole, but I guess that’s why most peruvian indians are squat and carbuncular. They have a couple of them in iceboxes in Arequipa you can look at. Here in museums too. I liked the surrounding environs of macchu picchu, the river valley below with the little town of Aguas Calientes, the terraced fields, the azure sky with the occasional cloud floating by and the llamas. Yes, there were some llamas running around. They look like big furry camels and two of them stared at me with huge dark eyes, twitching their ears as if it were some kind of code I couldn’t decipher. If you just see their necks and heads and twitching ears, you can imagine them as aliens, or freakish sentient flowers. Yes, I’ve been travelling alone for too long.

So after a couple of hours I left the site, and the bus ride down was less harrowing, and more amusing because a little boy in Incan costume ran down the steeper but more direct footpath down the mountain to screech “Goodbye!” at every switchback. It was funny and then annoying and as I’m sure anyone with even a tiny amount of third world travel experience can guess, he jumped on the bus at the end to collect tips for his little scene. I of course gave nothing.

The markets are pretty exciting in Aguas Calientes but more expensive than some places because they see a lot of package tourists who never venture out of their hotels to price stuff in the markets of cuzco. The stuff I like best is the textiles (enough to make Heidi froth at the mouth) and the serpentine carvings of incan idols, pumas, and llamas. I almost bought one, but its feet were broke and in general i’m just the worst shopper in the world. If i wasn’t i’d probably have more to show for my trips. So I just got on the train instead, and was lucky enough to get a seat where I could watch the thirty year old marine paw all over his teenage Peruvian girlfriend. I’m sewing the Maple Leaf to my backpack right away.