Jungle Time, part I

Having been in Manaus for fourteen days, I had yet to see any of the vast jungle that surrounds it for hundreds and hundreds of miles.  With the wedding over, the suit returned, and my camera sought for (unsuccessfully), it was time see what it was all about.  As it happens, Amazon Antonio's Tours operates directly out of Hostel Manaus and had been recommended by fellow hostelizers over the course of my stay, so I walked all of ten feet handed over a small wad of cash and signed a few documents and was ready for three nights of jungle living.

The night before leaving I had moved rooms once again, this time at the tragic cost of the loss of my pillow.  You see, hostels have terrible pillows.  In fact the every aspect of hostel bedding could be considered the absolute bottom for bedding that is not entirely improvised or intentionally intended as punishment.  As a side sleeper by trade, the pillow is perhaps the most important sleeping-oriented condiment.  Knowing I would be staying at the hostel for at least fourteen days, I made an executive decision and on day two went into a store and bought a lovely foam cushion pillow, on which I slept like a dream but which today someone else is dreaming on.

The same night was also punctuated by the hostel receptionist playing the guitar and singing in the lobby well past the hostel's on designate curfew, then by the dramatic entrance and repeated re-entrances of two gentlemen in the three to four AM time frame.  To get to the jungle lodge, I had to be in a taxi at seven AM, so to say the least I was groggy.  From the taxi they put me on a bus heading east and asked the driver to notify me when to disembark as it would not be clear.

While the outside air temperature was eighty-eight degrees, the interior of the bus is maintained like a walk-in refrigerator.  Everyone huddles under blankets.  Short of collusion between the blanket mongers and the bus companies, I cannot see why this would be the case.  The bus made good time along a well paved two-lane highway and about two and a half hours later, I was dropped off in a small village.  A gentleman was waiting right outside the bus to greet me and we walked down a dirt road, stopping briefly at house on the way, to a small aluminum boat.

The next hour was spent speeding up a wide tributary of the Amazon.  Low trees lined both sides of the river and the ground here was very sandy.  At last we pulled into Antonio's lodge where we walked up a steep hill to lodge's buildings.  The rivers of the Amazon watershed have huge seasonal fluctuations and at my arrival, at the very beginning of the rainy season, the water level was some thirty feet below what it would reach in June.

After a delicious lunch that included freshly caught bass and piranha, I was introduced to my guide, Jungle James.  Jungle James asked me if I would like to join a group departing in a few hours to spend the night in a shelter in the jungle.  Having no plans for the evening, I accepted.  After a short but satisfying nap, I put together the few things I thought I would need for the evening, included a slightly damp hammock I had been handed, and prepared for my two hour walk.  On my way to meet the group I was asked to add a sack of potatoes to my bag, which I easily accommodated.  What was a bit less satisfying was, at the very moment we started walking to be handed an aluminum cauldron with a wire holder stuffed to the brim with, of all things, bananas and eggs.  One of the joys of hiking, to my mind, is carefully arranging your belongings so everything is secure and well balanced before you begin your trek.  Being handed a pot full of bananas takes a bit of the edge off of this joy.  Nonetheless, I tied it on to my bag and, using my hand to keep it from swinging into my leg, set off.

The hike began in the sort of low trees and sandy soil I had seen from the boat.  Walking through it, it was not hard to imagine myself in Cape Cod rather the Amazon rain forest.  After half an hour or so, this vegetation gave way to second-growth forest, taller and with thick undergrowth.  At about this point it began to rain in true tropical fashion and I put on my raincoat largely in attempt to prevent water from being added to the bananas and eggs in the pot.  The hike in fact lasted about three and half hours when, at dusk, we arrived at our camp, a blue tarp suspended over a frame of about eight posts.  We strung our hammocks between the posts and I went with James to gather some firewood.  This consisted of James identifying suitable pieces, hacking them with an enormous machete, and the two of us lugging them back to a clear area near the tarp.

Jungle James at our exclusive resort

Soon a fire was billowing, half chickens were arranged around it on skewers, and a mix of potatoes and rices was boiling furiously above.  As we waited, Carl, a Swede of about seventy years, a talker with a dry wit, procured a small amount of what he called "Brazilian Wine" but which is generally marketed as bottom shelf cachaca.  We all had a few sips and learned, through friendly interrogation, a bit of James' history.  James had been born in the far north of Brazil, near the border with Venezuela, to an Amerindian family.  As an infant he moved with his family to Manaus, where the language of his parents was entirely unhelpful.  When he turned ten he was handed over to relatives in Manaus and his parents returned to their village in the north.  James learned Portuguese and after completing school, began driving boats up and down the river for tour guides.  From the guides he learned English, and once he had developed a mastery of that he managed to pick up a fair amount of Spanish and German as well.  This put him in good position to be a guide himself, and it was thus that Jungle James came o work for Antonio.

The roasted chicken was possibly the best I have ever had.  When we were done eating, the fire was adjusted to keep at a smolder through the night, and we retreated to our hammocks.  A light rain was falling as I drifted off to sleep.  I awoke a few hours later to an incredible sight.  The moon, near full, had emerged from behind the clouds and was shining with such radiance that the jungle around us had turned incredible shades of silver.  The temperature had also dropped considerably and I found myself surprising cold given my latitude and altitude.  I managed to get fitful sleep until dawn when we had breakfast, broke up camp, and headed back.

On the way back we paused at a small hole in the ground that, James explained, was the home of a spider.  James then produced a short thin stick and within a few second had managed to get a softball size tarantula to come scurrying out.  The tarantula was so large and fuzzy as to almost be cute, rather like an eight legged chipmunk.  After we gawked a bit, James pushed it back into its home with the flat of his machete.

The other noteworthy event occurring on the hike back was a demonstration of an Indian bug repellent technique.  Basically, you find an ant's nest on the side of tree, give the tree a good thwack, and put your hand on the nest as all of the ants come scurrying out.  When a sufficient number have checked out your hand, you remove it from the nest, and smush the ants over whatever part of your body you would like protected.  The startling bit of the experience is just how many ants manage to start crawling on you in such a short period of time, and it feels a bit like sticking your hand into a box of styrofoam balls.

to be continued...