South America Volume IV
In this addition from South America: Amazonian Ants in My Pants.
I’m back in Rurrenabaque (however briefly) after two successful trips to
very different parts of the Bolivian Amazon.
On the 8th of February I joined a small group of other travelers and we
boarded a motorized dugout canoe and headed up the Rio Beni from Rurre. We
chugged up the swollen river which carried huge tree trunks and entire
palm trees keeping the two motoristas very busy spotting and dodging the
various obstacles. We ascended between two huge protected areas: Parque
Nacional Madidi to the north and Reserva Pilon Lajas to the south. The
mountains rose up in ridges along the route and we passed through narrow
gaps where the brown water of the Beni swirled menacingly. About three
hours up river from Rurre we made a turn up a small river, the QuiQuiBey
which was a brilliant red from the local clay soils. For a short distance
we passed through the primary rainforest and then pulled up on a shore
near the Mozeten-Chimane community of Ascuncion, the home of the Mapajo
Lodge. The locals appeared on the top of the bluff to see who the
intruders were and waved hello. We climbed up the bluff bearing our packs
and walked the kilometer to the lodge. Situated on a hilltop above the
surrounding landscape the lodge is in a wonderful setting. It consists of
several cabanas, a kitchen and dining room, and a round building equipped
with several hammocks that serves as a social space. The cabanas were
clean with elegant mosquito nets draped over the beds. For three nights I
stayed there, exploring the local forest and making short runs up the
river in the canoes with the local guides to look for birds, wildlife and
to admire the forest itself.
The lodge is a community run endeavor, built on the model that the local
people should benefit directly from the tourism occurring in their home.
It works a little like this: The guides are all young men, locals from the
village, between 20 and 30 and work with the tourists on an alternating
basis. They are incredibly knowledgeable of their forest having spent
their lives hunting and gathering in the surrounding landscape. The
lodge's support staff and cooks are also from the community and alternate
daily so each day a different cook is in charge and different people take
care of the cleaning and maintenance of the facilities. It works like
clockwork and allows the money to be distributed evenly throughout
Ascuncion.
To be honest the birding there, despite the wealth of the forest, was not
that great. I had forgotten a few things about the Amazon and this was
one: It is damn hard to find birds in the rainforest and even harder to
photograph them. I had a great time looking however and spent many happy
hours early in the morning, exploring the trails seeing what I could and
photographing when I could. Another thing I had forgotten was the sheer
abundance, diversity, volume and outright numbers of ants. They were
everywhere, on the forest floor, running up the trees, passing through the
kitchen and crawling in long lines through my cabana. And, of course,
ending up in my pants where I would shake them out each morning.
Inevitably a few would cling on and a few minutes later I would feel the
distinctive prick of tiny pinchers digging into my skin. This was followed
by the "ants in my pants dance" which involves a lot of reaching and
groping, unbuttoning and unfastening, and hoping desperately that no one
is watching. Eventually, and with relish, I would find, remove and squish
the little culprits.
The true highlights of this trip were cultural. We made a stop in the
village one afternoon after a nasty morning of rain and watched the locals
at their chores. It was arranged for us, in the form of stops at different
houses. They clearly were expecting us, having their tools and projects
waiting for us, but never did I get the impression that they were
performing, merely showing. These were their regular chores, they were
just organizing their day to work around us. This point was driven home,
not by their skills (which were extraordinary) but by what we saw around
us. An example: The first stop was to watch a woman grinding corn for
flour and the local corn brew (Chicha) with a large round river stone and
broad hardwood platter. We watched her crush the kernels for a bit (while
her pet spider monkey climbed up into my lap and fell asleep) and then
moved on to the next stop. At the next stop we entered a bamboo walled
house and there, leaned up against the wall, was the family’s grinding
stone and platter still covered with the remnants of the day’s grinding.
In short, it was very real. We spent the afternoon at various stops,
watching baskets being woven, local cotton being spun into thread, and
practiced shooting the palm and bamboo bows used for fishing and hunting
by the locals. About the time we were ready to head back to the lodge, the
people were coming back from their small fields and the forest and I
noticed a strange thing happening. Most folks were barefoot or wearing
cheap flip-flops but when they arrived home I saw them walk into their
houses and a moment later emerged wearing soccer cleats. Everyone, young
women, older men, kids, all of them moved toward the soccer pitch in the
center of town pulled out a ratty ball and started kicking it around. A
moment later I was waved over and joined one of the sides in the evening’s
scrimmage. It was laid back and everyone, regardless of age, sex and size
played. There was no competition, no one celebrated goals, no shouts, just
lots and lots of laughing. It occurred to me as I sat there panting and
sweating that these people were perfectly, contentedly, happy. In fact,
never before had I met people who seemed so genuinely happy. Joking,
smiling, laughing, slapping each other on the back, just having a grand
time. And this was just another day in their lives.
When the world ends and western culture collapses into chaos I’m certain
that these people will continue to happily live exactly the way the do.
They will shake their heads, perhaps bemoan the fact that no more tourists
will come to their wonderful lodge and then head off for a day of
harvesting rice and plantains from their fields or hunting peccaries in
the forest and return in the evening for a game of soccer. When World War
III arrives, I want to be with the people of the Rio QuiQuiBey.
One of the main reasons I travel is to experience the occasional, brief
moments of sublime perfection. Indulge me, please in the description of
one such moment. The last day at Mapajo we headed up river to a remote
“camp” (really a fairly sturdy, if run-down building) for the night. That
evening, after a long afternoon of rain and wet I was standing a few feet
back from the fire admiring the scene of the clouds separating to reveal
the stars and listening to the sing-song conversation of the cooks
conversing in Mozeten. Suddenly I was sublimely happy. I could feel the
evening air on my face and see the sparks from the fire reaching up into
the sky. The mixed sounds of an ancient language and the rainforest at
night mingled together in an incomprehensible but beautiful noise. And I
said, almost aloud: “I am so damn lucky.”
I returned back to Rurre for a night still yearning for more time in the
Amazon so I promptly booked a tour to a nearby Pampas area. The Beni
Savannahs are a huge mix of open wetlands, rivers, lakes and gallery
forest. Though much less diverse than the nearby rainforest, it is much
more open and animals are more abundant. I spent three nights at a lodge
along the Rio Yacuma and I have three words that pull together the
importance of the trip: Pink River Dolphins. The Amazon Basin is home to a
species of fresh water dolphin, odd things, with long beaks and while
their backs are generally a pale grayish their lower body is a rich and
bright pink. They were everywhere, we swam with them and admired them from
the boat. We watched Yellow-rumped Caciques buzz overhead their surfacing
forms. It was marvelous.
It was a great place to spend a few days and the birding was fun and easy.
Hoatzins, Rufescent Tiger Herons, Kiskadees, Great Antshrikes, Southern
Screamers, Striated Herons…
I hung out with a small group of travelers at the lodge, two pairs of
Brits and two Australians and I think it will be some time before I’m able
to shake off British slang from my vocabulary.
Well I’m right knackered from typing so I’ll sign off.
South America Volume IV
Friday, April 4, 2008
