There has been much that has happened between my last visit at the Hospital IESS in Quito (this entry wasn't particularly well written I'm afraid...again, my sincerest apologies) and today, October 18, 2009.
One big difference between then and now is that I've entered, survived, and come out of the Amazon. Mind you, this isn't like camping in the Angeles National Forest or Yosemite. For reference, I've been told that both Bear Grylls (Man vs. Wild) and the guy from Survivorman have attempted episodes in the Amazon and only one of them made it through the entire night/episode. That being said...
La selva (the jungle) was by far, the best/worst/most ridiculous/hardest/most rewarding/craziest thing I've ever done.
Tuesday morning, having packed a small bag of clothes, insect repellent, a toothbrush, and other "necessities", I took an hour long bus ride to a small town called Pitirishca. I am surprised the bus stops here because literally, there is one store that sells coca cola and four houses. Try googling it.
From one of the houses, Ramon, our contact, appears. We make small talk. His daughter, Veronica, and his nephew, Rivaldo, will be our guides into la selva where we will stay with his brother's family in their small community. Excited and not quite sure what to expect, I happily follow along in my wellies (jungle boots) wearing my fake "FBI"-branded jungle pants that I bought in Ecuador for 9 dollars. Ten minutes into the four and a half hour hike, it becomes alarmingly clear that none of us knew what we were getting into. There. is. mud. everywhere.
Not just playground mud. MUD-MUD. Knee deep mud. Mud that sucks your boot into its depths so tightly that your (and by your, I mean my) foot comes flying out of its gear and lands boot-less into more. Mud. I now come to terms with the fact that my small 10 pound bag will feel like it weighs 60 pounds for the majority of this adventure. That this hike is going to last nearly 4 and a half hours. That the first 2 hours are all uphill, nearly to the point where the four of us are on our hands and knees climbing up rocks. That the biggest spiders and scorpions I have ever seen are under every leaf. That I have never been so filthy in 22 years of my life. That our guides are trying their hardest not to laugh because, according to them, without gringos this hike takes them under 2 hours. I am in way over my head.
We take breaks, blaze through our water, and somehow, miraculously, on top of one of the many heights we scale, nearly four hours and fifteen minutes later, Veronica smiles and whispers something in Shuar to Rivaldo. The 11 year old boy lets this ethereal call escape from his lips. It sounds like a wolf howling and it's one of the most beautiful things I've ever heard in my life. Veronica and Rivaldo wait, listening. And sure enough, a howl in the distance.
We're close to the community and these calls are how indigenous people let each other know that they are approaching and that they mean no harm. (The Shuar are a tribe of warriors and, traditionally, would simply spear anyone who approached as a preemptive strike).
Emerging from the tree cover of the jungle and onto slightly flatter, drier ground, the Ecuadorian sun burns down on us. We see the hut and I almost cry from relief. There are chickens and ducks running about and a green parrot sitting on the grass roof of the hut. A small group of impossibly tiny children surrounds us in seconds. They are quiet, shy, keep their distance, but are always, always looking curiously with bright eyes.
I immediately head to the river, water filter in tow, and jump in with all of my clothes on. Water has never felt or tasted so good in my life. The children have followed and all sit on the bank, watching, dressed in normal "western" style clothes in various degrees of tatter. No loin-clothes or bare breasts, mom!
The group spends the rest of the afternoon recovering from the hike, tentatively laying our things down in the small "room" where we are to sleep. The wooden floors don't seem particularly welcoming, but, after four and a half hours in the jungle, the prospect of somewhere dry and mud-less to sleep is very promising.
Finally, Gustavo, the head of the community, comes back from the jungle to greet us. He's killed a baby jaguar today and will be drying the skin over the next few days. He is excited, happy for his luck on his hunt today and for the newcomers that are visiting his family. He talks repeatedly about sharing cultures (compartir! compartir!) and assures us that tonight there will be a welcome ceremony with traditional dancing.
Gustavo is an extremely generous man with smiling eyes. It's hard to believe that he comes from a long line of warriors or that he's killed an endangered animal today. Endlessly patient with us and our elementary Spanish, he pulls out two wooden benches in front of his hut and beckons us to sit. The ceremony is about to begin.
In the dark, with moths and bats flying about, we hear the performers walking toward their stage. Dressed in long necklaces, belts, anklets, and bracelets of shells, two young girls appear. Three boys with small wooden spears and crowns of feathers and animal furs follow. Gustavo presents the group: Hijos de Cascada. It is his version of the Jackson 5 and we all stifle a laugh because it is clear that these are his children and he has been making them practice. But, our host insists on calling them Children of the Waterfall. It is cute. There is dancing, there is Shuar singing, and then they teach us to dance.
And then we re-enter the hut.
Oh, dios mio.
In the time it has taken the gringos to learn how to dance, our comfortable hut-away-from-jungle has turned into a paradise for cockroaches. They. are. everywhere. They. are. huge. They. are. crunchy. when. stepped. on.
James, Eve, and Adrienne seem to be having a harder time with this than I am. I have resigned, knowing that the next four days will hold things that I cannot even imagine or hope to be prepared for. I am particularly fearful of the walk back out of the jungle, as the last 2 and a half hours coming in were completely, steeply downhill (walking up this would be/was a nightmare). I have made peace with the roaches. At least they don't bite.
Dinner is agonizingly long, because it takes place by candlelight (as in, one candle...there is no electricity or running water in the jungle, my friends). There are insects crawling on the table, on my plate, over my feet, flying in the air, but Gustavo ignores them and happily consumes his meal as poor James shakes his leg out of anxiety and both Eve and Adrienne's faces look terrified. I start laughing, out of nervousness, out of delirium, I don't know. But, in this very moment, my life seems very, very funny. I practically inhale the plain pasta and canned tuna, avoiding what seems to be another type of fish...I cannot really tell.
We go to sleep. The cockroach situation has not improved in our "room" as the wooden slats are not perfectly aligned and allow for easy passage into our haven, even 4 feet off of the ground. I glance at my watch and sigh one of the deepest sighs I have ever sighed. It is only 7pm...
I somehow fall asleep, my back against the hard wood floor, the chickens clucking to sleep underneath the house. So ends Day One.
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