Odyssey number 2?

Hola! To follow on from the last post, we arrived back into Rurrenabaque after the pampas tour and had a brief stay before departing on a 2 day Jungle tour the following morning. Sadly Teresa and Dave had to head back to La Paz but Irene continued on with us so the 4 amigos had swelled to five. We headed up river in a small boat for three hours to Madidi national park. The tiny motor ensured a leisurely but lovely pace and we had a fantastic morning passing  local camps on the banks and taking in the spectacular scenery.  We arrived at our camp and as soon as we stepped foot on land we were absolutely attacked by sand flies. I have developed a love/hate relationship with sand flies; I BLOODY HATE them and they absolutely love me. These tiny little sneaky sons of b&$#@?s subtly devour you before you've cottoned on to what's happening.

We rather hastily made way to our accommodations to lather up in bushmans and don long pants. We met some guys who were finishing their tour and about to catch our boat back down river. One of the poor guys was wearing shorts (not having brought any pants ??) and his legs were a painful looking mess of angry red boil type bites which he advised were the results of mosquitoes and red ants. I made a mental note to self: avoid red ants nests lest I end up looking like I´ve contracted some type of flesh eating disease which may significantly hamper my chances of bagging my rich-attractive-hacienda owning-husband.

 Our accommodations were very basic (huts with mosquito netted beds, a toilet hut and kitchen hut) but the setting was beautiful and peaceful with just the five of us and our cook and guide. The jungle surrounded the huts with small paths snaking into the dense bush to the river and into the green unknown. We were introduced to our guide the pocket sized Juan who with great enthusiasm told us we could spend as much time in the jungle as we liked ‘we can walk for hours and then tonight for hours too! This guy was rip roaring and ready to go. We geared up and I pulled out my much loved jungle shirt. Caz has given me absolute hell for bringing with me a white long sleeved dry wicking Colombia shirt (draws moisture away from the body - how awesome!) which I think is uber cool and Caz has advised me is not and should have been left at home along with my dykie hiking boots (which were). I naturally have had a hard time swallowing this from a woman who has lugged around not one but two maxi dresses. When we went out for dinner last night Caz donned her floor length black maxi dress and when she went to drop off the key one of the bar staff asked ‘off to the opera are we?´ He he he he I’ll give you dykie hiking boots!

Anyway we took off into the jungle after Juan who was expertly wielding his machete to clear a path for us. Juan was donned in black pants, gumboots and a long sleeved shirt. I puzzled about the gumboots for quite some time and nervously looked down at my trekking shoe covered feet and wondered what I was in for.  The jungle was dense; towering vine covered trees luckily blocked out much of the sun but it was still humid and bloody hot! Within minutes we were all sweating and wet backed except ...wait for it...me!!!!! Woo hoo! My shirt was bloody fantastic and I took great pleasure in making reference to it¨s fantasticness on many occasions….¨hmm hot isn´t it I must be soaked; oh no hang on my seriously technical and highly attractive shirt is wicking it´s little heart out and keeping me dry…. Win!!

Juan had amazing enthusiasm and great knowledge and excitedly pointed out various trees, and identified the sounds of the wildlife (which was very adept at hiding). At one point he stopped dead in the middle of the path and started sniffing the air. It was surreal. The look of concentration on his face was quickly followed by boyish excitement and he quietly urged us to follow as quickly and quietly as we could. In the distance we could hear this odd sound; it is almost indescribable; I sit here now weeks later hearing it perfectly but still unsure how to describe it. A low growling/rumbling crossed with a sound similar to golf balls being rolled around and crushed in some type of shredder. Maybe cross that with the squarks and squeals of the alien predator from the Arnie movie and we're actually still nowhere in the ballpark. Juan explained what we were hearing was a herd of wild pigs (about 50) in the jungle a couple of hundred meters away.  We hurried our pace and we left the path and started heading into dense jungle. I was directly behind Juan and trying to keep up with him was near to impossible. Despite wielding the machete as he went he was nimble and quick as a fox. He literally flew over the branches, logs, and expertly maneuvered his way through tangles of vines whilst all the time being quiet. We needless to say were not quite so graceful and despite our best efforts I’m sure sounded like a herd of drunken elephants stumbling over corrugated iron.  I was beginning to feel a nervous excitement and started sniffing the air to see if I could detect any of what Juan was following. It was mild at first, a fairly unpleasant urine orientated odor; Sniff, sniff, sniff...bang! I suddenly caught a good whiff and it was nearly eye watering it was so acrid and intense. We were still moving throught the jungle quickly and the noise was becoming a thunderous roar. I began to think what the hell sort of pigs are these?  Flesh eating razor backs? I secretly began to wish I had my own machete and started looking around for scalable trees should the need arise. After what was probably 20 minutes of crawling and fighting through dense jungle Juan stopped us and hid us behind trees. They must have cottoned on to us and we heard piercing squeals and a wild scrambling and mass fleeing. I saw a few lightening black flashes from a distance and that was it. Pooh. Let down. Juan indicated that his heart was beating rapidly; excitement? Nervousness? Fear? (Shit I hoped not). He didn’t seem too perturbed at the departure of the pigs and showed us what the odd sound was…the pigs chomp  these hard acorn like nuts which causes an awful ruckus.

We followed Juan for a while longer and was introduced to a tree I dubbed the garlic tree, the aroma of which was pungent and absolutely garlic. He macheted off some bark which can be rubbed on bites (which I gladly did). He showed us another tree which he slashed a cut into to release what he informed us was highly toxic sap. I thought to myself If I get lost in the jungle I'm screwed; these trees look identical to me. I’ll be rubbing toxic sap on mossie bites and avoiding garlic. He demonstrated he truly was the jungle boy by climbing vines and proudly posing for photos. He really loved what he was doing and once again we all felt blessed to have another guide who was passionate about his job and genuinely loved sharing his love for the jungle with us.

We soon picked up the scent of the pigs again and were off. This time after a few more minutes we took up positions on a track and a herd thundered by. It was amazing: the sound, the smell, the speed! There were some pretty bloody big black pigs and quite a few piglets. Probably 30 or 40 in total cut he path in front of us. After the roar had subsided and the last pig had leapt and squealed past Juan told us he was very proud of us, especially us girls as other girls who have come on the trek have apparently gotten frightened by the noise and fled in the opposite direction (understandable). Woo hoo! Super chicks!  

We trekked in the jungle for about 3 hours before heading back for dinner. We had a lovely dinner and a bottle of red and then headed back out into the jungle for a night trek. We had head torches to light our way, although my five dollar head torch bought at the witches market in La Paz was unsurprisingly rubbish and I spent half the night trying valiantly not to fall on my face.  At times we stopped in the jungle and all turned off our head torches. The sounds were wonderful. The jungle has a definite heart beat and a group of citizens who clearly don’t sleep. I loved those times standing there in the darkness, eyes wide open in the blackness, perfectly still, everyone silent. At one point Juan indidcated for us to stay still and he wandered off into the darkness. After a few minutes Caz voiced what I´m sure we were all thinking: ¨god I hope he´s coming back¨.

At another point when we had switched off the torches and were enjoying the quiet stillness, I heard someone making a racket behind me reminiscent of an epileptic playing hop scotch. We turned on our torches to watch Brendan and Dave start a mad thigh slapping routine (literally). It was quite funny until I felt the first bite. We were all covered in red ants. We had stopped smack bang in the middle of downtown red ants ville and they were pissed. I was soon hopping and cursing and slapping like a mad woman. Bloody hell the little bastards can sting! Juan was trying to help us who were desperately rolling up our pants which they had crawled inside to brush them off. They particularly loved the cuffs of our pants and finally I understood the bloody gumboots.

After about ten minutes of trying to pick the last of the biting mongrels from our pants we continued on. About 50 meters down the track I stopped. Caz wheeled around and the spotlight of her head torch caught me pants almost around my ankles. She began to ask what I was doing when she realized and started laughing…yep ants in my pants. We walked through the jungle for about two hours and despite the experience were all quite pleased to get back and soothe our war wounds.

I woke the next morning very early and decided to get up and go and have a wash by the river. It was misty and mysterious and I felt quite the Jungle Jane as I bathed in the fog shrouded river. I washed for a couple of minutes (as I’d seen Juan do the previous evening) and hurriedly changed clothes. I thought I’d escaped relatively unscathed but it wasn’t to be. I had about 100 sand fly bites all over me, 30 of which were on my bum. I was a mess. Red ant bites, mosquito bites, sand fly bites. I had more bites than freckles. Three or four weeks later I still have itchy remnants of bites.

After breakfast we again went out into the jungle and stopped at a tiny muddy river to do a spot of fishing. Juan was very keen to catch some fish (dinner perhaps?) and we spent quite some time unsuccessfully casting a solo handline. At one point Caz snagged the only hook and Juan tried to unsnag it and the line broke. We all thought oh well, fishing over. Nope. Juan stripped off to his underwear and in he went to search for his precious hook. Incredible. Watching Juan waist deep in brown water I felt like I stepped back in time and had come across a tribesman fishing. Despite the rescued hook there were no fish that day and we returned to camp for a final supper before catching the boat back downstream. Aside from a cocktail in hand, the afternoon could not have been more perfect and I felt every part of me relax as feet up, book in hand, we lazily cruised downstream.

The day we arrived back in Rurrenabaque  was Irene’s birthday and we went out for dinner at a lovely restaurant and proceeded to celebrate her birthday in style at the aptly named mosquito bar. The following morning I was terribly sad to leave Rurrenabaque and very nearly changed my flight to stay longer. It had been far my favorite place so far and when the plane took off from the runway I felt a lump of sadness one feels for a place treasured which will not likely be visited again.

We touched down in La Paz and the altitude absolutely knocked my socks off. I was madly clutching the airsickness bag on the decent and felt like I gained about 30 kilos and taken a sleeping tablet. Brendan descended the stairs from the plane and proceeded to vomit on the tarmac. We were a healthy looking bunch. In the taxi on the way back into La Paz I vowed that I was finished with altitude and after the Salkantay trek to Machu Picchu I was getting back to sea level as soon as possible and following the sun.  

We stayed in La Paz for one night and then headed to Copacabana on the banks of Lake Titicaca, which stradles Bolivia and Peru and is one of the highest navigatable lakes in the world. The lake is enormous, beautiful and surrounded by snow capped peaks. We caught a ferry to Isla Del Sol, a large island in the lake where we planned to spend one night. The Island was stunning! From the beach where we docked we could see a towering hill upon which we could see colourful dressed locals leading donkeys loaded with an assortment of goods (bags of rice, crates of beer) up steps carved into the hill. We  loaded up our packs (Cazzy and Irene were lucky enough to snag a porter) and began the hellish climb. Dave proved that chivalry was not yet dead and kindly exchanged my 20 kilo plus fat man pack for his much lighter pack. I had Dave´s pack, my day pack on my front, my beach bag around my neck (containing bottles of wine, naturally) and I was by no means speedy or lithe. The island was 4000m and the altutude, weight and stairs had me blowing! Luckily our hostel was only about two thirds of the way to the top so the legs and lungs were spared somewhat. The views from the hostel deck were magnificent. Whilst the accommodation was very basic, when you’re paying about four dollars per night there are no complaints. We all agreed that anywhere in the western world the rack rate would be at least $1000 a night for views like that.

That afternoon we did a short hike to some fairly non descript ruins and met some small local children who were quite determined that we pay to see the ruins (although we’d already paid) and vehemently informed us to PAY or LEAVE! It made me quite sad to see how business savvy the kids are. At one point the following day I took a photo of a lovely little girl who was playing peek a boo with me and her sister hot footed it up the trail after me demanding payment for the picture of her sister.  

The following day we did a hike to the North end of the island. What a spectacular day. Hills at 4000m can be hard going but the blazing sun and the 360 degree mangificent lake views never got tiring. We visited an Incan ruin which is reported to be the birth place of the first inca. We caught a boat back to the south of the island and returned to Copacabana to catch our bus to Puno (just inside the Peruvian border). I was sad to leave Bolivia and its marvelous diversity and cheapness(!) but was excited to hit Peru and specifically Cusco where we were hoping to catch our cousin Susie. We stayed in Puno over night (definitely long enough) and bused to Cusco the following day after a disappointing trip to the floating islands off Puno. Whilst it was fascinating to see the islands and learn about their formation, our tour was basically a tourist show and the pressure to buy souvenirs intense to the point of being uncomfortable.I was glad to leave and happy to board the bus to Cusco.

Post has again become epic so will once again say adios and leave Cusco for next time!