Quito, Ecuador

Greetings,

The first email summary of my South American adventures was issued June 2006. It is time to put the last twelve months of history to paper for the legions of fans I have worldwide, most of them not yet aware of my existence.

When I pulled into Quito on April 6, 2006 little did I realize my departure date would be more than five months later, on September 15.

Some of the longer town and city stays during my travels are: amazing Istanbul (Turkey) logged in 80 days. A long study session in Rishikesh (India) tallied 145 days. Multiple visits of Hong Kong sum to 48 days. Brilliant Shanghai 114 days. Beijing hits 36 days. La Paz 35 days. Buenos Aires 60 days. Quito takes first place at 163 days.

For in Quito I found an inexpensive user-friendly environment to justify a free-for-all party. Emerging half-starved from the Peruvian rainforest I initially lifted all daily expense limits to buy whatever foods I desired in the effort to fatten up.

Upon discovery of the nightclub scene and an alternative buffet of Ecuadorians and Columbians I soon after swept away the daily expense limits not only for food but everything.

Ecuador permits a maximum stay of six months per year. On September 15 I half-grudgingly, half-thankfully stepped on a bus to exit Quito for Banos, to say goodbye to my one and only true love, Lady Tungurahua. To eye-witness the details of her July and August eruptions.

Revisiting Volcan Tungurahua

My climb of the volcano was completed March 28 to 30, 2006. May 10 she stepped up the pace of her explosions, steam-ash emissions, tremors. I re-visited June 13 for my birthday.

July 14 the volcano’s activity increased dramatically, sending a plume of ash 25 km high, ejecting large incandescent blocks 500 meters above the crater, generating five pyroclastic flows.

One month later, August 16, she violently erupted surpassing her 1999 reawakening. August 17 twenty pyroclastic flows resulted. Five people killed, a handful of villages destroyed leaving 5000 homeless.

The volcano was curiously quiet in September. No explosions. No ash clouds. Not a peep. Some vulcanologists suspected the crater plugged, accumulating lava underneath for a greater explosion. I asked three guide shops about the volcano’s status, a possible climb to the crater. I wondered how much the landscape might have changed from my climb in March.

The guide shop I used to scale Cotopaxi’s glacier advised the military/police would not allow access to the trail up (if they saw me). Noted. Advised the Refugio at 3800 meters was destroyed. Noted. Advised the trail to the crater was erased due to the lava eruption. Noted. Advised the top 500 meters of the cone is covered in snow, I would need crampons and an ice axe to summit. Noted.

On September 16, instead of a climb to the crater, I opted to walk around the volcano’s base. Three kilometers from town I scrambled a pyroclastic flow that buried a handful of homes, roofs and tree trunks sticking up between chunks of steaming lava. Stumbled onto the Banos-Riobamba road. Thought if I could circle around the volcano’s base to its eruptive side to get a look at the destruction it would be an incredible visual.

On the way a second pyroclastic flow was 300 meters across. It completely wiped out the highway, the debris hurled into the river below and smashed on the opposite side of the valley. Six kilometers into the walk I could see smoke ahead. Thought it was a fire, perhaps burning debris. Approaching the noise I descended to take a closer look. It was a volcanic vent on the side of the river intermittantly flaring up. Unable to get closer I could not determine if it was lava, mud and/or hot gases.

Four hours later, twelve kilometers, after three additional pyroclastic flows, more buried homes, the road was impassable. The trail people used to escape was eroded by wind and rain, a sheer bank fifty meters down. I gave up the task. The ash was thick, trees and plants caked, a foot deep on rooftops. This was the ‘safe side’ of the volcano! The eruptive side, the NW flank, must have annihilated all life and habitation.

I returned to Banos in time for a late afternoon clearing of the cone. Like clockwork the cone clears of clouds between four and six pm. Some snow on the peak, sure, but not enough to warrant crampons and an ice axe. I could see the Refugio standing but reasoned if the houses down here sustained damage on the ‘safe side’ of the volcano, the Refugio at 3800 meters, some 500 meters off a lava path, had to sustain significant damage via projectiles. With glass windows shattered by explosions there is probably two-plus feet of ash in the building. Using it as shelter from night time precipitation and wind would be useless.

Lastly, the NW flank and a large part of the N flank was covered in cooling black lava. From 4800 meters to the peak the trail was gone. A climb would be impossible. I made the right call to survey the changes from afar.

At 6:15pm, with the sun setting, I said goodbye to the volcano that provided one of the most definitive moments of my life. An hour on top of her exploding crater by myself -- and she let me live.

(Seven days after my visit, September 23, Tungurahua reawakened with a 9km high ash cloud, erupting lava streams in October. She continues today with ‘subdued’ ash plumes, tremors and lahars.)

Exiting Ecuador

From Banos I caught buses through Riobamba, Cuenca, Loja. My plan was to return to the rainforest of Peru via Iquitos, ferry into Brazil along the Amazon river to the Atlantic Ocean. Arriving at the Ecuador border changed this.

The customs guard noted I overstayed my Ecuador visa by five days. Fine, I said, I will pay the fine. What is it? He replied $200US. Me: !!!! He continued to explain visa overstays start at $200, be it five minutes or five days, and reach $2000.

I thought to myself I can calculate income and expenses for an entire year to arrive at $100 unaccounted, yet I cannot calculate the days on a visa. *&@%$ !

With visas operating on a computer program the guard added there was nothing he could do to override the system. I needed to pay $200 US to officially exit the country. He showed me the government pamphlets for late exits so the fine was legit. No way around it.

Well, turns out there was a way around it. He asked me to fetch the Peruvian customs guard. They talked. As I did not have $200 US cash on me I walked out of Ecuador without an exit stamp. Paid $20 to the Peruvian officer to 'look the other way' (they operate on paper, not computer), into Peru I go. Which means technically I am still in Ecuador, over my visa by eight months ... and counting.

South Peru: Huacachina to Macchu Piccu

The Peruvian guard provided a thirty day visa. Within the first hours of Peru I changed my route, bypassing the Amazon basin for southern Peru, Bolivia and Chile.

Among other reasons the definitive one was: I spent five months at 2900 meters, hitting 5000+ meters on three occasions. If I were to enter the rainforest now by the time I loop around the continent my altitude acclimatization may be lost. Whereas if I make a dash for the volcanoes in southern Peru and the length of Chile I can make the best of it -- to eventually reach 6887 meters on top of the highest active volcano in the world.

“This tour my priority is to observe earth’s landscaping and biodiversity (plants-animals), not the cultures of men. Should I find bits of creative-cultural differentiation along the way, great, but it is not the primary value I seek in South America.” (Sep22)

Bussed Peru’s garbage-strewn Panamerican Highway along its ugly poverty-plagued coastal-desert towns. An hour in shithole mega-tropolis Lima, skipped over diluted sites like Pisco and Nazca, stopping outside Ica at the Huacachina desert oasis. Wandered around the desert dunes for two days capturing images of captivating sand-scapes.

On the way to Cusco pulled into Nazca for a bus change. With eight hours till the next bus I attempted to climb the world’s highest sand dune, Cerro Blanco at 2070 meters, for a survey of the local terrain.

In Cusco checked into Hostal San Cristobal for $5 a night, a room to myself overlooking the main square. As all new experiences must be taken into the context of one’s past I found Cusco a pleasant city, certainly the most stylish in Peru, but not unique. Churches were second-rate, not reaching the ornate intricacy or God-grandeur of Mexico’s. Colonial remains take backseat to Mexico’s stylish Guanajuato. Inca traces were minimal as was the museum, the latter easily surpassed by one of Lima’s saving graces.

Of Macchu Piccu I can say it no better than:

“The MPicchu experience was tamed by price. The only way to get there, other than the Inca trail, is by train. $70US for a return ticket from Cusco. $40US for site entry ticket. That made me want to puke. By comparison I was able to enter the Great Pyramid of Giza (Egypt), climb the Great Wall of Simitai (China), stand in the ruins of Perseopolis (Iran), for $1 to $3 each. MPicchu is so overhyped. Cool, sure, scenic, sure, but give me a break. There is 20% of the world's biodiversity roaming around the Amazon basin but tourists spend more time, money and talk about a bunch of rocks on top of a mountain.

”The only reason I made myself go see it is because for the rest of my life, after stating I have travelled South America, 80% of individuals will not ask: did you trek the Amazon? Did you see army ants? a jaguar? Did you scale Andean mountains/volcanos? Did you see a calving glacier? Did you ... etc., etc. -- but will ask: "Did you see MPicchu?!"” (Oct7)

Enjoying the site as a playground, starting at 6am I ran like a demonized monkey through the central ruins. Peaked on Waynapicchu at 2634 meters by 9:11am, Intipunku at 2730 meters by 12:18pm. Eight and a half hours of Machu Picchu. In sum I like the site location while disliking the price-gouging to see it.

Life-Death-Truth. The foundation of my thought: the body is the soul. The organic body is a mortal soul. Man is an animal of the earth. The death of the body is the death of the soul. This is in opposition to the popular belief of an immortal soul inhabiting a body, the "ghost in a machine" (and variations like reincarnation).

Existence as a conscious being is due to the body. For me the material world is not separate from the spiritual world; they are one and the same. The mind and thought are one characteristic of a complex physical, fleshy body. With my god being reason and rationality the greatest spirituality I can conceive is to think and act as best / non-contradictory as I can. Mistakes are allowable simply because no one is consistently rational 24 hours a day; the goal is to keep raising our average over time.

As my body is my soul this makes the earth my home -- my heaven. With human life being the ultimate value to which all lesser values are subordinated, reason is my guiding light to action to sustain this life and flourish.

Based on reason, the faculty of an individual which integrates the data provided by the senses, I cannot objectively, conclusively prove there is an afterlife. Thus I give it no credit, allow it no access, and by consequence choose to live this human life to the fullest of my ability.

Confucius' take is: Chi-lu asked "I venture to ask about death." Confucius said, "If we do not yet know about life, how can we know about death?"

Reflecting Confucius I admit after five years of travel through thirty-five countries on five continents, seeing a cross-section of earth's biodiversity, dozens of cultures and philosophies, all it takes is to look at a hand before me to state I still have no idea how I am alive. With our culture trying to scientifically summarize the last twenty billion years of evolution in a textbook I think we have a looooong way to go before we understand even the tip of the iceberg. That said, until conclusive evidence is provided to prove otherwise, the above secularized principles are what I use to guide my life to an inevitable death, to be recycled by the universe into giving birth to new life.

His epitaph it will read

“Here grows Tsiktsik from sole seed …”

Recycling his itty bitty knees,

sprouting flowers, bugs n bees

carrying Tsik-molecules into new

greens of earth and skies of blue.

(Oct7)

"The more I experience personally the more I understand the importance of having a free society where individuals are able to communicate and act according to their conscience. For the marketplace of laissez-faire capitalism is a worldwide democracy, each person bringing to the table the best of their knowledge in trade to mutual advantage, learning and benefiting from others in turn. The freeflow exchange of information, all individuals contributing to a worldwide sum.

Compare this to the variations and degrees of socialism where the government -- a handful of individuals -- make the decisions for ‘society.’ Filtering information, services, products according to their limited experience and knowledge. And by doing so killing potential alternatives, improvements, innovations. Socialism is about the bottle-necking of information whereby the majority of individuals worldwide are never to be heard." (Sep30)

Volcanos Misti & Ubinas

From Cusco I bussed to the city of Arequipa, setting up base for two active volcano climbs: El Misti at 5822 meters, Ubinas at 5672 meters.

The climb of El Misti, “The Gentleman,” is recorded as:

“Towering over the city of Arequipa is El Misti. Determined to climb the volcano by myself I rented a tent and sleeping bag from a hiking shop, jumped on a bus the next morning 5:30am, started walking from the highway (3700 meters) towards the volcano 6:26am.

Taking my time, conserving energy for the final push the next day, 12:46pm I reached Base Camp One at 4650 meters, my only company being an Andean mouse trying to steal food. Set up the tent, had lunch and supper, slept from 7pm to 3am.

Rose, prepared myself, exited Base Camp One 4:26am with flashlight guiding my steps. As this is a test of my abilities for higher climbs in Chile I consciously monitor myself during ascent. Taking regular breaks, pacing myself, so as not to exhaust prematurely.

7:55am the zombie-shuffle becomes noticable, yet no major effects, no headache, no vomiting, simply a slow and steady rise. 9:29am I reach 5822 meters at the cross which marks the highest peak. Beautiful weather, perfect skies, I can see Volcan Ubinas blowing ash clouds in the distance.

12:44pm I have circled the crater. Cautiously slid down scree for 1.25 hours to make Base Camp One 1:55pm, packed my gear. Hiked to the highway by 6pm, flagged a dumptruck for a ride to Arequipa.” (Oct4-5)

Comparing the climbs of El Misti and Cotopaxi:

“It was easier than I expected. The only other climb I can compare it to is Cotopaxi at 5897 meters. I asked myself why this one didn't affect me the same way as glacierized Cotopaxi. For Coto base camp is at 4800m, the peak at 5897m. El Misti base camp is at 4650m, the peak 5822m. Yet I started the latter at 3100m. So I climbed 1097 meters for Coto, 2722m for El Misti, but Coto was more exhausting. Huh? Then it clicked. Cotopaxi is a night climb starting at 1am. I was awake for a full day when the climb began. By climb's end I had been up for more than 24 hours. With El Misti I had a decent sleep before beginning the climb to peak.” (Oct7)

The climb of Ubinas, Peru’s most active volcano, reads:

“With rented tent and sleeping bag I jumped on a 7am bus, dropped off in front of a smoldering Ubinas in the middle of nowhere 10:44am (4300 meters), multiple dust devils swirling in the distance.

It took three hours to circle the volcano (2pm), to find a suitable place to attempt a climb in the morning. Set up camp. I figure the altitude of camp must be near 5000 meters for my head was pounding by 5pm. Slept for three hours, woke refreshed, the headache gone.

5:54am started to climb. Stepped onto the rim of the crater 7:50am, witnessing the expulsion of steam and ash.

9am descended into the crater. Five minutes later the volcano let fly a black ash cloud rising a couple kilometers into the sky. Not wanting to be gassed I remounted the rim to watch developments.

Clouds moved in to block sunlight. Satisfied with the climb I nixed the idea of descending into the crater. 10:30am descent, reached camp 11:15am, packed up, crossed the road 2pm. As there is one bus per day in these parts I walk five kilometers, find a place to camp, settle in for a second night of the freezing desert under the stars.

Next morning another ten kilometers walking. The bus rumbles around a corner. I am bound for the city of Arequipa.” (Oct8-9)

Bussed to Puno, nestled along the hills and shore of Lake Titicaca, the highest navigable lake (3812m) in the world, the second largest lake in South America, shared by the countries of Peru and Bolivia. Lake Titicaca is famous for the forty-three islands of Uros made of floating reeds. Initially built for defensive purposes the islands could be moved if a threat arose. A second bit of history is Isla del Sol, Island of the Sun, where in Inca mythology it figured as their place of origin. I visited the first and blew off the second.

"Nothing is lost in the universe. My body experiences, learns, dies. The larger elements of body and individual consciousness may dissipate in death but the micro elements carry on. Like the crest of a wave a human being is produced, lives and is swallowed up by a universe of energy. The distinctive experience of each human being is added to the ever-expanding, ever-adapting, ever-evolving energy ocean." (Oct7)

"Just as man is an organic animal so do I believe the universe is an organic entity. Through the interaction of its parts it learns. Through interaction of its parts it breeds new actualities, new individualized entities. Though a creature or entity may cease to be I believe after its dissolution the elements of its composition retain memory of its existence, its experience. Cross-fertilization and creation is working on multiple levels -- in many cases unknown to its end users -- and never does the process cease." (Oct22)

Researching the options available in Bolivia I remembered more than half of the country is in the Amazon basin, kickstarting the idea of a second rainforest trek. The western part of the Amazon basin along the Andes mountains (Peru, Bolivia, Ecuador, Columbia) is less populated than the east (in Brazil), therefore less marked by human habitation.

Investigated the prevalence of malaria in the area. The statistics found surprised me. South America as a whole accounts for 3% of malaria cases worldwide, less than 1% of Plasmodium falciparum cases worldwide (the nasty kind of malaria).

In South America about 25% of cases are P-falciparum, 75% being P-vivax. Bolivia in particular: 1998 statistics recorded 74,350 cases of P-vivax, 11,414 cases of P-falciparum. Year 2000 statistics: 31,468 cases of P-vivax, 2536 P-falciparum. Between 1994 and 2003 cases of P-falciparum decreased in Bolivia, Columbia, Ecuador, Peru. Chile is malaria free.

An additional risk factor in Bolivia being Chagas disease, a parasite spread by reduvid (assassin) bugs ultimately causing heart disease, endemic in 60% of the country’s territory with four million individuals at risk.

La Paz

Crossed the border from Puno to Copacabana, stayed the night. The bus ride to La Paz was twofold memorable: the ferry crossing (buses loaded on wooden barges) and first sight of La Paz as one breaks over the valley edge of district El Alto spiraling down to city center. Found a sound-proof single room in Hostal Copacabana (734 Illampu) for $5 a night.

Situated in the valley of the Choqueyapu River La Paz is the highest capital city in the world at 3700 meters. With a population in excess of a million people it was great to find a reasonably clean and modern city in Bolivia. Walking the plazas, markets, museums, zoo, through the poorer districts of the city to take valley photographs, I never had a problem day or night, even in ‘dangerous’ El Alto.

Wandering the local clubs in El Alto at night I was more cautious of the nasty packs of mangy dogs than any human. Flashbacks of an Ecuadorian newspaper article come to mind of a Guayaquil man who was torn to shreds (killed) by a pack of four street dogs, complete with pictures of chunks of flesh ripped out of him. Police killed those dogs, but why a squad of cops is not dispatched in every city of the world to plug each and every one of these street vermin is beyond me.

A week in La Paz then to Rurrenabaque. Some 56km northeast of La Paz begins the world’s most dangerous road. The North Yungas Road is 69km long, its highest altitude almost 5000 meters, descending to 330 meters.

The landscape transitions quickly from cool altiplano terrain to Amazon rain forest as it winds down steep hillsides. Much of the initial descent is barely wide enough for a large vehicle, with passing possible only on wide ledges or corners. On key corners are hut-stations with individuals holding green/red (flipside) signs to indicate if a bend is clear of oncoming traffic.

While I made it without a scratch one estimate puts the death toll as high as 200-300 people per year. Best pet seen during the bus trip? A kitty-kat sized jaguar on the dash of a semi-truck. (As of January 2007 a new highway is open, the North Yungas road is closed to vehicles.)

Rurrenabaque

In Rurrenabaque (Oct25) I skipped over one place infested with a hundred-thousand mosquitos (you want me to pay to stay here?!) for the Korean-run Bella Vista Hotel with soothing green lawn in front of the Beni river. Recognized the town is situated where highland hills meet lowland basin -- perfect for a trek. In addition it is the perfect time of year for a trek. For heaviest rains are the summer months of Dec-Jan-Feb, mosquito populations peaking the three months of Mar-Apr-May and declining. Spring is November.

To help clarify the objectives of a the trek I made a list of pros (relevant) and cons (irrelevant). The pros (why I am paying for this) are: (1) hiking. PRIORITY. 4 to 7 hours per day. The only way to see the rainforest is to walk it and walk it some more, covering as much distance as possible; (2) spot a jaguar. PRIORITY; (3) observe plant life with basic descriptions of functions/uses. Two or three words as summary. Excessive explanations are unnecessary as I will not understand or remember the details; (4) insects. Beautiful monsters!; (5) maximize rainforest visuals / landscaping / sceneries / environment / mirador views; (6) hunt animals to eat. Past kills include spider-monkey, choro monkey, pig, agouti, rat, chicken, macaw, toucan. All animals are edible, including snakes, monkeys, caimen, fish, birds.

The cons (what I do not care to pay for) are: (1) fishing. Personally I hate it. If I catch one pirhana I am happy. This applies to myself as an activity, not to the guides as a means of food for I like eating fish; (2) Indian communities / culture, minimize; (3) climbing mountains. Miradors are fine for forest view but to climb a mountain for sake of climbing a mountain I leave to the Andes; (4) Inca ruins; (5) rafting. I prefer to be hiking. Minimize the river.

Other notes made: how old is the guide? Speaks English? Done the route before as leader / how many times? Meet guide well before departure. No last-minute guide replacements or deal is off (build into contract). I want the guide built like steel, intelligence behind the eyes. Number of individuals to accompany me, two (guide/cook)? Bring dictionary.

Oct26 I conversed with a dozen tour operators as to potential routes, prices. Said I wanted to build upon a (lowland) trek in Peru with another three week itinerary, to compare and contrast the two areas. Two options were consistently presented: (1) the Ixiama-Rio Madidi route, (2) the Madidi National Park route.

Call me insufficiently schooled in the art of false modesty but I had the feeling most were not listening to me, uncreative in their offerings, many of them young punks. I also had the feeling some were looking down at me, as if I would not be able to deal with the rainforest for three weeks. Which caused me to think in turn “I’d love to throw you into -45°C of the Canadian arctic for three weeks. I’ll handle your jungle, just keep the /@$*Ǫ bushmasters off me.”

I was looking for an itinerary off the beaten path, not an established hiking route. Something to call my own. I hummed and hawed for a day spinning the info in my brain, re-talking to those men who proposed seemingly more adventurous routes. Did a couple hikes around town, eating delicious boneless fish in riverbank restaurants, contemplating my options to sunset.

Oct28 visited four more shops. I write: “Their sales pitch was the same. ... At least one tour operator in Iquitos had something different from the others, their own agenda. … Shops seem to draw from the same pool of young guides; therefore price is the determiner of shop selection. … The Ixiamas-Rio Madidi run is a no-population zone. One kid said the lowland pampas see thirty-plus people a day whereas Rio Madidi might see thirty people in a year.”

Oct29, after a tasty fish supper, writing off another two operators, I walked into a second office of Fluvial Tours. The fellow at the front desk says “Hi!” -- like he enjoys his job. “I am looking for a three week tour.” “Three weeks?!!” I see he understands the potential. Luis Fernando, Bolivian, lived in the US for eight years, returned. Done two treks of eighteen and ten days, plus lessers. Showed pictures including two jaguar sightings, snakes, pigs, insects.

He explained how travelers come into the office macho, ready to brave the rainforest, yet four days into a longer trip they are back in town calling it quits. I speak “In truth I hate the goddamned rainforest but I have to see it.” He laughed and said good!, recognizing the level-headedness of the statement.

Based on my first trip he touched on all issues to concern me. He loves to talk, ramble on, but he was a breath of fresh air from the other shops. Funny, in Iquitos the first company I found sealed the deal. In Rurrenabaque it is the last.

I returned Oct30 for more conversation. A few notes: “Anti-venom supplied. Medkits too. Bring coca leaves for energy and trade. Isolated area. Possibly might come across Indians / family houses. Animals, while curious, are more afraid than you. Animals have ample food in the forest, people are not targets. Sepis, or army ants, are the biggest threat to equipment. Camped on a supply line they will chop up plastic tarps, mosquito nets, ropes, etc., by morning there will be nothing.”

Oct31 Luis brought terrain maps used by the military. With these I nix the Ixiamas lowland route, opting in favor of highland treking. “There is no malaria in the area. Butterflies/moths lay eggs in clothing at night, hatching larvae bury into your skin the next day. Don’t leave clothes out at night. Luis insists on three individuals attending: a guide, cook and porter.”

After staring at the maps for ninety mintues I asked how much. $40 per day. No good. I countered $30 per day, no more. That’s my limit. He needed to discuss with the guide as the latter gets the lion’s share of the pay, not the company. Later in the day Luis and Silverio (guide) countered with $35 per day. I said no, we parted ways.

Thought about it for another night. Returned Nov1 with an offer of $700 for three weeks, or $33 per day, matching what I paid in Peru. Luis talks to Silverio, gives thumbs up. The next day I slap $700US cash on the table and preparation is on. Three days to departure.

Sent email titled The Heart of Darkness Part II --

"Greetings from Rurrenabaque, Bolivia with the details of a second rainforest trek.

The company I have arranged the trek through is Fluvial Tours; owner's name being Tico Tudela. The representative's name is Luis Fernando. Luis' email is ----------@hotmail.com. His cellular number being ----------. The guide's name is Silverio Bozo. The cook's name Tomba.

Like the first tour arranged in Iquitos-Peru this tour is twenty-one days for the same cost of $700US, or $33US per day. Again it is my tour, no other people coming with me except the guides.

The main differences between the first and second tours are: this trip is mountain highland (up to 1200 meters) versus Peru's flat lowland (easily flooded by rainfall). This trip has one guide/hunter, one cook, one porter versus Peru's one guide/hunter and one translator. This trek no one speaks English. This trek is no man's land; Peru's tour was Indian territory.

Initially I was not eager to pay $700US for another three week tour. After a night's sleep I realized the difference I was negotiating for as minimal, less than one day's wages back home. Thus with grim resolve to bear the rainforest again I gave it the thumbs up and am now packing.

The lack of a Spanish-English translator is of small concern. For those who know me I am comfortable speaking only three words per day. As long as they are the right three words it should not pose much of a problem.

Similar to Peru's tour this area of Bolivia has no malaria.

Today is November 3. We leave tomorrow and will return Nov 24.

Should I be eaten by a family of jaguars as a 155 pound snack I leave everything – i.e, a backpack, a bunch of journals, pictures and a website -- to my mother and sister. Please cremate my remains (if there are any), hire somebody to take my ashes to the top of Volcan Tungurahua or Cotopaxi in Ecuador and toss me into the crater. That way, the next time one of the volcanoes blow, I will be airborne and spread around the earth far and wide as fertilizer for a new generation of growth.

Here goes ... adios civilization!" (Nov3)

Received responses ranging from “you crazy young man” (mom) to “(you) mad bastard!” (Todd).

Searched second-hand shops for proper clothing, modeled upon the clothes worn for Peru’s trek. Found a new pair of strap sandals for camp wear / bathing / swimming. Flashlight plus batteries. Candles. Extra shotgun cartridges. A machete with leather case to hang from my belt. Chlorine for water purification. One bag of coca leaves plus baking soda.

Knowing the fare for the next three weeks I savored eating pizzas, getting smashed in cheezy bars with hideous local wenches the night before my departure.

(For reading purposes Silverio Bozo is guide and group leader, age 47. Tomba, a.k.a. Abdon Racua, is the cook, age 54. Justino Mayto is porter and all-around handy man, age 34.)

November 4, day 1 (journal notes).

7:30am Luis knocked on my door, “Let’s go!” Oooh, my head. Packed remaining things, walked to the shoreline, met Tomba and Justino, hopped in the boat, off we sped. Three and a half hours later we pulled into Tawena, a small community of four families living in the sticks of a forest frontier. Unpacked. Lunch. The cook Tomba points out a domesticated forest pig.

A brief walk through the trails of the community. School, some eight kids attend. Silverio points out trees 2-300 years old, there are many. At 3pm we take to fishing for dinner. What the?! There is a clump of caterpillars crossing the path. They move collectively as one clump, not as individuals. Touch one and they all stop. Weird.

The boys point to jaguar tracks a couple feet from a house; a cat took a chicken from here three days ago. One story: a fellow was sleeping, hears noise in his house, grabs a flashlight, lights up, stares into a jaguar’s face. I ask one of the kids have you seen a jaguar? He nods his head yes.

I let the boys fish as I relaxed on shore. Yellow pirahna here, not the aggressive red. With three fish caught we hike back to camp, eat supper, prepare for sleep.

November 5, day 2 (journal notes).

7:30am. To my surprise Silverio divided group foodstuffs four ways. I thought the purpose of a porter, who he insisted on bringing, was to bear this weight. I took various bags of food (yuka, rice, sugar, pasta), a jar of Nescafe coffee, napkins. These additions doubled the weight of my pack. What was once twenty-five pounds is now fifty pounds. I said nothing, accepted I must pull my weight in the group like the other three men.

I feel fabulous otherwise. Repacked my bag, put the smelly coca leaves in a side compartment. Pet pig rubs against me.

6:18pm. The boys started hiking at 8am. Within a half hour we cross wild pigs. Funny enough the tame pig of the community is following us. We call him the walking meal. Howler monkeys soon heard. The pace was solid. We stopped every hour or so for a brief break. Fine by me. Till I get re-jungled I am comfortable with a medium pace. Several wild chickens. Another couple dozen pigs filing through the trees.

Once we left the community the path was minimal. From my first trek in Peru I am aware to follow broken twigs and machete marks as a path, but with minimal evidence of the sort how Silverio could determine direction is beyond me. Drank vine water.

Scenic pig pools (beaches). Our pig modelled for the camera in his home setting. Spotted a turtle, suggested eating him. Continued, pulled into camp 1:45pm, off to the side of stream Agua Chile which is riddled with stingrays.

A camp area is selected by its suitability. With a machete vegetation is cleared, the ground is leveled. Six small trees are cut down-trimmed to use as posts, three on each end, center posts being the highest. Three longer trees are cut, trimmed, inserted into the Y-junctions to pair up the outer posts.

One plastic tarp is draped over the crossbeams, tied with stripped tree bark (like vine-rope). A second plastic tarp is laid on the ground, tied into place, the two tarps water-proofing us above and below. Mosquito nets tied to the two outer crossbeams of our house. I laid down extra clothing (rainjacket, shirt) as a mat along with my blanket. Camp is made.

Spotted monkeys during a walk. Silverio returned from a brief hunt with turtle in hand, macheted the shell open, separated its flesh with a knife. The shell is its skin! I always thought a turtle could crawl out of its shell (obviously misinformed by cartoons). Inside the shell it is mostly large intestine.

Tomba threw the meat and turtle eggs in a pot to cook as we bathed. Even the peccari came! That pig follows us everywhere. Beautiful weather all day, no rain. Not many insects seen. Once again it is peculiar how easy it is to walk in the rainforest, the tall trees stealing the light, limiting the floor growth.

Turtle supper was tasty, the meat tender. Ate pasta to bursting. One thing I have to do is eat as much as possible every meal -- for energy, to avoid another significant loss of weight. The noon ‘meal’ of yuka is a dried vegetable ground into bits, mixed with sugar and water to drink. The men say it is good for nutrition and energy.

The chlorine is working fine for water purification. Stomach feels solid. Six hours of trekking today. I feel good, no exhaustion, aching muscles, etc. Looking forward to a night’s rest, to see if I can sleep on the forest floor.

November 6, day 3 (journal notes).

5:47pm day’s review. Sleeping on a hard surface led to a lot of tossing and turning. 4am howler monkeys started their unique growling for two hours. Up at 5:45am. Without rushing this crew had breakfast served (turtle, rice), camp packed, ready to walk by 7:15am. 1.5 hours! I knew those Peru fuckers were lazy (three hours to break camp).

The walk was Silverio slicing a path through creeper vines, fallen trees. Landscape here is flat, not hilly. Came upon a crescent-shaped laguna. Informed caimens up to five meters long have been found here in the past. As is usual in daylight I saw no evidence of caimen.

10am my feet and shoulders were sore. I found myself caught between wanting to take more breaks and pushing on harder. Push on we did. One break I brushed a leaf with my shoulder, it burst into a flurry of wasps, their nest attached to the underside of the leaf. Luckily I escaped without sting.

Chickens, turkeys only wildlife seen during the hike. Two well-cleaned resting spots are suspected lie-downs of the jaguar. 1:45pm we decided to make camp. It was like a lumber company stepped forward, tree after tree falling to construct a shelter and kitchen. Tired I wanted to rest, made myself help carry trees.

Earlier in the day Silverio tried shooting a turkey, it escaped. With camp built to the hunt he goes. Forty minutes, not too far away, BLAM! Ten minutes later he calls for Justino for help. Through the foliage Silverio emerges with a giant pig over his shoulders, 40 kg of bulk. The kind of pig with two large pair of protruding teeth as in Peru.

With its throat slit nerves are kicking its legs, lungs gasping for air. Whereas Brian (in Peru) proudly posed as hunter, smearing blood on himself, Silverio humbly posed, proceeded to carve the pig up.

Justino did most of the carving, skin separated from the meat, cut up the middle, quartered. I kept the massive quantity of flies off both men as they worked to my picture-taking. With the pig cut I asked Justino to extract the four teeth. I tried but am too clumsy with a machete for precision strikes (will end up with more separated fingers than teeth). I have my souvenir teeth of a wild pig from the Bolivia rainforest.

Tomba skewered the heart, kidneys, liver for the fire. Earlier he asked if I was hungry. Replied so-so. Man, I was starved. I ate for a good thirty minutes after the three guys finished, slicing away chunks of meat. Topped with spiral pasta and lemonade I ate heartily.

Filled both of my two-liter water bottles from the stream, poured the contents over my head to shower. Tomba smoked the remaining meat. I crawled into the mosquito net. Justino called “spider-monkeys!” I groaned, put pants and sandals on, through the trees we crept.

We watched for a half hour, getting fantastic views of their acrobatics, leaping tree to tree. About a dozen monkeys. Half took extended looks at us then resumed their show. Justino and I laughed at their daring leaps, vegetation crashing to the floor as it came loose. They calmly exchanged sounds between one another.

A solid day after a loong walk, with pig, poultry, monkeys. The men take cleanliness seriously, washing their clothes daily. I prefer to exercise the French part of me and stink to high heaven.

Thunder approaches, sounds like showers tonight. The monkeys are quiet, dug in for it.

November 7, day 4 (journal notes).

7:05am. At 3:45am the dam burst, been pouring rain since. Our shelter has held nicely. Silverio handed me a booklet detailing wildlife in the area, with drawn pictures of animals and names. Yacamis/mutun are birds seen yesterday. Mutun shot at yesterday. Pava pintada. Perdiz pico pequeno is a smalled billed tinamou, a ground chicken that cannot fly. White lipped peccary are the long tooth pigs eaten here and in Peru. Our pig-amigo is a collared peccary.

Of the booklet forty pages detail birds (216 birds listed), nine pages of mammals (47 listed). Of the mammals there are 2 types of opossum, 3 anteaters (giant, collared, pygmy), 1 sloth (brown throated three-toed), 5 armadillos, 6 monkeys (squirrel, titi, night, red howler, brown capuchin, black spider-monkey), 4 dogs, 6 racoon/weasel/otters, 6 cats (jaguar, puma, jaguarundi, ocelot, margay, oncilla), 1 dolphin, 1 tapir, 2 peccary, 3 deer, 1 porcupine, 1 rat, 5 rodents. The giant bird on the lawn of a Rurrenabaque hotel is a greater rhea. Bird names like “great potoo” and “new world cuckoos.”

3:24pm. With rain easing at 11:30am I walked a perimeter around camp. Silverio suspected I wanted to walk; the two of us started at noon while Tomba / Justino remained in camp. Three minutes into it a frightened chicken flapped off, Silverio found five blue eggs. I said leave them, he shook his head, pointed to the pig. Ok, we may as well eat them. Ran the eggs to camp. Continued on.

At this point I need to address Hollywood. If the purpose of travel is to “see it for one’s self” then one of Hollywood’s greater corruptions is the rainforest. I expand this to include all styles of film including nature shows. This ‘corruption’ is not done with malicious intent. By its nature film is the intensification of ‘what is.’ ‘What is’ is merely more mundane than film.

First, while dense rain forest does exist in pockets the forest floor is largely walkable with minimal-medium levels of obstruction, dead-fallen materials, growth.

Animals sightings are overdone. It takes a lot of patience -- and luck -- to come across a variety of animals. Do not expect to see many up-close without a shotgun. The monkeys are a hundred feet up. Animals on the ground flee immediately upon sound, sight and/or smell of you.

What slays me about the reality of the rainforest is the lack of snakes. I rarely see one. Tour one in Peru I saw four snakes in three weeks, three of those in one day. Tour two, thus far, no snakes. The rainforest has snakes. Where?! Look at a movie to see ten snakes creeping along vines -- an awesome visual because twisted, tangled, gnarled trees and vines resemble snakes but none of it is.

Omnipresent shades of green and brown. Colors like red, orange, purple stand out like a fire in the forest. To the untrained eye it is odd to immerse one’s self in the most biologically diverse area of the world yet be numbed by its boring, monotonous sameness. For tour one this was my biggest lesson, frustration and boredom. It is not hard to understand why tales of early European adventurers have some of them going insane after months of rainforest exploration.

I am more in tune with reality this time around, my expectations set accordingly. For if I see two cool plants and two types of animals in a day it is a good day. Compare this to a great zoo where you can see fifty percent of rainforest mammals in a day, or a botanical garden displaying an excellent cross-section of plant variety. The trick to trekking is to train one’s self to look for the needle(s) in a haystack.

Add to this the ups and downs of boredom and suspense because you never know what is shrouded by the depth-disorientating, numbing vegetation five meters ahead.

Today I viewed three creatures (and lesser birds) on our walk, a blue-red macaw high in a tree, a group of spider-monkeys (probably same group as yesterday), a bright red Southern Amazon squirrel (ardilla roja). The latter is a creature I would expect to see thousands of. Trees = squirrels, right? I have seen two squirrels in twenty-five days of trekking. Based on this I am sure Papa’s property in prairie Alberta has more squirrels than the entire Amazon basin.

Silverio identified a couple fruits monkeys eat. One with gelatinous seeds, the other a soft peachy like core. Tried both. Found a hard orange, elongated plant with a distinctive outside pattern, slightly toxic. There is a smell I love in the forest, a sweet perfume. Silverio cut down the small flowers for a picture.

This part of the forest is no man’s land. One can tell by the lack of paths, the lack of machete markings on trees (to mark paths). With only a pioneering village 3.5 hours from Rurrenabaque as a human center it is safe to say this land has few humans footsteps on it, if any.

Sure colonization will take it over in the decades to come but to date there is no reason to be here. For the natives hunting remains prime along main riverbanks. It is only the “mad bastard” tourist who wants to punish himself with the romantic notion of penetrating the rainforest who has a reason to be here.

Our walk out lasted two hours. With rain we returned to camp for lunch, blue chicken eggs, pig, pasta, rice in tomato soup.

4:46pm. Rain pours. Silverio is an excellent guide. Thoughtful. Mature. Professional. He is a benevolent, quiet ego who is at home in himself and this environment. None of the frustrations of the two boys in Peru are in Silverio. And this is partly why with “grim resolve” I needed to do a second tour, as much as a part of me did not want to.

6:50pm. Rains appear to be easing. C’mon, squeeze the last drop out by 5:30am. Time to lay back and contemplate existence.

November 8, day 5 (journal notes).

3:49pm. This has been a great day. Rains stopped during the first half of the night. A cool set in. Pulled a raincoat over me for warmth. I am becoming numb to the hardness of the ground.

4am lone birds were out in sweet song, predicting a sunny day. Daylight commenced with the eerie calls of a dozen particular birds echoing, drifting through the trees. 5:45am rise, breakfast (pig, rice, coffee), camp packed, ready to go by 7:42am.

Within a half hour we came upon the red squirrel, capuchin monkeys, followed by red howlers. For the first time I captured pictures of monkeys in trees. A combination of open sky (lack of trees), good light, monkeys low enough to be seen with zoom at full. Only dots on a screen but monkeys nonetheless. They did not flee. One of the large males loomed overhead to bark at us. Among these howlers were two agouti, one ran to the ground, the other climbed higher into the canopy. This was 8:15am.

9am we reached the end of the trail Silverio carved yesterday (he had the foresight to machete the trail yesterday for today’s start). The hills began. In peaking the first we came to a clearing, an expanse of fallen trees. A discussion began among the three men as to direction.

For the next two hours I was convinced we were going in circles, none of us knowing with certainty where we were going. Silverio gave the lead to Justino to machete a trail, following as second. Down a hill we go.

Up another hill. For the first time I catch views of the Chepite mountain range through the trees, the peaks breaking through the clouds. Our direction is re-established. Down the slick mud hill we go.

Up another. Down. We hit a small stream at 11:45am, stopping for yuka. Wisely we follow the stream, 1pm break onto the shore of Agua Chile. I brushed an exposed arm against a leaf, my skin erupted into (sensation of) flame. Cursing and waving my arm about the men laughed, knowing what kind of plant it is. Jaguar tracks a single night old perfectly imprinted in the fresh mud. A kind of titi monkey I’ve never seen before, mid-sized (for their size), brown.

The Agua Chile is wide, deep where we hit. Silverio suggests we may have to build a balsa raft to cross the river. We continue chopping through thick growth along an uneven, muddy riverbank. The thought occurs I could not have picked a more diversified terrain to cross-train in anticipation of an upcoming volcano climb to 6887 meters.

Surprisingly, carrying the same weight as days two and three, I am not tired. Breaks are welcome, to be sure, for the weight of the pack cuts into the shoulders.

1:30pm Silverio motions us to sit while he carries on to survey. A half hour later he returns, says he found a campsite, tomorrow we can build a raft, paddle upstream. Hmm, I don’t care much for the raft idea so early in the game, preferring to hike. We drop the packs at the suggested campsite, forge ahead a bit. Over a ridge Justino shouts in excitement at finding a better campsite.

Silverio asks me to continue with him. We drop our packs, carry on. He is hacking through thick riverbank growth. I ask are we clearing a path get water? No, he advises, so we can cross the river in the morning. A creature noisily drops from a tree and scatters. I spot it as a blur, say it was an iguana or a snake. Silverio replies there are no iguanas here, calmly keeps slashing.

His context of the forest is so much vaster than mine. He takes it one step, one machete swing at a time, advancing, carving a tunnel through the growth. Hit an unobstructed view of the river. Spot a turkey high in a tree. Upstream is a section of river with washboard waves. He’s found our river crossing for tomorrow. To demonstrate he jumps in, proceeds to walk across. He read my mind and put me at ease. I smile in appreciation.

Returning to camp we discover Justino has lost one of the plastic tarps for our shelter. I pull out my camera to look at pictures, said he had it at 12:23pm, it can’t be too far back. We use palm tree leaves as an alternative flooring for the night.

6:32pm. Supper was pig pasta, canela bark tea, the latter tasty. My back teeth are sensitive the last five days. Dental floss is painful. Possibly from eating tough(er) meat.

I keep my fingers crossed for no rain until we make the other side of the river tomorrow, as rain will swell the river in depth and current strength.

November 9, day 6 (journal notes).

5:52am. Yes! Birds are singing, blue sky (I expect), no rain. I had the best sleep yet. Dreams are absolutely insane.

5:08pm. We looked high and lo for Silverio’s camaflaged hat, found it in his pack. Justino started a 6am run for the plastic tarp, returned with it in hand. Off we went. The river crossing was easy, water at our knees.

Our pig-amigo crossed too. The guys call him chancho. Silverio is highly amused by him, says it is the first time he has been followed by a pig on a trek (“this is a record distance for a pig”). The pig is taking his lumps with us. He slipped off a muddy ledge, fell three meters to the forest floor, quickly re-righted, kept on trucking. This is one inspired pig.

River crossing complete by 9am. The machetes started swinging, we start marching, me carrying four liters of water and cursing under the added weight for the first hour.

It was largely all uphill today. I initially thought we were following a ridge, eventually to descend. But no, we kept ascending. The ‘path’ was decent for the most part, only a few sections requiring a lot of hacking.

Silverio identifies a giant tree, excellent hardwood for construction purposes. This particular one is five hundred years old. We regularly pass gigantic trees that are 2-3-400 years old every few minutes.

During one rest I scoured the ground, sat … OUCH!! A goddamn fire ant stung the back of my right leg. It is still burning of course. These ants are bigger than two thumbnails. Justino took one yesterday, squeezed its thorax, out popped the stinger, like a bee’s. Up till then I thought fire ants bit with pincers, not stung. These little monsters demand respect as a sting provides twenty-four hours of fire in the flesh.

At noon we took a rest at peak position. Little later caught sight of the Chepite mountain range through the trees. Silverio advises the Chepite mountains are vegetated reaching 1200 meters. The next range, the Beu mountains, are sheer rock extending to 1800m. I am glad I chose the Chepite over the Beu range for the latter would be extreme trekking in a jungle environment. No thanks.

Briefly descended a ridge to avoid an infestation of thorns, down into a valley in search of water and a campsite. The pools of water where we bottomed were scenic. I immediately conceptualized some good pictures.

With water located the task to find level ground began. Fifteen minutes later Silverio declared “This is it.” With the men building camp I grabbed my tripod, remote and sandals for the pools of water. Snapped pictures of myself in a natural bath. Ah, this is the life.

Returned to a completed camp, established quarters at the far end of the shelter for easy entrance/exit. Grabbed grub from the pot, pig, rice, pasta combo. I chew on one side of my mouth to minimize tooth-pain during the night. I’ll chew on the other side tomorrow.

The bees here are insane. Last camp too. They love the salt from our sweat, our backpacks drenched with perspiration. I have to hedge myself in to keep them out of the mosquito net. Tomba was stung last night. Justino stung fifteen minutes ago inside his mosquito net.

Creatures heard: howlers in the distance. Creatures seen: a group of spider-monkeys passed by camp. The night creatures are starting to sing. I am settling in.

6:43pm. I asked Tomba if he puts a drop of chlorine in the yuka mix he makes daily for lunch. He replied yes. This was two days ago. I suspected he was lying. I observed it made today. Nothing was added to the water he mixed with. Thus, while purifying my own drinking water, for lunch I have been drinking the water straight off the forest floor.

November 10, day 7 (journal notes).

6:51am. Pouring rain again. Nothing to do until it eases. Chancho is sleeping beside my mosquito net.

The rain the other day started at 3:45am. Last night started at 4:15am. Monitoring precipitation patterns.

I woke at 11pm last night to take a look. Lift up a section of the mosquito net. Cripe! Ants swarming everywhere. I grabbed the bug spray and let ‘em have it. Said to Silverio “Possible problema, sepis hormigas.” He got up to take a look. Nope. Hormigas Madidi. Whew!

7:51am. Well I’ll be dipped. The boys are packed up, waiting out the rain to take off. Excellent. After yuka breakfast I too will pack up.

Seems our pig supply is getting low. We will probably resume the hunt soon. Are there pigs here? Unsure. Yesterday by the pools of water Silverio spoke of tapir tracks.

** As it is pouring rain I complete an inventory of my backpack knowing it could be of interest to a reader -- and to myself -- in future years. **

-- Two thick long sleeved shirts, light colors (green, white) (no black as it attracts bugs).
-- One pair thick pants with multiple pockets (green) (no black).
-- Two extra pair of socks.
-- Shorts (for bathing).
-- Sandals with straps.
-- Hiking boots.
-- One raincoat, mainly used as a mat for insulating myself from the ground while sleeping.
-- One blanket, light for it gets slightly cool at night.
-- Thin gloves, good for protecting the hands from thorns, spikes, razor grass, cuts, scratches, stings, while hiking.
-- One cap/hat to keep bugs / ants off the head, for while brushing leaves/trees as one walks there is a constant bombardment of crawlies falling.
-- Extra plastic tarp one meter wide by two meters long.
-- Two flashlights, four extra strength D batteries, ten extra AAA batteries.
-- Contact solution, twenty-five pairs of one-day disposable lenses, glasses, dental floss, toothbrush, toothpaste, lens cases (glasses/contacts), small mirror, small bottle sunblock 15, chapstick, small scuba towel.
-- Two cameras. One Olympus Stylus 800 (digital). One Canon Elph APS (film).
-- Seven zipable freezer bags, two extra sealed with packing tape to use as camera rain-protection (carry at all times).
-- Tripod, two remote controls (one for each camera), lens cleaning cloths, extra one GB card, extra camera battery for the digital, six extra CR-2 batteries for the Canon Elph, eleven rolls of 400 film for the Canon APS (305 pictures), ten rolls of 200 film for the Canon APS (400 pictures).
-- Two cans of (house) bug spray, two vials of Canadian muskoil (high DEET content).
-- Roll of packing tape, leatherman knife, roll of string, carpenter’s box-cutter knife, bowl, knife, fork, spoon, cup, three extra pens, paper, three extra hair ties, two rolls of two-ply toilet paper, seventeen short candle sticks, lighter, spanish-english mini-dictionary, small bottle of alcohol antiseptic, roll of bandage, forty aspirin, water purification tablets, small sewing kit and roll of black thread, tweezers, nail clippers, film case full of hand lotion, film case full of vitamins (one a day), anti-diarhea charcoal tablets (12), cotton swabs, thirty doxycycline tablets (anti-malarials), vial of Dexametasona Fosfato Sodico (anti-allergic mediation provided by Luis) and needle, small container of snake anti-venom, DG-6 (60ml water purification liquid chlorine).
-- Mosquito net.
-- Extra 16-guage shotgun shells (25).
-- Emergency survival blanket, plastic raincoat.
-- Book titled “Staying Healthy,” a book detailing infections, sicknesses, diseases, symptoms and cures, by Dirk G. Schroeder.
-- Two kilograms of coca leaves, two small plastic bags of baking soda (“biko”).
-- Machete with leather carrying case (to hang from belt).
-- Nescafe coffee (200g jar), napkins, bags of food (yuka, rice, sugar, pasta).
-- Backpack.
-- Extra plastic bags of all sizes.
-- Two two-liter plastic water bottles.

6:02pm. Not more than an hour ago we were standing eating supper. First it was spider monkeys making peculiar sounds. “A different tribe (speaking a different dialect)” Justino quips. They moved on. Then a ‘bird’ kicks into song. The looks on Silverio and Tomba’s faces grab my attention. Silverio points in the direction and says “serpinta.” Huh?! I am in disbelief but the men insist it is true.

Apparently it raises itself off the ground, bobs back and forth sounding a repititious bird-like call. One to two meters normal length. Silverio adds this snake is a large one because its voice is loud. Pucarara is its spanish name. Chichupe is the Peruvian name.

Bit by one of these snakes, with no anti-venom applied, an adult human will be dead within ten to fifteen minutes. Not to worry, like everything else in the forest if it smells us it will avoid our camp. I have never conceieved of a singing snake before.

6:58pm. The morning rains did not ease till 12:30pm. I joined the boys in a coca-chewing festival to pass the time. The taste isn’t half bad really. Though the tongue and cheeks numb there is hardly any discernable effect. Daylight half gone, Silverio looked at me, asked “Stay or go?” I said go. Go we did. Down came the tarps, we started hoofing.

It was sharp inclines and declines from one to four pm. Sputtering rain made the ground extra muddy, slick. With cliffs up to thirty feet high we skirted slippery ridges, hanging on to tree trunks, saplings, roots as we ascended and descended. A slip of the foot would mean a nasty fall -- made twice as nasty with a fifty pound backpack smashing you into the forest floor. It was an adrenalized couple hours of trekking.

In three hours we made it only three or four valleys over; it is advancement nonetheless. The day could have easily been written off due to rain. These guys are great. No complaints. They do.

Yuka for breakfast, coca for lunch. At the bottom of each valley is a streambed cut into the rock, sometimes a rock-channel up to five or six feet deep. More waterfalls appear. We are gaining height daily.

2pm half dozen turkeys. Howlers heard in the distance. 4pm settled on a campsite. In chopping palm trees for leaves Silverio took the time to carve a palmito heart to eat. Tasty on an empty stomach. Tomba threw some in a pot to boil. Palm leaves laid on the ground is extra padding to sleep on.

This is the most comfortable camp yet. No bees make it tolerable. Mosquitos minimal for days. In fact since we started into the hills their presence has been almost nil. Camp built by 5:10pm. As we selected a piece of flat turf on an otherwise sharp hillside we hike down to the stream for water. Dinner is served, the last of the pig, spaghetti, rice, palmito, coffee. Listened to the spider monkeys talk, the snake sing.

My pants, shirt, socks, gloves, boots are soaked. In the morning the first thirty seconds are uncomfortable, the rest of the day is easy. Previous to or after supper I take a shower to wash away the day’s grime. Under the mosquito net I shed the wet swim-shorts to sleep unclothed. I keep everything I need for the night inside the net, using items to build a barricade to keep the bugs out. Mid-night bathroom sessions have me streaking the forest with a flashlight.

I was thinking: for $700US I have bought the lives of three men for twenty-one days, to work in grueling conditions, asking for their sweat and blood (literally). Do the math. $700US / 3 = $233.33 US per man. 21 days x 24 hours = 504 total hours. $233.33 US per man / 504 hours = 46.30 cents per hour per man. Unreal.

There is no one in Canada who would sign up for this kind of work punishment for 46.30 cents per hour yet these three men do it in good cheer. With camp built they talk and laugh till 8 or 9pm every night. They evidently not only mind this kind of journey / work but like it.

Silverio puts in 120% every minute, his arm constantly slashing with the machete. The three men knew full well what they were signing up for. I shake my head in wonder at how no one complains. To my surprise I am part of this non-complaint. I curse on a foot slip or a thorn in the hand but after seven days I am not exhausted or wanting to leave.

Though animal sightings are sparse I understand this is the rainforest. Every waking moment I am experiencing what only a couple dozen individuals may subscribe to in a year. To see this environment, to navigate it successfully, through the rain, the insects, thorns, creeper vines, cliffs, this is what it is about.

I figure to start making one minute camera movies as we trek. It is impossible to capture rainforest context with photographs.

I asked the three men if they like eating spider-monkey. Three replied yes. If they have eaten it I expect they will eat it again, as will the children of a new generation until the monkeys are wiped out. Nothing except a modern day Noah’s Ark and future genetic re-creation is going to save these animals.

November 11, day 8 (journal notes).

6:16am. Finally took to sleep after midnight. That is the first and last time I drink two cups of coffee for supper.

5:58pm. Safely tucked in the protection of the insect net. Today was an epic day. Seven hours thirty two minutes from breaking one camp to selecting the next. We left at 8:30am. With 5.5 hours of sleep I knew it was going to be a looong day. Put down a cup of breakfast coffee, dipped into the coca bag for more chemical boost.

When the men saw my cheeks stuffed with coca leaves they hooted and cheered. Tired of carrying extra liters of water as we trek I poured the contents to the ground. The extra weight is burdensome.

Spider and capuchin monkeys seen within an hour. A lot of small birds, yappy Toucans (the little dogs of the forest). Glimpsed a large-billed Toucan. What stole the show was coming across six never before seen types of plants, fungus, flowers.

11am I was feeling the effects of little sleep. Damn tired. I was slipping and -- as a result -- cursing a lot. Short tempered, sick of the mud, the endless tangles around my feet and legs. Noon break could not have come at a better time. I chilled out. Continuing the trek I calmed considerably, looked around more, took my sweet time. If Silverio pulled away from me, so what, when he hit a mess of macheting I would catch up.

The terrain started with more sharp valleys. Gradually I noticed a change. It began to level off, the distance between peaks and lows decreased. If I had to estimate I guess 90% hills, 10% flat land today. Of the hills one never has a sure footing, slippery, leaves masking the floor, feet angled on slopes-edges-plants, muscles striving to maintain balance. I used my machete not to clear a path but as one would use an ice pick on a glacier, for stability, a “mud-pick.”

On a normal mountain 7.5 hours would be tiring. Add the rainforest, the mud, the vines, the thorns, the dead vegetation, fallen trees. The continuous peaks and lows, no straightforward ridge. Add a fifty pound pack. Every shred of clothing is soaked, including boots. At 1:30pm I reflected Skywalker only had one Yoda to carry on his back. Surely I must be carrying two. I realized upon the completion of this trek I will be a jungle-jedi.

Silverio advises these hills are filled with spider monkeys, howlers, capuchins, because of the area’s isolation. No one comes here, no hunters. The monkeys are free to roam without (immediate) threat. Here I see more spider-monkeys than all other monkeys combined. Of the eleven types of monkeys seen in Peru the spider monkey was the rarest.

I am trying to think why this terrain we are camping in is different from previous days. Is it because of the shallower valleys? Or has the vegetation changed too? As we walked into this terrain I thought of Endor, the Ewok planet and its forests. The camp is scenically placed, in the middle of a creek’s U-bend, towering trees, thick strangulating vines.

I initially helped Justino drag trees to build camp. Exhausted, changed into swim trunks, went for a bath. Stung by a bee on my right calf for the first time in my life. I am not allergic. Picked out the stinger. Sting lasted for ten minutes.

It does not ceases to amaze me: I daily drink the yuka lunch and lemonade Tomba makes, none of the water scooped off the forest floor is boiled or purified, it doesn’t affect me. Am I lucky or is my immune system from years of travel that good?!

As I stood in exhaustion by the fire I asked Silverio to dry my pants and shirt when the fire is available. He takes and washes them in the river with his soap! This guy never rests, never stops being thoughtful as to his client.

Even Silverio, however, is admitting the pain of a backpack cutting into his shoulders / arms. He says what we did today is going to hurt tomorrow.

During the trek Justino helps to scout for plants / flowers.

7:50pm. This is the first night all three men are quiet. They are obviously just as tired, or more so, than myself.

November 12, day 9 (journal notes).

6:22am. Chilly at 3am due to increased altitude. Made the best of it, wrapped a jacket around my blanket to snatch 45 minute sleeps til 6am. This morning is the first I feel a few aches and cuts, but on the whole in good condition.

The howlers were in full wraith-mode this morning for two hours. The birds rattling off different song patterns in machine-gun rapidity.

5:40pm. Exited camp at 7:48am, a large stream at 11:10am, lunch. Continued 1:15pm, stopped 4:20pm. Six hours twenty seven minutes total. A solid follow up to yesterday’s big push to make Rio Hondo.

Silverio evaluated bag weights this morning, shuffled the foodstuffs distributed fourfold at the beginning of the trek. I gave a three kg bag to Justino, immediately felt the difference in weight. It was like I shed half a Yoda from my back.

Strangely the morning was a return to steep hills and valleys. Probably because we are crossing parallel to the Chepite mountain range instead of ascending (perpendicular to) it. Through the forest moon of Endor we trekked, exercising my fearsome key-boardist strength on some unsuspecting twigs with a machete chop.

Silverio the machine slices and dices ahead, Tomba and Justino behind. An hour into the trek Silverio grabbed the shotgun, blew a turkey out of a tree. Plucked, I was impressed at its size. It fed four men lunch and supper.

A scenic stream 11:10am. Stopped for a two hour break, swimming while the turkey boiled. A few tosses of a fishing line had Silverio lose the meat, hook bent. I moved out of the sun after an hour, too hot, putting me to sleep.

As we broke the hiking pattern our afternoon session from 1:15 to 4:20 was lazy. Through a break in the trees the valley below seems to stretch extensively -- the river (is close)? Descended. Noticed a lot of rocks, some swamp, a flattening of the land. We pitched camp near pools of water.

Capuchin monkeys frolicked in the trees. I followed them as the men built camp. Stumbled into a surprised group of squirrel monkeys fifteen feet overhead.

This camp is largely bee-less, insect-less, thankfully. The usual ants are present. Supper is turkey, spaghetti, potato pieces, in tomato sauce. Impressive to be getting good meals on day ten. The pasta content is greatly appreciated. The chi-peti, or yuka drink, is better than eating the dry vegetable. In Peru it made me want to gag every time I ate the vegetable.

Chancho, our pig-amigo, continues to amuse. After supper as I pet him he closed his eyes and fell asleep, stumbling over in the process. What a character. He laid down, I rubbed his belly and legs, he again fell asleep. I thought he would stink my hand. Not a trace of smell. How odd this rainforest is for pigs are clean, snakes can sing and the sepis ant, not the jaguar, is the greatest threat to one’s well being.

Chancho is two years old. A ranger asked one of the community members if he wanted a baby peccari. It has been growing up in the community since. Chancho the white-collared peccari. I need some shuteye. 7:10pm.

November 13, day 10 (journal notes).

3:45am. I am dreaming. I have been hired by a Japanese company when … BLAM!!! Torn from sleep by a shotgun blast ten feet from my ear. “What animal is it?” a voice asks. “Armidillo,” another replies. “Is it a big one?” “Yes.” Back to sleep.

4:30am the howlers were in full Lucasfilm sound, two groups talking to the other world of wraiths in their unique language.

6am rushed out of bed to get a picture of the armidillo. Just in time as Justino cut into it. Onto the fire the meat goes, into the frying pan. It is a softer type of meat.

While we stand around the campfire Silverio says he heard a jaguar last night, a puma the night before.

10:24am. On the shores of Rio Hondo!

Yesterday when we descended the last hill there was a noticable surface layer of rocks, the ground levelled off. The level ground continued this morning, the trees became smaller, thinner. Sure signs of a river presence. Then no trees, only stalks. Fifteen minutes of this. We came across a tribe of pigs and turkeys. Suddenly the vegetation was no more but sand, open space, blue sky. We ‘exited’ the forest and came upon its highway (autopista).

Pictures. Our pig-amigo poses by the river, laying in the mud, yawning. Silverio, done a sweep of the shore, guides me to fresh jaguar and ocelot tracks of multiple cats. Excellent! Only one night old. This time I lay my hand beside the paw prints for photo context. This place is awesome. It is like stumbling onto the beach after a hard week’s work.

Silverio laid out the plan. We will raft in the morning, stop at noon, build camp, walk till mid afternoon, return to camp for dinner.

It is nice to be in the open air again, to see blue sky. Time for a swim!

6:02pm. After a swim I loaded on the sunblock. It is scorching hot here. As proof my socks and boots were dry in two hours -- both shrunk in the intense heat! Didn’t take long for the sandflies to find me. Walked the river-bend twice, taking pictures, pitifully looking for a jaguar. Told myself to stop looking, if it happens it happens. Enjoy the forest instead, much more reliable.

Silverio rallied the crew after lunch. Seven balsa trees fall, cut five meters in length. Hauled to the waterfront. Raided five trees of their bark to be used as rope to bind the logs together. Lastly Silverio swims across the river to find three poles of wood (six feet long) that do not grow on this side.

While cutting balsa trees Silverio spots a night bird sitting in a tree. Justino runs for the shotgun as Silverio explains the feathers of this bird are valued for medicinal purposes (pregnancy). He asks me if I protest it being shot. While I do not understand how the feathers of this bird can assist in pregnancy, I shrug my shoulders and say “It is your forest, not mine.”

I did not care to see it shot but understood the uselessness of the gesture. Justino, at point blank, blew the bird into nothingness, only the wing feathers remaining. He collected the feathers, we continued with the balsa logs.

I was stung by a wasp this morning. leading the way Silverio disturbed a leaf nest. I tried to circle the agitated swarm, one got me. As my hand was gloved I was able to squish it before stung multiple times. Two fingers of my hand plus lower forearm went numb. I had trouble moving them for five minutes then the sharp pain eased.

6:38pm. Supper down, rest, rehydrate. If bugs are bearable we will do a night walk soon.

7:45pm. Time for a night walk.

November 14, day 11 (journal notes).

7:08am. Saw nothing last night during the walk except two birds. All else quiet. Figures. With four guys smelling up the forest animals would declare this place off limits.

The river swirled in mist this morning. The sun rose illuminating the vegetation on the opposite bank in an orange-y glow. I sat on the balsa logs cut yesterday looking at the river and forest. Silverio says two hours to complete the raft then we take off. He adds it is too hot here.

2:48pm. Added an eighth log to the raft, built a raised platform for baggage, a small canopy. Silverio and I were surprised when our pig-amigo attempted to board the raft. It was like he understood what was going on! Piled on our packs, couple pictures, pulled Chancho aboard, floated downriver.

The river is low therefore mild in current. A few times the men jump in the river to guide the raft through shallow rocks.

An hour into floating Tomba jokingly pushed Chancho from the raft into the water. Chancho could not catch up, took to shore. The last we saw of him was disappearing into the trees. I shook my head, said “Adios Chancho.” Though it is unlikely a part of me would not be surprised to see the little guy reach our campsite by tomorrow morning.

At one point I noticed black birds fluttering from a location, then the bush being torn up by a fleeing animal. “Tapir,” the guys say. Capybara lounging in the mud. Various birds, kingfishers. Silverio pulled a good sized fish out of the water for lunch. Glimpses of the Chepite and Beu mountain ranges as we wind downriver.

Pulled into a scientific station to camp. Appears to be for rainforest and animal study. Stored newspapers dated 1998. Silverio adds government funding of the camp was cancelled, the place abandoned. A sign reads “Parque Nacional y Area Natural de Manejo Integrado Madidi. Zona de Investigacion Cientifica. Area Restringida. Prohibito el Ingreso de Turistas. Los cuias infractores seran sancionados segun reglamento de turismo del Parque.”

7:18pm. Camp Erasma is where we are. Feasted on the fish Silverio caught, tasty with pasta. Justino found papayas in the trees.

Justino also found a map of the area drawn years ago by the last residents. It details several paths and three ‘torres.’ There is a note and pictures from Alison Gunn of England hanging in the kitchen, alisoninmikumi@hotmail.com. One picture shows a fellow sitting high in a tree, secured by rope. I never put the two together, initially thinking the ‘torres’ were rock miradors. We went for a brief walk, bumped into the camp torre -- a tree -- within five minutes.

A tower is an adequate description. Silverio estimated it to be 35 to 40 meters high. He asked if I wanted to climb it. I hesitated. It would be a risky climb without safety rope. Yet a rare chance to get a vista of the forest landscape. I said yes.

Silverio climbed to test the rope, wooden rungs of the ladder, planks in the canopy. He made it fine, gives the go ahead. I ask Justino if he is going to climb. No way he laughs. Here goes.

I made it one-third of the way up, hesitated. Falling the distance down would hurt a hell of a lot. Wrapped my arms through the ladder, told myself to calm down, breathe. My knees were knocking. “Get ahold of yourself. Reason this through.” I convinced myself to take the ladder step by step, ensuring handholds were firm.

Half way up Justino started wailing. Needing to concentrate I said “Justino, please be quiet.” Up. Up. Two-thirds of the way I talked myself through it again. “Calm. Calm. Calm.” The ladder was tricky from the two-thirds mark due to a slant in the tree. I had to maneuver my body, arms and legs around a security line twice. At four-fifths of the way I took a last break, pushed to the top.

The handrails were rotten. Silverio advised which pieces of wood were good, which were not. Took a moment to right the senses, stood up on the platform, snapped some pictures of the river landscape. Canopy growth obscured a 360 degree view.

Going down was easy. I took breaks to rest my arms, fingers. On the ground Justino congratulated me. Silverio descended. All were smiles. The view was an unexpected bonus.

After the climb the four of us lounged the riverbank. The three men fishing while I watched the sunset, rehydrating, thinking “I am in the middle of the Bolivian rainforest.”

Oddly enough Justino has stomach problems, not me.

I bypassed the option of another night walk because (a) I see next to nothing of the rainforest or its animals except a pair of eyes in the flashlight, (b) unless animals are within three meters -- highly unlikely -- pictures are impossible. I would rather get a good sleep to do day hikes.

November 15, day 12 (journal notes).

1:41pm. Up 5:50am, packed, pushed off shore 7:23am. Sailed through minor rapids, Silverio caught a fish, sun cleared the forest mists and sky of its clouds. Two hours passed. During a brief land stop spotted a group of titi monkeys. Seven capybara appeared. A black caimen slid off the mud into the river.

The highlight of the day: a tapir swimming in the middle of the river, coming right toward us! It passed within feet of our raft. I couldn’t believe it. Pictures. A brief movie of it swimming away. The men tried to push upstream to follow it. It beached, walked into the forest, disappeared. Silverio stated it was not afraid as it probably did not see us, water in its eyes as it repeatedly submerged and surfaced. My first ever wild tapir sighting in the Amazon!

Silverio caught two additional fish. More minor rapids. Called it a boating day 12:45pm. Camp is built, fish is cooking.

Hit a bee nest during camp build; stung in the head and arm. Luckily they were little guys. Can you tell I am off the beaten track? No bee stings for thirty-six years, now four in twelve days.

6:58pm. After jumping in the river to cool down we put on our boots for a trek. Silverio and I ahead of Justino. Our walking startled a tapir, it took off. Justino saw it, I did not. I cursed missing that.

Silverio pointed to plants, this one is poisonous, this one is healing, this one for malaria, etc. Pig pool-beaches. Turkeys in trees. A lone spider-monkey appeared. I nodded, Silverio raised the rifle, shot, the monkey barely hung on, managed to climb onto a branch but was unsteady, barely hung on again, fell to the ground.

A few pictures. Justino did an unexpected thing. Instead of constructing a palm leaf bag like the boys in Peru he made a slit in the monkey’s tongue, fed the tail through the tongue, inserted a small stick to lock the tail into place -- and slings the monkey over his shoulder like a handbag! The tail being the shoulder strap.

To camp. Justino cleans the monkey. Burns the fur away, scrapes it off with a knife. Washes last strands of fur in the river. I point to a log by the river, a good setting for the gutting, good light, good table. Lots of photos.

In another surprise twist he prepares it for the fire as a barbeque. The way he cut and twists it is an incredible visual: ribs torn open wide, arms and legs intertwined. What a horrific sight. Makes for an even cooking surface on the fire.

Drained the first digital camera battery today. It lasted twelve days. Eight days remain for the second battery. I may run out of card space before batteries.

7:46pm. Silverio boiled the pig teeth, two spiky-fish scales clean. After gorging on fish I am content to sleep.

November 16, day 13 (journal notes).

1:32pm. Up 6am, spider monkey for breakfast. Kudos to Tomba for somehow cooking the meat soft. Kudos to Justino for scraping all the fur off. It tasted and chewed like decent meat this time around.

Packed. Loaded gear onto H.M.S. Dominique. Set sail. Two hours of minor rapids, tree-dodging. Silverio heard a capuchin monkey in the bamboo stalks. He imitated it perfectly. A curious capuchin emerges from the stalks to get a look at us. Silverio joked the monkey is speaking to his mates “Hey look! It’s a Canadian!” Met three young men in a peki-peki (slow boat), they gave us two kg of sugar. More tree dodging.

The mosquitos have returned. While we lazily float down river I remain fully clothed, no skin exposed, too many sandflies.

Newest camp is built. Lunch is spider monkey, pasta. Hey, I should entomb a couple fire ants in a film container! If I can’t get them on film (too fast) I should nab the real thing.

6:25pm. Walked the forest from three to five pm. One bird, one large turtle, a hallucinogenic mushroom, devil’s vine, toxic plants and trees, pig beaches. That is it. Oddly empty. Back in camp, swam for an hour. Crossed the rio for a walk along the sand, tapir and ocelot tracks. The razor-blade grass restricted movement.

Silverio states the trees are in full bloom at present, beautiful to see. Never thought of blooming seasons in the rainforest. Jan-April are heavy rain, stay indoors to eat. June-August are freezing for the locals, being their winter.

It is comfy to be in the mosquito net, two candles as light for my desk and bed, listening to the night insects play their tunes. Time to die.

November 17, day 14 (journal notes).

6:16am. As proof of plant diversity Silverio points to a half-dozen palms within standing distance, explaining their differences. To the untrained eye they look the same, to the trained eye multiple differences and uses.

The machete, the primary tool of the rainforest. Without it you are unable to prepare food, build a house, roof, raft, clear a trail, etc.

2:57pm. Hunted 8-10am. Nothing. Lots of pig tracks, sure, yet not a single animal. 10:40am jumped on the raft. Two hours later Silverio says he hears some pigs. To shore. Off he goes. I expect twenty minutes max. An hour later, no word or noise from Silverio. I’m bored out of my skull thinking this is a wasted day.

With thunder roaring overhead we agree to strike camp. With camp built Justino and I set off to follow Silverio’s path. It is almost 3pm, he’s been gone for two hours. Not fifty meters into trailing him Silverio emerges from the forest. After a half hour he disappears again!

6:54pm. After winding down for a couple hours it appears we are a functioning team again. Received a team laugh when Tomba asked for more baking soda. On day ten I gave him half my biko. I declined his request with “You used your biko in the first days of the trip. I saved mine for the last days when it will be important, when I will need coca for energy. For we will have no pasta, no sugar, no rice, etc.” Justino and Silverio laughed it up while Tomba’s head hung low.

Tomba says butterflies have laid eggs in his clothing at night. The eggs hatch into larvae. Three worms have burrowed into his skin to squirm around. Painful. Itchy. He points them out. He tries to kill them with nicotine from a cigarette. Odd that he gets ‘laid’ and I do not. I figure my clothes are so toxic from bug spray the larvae could not survive.

Well it was a boring as #€%¬@ day but they are to be expected. Just hope tomorrow is better.

November 18, day 15 (journal notes).

11:26am. I rose at 6:06am, shoved in a cheekful of coca leaves, packed, marched to the boat. Said “Good Morning,” nothing more. The boys took the hint, we pushed off shore 6:59am, quickest departure ever.

Floated for three hours, minor rapids. A couple monkeys, birds. 10am we pulled over. “Why?” I ask. “End of the rafting. We walk from here.” Me: !! Excellent. Setup camp. Across the river live two families in the sticks. Rafted over.

From shore we strolled inland two hundred meters to a family home. Met a ragtag assembly consisting of one father, one mother, one baby, three girls aged ten to thirteen. One of the girls had a pet baby squirrel monkey, two weeks old. A green parrot home. Funny, for I thought parrots slept in / on trees, not made mud houses.

Family home covered in kid’s art. The woman was weaving a hand bag from cotton fluff grown on trees, coloring it. Exchanged fruit and vegetables for our balsa raft and two shotgun shells. Back to shore. Family guy gave us a ride in his peki-peki to our camp.

Silverio’s stomach is grinding away. He’s had the shits for two days now. His disappearing acts yesterday now make sense. Like Justino days before I dispense more charcoal tablets in the hope of plugging their arses up.

6:35pm. Tucked into the mosquito net during sunset. Our final night at Rio Hondo. The spider-monkey meat is done, as is the sugar, as is the tea, as is … etc.

Walked from one to four-thirty pm, hunting. At one point a pig crossed our path, disappeared. Silverio and Justino snuck ahead. A second pig emerges from the trees, Silverio swings to aim, it quickly reverses course and disappears. We followed to no shoot. Carried on. Nothing else surfaced from the ocean of green. A few pictures of trees, spikes, a butterfly.

During a rest I mingled a joke with prophecy, “No animals today. Why? Because for two years our pig-amigo lived in a human community, observing human life. When the four of us deserted him he went to the animals of the forest, started teaching them the ways of men, including your hunting techniques. Be warned, in the future it will become increasingly difficult for people to hunt the animals.” And so the story of Chancho becomes jungle legend.

We wandered. Nothing. Returned to camp. I went swimming while Silverio took to rest. Refreshed, sat on the riverbank, watched the water flow.

A week ago we were joking the bellies of Tomba and Silverio would be skeletal by trip end whereas I would be dead (being slender already). Today I said it would take another twenty days to trim Tomba’s belly. Looked at Silverio with his bad shits, said “Two more days for you.”

Peculiar there are few insects to photograph. They must love the lowland swamps more than the highland.

November 19, day 16 (journal notes).

5:49am. Nasty sleep, tossing, turning, stupid dreams I could not shake.

11:22am. Following a 6:40am departure we walked ‘circles’ for four hours, lamely trying to pretend we are trekking. Failed shot at a turkey, passed on a turtle. Here we are in a new camp, drop the packs, to continue on in circles till we find a piece of meat to eat.

How far to the community? A full day walk. Silverio says we could be there tomorrow. Soooo, four days remaining, four hours per day. We have time to kill.

2:46pm. For lunch drank yuka served with swamp water. I took the time to chlorinate this water. So close to the end of the trek I am not taking the chance, particularly after Justino and Silverio suffering from bad cramps, shits.

Off we went. Barely a snap of the twig. Silverio was intense, leading the way. I hung back in second position, chewing coca leaves, letting my thoughts wander. Justino in third place.

Not much for an hour. Then a distinctive noise. Hmmm, we just came from there. Silverio sneaks to investigate. Five minutes. CRACK! One peccari. We passed a group of pigs within five meters a few minutes before, not one made a peep.

Justino throws the female pig on his back, to camp we go. As he leads he points to the ground. An actual snake! About five feet long. Two photos. It slithers into an open, rotted log. Silverio comes to investigate. “Is it toxic?” I ask. “Yes,” he replies, “very toxic.”

He cut a leafy sapling to keep fair distance between us and the snake. In doing so the snake is frightened, jumped out of the rotted tree, bolted away. In Spanish the snake’s name is Yoperjobobo.

Out comes the knives. Slice. Chop. Hack. Quartered the pig, into the frying pan. Lunch is served. Ok. It is three pm and the boys are laid out on the forest floor wanting to do ç@#\ñ* all. Hmmmm.

6:28pm. Wooooohoooo. Did I get whizzed on coca leaf today. Big mouthfulls. I’m still coming down.

Hiked to a nearby laguna. Looked for caimen. Nada. Splashed some water on myself. At camp eyed a tree with six tons of strangulating vine on it. Mapped a route up its side for ascent. Stuffed in a mouthful of fresh coca leaves. Pffft. Made it one-quarter up the trunk, my arms gave out. Descended for a rest, chat.

Silverio, age 47, eight kids, ages one to twenty-seven, lives with family in Rurrenabaque (for kids’ education). Tomba, age 54, six children, lives in Rurrenabaque. Justino, 34, no kids, moved to Rurrenabaque three months ago.

Subject moved to trekking. Justino says to Silverio I am in excellent shape. Silverio agrees, adds he was surprised to see me pull off six and seven hour days, still look normal. Other tourists he has taken on extended trips are often finished at three or four hours. Five hours tops, set by a muscled German man. Interesting to know how I size up as Silverio has seen a lot of tourist-trekkers in action.

Talked about coca. The Bolivian perspective being “we do not have chemical factories in Bolivia. Only the Americans and the Europeans do. Cocaine is not our problem, it’s theirs.”

The body-soul dichotomy. The idea is where the madness and violence starts: the devaluation of the human body. Divorce the soul from the body and you get men flying jumbo jets into skyscrapers.

November 20, day 17 (journal notes).

1:03pm. Last night 8:15pm Silverio and I grabbed flashlights, walked to the lagoon to look for eyeballs. Saw three sets of eyes reflecting the light, caimen being the owners. Back to camp.

Not along after I hear a lot of footsteps, twigs snap-crack-popping. Yapping away Justino and Silverio finally heard the action, perked their ears. It sounded like a mass migration of creatures. With the trampling fading into the distance the decision came to pigs (later deer). This morning both Tomba and Silverio advise me they smelled a jaguar in proximity. The cat’s odor is strong, distinct. Passed by about two to three am.

Pig, platano for breakfast. Due to light rain last night we eased out of our bug nets later than usual. The walk began 8:40am. Casual is the pace as of late.

Pigs are the sightings of the day. Three groups. I can spot the animals through the low growth yet pictures are impossible. Take a picture, look at it to ask where is the pig? One of the ‘groups’ was simply ma and her baby snorting through the trees.

On we go. It feels like an aimless tour now. No greater ‘theme’ runs through it like the first ten days, there is no sense of ‘epic’ here. The intensity lacks. So I chew coca. My #€¬^<\* cheeks and gums are killing me.

Justino has another bad case of shits. “My ass is pained,” he says catching up. I gave him a couple aspirin plus remaining charcoal tablets. I think Tomba has the squirts too. It is odd I am the only healthy one remaining.

6:46pm. Camp built 2pm, lunch down, Silverio and I cruised the local. Picturesque pig pools, muck, spikes, fruit trees. Walked one and a half hours, ended 4:30pm. Justino’s been laid out all afternoon. Silverio retired to bathe. I stocked up on coca leaves, headed into the trees for an insect search, one and a half hours.

Found a colored beetle laying eggs on the underside of a leaf. Sat. Heard plants moving in the distance. Decided to remain still to see what emerges. Thought it might be pigs, but no snorts. Hmmm. Saw the tops of trees moving. Ah, the capuchin. A group chirping, quietly moving through the treetops. Watched for some time, returned to camp.

Seven butterfly larvae have buried under Tomba’s skin now!

November 21, day 18 (journal notes).

1:23pm. Camped. Walked 8:40am to 12:30pm. “Looks like rain,” he says, thus time for camp. As usual ten minutes after the decision the sun breaks out, bright blue sky appears.

A cool orange-y spider started the day. Snuck up on pigs. A huge group. They came toward us. Could see a dozen within fifteen feet. Sensing us they burst into stampede mode. An easy forty to fifty pigs stormed by, dozens more scattering in other directions.

During the walk I spotted a large wasp nest Silverio was shaking in passing, yelled “*&%$# hell!” Everyone stopped, looked up, sobered, carefully sneaking past. A group of capuchin. The guys can do an excellent capuchin call. In turn the monkeys answer, straining to look at us.

2:42am. Burping pig. Yum. C’mon Greg, you have to eat. Choke it down. Only three more days to go. Choke it down, chew some coca, go for an insect stroll.

6:23pm. Alrighty! It was 3pm when I cut out. Silverio went for a solo hike. Tomba laid in agony over the most recent worm infections. Justino just lazed dazed. I was free to go on an insect hunt. Onwards.

A half hour into it, macheting a trail, saw my first black beauty. Operation Hormiga kicked into effect. Whipped out a tape-reinforced ziplock bag, scooped up the first fire ant. It was a battle to keep him down but zip! -- he’s mine. On the search goes.

It was some time before I found others. Finally, about 5pm, a handful on a tree. In goes a second ant while I squeeze-contain the first in a bottom corner of the bag. Two! Can I do a third? I shake both ants to the bottom of the bag then fold it, locking them in so they can’t escape and sting me. Yes, in goes a third ant. Seal the bag quick! Aha, three beautiful fire ants for souvenir.

I carve a path back to camp, listening to the ants scrape to escape, their huge jaws, feet, stingers working to no avail. The prison is a good one.

In camp I say “Silverio likes to hunt wild pigs. I like to hunt wild ants. Tonight I have one ant for Tomba, one for Silverio, one for Justino.” Had a bath, built my fortress for the night. The stream, or cesspool, is extra black water. Ugh. Even with three drops of chlorine I wince to drink it. Here goes.

Getting fed up with the hike, the rainforest, each other, is natural at the close of three weeks. We sleep, eat, walk, talk, raft, climb, break, hunt, laugh together. The only thing we do separately for five minutes a day is shit.

I am tired of being constantly wet with sweat; thorns in my face, arms, legs; creeper vines tangling my feet, legs, arms, waist, neck; insects flying into my nose, eyes, ears, mouth; biting my hands, neck, head, back; boots and socks soaked with water, caked with mud.

Tired of green. Always green. Forever green. Cat claws raping my face, barbing the body. Tired of rice and pasta, wild meat, drinking cesspool water.

Tired of animals around us yet not being able to photograph them. Tired of not being able to ascend above the forest canopy for sweeping landscape views.

An eighteen day summary activity sheet done (see Day 21 for final statistics). Hmmmm, I see fire ants outside my mosquito net trying to get in. Fuckers want revenge for their buddies, I know they do. Silverio wants to blast five pigs to take to Rurrenabaque. May as well do something these last two days.

November 22, day 19 (journal notes).

1:56pm. Rise 6:20am. Breakfast is dry yuka, dry pig meat, cesspool water. I make myself choke it down, having to mix yuka bits in the water and drink it.

Final checks. All is go. 8:10am the trek starts. Hot as hell today, hmmm. Yesterday Silverio blazed the trail, first hour of trekking was easy. The second hour was back to macheting, tripping over vines, spikes in the head, etc. Cursing. Growth eased come the third hour, flat open forest.

11am the sky growled ominously, the forest darkened, wind waves sweeping the tree tops. I remembered this pattern from Peru, said to myself “We have ten minutes, no more.” Silverio, however, has made so many wrong calls on rain lately he kept on walking. We get caught in a torrent of rain.

Silverio decides to go scouting in the rain. In his absence Justino blurts out “We are only two hours away from the community, why don’t we go there today?” Tomba confirms. Well christ, if they kept me informed instead of walking in circles.

Silverio returns. I ask. Yes. Let’s go. Back in the community we can do a day hike without backpacks tomorrow. All agree. Tomba and Justino let out whoops of glee. I open up the coca bag, baking soda, we fill our cheeks, take down the temp tarp, head toward the community.

11:49am we stepped onto a path. Justino whoops again (he had the shits-cramps the worst of the three). Within a half hour we returned to the community.

A family of three has taken lodging in one place. We lunch with them -- canela tea with sugar! Yum. I eat tasty soup. The elder couple advise us the pig returned. Huh?! Six days ago the white collared peccari returned alone. Chancho is alive! It took him three days to make his way home from Rio Hondo.

Moved our gear to a different dwelling. Unpacked things to dry. Mattresses -- oh, very nice. “No more diarrhea!” Justino exclaims, “Food!” Yessiree, the boys are loving the return to ‘civilization.’ While not physically sick I am tired of the rainforest. Jungle mind-fatigue.

5:27pm. Closed out the day with fish, salad, watermelon, coffee. Could not eat a single grain of rice. Christ I hate rice. Peasant food. Sure enough Chancho, our pig-amigo, shows up. Unreal. Super-peccari. I am ready to crash like a jumbo jet.

9:46pm. Whew. A few hours sleep. Slightly queasy stomach. Weird how it hits me upon the return to ‘civilization.’ Upon exiting the rainforest in Peru I was burping up spider monkey. This time it is pig. I burp it up because we have eaten a lot of it in the last days. It feels like a pervasive gut rot.

Three weeks. I don’t know why I conceived of three weeks for the first trek. It seems to be my upper limit for the rainforest. I might be able to pull off four but there would be greater fatigue, possible stomach sickness depending on the food situation.

November 23, day 20 (journal notes).

8:29pm. Hiked 8:40am to 12:30pm in search of pigmeat. No pigs found. We did come across a two meter snake in the last hour, a beauty. Silverio and Justino worked to ‘corner’ it. Justino cut a sapling, clubbed it on the head. Silverio cut a sapling with Y-fork, pinned its head to the forest floor, picked it up for safe photos. The ‘little’ bugger was pretty tough, I could feel it squirming in my hands.

Second value of the day was a 600 year old tree, a toxic variety. Justino measured it eleven meters at base. To the community. Lunch. Found new flowers on the way. 2pm Silverio asked if I wanted to go to a watermelon field. Sure.

4pm we motored the Beni river to fish. Set two nets across a side-branch of the river. A large riverdog is the result. Farther upstream. We jump for shore. Justino threw in a net, walked with the river’s flow. Netted eight more fish. Nice.

Riverdog for supper. Yapped with the elder couple and daughter. The lady went for water at a stream one day, looked over to see a jaguar doing the same. A fellow down the path had a jaguar at his house last Tuesday.

Silverio advises the village is the best place to see a jaguar, not the deep forest. For here are dogs, chickens, pig, kitty kats, fish, kids … it is a supermarket for jaguars. From the sound of it the villagers see a lot of the cats.

I am ready to set sail to civilization.

November 24, day 21 (journal notes).

1:23pm. Slept 9pm to 7am. Packed, ate breakfast -- fish, tomatoes, cucumbers, canela tea. Last pics of Chancho. Left the community 10am, the boat loaded with vegetables, five hundred watermelons. Boat ride through shields of mountains.

Spotted familiar buildings, knew Rurrenabaque was around the corner. The town came into view.

Silverio put to shore, we exited the boat. I spoke “The first picture was the four of us, the last picture should be the four of us.” We stood together for two final pictures.

It is done.

Summary Remarks

21 Day Trek In Amazon Rainforest of Bolivia
Day	Activities
1	fast boat to Tawena (3.5hrs), walked community, fished.
2	divided foodstuffs, trekked 8am-1:45pm (5hrs-45mins), ate turtle.
3	trekked 7:15am-1:45pm (6.5hrs), shot & ate wild pig, first spider monkeys seen, howlers heard.
4	rained hard till noon, trekked without packs 12pm-2:45pm (2hrs-45mins).
5	trekked 7:42am-2pm (6hrs-18mins), first hills (flatland ends), fresh jaguar prints, Agua Chile found.
6	crossed Agua chile, trekked up hill from 8:40am-2pm (5hrs-20mins), picturesque pools.
7	rained till 12:30pm, trekked 1-4pm (3hrs), sharp hills-valleys, thirty foot drops, slick mud, singing snake.
8	trekked 8:30am-4:02pm (7hrs-32mins), on 5.5hrs sleep, hills-valleys more numerous but smaller in depth, first bee sting.
9	trekked 7:48-11:10am & 1:15-4:20pm (6hrs-27mins), gave 3kg food to Justino, hills lead to old river plain, armidillo shot.
10	trekked 8-10:20am (2hrs-20mins), hit Rio Hondo, fresh jaguar tracks, wasp sting, balsa raft building starts.
11	rafted 11am-2pm (3hrs), scientific camp, lost pig-amigo, climbed tree tower.
12	rafted 7:23am-12:45pm (5hrs-22mins), capybara, caiman, tapir, two bee stings, trekked 3-5pm (2hrs), shot spider-monkey.
13	rafted 8am-12pm (4hrs), trekked 3-5pm (2hrs).
14	trekked 8-10am (2hrs), rafted 10:40am-12:40pm (2hrs).
15	rafted 7-10am (3hrs; end of rafting), visit Indian family, trekked without packs 1-4:30pm (3.5hrs).
16	trekked 6:40-11am & 1-2:30pm (5hrs-50mins), shot pig, five foot snake, three caimen at night.
17	trekked 8:40am-12:40pm & 3-4:30pm (5.5hrs), three groups of pigs.
18	trekked 8:40am-12:30pm (3hrs-50mins), fifty pigs pass by, captured three fireants.
19	trekked 8:10am-12:15pm (4hrs-5mins), returned to community, chancho lives.
20	trekked 8:40am-12:30pm (3hrs-50mins), two meter snake, 600 year old tree, fished upstream.
21	10am-12pm (2hrs) boat to Rurrenabaque.

After the trek in Peru, returning to Iquitos, I was angry because of a handful of deficiences in the tour. So angry I could not bring myself to step in the company’s office. I knew I would explode.

Why? The ‘sudden change’ of hunters on day one: originally a more experienced middle-aged man was to lead the trek, not 26 year old Brian. The aggravating three hours every morning to break camp: one-quarter of my daylight expired before the first footstep taken. The young men ages 26 and 20 made it seem I paid them to come on vacation with me. I consistently had to push for more trekking time.

While in the forest there were too many Indians (i.e, people) around for my like. As a result I departed Iquitos without giving the company my pictures of the tour. For initiating me to the Amazon rainforest I generously stamped a 6.5 on the tour.

The tour in Bolivia was different. Luis received pictures on the day of our return. I gave Silverio’s customer service a 9 out of 10. The itinerary, however, while better than Peru’s was still not ideal.

Days two through ten were perfect, epic. I gave them a 10/10. Days eleven through fifteen I sat on that damned raft fuming, struggling to give it the benefit of the doubt, watching the forest pass me by, wanting to trek. Day eleven was saved by the tree tower, day twelve by the tapir and spider-monkey. Day sixteen was saved by the peccari kill, snake sighting. Day twenty by a second snake sighting, giant tree, riverdog. Days thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, seventeen, eighteen, nineteen were write-offs.

Subtract days one and twenty-one for transport. Thus thirteen of nineteen days were great or good, six days were writeoffs, for a score of 68.4%, rounded up to a 7. Combine 9 for customer service with 7 for itinerary and stamp a solid 8 on the Bolivian tour.

There are other factors I must consider. First, Luis and Silverio promised a no man’s land, they soundly delivered. Second, no one can predict what you will and will not see in the rainforest. There are bound to be slow days. Third, the fact six of the last eight days were tame or lame is not lost on me. Some of this is attributable to forest and food fatigue. With these factors in mind I upgrade the 8 to a final score of 8.5. Fluvial Tours of Rurrenabaque, Bolivia outclasses Amazon Adventure Tours of Iquitos, Peru.

In search of the perfect trek stay tuned for where and when The Heart of Darkness Part III will commence.

The return to Rurrenabaque was not exciting. I had no energy to be excited. Reviewing photos on Luis’ computer I was pleased with the diversity and quality of pictures. Luis photocopied the military maps of the area trekked for a souvenir.

“If I buy property I am erecting a statue of a pig at the driveway. Reasons threefold: in honor of pig-amigo Chancho, my love of Chinese culture (secularized Confucianism), my dislike of Islam (and religion with its immortal soul).” (Nov26)

Return to La Paz

I left Rurrenabaque November 27 bound for La Paz. My first act in La Paz was to raid a grocery store, particularly for cereal and milk. Then hit Subway.

After the Peru trek I had stomach problems for eleven days. In La Paz my stomach started rumbling. I knew all too well what was to follow. It is odd I do not get sick in the rainforest, only upon exiting it. While editing and uploading pictures to the website I starved myself for three days, drinking only orange juice to kill the little bastards partying in my gut. As usual it worked.

For a month I sat in La Paz, content to eat sushi, subway, drink beers, watch cable tv. Knowing expensive Chile was up next I reasoned La Paz was too cheap to not stay and rest. Christmas was another day. New Years Eve was not. The journal entry:

"I am wandering around La Paz about 9pm looking for a restaurant to order and eat a twelve ounce steak. Nada. The whole city is closing. Ok. I go for Chinese because I know they will not be closing for New Years.

After eating I taxi to the main square. Hmmm, not a single bit of organized action going on. Weird. I tired of walking, sat on a divider between traffic at 11:30pm. It was such a lame scene I almost cut to my hotel. Good thing I didn't.

At 11:45pm I looked up at the hills and noticed a lot of fireworks action beginning. Cool. By 11:55pm the entire western face of the La Paz valley was lit up with lights, explosions, flares. I imagine the rest of the valley was lit up likewise but the high buildings surrounding the square blocked my view.

The show lasted for a good 20 minutes. I sat amazed. For none of the fireworks were part of a public showing. It was kids and adults on the streets, each contributing a little bit to light up the city. It was the greatest private fireworks show I've ever seen! The kicker to this is Bolivia is the poorest country of South America. Go figure."

On the morning of January 2, 2007 I lay dreaming: a red and black striped snake lept at me to strike. I woke, abruptly sat up in bed and exclaimed “It’s time to leave!”

Potosi

Packed my gear, boarded the bus for Potosi. Bleak landscape. A world of dust. First day I strolled the town, climbed to the top of Cerro Rico, 4875 meters, for a 360 degree view of Potosi’s terrain.

"Potosi's modern claim to fame is being the highest city in the world at 4070 meters. Its historical claim to fame is Cerro de Potosi (or Cerro Rico -- "rich mountain"), a mountain of silver ore. Combined with the silver mines of Mexico it profoundly affected European events, making Potosi one of the greatest boom towns in the history of the world. One website states from 1500 through to 1800 Bolivia, Mexico and Peru accounted for over 85% of the world's silver production.

Founded in 1545 Potosi soon produced fabulous wealth. According to some estimates up to 45000 tons (1.5 billion ounces) of pure silver were mined here from 1556 to 1783 (at today’s price of $13.15 US per ounce this is the equivalent value of $19,725,000,000.00 US -- 20 billion dollars). After 1800 the silver mines were largely depleted, making tin the main product. However the mountain continues to be mined for silver to this day.

Due to poor worker conditions -- primarily a lack of protective equipment from the constant inhalation of dust -- the miners today have a short life expectancy with most of them contracting silicosis, dying around 40 years of age. There are estimates as high as eight million indigenous miners who have died in the mines of Potosi from its foundation to the present."

On day two I signed up for a guided tour of Candelaria mine ($10), one of hundreds of tunnels carved into the belly of Cerro Rico. After centuries of operation the working conditions remain primitive, the twisting tunnels roughly carved and supported, with choking dust and heat. About 15000 miners continue to carve Cerro Rico, forming 30 co-operatives, working approximately 300 mines.

"6:45am rise, 8:15am departure for Candelaria mine. Selected gear from a house (pants, jackets, headlamps, rubber boots), purchased gifts for the miners (dynamite, fuses, coca leaves, pop), viewed a processing plant where mineral dust is separated from the ‘junk.’

Standing at the mine entrance men with wheeled-buckets would rocket out of the tunnel. In we go. First level the shaft is walkable standing tall. Viewed a cave museum. Slavery outlawed in 1825. Met god El Tio, the Uncle, who miners revere to ensure productive results. He is the devil actually, a god of the underground, complete with erect seven inch penis. Did not take long for the fumes and dust to hit our noses. I chewed coca leaves (as the miners do) from the start figuring it might help to overlook the fumes and dust. Some of the group bought masks; helped slightly. One guide asks me “where did you learn to chew coca?!”

From the museum hiked along level one, descended a tiny tunnel to level two. Various groups of miners throughout. Room for one-way traffic only, often had to step aside for the one-ton loaded carts as they whizzed by. Level two we watched a dozen workers clearing a section blown out yesterday. Pictures largely obscured by dust.

To the third level. The boys wheeled loaded carts into specific rooms, dumped the contents, shovelled into baskets, hauled to the surface. What a laborious process. As practice each of us shovelled a basket full. Exited the mine. At the surface we exploded three sticks of dynamite. Just because.

The death rate? Nineteen miners died last year. I thought it would be higher. One fellow said it was ten years ago, safety is improving." (Jan4)

Uyuni

Bussed to Uyuni. The landscape on the way is as bleak as Potosi’s, barren hills and plain speckled with the odd house, llaima, shrubs. Visited the single-room museum, commenting “the weirdest display is a deformed skull. Apparently some Indian tribe in the middle of *&%@ nowhere decided to spice up their lives by confining their skulls in bands of rock, wood, etc., resulting in vertically extended heads. With squished brains it is no wonder the tribe is extinct.”

"Salar de Uyuni, at 3650 meters and 10582 square-km, is the world's largest salt flat. Once part of a prehistoric lake when the waters dried it left behind an estimated 10 billion tons of salt, of which 25000 tons is extracted annually."

Invested in a four day tour with company Andrea Tours, $70.

"One of the more surreal aspects of the ride is watching two dozen jeeps of Westerners make their way through the salt plain. … Visited village Colchani, a salt hotel. Drove the salt plain. …

… The lake I did not expect to see. The salt plain for dozens of kilometers is flooded with water a couple inches deep, creating an incredible visual mirror. In the distance other jeeps, buses cross the lake. It appears they are in the clouds due to the sky’s reflection. … First time I have driven across a (unfrozen) lake! …

… An island of cactii called Isla de Pescado, llaima steak lunch. … Pink-algae lagunas with hundreds of pink flamingos. … Arbol de Piedra, a rock-tree sculpted by wind and time. … Geysers, mud pools. … Bathed in a hot spring. … Laguna Verde and dormant Volcan Licancabur at the end of the tour. …

… When it snowed the two Australians and three Brazilians were ecstatic, getting out the jeep, throwing snowballs, jumping and shouting, photographing the ‘event’. I was the only one who stayed in the jeep and did not get excited." (Jan9)

Chile: Ollague to Valdivia

Jan11 crossed from Bolivia into Chile. One question asked by Chilean customs “do you have any coca leaves?” Stayed in the village of Ollague for four days.

Originally I had big plans for Chile. The thought of thirty active volcanos, including the highest active volcano in the world at 6887 meters, had me salivating for two years. It was not to be.

A combination of remoteness, expense and red tape killed the climbs envisioned. For example the one I wanted to do the most, Ojos del Salado at 6887 meters, prices started at $1000-1300 US. The second highest active volcano in the world, Llullaillaco at 6739 meters, started at $900 US. Chile’s government agency CONAF regulates many of the climbs, rangers restricting access without proof of climbing certification.

These blockades were further complicated by adventures in Ecuador (and Peru). Volcan Tungurahua has violently taken the #1 position of all my adventures. Did I see a remote possibility of Tungurahua being eclipsed by a volcano in Chile? Not a chance. Particularly with a ‘safe’ tour group.

"What was Tungurahua? It was me confronting a titan of raw power -- standing at the mouth of a dragon -- and staring her down." (Mar19)

Of the thirty active potentials I ascended two lesser volcanos, Ollague (5863m) and Lonqimay (2865m). Ollague clouded over and left me temporarily snow-blind while Longqimay was a pleasant day hike. I paid $70 US to ascend classically beautiful strato-volcano Villarrica, it clouded over, climb cancelled. Frustrated by the lame weather of the Andes, frustrated hearing the term CONAF inextricably tied to every volcano in Chile, I threw in the towel disgusted, writing the lot off.

From the village of Ollague I skipped through the towns and cites of: Calama, San Pedro de Acatama, Tocanao, Antofagasta, Copiapo, La Serena. La Serena museum contained a Rapa Nui (Easter Island) statue, one of two exported from the island (the other in Santiago).

"On the road is where I want to be: all I want to do is sit on a bus, watch the world go by my window, sun on my face, and think." (Jan19)

"Latinos are aware of fifty songs from Western Civilization’s fifty year catalogue of rock and pop music, played over and over again. Forty are ballads. At number one on the all-time favorites list is Lady in Red by Chris de Burgh. Followed by Angie, the Rolling Stones. Another Day in Paradise, Phil Collins. Total Eclipse of the Heart, Bonnie Tyler. Winds of Change, the Scorpions." (Jan22)

Ecuador, Peru and Bolivia are like three large Indian reserves. By comparison Chileans are stylized in Euro-American dress. Gone are the tribal colors. Individuals are as likely to be gothic punks as clothed in business suits.

"Reading a book titled “A History of Argentina in the 20th Century,” by Argentinian Luis Alberto Romero. Christ, Argentina is a political and economic mess. Most insightful quote of the book comes from a union-labor leader. When asked how to resurrect the economy he replied “Everybody stop stealing for two years.” It is simultaneously priceless and pathetic, reflecting the philosophical rot characteristic of all Latino countries in Central and South America -- with the possible exception of recently stabilized Chile." (Jan15)

"Just as the quarterly income statements of a publicly-traded corporation can diminish management’s vision to think in three month terms, so does the four year political election cycle impair what should be. The efforts of politicians go into short-term thoughts, projects, bills, etc., with diluted consideration to longer terms. What should be the sole priority of government, protecting individual rights, is not a short term phenomenon. Yet the ‘game’ of elections -- representative government, democracy -- has reduced politics to speak of every kind of issue and obscenity under the sun except individual rights." (Jan12)

Santiago. I was pleasantly surprised. While the city’s architecture is not unique (always modelled after a European precedent) the streets are spacious and comparatively clean. I predicted more filth, despair, even in South America’s richest country. It was minimal. Dropped off the digital camera for cleaning (sand); three hours! Tested negative for chagas disease (trypanosoma cruzi; bit by an assassin bug during the Bolivia trek); one day! Chilean efficiency impresses.

One of the things I looked forward to was the art museum. I expected Chile – stable, wealthier than its neighbors, the biggest exporter of South America -- to have a good selection of thinking artists. At least a couple abstractions to capture my imagination. A huge disappointment. I quote:

"It sucked ass big time. *&%#@ !! Not a single *&%#@ work of art. It was all trash. … Art is not a splattering of paint colors on a canvas. Nor is it squares and circles. Nor is it a bowl of fruit -- that’s practice, not art. Art should be a thoughtful, selective re-creation of values reflecting the artist’s worldview, philosophy. With an excellent, inspiring piece of art I say “That is exactly the way I see existence!”"

Exiting the so-called art museum I came across the highlight of Santiago: Pequeña Gigante, or the Little Giant. A French babe! The story and pictures are found here:

http://www.oocities.org/tsiktsikcx/pgigante4.html.
http://www.oocities.org/tsiktsikcx/pgigante.html.

Visited the zoo. For the first time I skipped a country’s National Museum. Eager to return to the road I departed Santiago after five days. The predominant feature of the north, the Atacama desert, replaced by the vineyards, forests and lakes of the south.

Santiago to Chillan, Temuco, Longqimay town. The latter felt like a sleepy, relaxing Rocky Mountain town complete with rodeo and corral grounds. Climbed Longqimay volcano.

To the towns of Villarrica and Pucon, on the shore of Lake Villarrica, the jewel of Chile. Arrived February 2. Departed February 25. Enjoyed my first beach vacation after fourteen months in South America. Raspberry tarts. Hamburgers. Sunshine. Volcanic black-pebble beach. A tan. Victor Hugo's Les Misérables (Hugo was a genius; who writes like this?!). Chilean chicas in swimsuits. Spanish pop group La Oreja de Van Gogh in concert ($30). A Chilean youth stating “You cannot bribe the police in Chile.” These are the things I remember.

“We have already peered into the depths of that conscience (of Jean Valjean) and must now do so again, although we cannot do so without trembling. Nothing is more terrifying than contemplation of this kind. Nothing discernible to the eye of the spirit is more brilliant or obscure than man; nothing is more formidable, complex, mysterious, and infinite. There is a prospect greater than the sea, and it is the sky; there is a prospect greater than the sky, and it is the human soul.

”To make a poem of the human conscience even in terms of a single man and the least of men, would be to merge all epics in a single epic transcending all. Conscience is the labyrinth of illusion, desire, and pursuit, the furnace of dreams, the repository of thoughts of which we are ashamed; it is the pandemonium of sophistry, the battlefield of passions. To peer at certain moments into the withdrawn face of a human being in the act of reflection, to see something of what lies beyond their outward silence, is to discern struggle on a Homeric scale, conflicts of dragons and hydras, aerial hosts as in Milton, towering vistas as in Dante. The infinite space that each man carries within himself, wherein he contrasts the movements of his soul with the acts of his life, is an overpowering thing.” (Victor Hugo, Les Misérables, Penguin translation, page 208.)

“Abstruse speculation contains an element of vertigo.” (Victory Hugo)

To Valdivia, South American sea lion antics on city sidewalks, fortress San Sebastion (1645 AD), tasty seafood.

Patagonia (Chile/Argentina): Puerto Varas to Puerto Madryn

Puerto Varas. Puerto Montt. Quellon, the end of the Panamericana Highway. I meet a Jordanian who notes “North America was settled predominantly by Protestants and flourishes; South America was settled predominantly by Catholics and stagnates in corruption.” Ferry ticket to Chaiten, starting the 1240 km Carretera Austral highway south into Patagonia.

Puerto Puyuhuapi. Quelat Park hanging glacier. Coyhaique. Puerto Aisen. Gorgeous General Cerrera Lake. Cochrane. James’s giant peach house. Villa O’Higgins: “the ride here was filled with lovely twists, turns, lakes, glaciers, peaks, barren rock, forests, streams, fjords.” Cochrane.

"From Patagonia, Chile comes this email, the small town of Cochrane, latitude 47°26' South, longitude 72°55' West. Yesterday I hit Villa O`Higgins at latitude 48º 28' then backtracked. In the next couple days I should be exiting Chile for Argentina, pushing my way as far as Ushuaia in the next couple weeks at latitude 54° 47' South, longitude 68° 20' West. By comparison Yellowknife is at latitude 62° 30' North, longitude 114° 29' West.

Ushuaia is some 6098 kilometers in a straight line to the equator or, in the other direction, 1171.1 km from the Antarctic Peninsula (65°05' S, 64°00' W). Though I was interested in a possible ship voyage to the Antarctic continent it unfortunately appears the sailing season will be over by the time I get there, mid-March. Oh well, perhaps another time. Upon my arrival at the tip of the South America continent I will have traversed a spread of some 14,772.3 kilometers from Tuktoyaktuk, Canada in the northern hemisphere to Ushuaia, Argentina in the south. Out of a possible 20,037.1 km from pole to pole (9000N-0001E and 9000S-0001E in the calculator).

A nifty distance calculator is found at -- http://jan.ucc.nau.edu/~cvm/latlongdist.html

I apologize for all the numbers but it is strange to think I am going so far south. In my travels previous to South America the farthest south I crossed the equator was Indonesia. I am way beyond that now.

Chilean Patagonia thus far is a place not so different from parts of the Rocky mountains. A resident of Puerto Puyuhuapi said he drove the highway through northern British Columbia into Alaska and agreed with me. While the handful of European, American and Chilean travelers who make it this far love the isolation and wilderness I am shaking my head thinking "I'm back in Canada."" (Mar9)

Puerto Guadal. A day hike to water Patagonian thorns, spikes and barbs with my blood. Border town Chile Chico for an hour to cross into the infinite flatness of Argentina’s tundra-like Patagonia. “I kid you not the clouds instantly retreated, the sun came out to warmly greet me, no more cold, no more rain.”

El Calafate. The collapsing ice towers of the Perito Moreno Glacier. A perfect blue sky day. El Chalten. Beautiful Fitz Roy mountain. Scrambled Cerro Madsen to 1806 meters, a condor circling overhead. A second perfect blue sky day. Chile’s Andes gave me endless abuse, Argentina’s Andes deliver two grand-slam home runs in two days.

Returned to El Calafate for a crossover to Puerto Natales, Chile, a base for famous Torres del Paine National Park. Found a sleeping bag and mat, met Andre of Portugal who owned a tent, bought six to seven days worth of food. We completed the circuit in 5.25 days, walking 138.8 km in 37.5 hours. Upon conclusion of the trek I re-named Torres del Paine the "Towers of Pain." A summary of the route, distances, times:

March 21: Hosteria Los Torres to Camp Torres (8.2km, 2hours-20mins), to the three towers viewing area (3km return, 1hour).

Mar 22: Returned to the three towers viewing area (3km return, 1hour), Camp Torres to Camp Italiano (22.7km, 6hours-25mins, hurricane winds, soaking rain).

Mar 23: Camp Italiano to Camp Britanico (5.5km, 1hour-35mins), to the backside of the towers alone (8km return, 2hours), to Camp Italiano (5.5km, 1hour-35mins), to Camp Pehoe (7.6km, 1hour-45mins).

Mar 24: Camp Pehoe to Camp Paso (21km, 6hours, ascending over Glacier Grey, sunset over glacier). “How can there be so much ice?! What I see is only a fragment of the Southern Patagonian Icefield for it extends another 350km past my vision.”

Mar 25: Camp Paso to Camp Dickson via the John Gardner Pass (21km, 6hours-45mins). “The last hour to Camp Los Perros was hilarious. The trail is a swamp, mud to the ankles. After initially trying to skirt the mess I gave up, splashing through the mud, puddles, streams. A kid’s playground.”

Mar 26: Camp Dickson to Park Entrance (33.3km, 7hours-5mins). Circuit completed.

Totals: 138.8km, 37.5 hours. Circuit started 11am on March 21, completed 5pm on March 26, done in 5.25 days.

Puerto Natales to Punta Arenas. Crossed the Straight of Magellan to the minefields of Isla Tierra del Fuego. “Who the *&%•”@ would mine Patagonia?! Only the Chileans and Argentinians. I suspect it is a joint-government strategy to let dozens of guanaco wander freely beyond the fences, for they will find all the mines eventually.”

Peale’s dolphins chased the Magellan Straight ferry as dogs chase autos. To the city of Ushuaia -- southernmost city on earth.

"People talking philosophy and/or politics while drinking alcohol is a joke. It is the equivalent of trying to run a marathon by tying your legs and arms. For while trying to reach an accord about fundamental truths of reality you are simultaneously crippling your ability to reason, destroying your consciousness. So please do me a service by standing up before such a conversation to speak “I acknowledge I am a •#@\ªç¿€ idiot for attempting to philosophize while drinking.”" (Mar28)

To Rio Gallegos (thank you Kiosko Barney). Trelew. Punta Tombo Penguin Reserve.

"Punta Tombo is a peninsula (3km long, 600m wide) home to the largest colony of Magellanic Penguins in South America. Some 500,000 of the birds come here to breed between the months of September and April.

While purchasing transport to the reserve I asked the sales-lady how many penguins I should expect to see in April. She thought about it for a moment and replied "Perhaps 500, but it is difficult to say. One day there could be 500, the next day 50, for at this time of year they migrate."

The next day, moments after getting off the bus, I was astonished to see thousands of penguins dotting the landscape. You can literally walk among them, peek into their nests, follow them.

While they are mostly "shy tender little animals" getting too close causes them to twist their neck/head from side to side to warn a peck of their beak is on the way." (Apr3)

Puerto Madryn for the “Don’t Worry, Be Happy Hostel” and a car-surfing fido. The story of the Peninsula Valdes tour, particularly the orcas, is found here:

http://www.oocities.org/tsiktsikcac/orca.html.

Unfortunately I was not able to view fountains of gushing blood as an orca squeezed and popped little sea lions between rows of razor sharp teeth. But I was able to view how it gets done. “Penguins yesterday, orcas today: Argentina continues to deliver after a frustrating Chile.” (Apr4)

Contemplating my options: the climbing season for Aconcagua and Ojos del Salado closed, little else appealed to me outside Patagonia. I decided to write off the rest of Argentina for its capital.

Buenos Aires

One girl writes online “Buenos Aires is a pretentious city. It pretends to be European but it is a bad copy of Madrid or Paris.”

(1) I have never been to Paris or Madrid; (2) in three months I travelled over 9000 km; (3) I needed a comfortable, entertaining city to do business in. These three factors made Buenos Aires the ideal stop. Arrived April 7, departed June 6.

First impression was emerging from the subway onto Avenida 9 de Julio, one of the widest avenues in the world (one source says 140 meters). Hostel shopped. Found BA STOP, a cozy place at Rivadavia 1194 and Libertad, one block from 9 de Julio for $9 a night. Supermarket, cheap eateries, movies, subway lines within a couple blocks.

Business first: bought a replacement passport from the Canadian Embassy ($100, 2 weeks). Thank you Greg Merrithew and Gilbert Katerynych for being passport references. Bought visas for Paraguay ($45, one day) and Brazil ($60, four days). The flash on my digital camera stopped working, to Olympus Repair ($150, one month).

Plugged into the matrix to select, edit, upload pictures to the website. Summarized twelve months of journal notes for this letter.

Three theater plays: Cabaret, Victor/Victoria, Sweet Charity for $10 to $12 each. Fantastic value. Due to its (movie) familiarity I liked Cabaret the best. Found set designs and set transitions particularly interesting.

Football game Boca Jrs versus Arsenal ($45, 1-1 tie, the Boca Jrs being a former team of Maradona). Movies: 300, Babel, The Departed, Spider-Man 3 (El Hombre Araña Tres, haha!), Pirates of the Caribbean Three, Casino Royale. New hiking boots ($100). San Telmo’s Sunday flea market twice. Japanese Garden. The zoo. La Boca district’s colorful housing; posed with a Japanese tango dancer for a favorite Buenos Aires picture. Purchased forty cds of MP3 music for $60. Waved to fans as many Argentines mistook me for musician Fito Páez.

Two art museums. The symbolism of Jesus stapled to the underside of a fighter jet (a cross) was interesting (the internal fear of self, as reflected in religion, is equal to external military expenditure to compensate; two sides of the same coin). Frida’s 1942 self-portrait made me go home and shower. Man is she is butt-ugly, physically and philosophically. In the second museum Rodin sculptures commanded attention.

Recoleta cemetary with its imagery, conceptual plays, statues. The grave of Evita (but Madonna isn’t dead?! whatever). A knight slaying a dragon worked into a metal door. My favorite is a metal door etching of a Christian cross, hanging from its branches via chain links are the Alpha and Omega symbols. Oh my self, even as an athiest that image tickles my brain to no end. In the graveyard I could not stop singing songs Dead Babies and I Love The Dead by Alice Cooper.

Clubbed with the hostel crowd. Favorite place is gigantic Opera Bay, a multi-room nightclub by the bay. I will forever remember standing in an inebriated haze, drowning in trance-electronica, looking up through the glass panes of the roof at the lighted skyscrapers of Buenos Aires.

Attended a Flamenco music and dance performance ($10) -- the opening act had me choking back tears it was so intensely beautiful to watch. By comparison tango music, its complementary footwork on the dance floor, does not captivate with the same intensity.

Final thoughts on Buenos Aires? I knew something was odd months ago when everyone I met while travelling -- including liberal-treehugging-potsmoking-dreadlock-&%@•# backpackers -- raved about this city to no end. The BobMarley-scum of the road usually hate every city as a rule.

The food is exceptional. Love being able get a tasty meal in any cafe for a handful of dollars. Mouthwatering steaks. Four dollar buffets. Sure beats the endless chicken-rice-platano variations of Peru and Bolivia. Easy, cheap transport. Safe streets. In a country like Peru I felt the need to constantly look over my back; by comparison Buenos Aires is tame. It is a relatively modern culture at discount prices.

Would I want to live here? Ultimately, no. Great place to visit but I would never give up what my country -- for all its drawbacks and contradictions -- offers me in terms of life-opportunity for a one-way ticket here. I will keep my first-world passport close to heart, thank you, and use it as a springboard to treat myself to the delicious diversities of the world -- actualizing life as a global buffet.

My only criticism of Buenos Aires is it had no slurpees. What a shame.

Next up on the South American tour: Paraguay and Brazil.