Have Paddle, will Travel
July 21 1998
The Jungle bunny is back. With bulging tanned muscles and travelling with a
paddle (and not a little one either) I start what by my standards is a sprint to
the Mountains of Peru. I left off in La Paz, heading happily to the lowlands
most happily. Moses, my trusty Israeli friend and fellow rowing nutter had to
endure a simply overexcited Fly ooohing and aaahing at everything green and
avian as we dropped nearly 3500m to the steamy world of the Bolivian Lowlands. I
was a threeyearold bubble of enthusiasm as we lodged in a brilliant little hotel
in Villa Tunari. This tiny town owes its inclusion in the gringo trail due to a
little animal rehabilitation centre just across the river from town. Here you
can frolic with monkeys, and posture with Parrots. My African upbringing has
instilled a passionate love for all things animate, and none more so the
Squirrel Monkeys. To be honoured by having one clamber up and down me was truly
a wonderful moment. But the squirrel monkeys were the most timid. I got on
famously with two Marmosets. One I called bracelet, for its habit of clinging to
my wrist, and the other, Hector, I played with for over an hour. Once Hector
tired of me, one of the normally shy spider monkeys, with their weird
proportions and prehensile tails discovered that glasses came off. So for an
hour more I sat in a hammock while the monkey swung around by its tails and
tired to seize my glasses. Great fun, and it was hard for me to leave. Not as
hard as for Hector, who threw a little monkey tantrum when I left. Oh, I also
(Ant is never going to forgive me for this) got to see and touch their puma, who
is normally out of bounds for visitors. A squat long cat, it certainly is no
match for our African wonders, and time and again we were warned against them,
but I really think it would have to be a very desperate Puma to attack something
only Bolivian size. To attack me, with my new improved build, would be simply
silly. Anyway, on from Villa Tunari. before we visited the wildlife refuge, Mo
and I hitched out to the port of Villarroel, and bought a small bargey sort of
boat. Thus after I was a walking jungle gym, we headed out to Santa Cruz and
stocked up for our River adventure. In a sustained shopping spree we managed to
buy food for three weeks and all the other
sundry supplies that we thought may be necessary on the river. Getting to
Santa Cruz was in fact more difficult than the shopping, as there was a massive
protest blockade that went on for 3 days. We had to walk at least 10 kilometres
to get to a point on the other side where we could hitch a ride from. On the way
back to our boat, the blockade had vanished, and we spent most of the day
getting the boat floating in the water. Once buoyant and not too leaky, at 4 on
a sunny jungle afternoon, we pushed the well-laden vessel out into a strong
current and paddled romantically off into the setting sun. Our first night we
only did a couple of kilometres until well clear of town. The following morning
we Christened the boat Jun, in honour of our trekking friend from Navarino,
where we met and first discussed this harebrained scheme. The good ship
Jun proved Ideal for jungle fare. Stable as a tanker, and roomy for three,
let alone two, it was still a very heavy and hard to manoeuvre vessel. Quickly
we fell into a routine, that continued for almost 16 days. We'd be up at 7 30
when the night insects had returned to their dark and sheltering places. By 8 30
we were on the river, drifting while we ate breakfast and I did the previous
nights dishes. Sometime after 9 the paddling would begin. I would take the first
stint up front, powering mindlessly away for an hour while Mo kept us pointing
roughly the right way, and adding a little more impetus. After the hour, we
would swap, and I often spent the rest of the day on the wearisome but fun task
of keeping the nose in front of the tail. Steering took fine touch and loads of
brute force, and it took both of us some time before we could weave nimbly
between half sunken trees. A coffee break after the two hours, and then another
45 minutes rowing before the tropical sun made the effort unbearable, and we'd
loaf about until 3 30 or 4 and then paddle until 5. By 6 15 we had to be in the
tents, as the satanic hoards of hell would manifest in the form of a billion
buzzing things, most that bite. But an hour is plenty for old hands like us to
have camp up, dinner cooked and eaten, and even a little sport played. We had
chosen the Rio Ichilo for our little trip. A clearish and strong river by
standards of home {not Chile !!}, it flows north in a contorted and meandering
path for 500km, changing name to The Rio Chapare and then The Rio Mamore as
other tributaries add to its already considerable waters. It took us all the way
to Trinidad, over 17 days including days of departure and arrival. We hitched a
lift with a boat for a half-day, as I need to move move move now. Wildlife was
great. Waterbirds, large and elegant abounded, including such things as Pink
Spoonbills. Skimmers were a constant companion, slicing through the shallows on
the sandy banks. Kingfishers (of three varieties) prowled the undercut banks for
similar fish. Terns spun noisily overhead, and herons would crank grumpily off
at our approach. Mammals were not a roaring success, although we did see one
troop of monkeys, and I spotted what I thought was a jaguar a long way off, but
looks like it was a tapir. However, the notable exception to the barren mammals
were the pink dolphins. we would come across little pods of them
sporadically, and they would blow around us, and unexpected leap from the
water, sometimes only a couple metres from the boat. All attempts to photograph
them proved futile, as one never knew where they would
surface next, except out of the viewfinder. And so our little trip went on,
as we became browner and stronger (and more built) with each setting sun over
sandy riverbank and mass of green on the opposite shore. Mo proved the perfect
companion for the trip, and for two hardened solo travellers we got on really
well. In fact our madness got a little worrying, and I think civilisation came
just in time before we both went over the brink, but Trindad was flashed through
after a single day, and I've just been in Buses for the last 36hours. Tomorrow
its more buses and trains etc to Cuzco via Copocabana and Puno, then a lope
along the Inca trail, and off to the Cordillera Blanca to meet Rob seems like
after only 9 months I'm learning how to travel fast Anyway, more mountain
stories in a few weeks time
PS I have kept my carved paddle as my only souvenir of the trip so far. Its
only 1.5m long and weighs 4kg, so is ideal for travel NOT Still, it has proved
useful so far. In the Bus stop today some silly cheese tried the pour mustard on
my leg routine to try to get me distracted from my luggage. I was crouched, and
ignored him as I gathered my bags, stood to my full height, paddle in both hands
, and asked "WHAT" in a gruff pissed off voice. He disappeared smartly
