In the Jungle with George and Bungle, Zippy bit my leg (a-limp-away a-limp-away a-limp-away)
The route to the jungle resort of Misahualli took us, in our big bouncing yellow bus, down the same roads that we had cycled down the previous day. Much being thrown about later, we decended into the Amazon basin, and the atmosphere became noticably more humid. The scenery was stunning, and just looking out the window was fascinating enough with ever changing trees and flora passing on both sides, various wildlife (humingbirds and kingfishers) and local houses, perched on the roadside.

Misahualli is probably a one horse town, but it has dozens of monkeys running about taking the piss out of people. The town itself is tiny, with one hotel in which we were staying (our most basic accomodation on the trip apparently, but still equiped with an en suite and a ceiling fan - this is roughing it with style) and another - much posher one - a short boat ride away on the other side of the Rio Napo river, a big broad swathe of water cutting the nearby jungle in two and eventually leading to the Amazon river proper. Sitting on the terrace of the upmarket resort drinking beer and watching the sun set languidly over the trees and river, the local fishermen becoming silhuettes as they put their boats away for the evening, was a fantastic, slightly unreal experience. I think I took about half a film of photographs just on the sunset, each time, thinking to myself: "Bloody hell, I´m really here."
That evening we were also introduced to our local jungle guide, a disarmingly camp bloke called Wilfred with an earing in the shape of a chalice and bleach blonde hair. We were in good hands, we were told as the men shuffled uncomfortably in their seats.

Wilfred proved to know his jungle, of course. Dishing out information on the local plantlife to anyone who would listen. The following day started with a pretty tough four hour hike through the undergrowth. Tough not because to the density of the trees, or the constant ups and downs in the terrain (tree roots cominging to make stair cases up and down hills), but because of the dense, sweaty heat that refused to disperse. Even in the shadiest areas, the air was thickly humid and our gradually warming water supply was guzzled at alarming quantities.
We eventually stumbled out into the jungle lodge in which we would be staying the night. This was essentially a nature reserve, with a series of huts constructed out of leaves and bamboo (it says here, although it looked like wood to me, but then what do I know?) and again looked generally luxurious.
After a very nice lunch, we all went and jumped in the river. Rather than actually swimming in it, it was soon discovered that the current was pretty strong, altough the water wasn´t that deep. Glorified paddling was the order of the day, but after the heat of the jungle, it was exceptionally welcome.
That afternoon, a storm broke over the resort, which curtailed a proposed visit to the aminal santurary. Instead, we lazed about in hamocks on the cabin´s porches, watching the rain fall. Later we retired to the large dining huts and were one-by-one set upon by a particularly tenatious monkey which seemed to think that every one´s arm was a good substitute for a branch. The only way to prise it off, it seemed, was to offer it beer. Crafty little sod.
Other monkeys hung around the roof with a selection of brightly coloured parrots, sqwarking at each other and crapping on anyone below. Mercifully our meal table was closer to the middle of the hut and out of range, so at least some semblence of hygine was maintained.
At the back of the hut, was another monkey, a larger one, stuck in a cage for being rowdy and smashing plates. Everyone thought he was adorable, but when I approached, he very clearly thought that I was the adorable one which was bloody embarassing - obviously I should have shaved. I left the randy little bastard alone hastily, but the story seems to be one that might get out of hand (so to speak), and having already heard Gary relate a variation of it featuring much "holding of hands" and "sideways glances", I fear that my reputation is now thoroughy trashed and that by the time I get back home, I´ll be arrested on charges of bestiality. Tsk.
As it got dark, we were taken upriver in canoe, where the engine was cut off and we drifted back silently to listen to the sounds of the jungle at night. The boat was pretty uncomfortable, and listed alarmingly at times, but the experience was unique, the dark shadows of the trees on each sides drifting past, sparkling occasionally to life with the glittering light of passing glow worms, and all the time, the ratcheting, chirruping, whistling noises from all sides.

That eveing in the jungle, the wildlife came out. Not big monsterous creatures with big teeth, of course, but the bugs and creepy crawlies that lived in the cabins full-time. With so many horror stories about the "millions" of cockroaches that swarmed around the beds of the other cabins, we were somewhat surprised to find that ours only seemed to be home to four or so, and given that they were spotted at different times, it might have been the same one. Still, mosquito nets were provided and after a curious evening in the resort´s disco bar (actually a hut with the words "disco bar" written on the side of it) I slept very well indeed.

The following morning, we went to meet the less sociable wildlife in the resort. Although turtles, odd rodents and other things were promised, most seemed happy to stay out of sight, but the Tapirs were keen to be fed and ye gods they´re strange creatures. Part pig, part horse, part elephant, with a slightly wretched doe-eyed expression, they look like one of Doctor Moreau´s failed experiments.
That afternoon, we treked a few hours up river then were each issued an inflated inner tube from a truck and rode the current back down river. Blissfully relaxing stuff, enlived by the occasional low grade rapid.
A three hour boat ride (boat being a long canoe with an outboard motor) took us - wetly - back to Misahualli, where the English and Australian in the group tried to concoct schemes to watch the Rugby World Cup final at four the following morning. None successful, it seemed, but in the morning I woke to see one of the English guys pacing around outside the hotel with a shortwave radio clamped to his ear and a look of extreme concentration on his face.
When the result finally came through, I think the entire village heard him.
- posted by Vince @ 10:09 AM