Finally, finally, finally we decided to throw caution (mainly of the financial variety) to the wind and head to the Amazon. Another long-held dream of mine would come to fruition. Hurrah!
Bolivia is by far the cheapest place to visit the jungle, so it made sense that we would embark on our Amazon adventure from here. There are two ways to reach it from La Paz: one is to spend 24 hours on a bus of dubious quality and with a not-so-safe safety record, making your way down the side of the Andes along mainly unpaved roads on a journey which has been described to us as literally breath-taking; the other option is to take a 30 minute flight from La Paz airport in a ridiculously small plane. We opted for the latter, deeming this to be the safer, and certainly speedier choice.
La Paz airport is the highest in the world and it takes planes so long to take off and land due to the high altitude that they need a crazily long runway and special landing gear to get on and off the ground. Thankfully (or not) our plane wasn't large enough to warrant such equipment, and we took off to the regular roar of engines alongside the buffeting winds and turbulence that you only get at 4500 metres. Being so high up, and with our destination so low down we spent the entire trip descending instead of ascending, which is a strange feeling to say the least. Still, it was quick and in a little over 25 minutes we were skimming the jungle canopy in search of a mud landing strip.
Eagerly anticipating that waft of hot air that so often greets you when you step off a plane in a hot country (the kind that makes you know you're on holiday; or have arrived back in Melbourne in the height of summer), we had de-layered our clothes in preparation to feel the full effects of a humid and sultry Amazon. The doors to the plane opened and we stepped outside to be greeted by thick grey cloud, driving rain and a temperature of 9 degrees. 9 degrees!?! Had we accidentally taken a wrong turn and ended up in Newfoundland? Had we unknowingly bought tickets to Patagonia? Did we unconsciously decide to skip the rest of South America and head straight to the green pastures of England and Ireland on a summer's day? This was not the break from the cold temperatures of the Andes we had been promised. And I'd taken off my tights! Bbbrrrrrr. Hastily re-layering our clothes we grumpily boarded a small bus that picked us up directly from the plane along with our luggage and headed to the small town of Rurrenabaque, situated on a tributary of the Amazon river.
Not a summer loincloth in sight.
We made our way to our hostel which turned out to be strange abode with even stranger owners and inquired about the current Arctic weather conditions the town was experiencing. Looking around at the hostel which was adorned with a large, if rather dirty-looking pool, and with rooms that had no glass in the windows, we could only assume that 'cold' was not the norm. 'Is the weather often like this?' we asked. 'Not at all! Why, just yesterday it was 32 degrees. It's usually hot all year round. This weather is completely uncharacteristic of the area and happens maybe once a year! Would you like a blanket to go with your cold shower? I'm sure the weather will warm up in the next few days....'
Oh well, at least we were in the jungle, and I guess it's not called a rainforest for nothing. Best to dig out our sleeping bags again and get ready for our tour in the Maldidi nature reserve. The next morning we donned our rucksacks and headed down to the river for our two-night excursion to the jungle proper, where we were promised the chance of seeing anacondas, caimans, monkeys, tarantulas (yes, tarantulas), wild pigs, the possible roar of a jaguar and untold species of birds and insects. Cold or not, excited I certainly was, and we opted to sit at the front of a rudimentary long-tail boat in order to get the full (if not freezing) experience. It was going to take three hours to travel upriver to our destination in the nature reserve and along the way we saw communities dotted along the riverbank going about their daily activities. Sitting in a boat with the jungle on either side of me, with modern civilization as far away as it could possibly be, put a whole new spin on the term, going bush.
Our boat arrives at the Maldidi nature reserve.
We arrived at our accommodation and were surprised to find rather fancy digs (for our decreasing standards, anyway) complete with flushing toilets and toilet paper (always a benchmarker), mosquito nets and hammocks dotted around in between trees. We were assigned a guide named Sando and paired up with two friends from England (one of whom spent the whole time in bed) and a woman called Doris from Canada who turned out to be the grumpiest person we have come across the entire trip. I mean, why go on holiday if you have no intention of enjoying yourself. Do us all a favour and stay at home with your cats who are probably your only friends, and talk to the walls like Shirley Valentine. I'm sure you'll have a much better time than inflicting your permanent premenopausal self on the rest of us. Sorry. Anyway, back to the jungle...
Hammockas
With Sando as our guide, several activities had been planned for our trip, which included guaranteed wildlife spotting! Learning how to make sugarcane juice, discovering medicinal plants and spending a night in the depths of the jungle with nothing but a mosquito net and a thin roll mat between us and the elements.
Our first excursion was a jungle trek for Sando to show us the 'ways of jungle life' and to hopefully spot some wildlife. Now, I don't know why, but I wasn't convinced our guide was telling us the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth. We seemed to find jaguar paw prints remarkably quickly (that strangely enough looked about the same size as a medium-sized dog's), puma droppings, caiman prints and all manner of other animal evidence that was handily located within 50 metres of our lodgings... Along the way Sando would dramatically stop and impersonate different monkey calls, or pick up random plants and tell us how they could cure all manner of things. I'm not sure why I was being so cynical - maybe Doris was rubbing off on me - but the whole first day just seemed to feel set up; like we'd entered a jungle theme park and at any moment a guy in a jaguar suit was going to come running out to attack us and our guide would spectacularly wrestle him to the ground...
Jungle flora without the fauna
Of course this didn't happen, and over the next few days I came to realise this was just his manner rather than a set-up experience where we would ooh and ahh over our jungle discoveries. We finished our first day squeezing sugarcane juice through a rudimentary mangle, and then drinking it with fresh lime, spotting a few monkies and going on a nighttime wander to try and find tarantulas (thankfully we didn't). In fact, our closest contact with nature was in our hut, which we were unfortunately sharing with the grumpy Doris, who stupidly left out a packet of crackers, which the resident country mouse found all too tempting. Soon after I'd put out the lights I heard a rustling sound coming from the table next to my bed and switched on the lamp to find a mouse who looked like he'd just been caught with his paws in the cookie jar. Obviously the poor thing was petrified at my looming presence and opted for the only safe-looking route of escape, my rucksack. Great. A mouse was now hiding out somewhere in my bag, and although I'm not scared of mice, I didn't particularly want to delve my hand in to hoik out the poor creature. Thankfully, a few minutes later it found an escape route out of my bag and under the hut, where I presumed it stayed for the rest of the night. Doris' crackers however were demoted to the bin outside to dissuade any other hungry nighttime visitors. Stupid woman...
Day two had us out of bed early and finally feeling the warmth we were hoping for. We headed to a different part of the jungle where we hoped to see more wildlife. Along the way Sando showed us how to make rudimentary water bottle holders out of palm fronds, and how to extract dye out of coca leaves. About an hour into the trek we came across (or rather firstly smelt) a group of wild pigs (I'm not sure of the collective noun for stinky swines). I can not exaggerate how badly aromatic these beasts were, foraging around on the forest floor cracking palm nuts in their teeth. We were told there were about 80 piggies surrounding us at one point, all calling to each other and racing through the undergrowth just a few metres from us. I definitely didn't want to come into close contact with one, and I don't know how the locals happily consume them with such an emanating smell. Stink crackling anyone? Needs must I suppose.
Ais goes native
After lunch we donned our mini backpacks, sleeping bags and roll mats, and set forth on our hike into the depths of the jungle. Due to our campsite's remoteness we hoped to see and hear lots of wildlife. The journey took just over three hours (Doris fell over. I laughed) and we were rewarded with a clearing in the jungle covered with one tarp, a firepit for our chef to cook on and a long table for sitting and eating at. There were also two rather smelly hammocks (I think the pigs had been hanging out in them the night before). We set up our 'beds' for the night, enjoyed some surprisingly delicious food given the circumstances our chef had to cook in (and that's after the poor soul had to carry all the food to the campsite), and finished the night with a jungle trek under the cover of darkness with nothing but a torch and our guide in front of us for safety... Every now and again we were asked to switch off our lights to help encourage the animals to come out. I don't think I've ever experienced so much 'blackness' in all my life. You could not see your fingertips in front of you, never mind the tarantula that might be hastily making its way up your inside trouser leg. Jumpy as I am, there were several instances where I yelped in the darkness at my own non-existent shadow which ensured that any prospective wildlife in our vicinity were now half way across the jungle canopy making their way to the safety of Brazil... Hasten to say we didn't see anything apart from one medium-sized spider (even I wasn't scared of it), and we retreated to our campsite and bed, with the hope of at least hearing some jungle blues.
Our accommodation for the night
I call this 'water bottle holder with hut in background'. It's an abstract piece.
The next morning we all compared oratory stories and deciphered that none of us had heard anything more substantial than perhaps a few large rodents and maybe a couple of lost pigs coming to check out any leftovers from dinner. At least none of us woke up to find a snake in our sleeping bags.
After breakfast we left behind our campsite and walked two hours to a clay lick where hundreds of pairs of macaws were feeding and nesting. Perched on a two-metre wide cliff we tentatively looked over the edge at the scene below. I guess they're not called macaws for nothing and the raucous they made was absolutely deafening. Swooping and chatting and waltzing in the air, they made a glorious spectacle that was definitely the highlight of my jungle tour. Macaws mate for life and each parrot mirrored its partner's moves through the air with such elegance and grace it looked like they were performing in the Amazon edition of 'So, You Think You Can Dance'. Sadly, I didn't get any photos as I was too consumed by watching the macaws while ensuring I didn't fall off the cliff at the same time.
View from the clay lick
Finally content at our wildlife spotting, we descended down the cliff and made our way to the river where we were met by fast-flowing water and a few logs. It turned out that our final challenge of the tour was to make an indigenous-style raft and float down the river back to our lodge. At this point we were all completely knackered and could do little more other than look on bemused as our guides joined each log together with twine and got us to hold particular bits of wood. With a stick at each end for oars we sailed our way back to our digs and lunch. By now the sun was scorching down and we got to experience the full effects of a humid and sultry Amazon. Our boat trip back to Rurrenabaque was bathed in glorious sunshine and a boat all to ourselves. It was a fine way to finish our jungle adventure.
Build me a raft!
We spent our last two days in Rurrenabaque soaking up the much-appreciated sunshine and warmth, sitting round (definitely not going in) the pool at our hostel and wandering through the town. Rurrey, as it is referred to by locals is an absolute world away from La Paz and the rest of Bolivia. I'm not sure if it's the warmth, but the people seemed more relaxed and happier, and the pace of life and attitude reminded me of a Thai island. Open-air bars played Bob Marley, beer was sold by the litre, cocktails flowed, and the fish came straight from the river to your plate - certainly some of the best I've eaten, and definitely the nicest food I ate in Bolivia.
Resident toucan in Rurrey
Rurrey town centre
The Rurrenabaque we left felt very different to the town we arrived in and we were just grateful we got to experience this wonderful paradise oasis at its finest. After what seemed like an all-too-quick long weekend getaway we boarded the plane back to La Paz, ascended back up the Andes and continued our Bolivian journey down to the Salar De Uyuni, or the salt flats, Bolivia's most famous attraction.
