I wake to the sounds of jungle. The moon has the sky lit up so well that I think it's dawn, but its barely past midnight. It's going to be a long night. I spend a sleepless night and the dampness leaves me with chills so that by the time Allyson shakes me awake for breakfast, I realize things are worse. I feel so awful, but what is there to do but keep calm and jungle on? Our breakfast consists of scrambled eggs and fresh fruit (served separately) along with hot chocolate made the Calanoa way. I don't know what this means, just that it is delicious. We have some free time before we head to pottery and we spend every glorious second of it listening to Elvis explain what is happening with government interference of untouched tribes. He tells a story about 3 government agents arriving at an all-women's tribe in hopes of administering malaria pills and vaccinations only to be murdered. When more agents were finally able to track down the tribe and question them regarding why they killed the 3 people, their reply was along the lines of "Hmmm not sure which 3 you are referring to? ... When did you say this happened?"
Elvis explains that the all-women tribe captures men, uses them as "fertilizer", and kills them once they're done. What would it be like to be that man?! Like, you know you are going to die, but you have women lined up trying to get pregnant! Fascinating. I ask what the women did when they had male sons and Elvis shrugs a shrug that says "kill them, of course", but assures me that the mother doesn't do it herself. We head to our first workshop which is pottery being taught by two women: Consuela and Mathilda. We hear overwhelming, beautiful stories of Jacaruna: the sea God who transforms into many different things and tricks people. There are many different stories, but all involve trickery. You know when you put your keys down and 2 seconds later - POOF - they're gone!! Well THAT, mes amigos, is Jacaruna.
I test out my old potter skills and attempt a traditional Inca chicha jar. Mathilda seems less impressed by my jar and keeps coming by to flatten the bottom which gets a bit frustrating, but I let her do it several times, and then rebuild it again.
In hopes of feeling better faster, I skip the group hike and opt for a canoe ride with Marlene to the finishing point of the hike. We head up the Amazon river in a canoe with an outboard motor. I'm leery but excited about this type of engine ever since reading Bill Bryson's accounts of crocodile attacks in the tropics of Australia where male crocodiles mistake outboard motors for the territorial noises of other male crocodiles. Fear is obviously outweighed by my desire to see a Cayman. To my delight, we head up a "creek" the size of the Fraser River and I comment on how massive it is. Marlene explains that it is hugely flooded - 11 meters higher to be exact and we have been transported to the canopy level of the trees.
We power through many different areas, up narrow channels and under arch ways, ducking under and around hanging vines. We see toucans and monkeys. But no Cayman! Patience my friend. Patience. This forest is in a state of drowning and it is so exotic and so romantic, I immediately miss Steed thinking how much he would love to see this. We pick up the group and my sentiments are confirmed when Diego sits beside Marlene in our boat and I feel like I'm interrupting the boat date from the Little Mermaid. These two wonderful, genuine people are the epitome of happiness and content. Everything around them is steeped in peace, love and joy, so it's no wonder that their lives are filled with success. Who doesn't want to be a part of this?
The boats glide through tunnels cut through the canopy with machetes, and we arrive at the Amazon river in time to catch the sun setting.
We have a beautiful dinner and we all share something special from our day. I start with a preemptive public apology in case anyone else should get sick as this is my greatest worry right now. The group politely reassures me, but their eyes say "stay away, leper". Now, as I lie in my little bed, protected by netting, I am almost positive I have killed everything that crawls or flies until I see a little light flicker. And then again. And again and again. I am sharing my bed with a firefly, which is one of the few insects I don't mind having in my space. I am so hot and sweating so profusely that I am worried about the cool breeze which will roll in. I don't want to catch a chill but I'm on the edge of heat stroke. What a fine, delicate balance life is in the Amazon.
