Ñatitas: An Afterlife Experience

Please feel free to view my latest blog on ESL101.com here.  It involves the traditions of celebrating ñatitas, human skulls that are dressed, decorated, and honoured guests on a hallowed holiday.

Ride and River Tour: The River, Day 6

We all woke up with the sun, tore down our tents, and ate breakfast.  This day was the last full day we would have together as a group.

We were still in this national park, so a man who lives in the area generously gives us a tour of his back- and front-yard, the jungle.  He was shoeless, carries a machete to help create a path where the plants have grown over, and carries nothing else.  He told us about medicinal properties of some plants, dying properties of others--demonstrating a leaf's dying property by turning part of a Frenchman's white t-shirt purple.  He pointed out which trees have vines that will provide good, clean water and which trees the ants like to harvest from the best.  When we asked him if he ever gets lost in the jungle, he explained that he knows it very well and normally doesn't get lost, but when he was younger, it was not uncommon for him to lean against a tree and sleep if the jungle became dark before he arrived home.  He used his knowledge of the trees to provide him with nourishment and learned how to identify when an animal would be territorial or not.  He was fearless of this realm because it was just as much his home as the animals.  Toward the end of the tour, he encouraged us to try leaves that stave off thirst, because no one brought water and the air was, as always, hot and humid.

We walked around his jungle for perhaps three hours, learning about the wildlife and vegetation.  As a matter of fact, he also informed us that we probably didn't see any wildlife last night because Marcos had taken us through the northern part of the jungle and all of the animals are currently in the southern part of the jungle.  The animals migrate from section to section during each season, so they will return to the northern section when the rainy season begins to flood the southern section.  He was incredibly informative.

In this part of Bolivia, few people speak Spanish, but we were lucky to have a guide who does.  --We were also lucky to have Mike to once again translate the wondrous information to us.  The dogs also accompanied us on and off during this portion of the tour.  Our guide moved deftly through the foliage and kept our group moving at a quick pace, stopping every once and a while to tell a story or explain the benefits or detriments of a certain plant.

At the tour's end, we were all sweaty and ready to get back in the boat to rest and embark on the final parts of our journey.  Our riverboat picked us and our guide up at the edge of the jungle and we rode back to where we first stopped the previous day to drop off our guide.  Members of his family were waiting for him at the top of the hill.  They seemed excited to have him back.

 

The final riverboat ride involved a brief rainstorm, lunch on the boat, and took pictures of the scenery and the people living and breathing around us.

Before reaching our final destination: Rurrenabaque, we made a quick stop to the national park headquarters to pay a fee for passing through.  While there, everyone took many pictures of some huge and intimidating spiders that nested in a pavilion outside.  For example:

.

After the stop we continued on the river for perhaps an hour and a half more.  As usual, we chatted, napped, snapped pictures, and enjoyed the nature around us.  The weather cleared up some, too.

Then we reached Rurrenabaque.  We unloaded and took motorcycle taxies (sounds absurd, right?) to our accommodations for the night where we had real showers, fabric hammocks to recline in, and clean beds.  There were even ceiling fans in every room!  That evening, we met up for our final reunion.  We played a few rounds of pool, laughed, ate dinner, and made jokes about the sandflies that had taken a bit more from some members of the group than they would have liked to admit.

Overall, the trip really was quite remarkable.  We saw and did amazing things, were informed by knowledgeable and considerate guides, were well-fed, and spent more time in nature than is normally possible, as least that is normally possible for me.  We went through Mike's company, called Gravity. They offer many different tours, among the most famous is The Death Road tour.  I still have yet to do that one, but hey, I have some time left in Bolivia.

P.S.-  Thanks for reading!  Gravity's official webpage is here, if you would like more information.

Ride and River Tour: The River, Day 5

So, more on this dream.  For some reason, I had been able to shed all thoughts of the humid heat and fall into an unusually deep sleep.  In this new realm, my mind decided that I really need to help an unknown friend of mine back his large truck up on a street.  The scenery was from the US somewhere.  Everything was going well until I noticed that we were no longer in the street, but he was backing up into an enclosed garage and I was being backed up into the rearmost wall of this enclosure.  At this realisation, I began screaming at the top of my lungs so my friend would have the chance to hear me over the roar of his engine before I reenacted the would-have-been garbage disposal scene of Star Wars, Episode IV.  I blacked out for a minute, but was still screaming, when I realized the engine was off and my friend had gotten out of his truck and had his hands on my shoulders, shaking me gently, and asking me if I was alright.

Then, the friend morphed into Mike.  I was in a tent, not a garage, and everything around me was confusing and dark.  I stopped screaming.  I heard a comrade from Austrailia in another tent ask, "Claire?  Claire?  Are you okay?  Is everything alright?"  Through the tent, I assured him that 'yeah, sorry, it was a bad dream' and we both went to sleep.

Now, I have been known to occasionally sleep talk, but not in a long time, and when I was a child I slept-walked some, but I had never screamed-- that had a part in my grandmother's stories.  Though, I almost always dream vividly and remember my dreams, this experience is entirely new for me.  I could only hope that I hadn't disrupted the other campers and would be able to go back to sleep.  Keep in mind, we were "pulled over" on the bank of the Mapiri River, somewhere in the middle of the Bolivian amazon with little to no collection of civilisation nearby.  Hopefully, no one would notice or remember.

Unfortunately for me, I woke up to Marcos asking almost everyone else who was already up: "Did you hear the scream last night?"; "Was that you?"; "Who screamed last night?"  ANY hope I had of forgetting that the nightmare wasn't all in my head evaporated instantly.  I had no choice, but to admit to it.  I found myself wishing I had had a more dramatic dream..

I gathered my nerve and exited the tent, wishing to stop the questions from echoing in my mind.  Of course, Marcos saw me exit and asked, "Did you hear the scream last night?  Was that you?"  And I had to sigh and explained, in brief, that yes, it was me and that I had had a nightmare, but everything was fine.  I apologised for scaring him and everyone else, but I apologised to everyone in small groups.  This elicited a few different responses.  For example, a Frenchman asked me if I had seen or acted in the movie, "The Blair Witch Project" and my Australian friend told me that after my scream, he began to dream of children being taken from their families and slaughtered.  Another asked me if I had been dragged out of my tent by some creature last night... So much for not disturbing anyone!

The good news is that, like being in the back during the biking portion of the trip, everyone generally seemed to accept me for me and was still as supportive and inclusive as ever... I must have some kind of lucky charm or habit that I don't know about, but hey!  Thankfulness goes a long way, right?

Anyway, breakfast was fantastic: pastel (a deep-fried, but pretty thin pastry served with powdered sugar or in our case, honey), eggs, and coffee, tea, or water.  So, we all ate up and after the meal and some residual questions, we took down our tents, packed everything up, and were guided by a native Bolivian through the jungle to a swimming hole.  Along the way, he made it a point to explain some about the rubber trees in the area and how vital they were to support the family who lived on the island.  Granted, he explained everything in enthusiastic Spanish, so the members of our group were grateful to have Mike, who has wonderful Spanish language skills, translate everything in English for us.  While the trail we took was through the jungle, it wound over smaller inclines and we spent some time walking on river rock.

When we returned, refreshed, to the campsite, our gear had been loaded into the boat and once again, we set out to relax on our vessel for another three-and-a-half to four hours.  Today, we had lunch on the boat:  chicken and rice with salsa, yum yum, and continued to relax and chat while we passed the sounds of a living forest, water rushing past us, and gold miners, hard at work.

Among other animals, we also saw the largest rodent in the world, a Capybara, swimming in the river and running away from us on the bank.

After stopping briefly for meal supplies at a village, we arrived at our next campsite.  We all hopped off the boat and formed another assembly line to get our gear from the boat to the top of the ridge.  We significantly improved our line-effectiveness and time because the sandflies were vengeful, so we were all eager to get into some shade.  Below, is a photo of the view we had from our spot.

Supposedly, the sandflies would disappear with the sun, so we were encouraged to head into the forrest and explore some while we waited for everything to cool down.  Mike started out with me, but went back for his camera.  While he was back, he surprised me by pitching the tent and putting our things inside, so today, I had to do very little work!  I did manage to find a couple of trails off of the main path and some interesting vegetation.  The forest was a welcome relief from the sun and sandflies.

A "walking" tree.  According to legend, this tree has the ability to move voluntarily
--and does move from place to place, on occasion.

At the end of one of the side-trails was obvious carpentry work.  Someone on this part of the river was building a new boat.  There was also a bog hear here.

On the other hand, the main trail lead to what we were told was a village, but when I climbed the silty path, it looked to be just one family's home.  There were many dogs and chickens roaming in the yard, but some of the dogs looked injured or in some way deformed.  Everyone we met was friendly, though, and barefoot.  Everyone who lived here was always barefoot.  I found this to be impressive, considering the fire ants among other insects and creatures were just as abundant here, but I also found, much like John Smith in Disney's Pocohantas, that I had much to learn.

This boar is headless and he is carrying only a machete.  An Australian friend gave me a head's up on this (no pun intended) before he passed me on the hill.

That evening, after dinner, we went on a nighttime nature hike to look for some of the nocturnal wildlife in the area.  While we found many insects, we were unsuccessful at finding monkeys or other animals (some of which I was glad we didn't find).  At one point we turned off our headlamps and torches ("flashlights" for Australians) and appreciated the immense darkness of the forest at night.  At times there are fireflies that flit about, but I suppose a troupe of 13 people who don't know the ways of the forest are about as silent as a stampede.  To be honest, because of our large group, I wasn't incredibly hopeful of finding many animals, though, I did enjoy the walk.

After we returned, we talked around the campfire for some time and roasted the marshmallows--comparing marshmallow-roasting strategies among countries--before heading to bed for the night.  Dark clouds rolled in and everyone was glad for the rain flys for brief periods throughout the night.

Ride and River Tour: The River, Day 4

After a hot, but good night's rest in a hotel in a mostly-build hotel Mapiri, we became more conscious of our guide's constant suggestion to wear long pants, long sleeves, and bug spray.  We ate a hot breakfast at a local diner (owned, in fact, by the man who owned the developing hotel and the boat we would take down the Bolivian amazon-- "the Bolivian Donald Trump", as Marcos had told us) and began walking toward the "boat marina".  Boats were also being made (carved and shaped) here as well.

The marina. 

We were told that we may have to help the boat along at some points, too.  So, if the boat got stuck on too-shallow ground, riders had to get out and help push the boat until we were in deeper water again.  We had three days with the boat and only had to push it once!

 

The rest of the time we motored down the River Mapiri, we had time to hang out and reflect or chat, using the life jackets as pillows and the tent mats as floor-pads to stretch out between the seats.  We spent an average of four hours each day in the river boat.  Today, though, we stopped for lunch in a growing town called Guanay.  This was the most highly populated town we saw and visited during our time on the river boat.  Today was also Michael's birthday, so many ice creams were had, though we could not find a cake!

In Guanay we picked up our cook for this part of the trip.  She would stay with us for the remainder of the tour to make dinner that night, meals the next day, and breakfast and lunch on the final day of the boat.

Once we stopped at the campsite for the night, Marcos took us on a small tour in the general area we stayed.  First, we passed through a small farm-- a man lived on this island and had many fruit trees, bushes and plants of all sorts.  The hike was steep and the pathway was lined with industrious, enormous fire ants, so we needed to be constantly vigilant about where we were stepping or onto which trees we were leaning or using for support.  Marcos was very keen to inform us about the plant and animal life that lived in this vegetated jungle.  As we got higher, though, the ant lines lessened and we reached a cave that normally housed bats during the day.

I went first, naturally, because I was for sure not afraid of bats and if there were any in the crags, they wouldn't scare any other members of the tour.  Thankfully, there were no bats, but there was a make-shift ladder at the end of the rock slabs that we could climb up to then use to climb upon an overlook. I went to a different part while the rest of our 13-member group crowded this rather small ledge with sheer drops on three sides.  Though, the view was breathtaking.  When everyone had had time to soak in the new heights and view the ledge of a road that lay across the river, they moved down and back toward the base camp.  At this point, I went out on the main ledge as well and joined Michael at the tip to spend a few more minutes being reminded of everything I love about West Virginia, since, sights like these are not incredibly uncommon if you know where to go in the mountain state.

Once back at the campsite, a few of us "bathed" in a clear stream that flowed into the main river.  The bugs were relentless, but the cool water was incredibly welcome after having sweat through the long-sleeved clothes I would wear for the next two days as well.

After dinner that night--pasta noodles with some sort of beef, though I ate the beef and gave my the other half of my pasta noodles... the heat had taken my appetite for high-carb meals-- we enjoyed Oreos and water (some of the guys managed to bring beer along, too, but water was more than enough for me in the sweltering heat).  Mike brought out Marcos's guitar and played for a bit while others listened and chatted.  Then, after a few rounds of cards and conversation about the docile bugs that attempted to connect with our lights and candles, we headed to bed in our tents and tried to go to sleep for the night...

 ...I say tried because, for some reason, once I fell asleep, I began to have a terrible dream.  I woke up and realized it had been Mike who was shaking me and asking if I was alright, not the person in my dream.  It was then that I also realized that I hadn't been screaming in my dream... it had been aloud and must have been going on for a few seconds (hopefully not minutes)!  Sweating from the heat of the jungle and the fear in the dream, I was too dazed to be embarrassed.  I still felt shaken, but managed to fall back into a light sleep, along with, I hoped, everyone else.

Ride and River Tour: The Last Ride, Day 3

After Marcos's french toast and fantastic, homemade chocolate sauce, we headed out of our quaint abodes and piled back into the jeep for a final round of biking.  This day's ride was shorter than the previous, but no less impressive-- in its own way, of course.  Now, we were in "the belly of the jungle," according to another rider.

 

The bugs were out, but so were we.  I must say that it was difficult for me to get back on the bike for the soreness that had worked its way into the lower half of my body and my forearms and hands.  (Eventually, I'll learn to stand for longer periods of time while riding a bike.)  Though the tropical setting provided a wonderful instigation for my curiosity, the small streams and clusters of large rocks and ruts that broke up the trail were enough to keep my mind focused on the task at hand.  At this point of the ride, there were uphill and downhill sections and, from my estimates, I was consistently about two minutes behind the group for the majority of the day.

 

Then again, I don't normally like being very close to others, so I preferred being in the back.  Granted, there were occasional times that I would creep up and pass (even more rare) some riders.  In general, I preferred to be behind.  No one seemed to mind; they were pretty used to me by then and had accepted me pretty well.

The section of trail that we hit right before lunch I actually did hit.  It was as Marcos put it, "more aggressive".  This meant steeper, downhill shoots with sharper curves and large stones (one section looked like a stone wall had participated in a land-slide down the trail).  The large stones were what claimed me, in the end.  I grew in confidence on the bike, especially after having passed a few people, and went around a turn a bit faster than usual.  I was able to slow down just fine, but when I got to the mosaic of stones, I was crawling over them on my bike and my back tire grabbed on the wrong way and tipped me.  The slow-motion, hard-fall was a bit embarrassing and I was glad no one was around me at the moment.  I was able to get out from beneath my bike in time for others to show up and feigned walking my bike over the stones, which I did do for a bit afterward.  No one seemed to know the difference and I hid the scrapes of my bleeding forearm pretty convincingly-- still the ever-proud newbie.

We stopped in a village for lunch and unfortunately for me (and fortunately for the dirt that had nestled beneath the abrasions on my forearm), Michael noticed my slight looks of pain, asked me what was wrong, and I exposed my pride in response.  Thankfully, the scrapes were very shallow, so there was no need for concern.  After lunch, he walked up to me with cleaning supplies and wrestled my protests with professionalism before scrubbing the area to loosen all of the debris.

Truthfully, at this point I was considering hopping on the jeep because the muscles my forearms were totally shot by this point, sending pain signals (like smoke signals) to communicate with my brain every time I breaked.  But, one of the Frenchmen in our group convinced me otherwise.  (It didn't take much convincing --just someone who had faith enough in me to offer encouragement.)  Thus, I began the impending uphill with the group.

A short-lived team-building exercise to help the jeep gain some traction... after helping one another get bikes across the rainwater river.

As you may have noticed, the jeep did not need assistance from mere mortals.

Mudslides and flowing rainwater made various segments of this uphill particularly challenging.  It wasn't long before the whole of our company was entirely muddy.  I was a bit farther behind the group than I would have liked to be, but I still rode steadily.  Slow and steady.

The support vehicle was never far behind.

Mauricio's jeep was a constant accompaniment for me on this steady, steepening incline.  In fact, about halfway up the hill, I was so sore and tired that I was in agreement with Marcos when he, gently, put me in the jeep.  After acknowledging my curiosity of how far we actually had ridden up the hill, I was 100% sure that I wanted to finish the hill in the jeep.  No shame.  Not to mention, Mauricio, the driver, was just as kind as he was skilled.  He encouraged me to practice my Spanish with him during the remainder of the day.  That is, we practiced intermittently between dialogue with another rider who had taken today to ride in the van due to sickness.

When particular hill crested, a river was flowing.  It gave us all a chance to cool down from the day and rinse the mud from our... well, everything.

The ride didn't end here, though.  After about a half hour in the jeep, Marcos and the guys jumped out of the jeep to complete a final push to the town we would stay in that night: Mapiri, a trading center for the various mining towns we passed.  It is the busiest area we've seen in a couple of days.  As it happened, the owner of our lodgings for the night (a motel that looked to be still under construction) was also the owner of a restaurant down the street.  He would also be our riverboat captain for the next three days; thus, Marcos fittingly introduced him as "the Donald Trump of Mapiri".

Ride and River Tour: The Ride, Day 2

A much longer biking day, we woke up early to a hot meal and the freshness of early morning air.  Then, we hopped back in the jeep to begin the ascent to eventually descend over 150kms (93.2 mi) on a dirt road that is supposed to be wide enough for two vehicles to pass, but looks more like a backwoods, wide path that could be found in the hills of West Virginia.  As I mentioned in the last post, it was a foggy morning, but that didn't make the views any less spectacular--especially when the fog cleared at an overlook that we stopped at to take photos.

At the top of the hill in Sorata, my stomach stayed in the support vehicle as I geared up in the light flurrying that occurred around us.  (I have found that it normally takes me about 20 minutes or so on a bicycle before I begin to feel comfortable on it.)  We took a final group photo before going down (to me) a giant of a hill.  Not gonna lie, I walked the first little bit until I felt comfortable enough to ride the rest of the way.  Also, on that hill I found out that biking goggles do not suit me--I fiddle with them too much!  After having completed the trip, I definitely think I could tackle that hill in full, though!  Now I think I have a better idea of what I'm doing on a two-tired contraption that I'm supposed to break on gently in a panic.  --Hey!  At least I absorbed the tips given in each pre-ride safety brief.  The guides who lead us on these rides really were some of the best.

Throughout the day, Mike had a chance to practice his patience with me, granted, that's not too much of a stretch for this guy-- he's had the privilege of seeing me in all of my mental biking stages and working with me in spite of myself.  It's possible that the only person who has more patience for me on a bike is the person who taught me.  Lucky doesn't even begin to cover it-- I'll begin with thankfulness.

Mike as my shadow on a section of the ride.

During this ride, there were some "pedal sections", loose rocks, dry dust, gold mining towns, stunning landscapes, and fantastic attitudes.  (Though I was certainly the tortoise of the group, no one teased or degraded me and I was certainly inspired by the kindness shown, in spite of the all-too-obvious, varying levels of experience.)

I was determined to make it up as many "uphills" as possible,
so I definitely rocked the zig-zag on some sections.

The lead guide introduced this day as "a slow strip-tease" of the Bolivian mountain ranges and valleys because, bit by bit, the route revealed more of its beauty and lushness, enticing us further and further down until we were surrounded by our thoughts and the unspoken folklore and legends that hung in the air, utterly exposed, around us.

On the left is a dessert (cacti and all) and on the right of the ledge is a tropical valley.

We ate lunch in a square of one of the towns we passed through.  Marcos (the Lead Guide), Mike (the Guide in Training), Mauricio (the most adept driver (of the support vehicle)), and Steven (a new guide) made sandwiches and sides.  We were incredibly well-fed and had a chance to rest and appreciate the large hogs and other farm animals that walked around the plaza before beginning the final descent for the day.

Though our sleeping accommodations that night would not have showers, Marcos had pre-planned a stop for us so we could rinse off and cool down from the long day of riding.  The water was crisp and cool, the option to use soap was available, and there was plenty of water to go around.  Some members of our group did not participate in this section of the tour, but really, how often does a girl (or guy) get a chance to shower in a waterfall?

That evening we arrived in the modest village of Constata to rest.  Marcos slaved in the kitchen to craft a palatable pasta dish with an involved vegetarian sauce.  It was one of the best meals I've had in quite some time.  The meal was followed by a few rounds of cards and then sleep before the final descent (and some impressive ascents) and our finale of the bike-riding half of the tour.