Snapshots of Mamore, Bolivia (3 of 5)

The forest spoke in its unintelligible language with hundreds of sounds overlapping and coalescing to create a most electrifying natural symphony. My impressions were both audible and visual. The colors, dominated by the shades of green, vibrated through the hot air. Their outward static was interrupted by the colonies of colorful and flamboyant parrots that zipped through the air as loud and fast as possible. El Parabero moved slower and slower, her pace transforming the rules of perception. My breath slowed along with the barge. For the moment the time ceased as if it had been trapped in the breathtaking vines and broad-leaf bushes.

“Don’t move! African wasps!” Jose broke out nervously. His warning came like thunder, shaking off my sweet enchantment. I looked at him with an inquisitive expression but before I got any explanation a dark swarm overtook us, casting a dark shadow over the portion of the boat. I attempted to remain motionless as the insects buzzed around my ears, eyes, and nose. However, when the first one of them whisked against my right cheek and the other tangled up in my hair, I snapped. I sprang up and began to throw my arms around as if fighting an invisible enemy or a shadow. This was, of course, the worse I could have done in this situation. African wasps react against motion and sting anything that tends to move in their reach. By the time I made two circles around the bridge, I felt acute pain all over my head. I screamed at the top of my lungs but there was no one to help me. It didn’t take me long before I made a decision to plunge overboard into the river where none of those bastards could reach me. One glimpse at the ship was enough to realize the size of the swarm. It seemed that everybody from the crew and passengers was feeling the impact of their sudden attack. The barge looked ghostly.

My calls remained unanswered as I drifted with the barge. I continuously kept my eyes at the water level. Then I recalled the piranha fishing and the fat alligator that Don Carlos had pointed at the other day. I began to paddle nervously inspecting the river from every direction. Luckily, the barge drifted away from the wasps and I was able to come out unharmed. Minutes later, the crew and passengers reappeared from the darkest corners of the vessel rubbing their big red sores with mournful expressions. I started to laugh because the whole situation really amused me.

Suddenly, though, I experienced the onslaught of cold fever that suppressed my arrogant laughter. The really funny thing was that on the way back from the cattle ranch, the wasps sneaking inside the bridge through the door cracks ate me equally ferociously twice in my cheek, once in the skull and left nipple. “Damn fool you are,” I thought to myself. “And you call yourself a backpacker!” I sat down exhausted and feverish leaning my back against the bridge. The sun was setting over the jungle, making me forget the pain, bloody scratches and sunburned skin. I felt as light as a bird.

Floating Cattle

I would have spent my third day in the hammock sheltered from strong tropical rainfalls if it hadn’t been for a sudden wake up call. I was comfortably snoozing in my hammock when Marco, a student from Cochabamba, tapped me on my shoulder. “Take a look at what’s happening to the cattle!” he gasped out hurriedly and pointed to the half sunken barge 100 yards to the port side. The barge was submerged down to its railing and a herd of 56 cattle was fighting for life.

By the time I grasped the whole situation the cattle had already managed to abandon the sinking barge. They swam in one single file towards the shore, their nostrils gasping for air. The entire crew was on alert. I couldn’t help but laugh at the entire situation. The people around me seemed extremely agitated, running about and trying hard to stay busy. In my mind there was nothing to be done about the cows. No crew, however experienced, could have saved them right away in the middle of the river current. What our convoy needed was a well-designed rescue plan.

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