Life in the Forest

After our really quite tame foray into the river-networks of the Pampas, we decided to break from the Gringo Trail and actually see the proper forest. You know, the one with lots of trees and Tarzan vines and insects that will tear your flesh into little tiny pieces given half the chance?

It was… exactly as you would imagine it. In the evening the cyclical carcophany from the forest sounded just like the opening to Aqua’s Barbie Girl, and it continued all night long. There were random crashes and shrieks of unknown, unseen animals. During the day the entire place was plagued with butterflies of all colours and sizes which flopped about and refused to be photographed correctly. Giant ants came bursting out of logs if you tapped on them, and swarmed up your boots given half the chance. Everywhere were spiders, webs, tarantulas, and miscellaneous, unmarked bog lands ready to gobble up your shoes.

They’re quite protective of their jungle here, too. On the way in we were given a ticklist, where we detailed what we were taking in with us (within the pre-established limits, of course). You’re only allowed to take one book into the forest. And three T-shirts. And two batteries. They then check you on the way out to make sure you haven’t gone about (A) sprinkling your possessions over the ground, or (B) stuffing howler monkeys into your rucksack. Good fun, that one.

And, of course, you have to push your own boat upstream to get there in the first place. Someone forgot to make the river deep enough for it to simply sail up full of passengers. Thankfully, the sweltering heat is enough to dry you in but thirty minutes. Anyway, here’s a picture of Greg besides a very big, exciting tree. There were lots of big, exciting trees. They couldn’t escape from us, for one thing.

Saf - Rurrenabaque, Bolivia