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Published: June 15th 2007
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The light plane wobbled and headed towards the grass runway. On either side of us were imposing mountains shrouded in jungle and the scene from Air America where Mel Gibson crashes his plane into the undergrowth sprang to mind.
I peered into the cockpit, fascinated by the fact that one pilot seemed to be texting on his phone while the other steered us to what would hopefully be a safe landing.
We alighted into the thick heat like moviestars and looked about in wonder. Half an hour before we had been struggling for breath at the highest point in La Paz (the airport)- Now we were about to embark on a 3 day trip into the Pampas.
The bone crunching 3 hour journey on gravel roads was broken by a quick interlude at the park entrance where two unfortunate Irish realised that they had been ripped off over $300 for a tour that cost us $50. Somehow ensconed into the role of interpreter I had to gently explain that they were now up for another few bucks to get into the park. Ahh the luck of the Irish.
After a lunch of dubious content (made all
the more suspicious by the fact that Morgan had just spent a week in a Bolivian hospital from food poisoning) we pushed the salmonella aside and jumped back in the vehicle for our last stretch to the boats.
We clamboured aboard our little wooden canoe and prepared to soak in the wildlife. The waters of the Pampas are teeming with Pirahna, Pink Dolphins, Caiman, Turtles and birds. The grasses abound with sloths, cappacino monkeys, giant guinea pig like creatures and anacondas. We didn´t see anything for at least two hours.
Then, a rustling in the trees drew our guides attention and he pulled alongside a thick bush. At least twenty tiny monekys launched themselves at us much to the ear piercing horror of the Irish lassie and the delight of the rest of us.
We passed some incredible lodges on the banks of the waterway with huge decks, signs advertising cocktails and one even boasted a satellite dish. As the sun began to set and the hum of the mosquitos became a disconcerting roar the belly of our boat slid into the mud and we appraised our dwelling for the next few days. Holes in the flywire,
a walkway of questionable craftsmanship and no electricity. Home sweet home.
As my hipbone ground into the plank of wood parading as my bed and the mosquito net fell gently around me I listened to the incredible sounds of the Pamapas. While the crickets squeaked and the frogs croaked I drifted to sleep and the bed bugs prepared for dinner.
I was awoken in the dawn hours by the unbelievable sounds of the birds. It was like being in your very own meditation tape. The smell of omelettes drew us from our slumber and we donned our hole ridden gum boots for some serious Anaconda tracking.
Our guide, somewhat inclined to take the piss out of us, was brutally honest. 'You can walk for the next few hours in the mud if you like and see nothing or we can all get in the boat and drink beer while we fish for pirahna'. It wasn´t a hard decision.
So we settled back, beer in one hand, hand line sporting a peice of decaying meat in the other and prepared for our catch. As the locals hauled in pirahna after pirahna, we had to be content with
I got one!
I was the only gringo to catch a pirahna the two catfish that Tiff caught. Finally I felt a tug and sharply drew my elbow back. Voila! I had one. Geez it was little. But with big teeth nonetheless.
That night we partook in a little caiman spotting. Or in my case, beer drinking in the dark pretending to see all manner of shining eyes in the undergrowth. It was a little disconcerting though to think that swimming in the water with the pink dolphins also meant sharing the water with the 5 metre caiman and nasty little pirahna.
After dolphin watching for several hours the next day, we were afforded the time to think about just how we might move a canoe with only one paddle (over 5km of swampland, laden with 8 people and with no hard ground in sight) when the motor didn´t start. Fortunately after a long half an hour of fiddling it sprang to life and we were once again in business.
The blissfull, bumnumbing few days in the boat were all over too quickly and we soon found ourselves in the jungle town or Rurrenabeque. Like something akin to Asia, the cobbled streets were traversed by motorcycles and the shops
full of bad clothes.
Of course the town wasn´t without its eccentricities and the local nutjob drove around a cart proclaiming the Da Vinci Code to be ridiculous whilst selling the most delicious banana bread I have ever tasted. We were hard pressed to exert ourselves and spent out time relaxing by the pool, watching beautiful birds or braving the hairdressing salon.
As luck would have it. we met an English lass who at some point in the past had made pizza and after a few two-for-one cocktails swanned her way into the kitchen of a local bar and proceeded to show the locals how to really make a good pizza.
It would be very easy to disappear into the jungle here and spend your days sipping mojitos and eating oatmeal cookies but alas, the time came for us to move onwards and upwards. Back to rhe cold grasp of altitude and the next destination......
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