In the jungle you may encounter things that you never
expected to see, do things you never thought you would have to do, get yourself
in situations that you never thought possible and the smallest things can
become very big problems. These are #Jungle Problems.
My #Jungle Problem started when I had to leave the jungle
and spend the day in the big city. I had errands to do so I woke up at the crack of dawn upriver,
deep in the Amazon rainforest. Mist still clung to the trees like a wet blanket
and large fan leafs dripped condensation onto the forest floor with a incecent
pitter-patter.
I am able to catch a ride in a canoe full of oil pipeline
workers who are heading downriver
to the bridge crossing where they can get supplies in the small store that
sells cigarettes, coca-cola and superglue. The canoe ride is pure luck but
easily beats the normal routine that involves walking the 5 kilometers out of
the jungle along the “path,” The jungle path takes you on a muddy slog through
the forest, over bamboo bridges, though fields filled with snakes and
aggressive bulls, along precarious drop offs, through swamps and through the
lattice work of spider webs the criss-cross the jungle and are inhabited by
fist size arachnids. I had walked that trail once before and I knew I would
have to walk it on the way home, probably in the dark. I double check that I have my headlamp
but find I have no batteries left. I make a mental note to get new batteries in
town and say goodbye to the pipeline workers at the bridge.
I thumb a ride
into town with a group of Cacao
farmers going into the city of Tena from the bush. They throw me in the back of
their Toyota Hilux truck. I am about to light up a cigarette as I notice that I
am sitting on three or four huge canisters of propane. They bump together,
clatter and clank and we bounce over the washboard of the dirt road. I figure
that is enough agitation for a quantity of propane like that. I put aside my
cigarette.
We pass the place where a few days before a villager was
beaten to death in a drunken brawl, his cell phone and wallet stolen as his
face was smashed to bits with savage kicks. The assailants feet were covered in
knock-off fake converse, leaving the mark of their imitation brand “Super
Bueno” imprinted in blood on the cadaver. It is the best lead the police have
on who the assailant is. Only 1 in 4 Ecuadorians have knock-off converse so the
chances of catching the at large, belligerent killer is about 1 in 25 million.
As I ride in the back of the pickup truck the cover of fog
burns off, giving way reluctantly to the blinding, blistering heat of the
tropical sun. The insects come alive immediately with an electric chorus of
bussing and whistling and humming that fills the air with ambient audio
claustrophobia. The Ecuadorian rainforest is one of the few places on earth
that has never been frozen, even in the deepest of ice ages. This means that
life here has been in constant combat with itself for hundreds of millions of
years undisturbed. It has been in a constant and continual state of evolution,
filling each niche possible with a creature honed to seize every available
opportunity in the most efficient manner possible. The biomass is staggering,
the earth pulsing with life in every direction.
We cross a rickets suspension bridge in the truck. It is a
modern bridge, built with steel cables rather than vines but it sways anyways,
creaking and groaning as we pass over the raging torrent of the river below.
We reach the city and I bail out of the back of the truck
with a wave and a nod of thanks. I offer the oil workers a dollar for their
help and they refuse repeatedly. “Enjoy the party,” they say. “What party,” I
think. Then I look around.
The place is bustling. More life than I have seen in weeks
since I have been tucked up river in the forest. Dancing and parades in the
streets, lots of fireworks, music blasting out of immense speakers strapped to
the tops of cars, costumes everywhere and lots and lots of drinking. Tena is celebrating their founding, nearly
500 years ago when a group of missionaries came upon a sleepy village in this
spot. They carved out a chunk of jungle and built a church. The rest is
history. The Museum in Tena has pictures of the founding of Tena in the 1500’s.
The only problem is that cameras weren’t invented in the 1500’s. I didn’t want
to be the one to break that shattering news to the Curator however.
I need new shoes (brand Super Bueno) and insect repellent
and batteries for my headlamp (I congratulated myself for remembering this very
important detail). I also need a
meal. I pass the tanks filled with Pirahnans, I avoid the expensive Pizza
restaurants with menus in English, I deliberate and almost go into a restaurant
serving a set menu of meat and rice for 2 dollars. Instead I settle on mystery
meat over French fries, flies included for extra protein and flavor.
I spend most of the day in town soaking in the festivities
and I successfully aquire all of my supplies. I head to the bus station to get
the last bus back into the jungle, back to my bridge where I will begin my trek
home through the jungle.
It is sunset, the warm glow of the final light of the day
illuminating the smoke and chaos of town in a warm glow of gold, like looking
through a jar of honey. I dig into my bag and take out my new batteries. I
unscrew my headlamp and try to remove the old batteries. They won’t come out. I
pull and prod, shake and whisper words of encouragement to the little buggers.
They need to come out. I need light to get home. I am sitting on the last bus
of the day heading back to the jungle and if I miss it I am stuck. If I arrive
at the bridge without light I must face the path through the jungle in complete
darkness, a prospect that is not just frightening but would be downright
impossible. I would have to spend the night on the road and be eaten alive by
mosquitos, no-see em’s and bullet ants.
I get out my knife and try to pry out the batteries in a
final stroke of genius. Instead of extracting the batteries I manage to break
the entire apparatus in half, destroying my headlamp. Hence my #Jungle Problems
really begins. Normally a broken headlamp would be inconvenient in this
situation it is catastrophic. Never has a stroke of the knife and a shard of
broken plastic been so central to my well-being. The bus is revving it’s
engines and getting ready to depart. No light equals misery or even a nasty
dark death on a jungle path somewhere trying to find ones way home. I need a
solution…….fast.
There is a small store at the bus station so I slip off the
bus as quickly as I can. I ask in
desperation if they sell flashlights or headlamps. Of course they don’t. I see
a tube of super glue and I settle on that instead. I get on the bus, knowing
that if I don’t MacGyver a solution by the time I get to the bridge I am well
and truly down shit creek without a headlamp.
I begin the surgical operation on my headlamp, crammed
between a drunk man, a nursing woman and a blind man playing his guitar for
change. I carefully try to re align all of the pieces that I have destroyed,
matching metal on metal, keeping the points of contact as clear as I can of
glue while still creating a solid layer of binding goop.
I finish my headlamp surgery, I insert my new batteries and
close my eyes because I am too nervous to watch as I try to click on the lamp.
I know that my operation has worked because the nursing woman next to me elbows
me in the side, my fresh battery LED headlamp is shining directly in her face
at point blank range, blinding her and her baby. I am saved!
I make it back through the dark jungle without much incident
but drenched in sweat and covered in spider webs. I walk up to our lodge just
as dinner is being served. I am muddy, bedraggled, exhausted and happy to be
home. “How was the day in the big city,” my friends ask. “Oh” I say, “no big
deal, you know just #Jungle Problems.” Everyone laughs. No need to say more.
They all understand.
