Jungle Hunan

The Linger Loco!

Chapter 14: Jungle Hunan

Relieved to find a cash machine in the rather rundown

central plaza, Chris withdraws the equivalent of a hundred

British pounds in Peruvian pesos with his HSBC cash

card, and quickly stuffs it inside his money belt. Walking

past a pizza restaurant that’s closed at this time of the

morning, we find ourselves standing outside a small café.

A cute old lady with glasses welcomes us inside the basic

dining room with plastic tables and chairs. We claim a

table close to the doorway and order scrambled eggs, coffee

and orange juice. Wiping our plates clean we skip over the

road to one of three internet cafés lined up in a row. We’re

the first customers of the day, and I smile at the cute

Peruvian girl working behind the desk. She’s petite and

has jet-black hair and narrow eyes. She almost looks oriental.

With a cheeky grin she points at a computer near to her

desk. I thank her and leap onto the swivel chair. I log onto

my hotmail account and quickly check my email – still no

big orders from the bookshops. We had posted out an

advance information sheet before we left England promoting

our book, but so far we had received little response. We

were selling quite well through Amazon.co.uk, but not

enough people knew the book existed, and our skills at

drumming up publicity had so far been a complete disaster.

Persuading myself that no news is good news I’m given a

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boost by seeing we’ve sold two copies on ebay, and feel

relieved that’s two less books to worry about in the garden

shed.

Heading out into the street some hours later we wander

aimlessly around, dodging mopeds and mingling with the

relaxed locals. Chris suggests we treat ourselves to an ice

cream and we sit on a bench in the central plaza. It’s

incredibly humid as dark clouds begin to form overhead.

We ignore them, hoping they’ll pass, but the first drops of

rain begin to fall and dent my strawberry ice cream. The

skies open up and we’re forced to seek shelter beneath the

wooden pavilion in the centre of the plaza. Mums with

their kids, old men and bored teenagers are all brought

together beneath the wooden roof. Gallons of water thunder

down above our heads and small children dance around

and shriek with excitement. A friendly guy in his forties

wearing a dark green raincoat slides up beside us. He

smiles and says “hello”. Surprised to meet someone who

speaks a little English, we politely shake hands and introduce

ourselves. The guy introduces himself as Jungle

Hunan and quickly informs us he is a local guide for treks

into the Amazon. We discuss the price of a two-day trek to

the Tambopata Reserve, an hour by boat up the Rio Madre

de Dios. It sounds perfect, and we agree to head off early

tomorrow morning for two days. The price includes transport

by motor boat to the reserve, a night’s accommodation

in a jungle lodge, food and a full day tour of an oxbow

lake. It stops raining. Everyone creeps out from under the

pavilion and peers up at the sky, while all the children

continue to play and dance. Jungle Hunan nods at us both

and smiles. He looks incredibly wise and I know this man

will show us the wilderness. Chris tells him where we’re

staying, and with a firm handshake we watch as he splashes

over to his moped and disappears up the street.

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Throughout the night I lie very still in the heat with mosquitoes

buzzing around my ears and face. I’ve given up trying to

kill them, I just wait patiently until I feel one prick my skin

and then randomly slap the area in the hope of catching it

off-guard. Drifting in and out of consciousness, I’m disturbed

in the early hours of the morning by a loud knock

at the door. Falling out of bed, I fumble for the lock and

find Jungle Hunan stood in the doorway. He’s wearing his

dark green raincoat and has a motorbike helmet on his

head.

‘Buenos dias,’ I smile. ‘Dos minutos, por favour.’

I close the door and wake up Chris by pulling him off the

bed. His head hits the concrete floor and he cries in pain.

Jungle Hunan’s face appears at the window; he’s curious to

know what’s going on inside. We quickly throw on some

clothes and fill our little rucksacks before stumbling out of

the room. Jungle Hunan is carrying a black sack with

Wellington boots inside.

‘Como estas?’ he smiles, amused by our disorganization

and comedy unwashed appearances.

We head off in a moto-taxi through the quiet streets and

arrive at the Rio Madre de Dios port. I feel a little sick, so

I quickly grab some biscuits and a bottle of water from a

food kiosk. It’s a small, busy port with many long wooden

motor boats lined up beside a wooden pier. I follow Chris

and Jungle Hunan along the pier, and we meet the boat

driver who will take us up river to the Tambopata Reserve.

We step onto the boat and sit on a bench under a canvas

roof. The hard-faced driver wears a shirt open at the collar,

and chats to Jungle Hunan while pouring petrol into the

engine. This is all very exciting and we watch as the driver

strikes the boat into action and turns the throttle.

Accelerating away from the pier, the boat cuts through the

water with incredible ease and we smile at Hunan, as we

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embark on our journey into the heart of the Madre de Dios

(the Mother of God). We pass houses along the riverside

and enormous woodsheds full to the brim with timber, a

clear sign they’re cutting down the surrounding forest. We

sit back and take in the incredible view.

Within a couple of hours we arrive at the Tambopata

Reserve under a blanket of rain. Stepping ashore, we’re

glad to have been given rubber boots because it’s thick

mud along the track. Jungle Hunan is a man of very few

words, which is a great relief. There’s nothing worse than

a tour guide who thinks he’s a stand-up comedian.

Following him through the deep mud we quickly arrive at

the entrance to the reserve. The sky is full of mosquitoes,

so I spray plenty of killer lotion on my arms and face and

pass the bottle over to Chris. There’s a wooden office and

boards placed outside with information about the wildlife

that lives in the area. From Giant Otters and Caiman, to

Macaws, monkeys and snakes – this area is absolutely

teeming with wildlife. We sign our names in a registration

book and write down our passport numbers.

Keen to get deep, we march into the hot jungle through

the rain and mud. We pass a number of local guys on the

trail carrying large bundles of wood on their backs and two

guys carrying a canoe. They look indigenous and Hunan

tells us these people have been living in this area for a long

time. We arrive at an idyllic lodge in the middle of the

forest, and Chris points out a blue humming bird feeding

on nectar from a red bell-shaped flower. Hunan hands us

a key to a wooden hut and suggests we go for a swim in the

lake to wash away the mud. Without hesitation he whips

down his trousers and slips on his swimming shorts. As

we’re already soaked through, we follow our trusty guide’s

example and follow him to the lakeshore. Two rowing

boats are moored up and the surface of the water bubbles

from the rain. Feeling brave I whip off my T-shirt and dive

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in. The water is cold, but incredibly refreshing. Chris

clumsily enters the water and Hunan follows close behind.

Floating around with big smiles across our faces, we ask

Hunan what we’ll be doing today. He suggests we take a

boat out on the lake and search for wildlife. On that note the

rain stops and we splash around for a few more minutes

before drying off on the pier. Hunan unties the rope and

we climb aboard the small rowing boat. It rocks from sideto-

side, as we try and find a comfortable position. Hunan

expertly maneuvers the ores in the water and begins to

paddle anti-clockwise around the lake. Various species of

birds, from the noisy and eccentric waterfowl to the

speedy and acrobatic kingfishers, perch on overhanging

branches and seem completely unconcerned by our presence.

Hunan rows in silence and we sit back and soak up

the atmosphere of the lake. There isn’t the single sound of

a car engine, or the annoying ring tone of a mobile phone

to disturb the tranquility. It’s just the natural world around

us as it has existed on this planet for millions of years. A

flock of green parrots fly noisily overhead, and we see

black and white toucans high up in a tree beside the lake.

Hunan rows over to a wooden watchtower and jumping off

the boat we race up to the top. With the watchtower swaying

slightly, we look out across a magnificent view and watch

a group of Cappuccino monkeys swinging in the trees

nearby. They peer curiously at us. Out here it seems pretty

clear the planet does not evolve around the species Homo

Sapiens, and I wonder how so many people on earth can

still justify the rather arrogant religious belief that the

planet was created for us, and by a God in our image.

Returning to the lake I’m surprised to see a baby water

snake swim past. I quickly whip my hand out of the water

for fear of meeting its mother. We see more black and

white toucans in the trees, and watch a couple of large

eagles skim effortlessly over the surface of the water.

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Watching the sun set over the lake, we see thousands of tiny

birds circle noisily above the trees. There’s an incredible

atmosphere and activity at sunset, and we see a huge

splash close to the boat. Hunan informs us it’s a Pirarucu,

an enormous Amazon fish that can weigh well over 100kg

and can grow to an astonishing three metres in length. The

intense orange light fades and it begins to grow dark.

Hunan begins to paddle close to a swamp. The black water

disappears into the thick dark forest and looks like something

out of a horror film. The exposed roots of the trees

protrude out of the water and resemble human limbs, as

they make contorted shapes in the shadows. Fishing out a

torch from his bag, Hunan flicks it on and begins scanning

the water. We wait in anticipation. He passes the torch to

Chris, and continues to row deep into the darkness. Chris

scans the trees and jumps in surprise when he sees something

close to the boat. Hunan takes the torch and points it

in the same direction. Two large red eyes appear above the

surface of the water.

‘Caiman,’ he whispers.

The large reptile, which is a close family member of the

alligator, disappears beneath the surface of the water.

Where’s it gone? I’m half expecting it to burst out of the

water and overturn the boat at any second, and devour us

whole. Hunan doesn’t appear to be worried, so I relax and

think happy thoughts as we head deeper into the dark

swamp. Holding the torch, Hunan uses branches and

exposed roots from the trees to pull the boat further into

the submerged forest. He leaps forward and grabs something

in the water. It thrashes around and he swings it onto

the boat. We gasp when we realise he has a baby caiman in

his hands. Studying the incredible dinosaur in the torchlight,

it snaps its jaws and struggles to get away. Hunan

carefully slips it back into the water. He laughs and tells us

that once as he lunged for a caiman in the water a poisonous

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snake had appeared out of a tree inches from his head.

He’d slowly reached behind his back for his machete and

cut the creature’s head off. I can tell he’s not lying by the

expression of relief and excitement on his face. Heading

back towards the pier, we scan the torch across the surface

of the water and see literally dozens of fully-grown caiman

in the water. Their red eyes glowing like demons of the

night. A shiver runs down my spin when I think that we

were actually swimming right here earlier in the day. The

boat hits the pier and we quickly leap out and hurry back

onto dry land.

* * *

It’s pitch black outside the hut and the hot jungle is alive

with the sound of millions of insects. We meet Jungle

Hunan for dinner in the main lodge that’s enclosed with

wire mesh to keep the mosquitoes out. We find him sat

alone at a picnic bench with a candle flickering in front of

him. He looks smart in a cream shirt and trousers, and his

wet hair has been combed back. The orange glow from the

candle illuminates Hunan’s smile as we approach. A

Peruvian woman with an apron tied around her waist

places food on the table. I’m so hungry after our little

caiman adventure that I devour the rice and chicken dish

within seconds. Hunan takes his time and chews the food

at least ten times. He doesn’t speak throughout the meal,

which is a little uncomfortable. Si tries to spark up a conversation

with him, and asks how long he’s been a guide

but it’s like trying to get blood out of a stone. Something

seems to be on his mind. I don’t think he’s being rude,

maybe he’s having problems with his family life or he has

a touch of depression, or it could be the fact that he’s still

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hungover from celebrating his brother’s birthday with the

money he got from the last tour. Whatever it is, it’s none of

our business and I almost don’t mind if he doesn’t want to

talk. I’m quite happy enjoying my tropical surroundings

and the delightful sounds of the creatures of the night. By

the time he has scooped up his last fork full of food and

drank his water, he seems more relaxed and almost ready

to speak. Si tries again and asks him about being a guide

and how long he’s lived in Puerto Maldonado. Hunan

leans back in his chair and wipes his mouth on a hanky.

He tells us in a mixture of English and Spanish that he has

been a guide for ten years, but before that he worked for an

oil company and spent a lot of time in the Amazon jungle

prospecting for oil. We find this fascinating and he tells us

he once had an English guy on his tour that drove a digger

at a quarry in Papua New Guinea. We buy Hunan a beer

and listen as he talks about the lake and the many tourists

that visit this area. Si asks him about the Trans-Oceanic

Highway, but this question doesn’t go down too well and

he mutters something about the loggers and the highway

causing destruction. I ask him if the highway will bring

more business to Peru, but he doesn’t care; he doesn’t give

a damn about the trade between Brazil and Peru. All he

knows is that sooner or later it won’t be just the surrounding

jungle around Puerto Maldonado and along the highway

that will disappear. Hunan stands up and bids us good

night. Tomorrow will be an early start he tells us, and we

watch him walk away and disappear into the dark.

The hut is empty with only five picnic benches and a

handful of stools to keep us company. Candles burn on

each table and posters of wildlife are pinned to the walls.

It’s uncomfortably hot, and just as I’m about to buy another

beer I see shapes moving outside. We hear voices and

watch as the light from a torch flashes around inside the

room next to ours. There’s laughter and the light begins to

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move in our direction. Three guys wearing colourful vest

tops and shorts with flip-flops appear in the doorway. The

tallest of the trio has blonde curly hair tied back in a ponytail

with a pair of shades on his head. The other two have

short brown hair. They look like surfers who have taken

the wrong turn on their way to the beach. The guys look a

little confused, and I think they’re as surprised as we are

that other people are staying at the lodge. As fellow backpackers

we smile and greet each other.

‘G’day, fellas, we’re from Australia!’ the blonde haired

guy smiles, sitting down at our table.

‘I love Australia,’ I reply. ‘You’ve got amazing wildlife.

The saltwater crocodile is my favourite.’

‘Yeah, salties are beaut! They’re pure dinosaur, mate,

hung out with the T-Rex.’

The three guys look tired and are covered from head-totoe

in mosquito bites.

‘You’ve been eaten alive.’ Si observes, pointing at the

blonde guy’s shoulders.

He sighs and whips a little bottle of repellent out of his

pocket. ‘You’re not wrong. I’ve been itching like a fucker.

We’ve just spent two nights in the bush.’

‘What was that like?’

‘Hot. I don’t recommend it. I’m Donnie by the way, and

these are my buddies from Melbourne, Shaun and Byron.’

We shake hands around the table and introduce ourselves.

Shaun raises his thumb in the air, and I can tell

from the size of his biceps that he enjoys spending time

pumping iron down the gym. Byron on the other hand

looks to be the lazy one of the group, and has a rather spotty

face with slight stubble. He slouches over the table, and I

get the impression he’d rather be in Cusco chatting up the

girls in some bar.

‘Have you been out on the lake yet?’ Donnie asks,

scratching his bites.

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‘Yeah, we’ve been out on a boat all afternoon,’ I reply.

‘We saw loads of caiman. I think they were black caiman

because some of them looked quite big.’

Byron lifts his head off the table, and sighs. ‘You’re talking

shit, mate. Black caiman are rare.’

‘Well, they were definitely caiman!’

‘How big?’

‘Over two or three metres.’

‘Look, pom, two metres is nothing compared to the salties

back home. Those monsters will get you in a death roll

before you’ve had time to crap in your pants.’

‘Nile crocodiles are big, too,’ I reply, slightly offended by

Byron’s confrontational manner. ‘Biggest in the world, I

think.’

Byron smirks and sparks up a cigarette. ‘I’m afraid you’re

wrong there, pom. The saltwater croc is the largest reptile

in the world?’

‘I was close.’

‘Yeah, he was close,’ Si snaps.

‘Hmm, that’s if you call ten thousand kilometres from

Africa to Australia close.’

‘Don’t listen to this guy, he’s a fucking know it all,’

Donnie smiles.

Bryon leans forward, his face glowing orange in the candlelight.

‘Have you heard of the ‘did you know’ game?’

I lean back in my seat and sip my beer. ‘Yeah, I invented

it.’

‘Did you?’ Shaun cries excitedly.

Byron shakes his head. ‘Of course he didn’t, you drongo.

Look, pom, ten dollars says I beat you.’

‘Don’t bother,’ Si mumbles.

‘Yeah, OK, I’ll give you a game,’ I smile.

The room goes quiet, only the sounds of the jungle can

be heard outside. Byron takes a deep breath, before clapping

his hands together and banging a fist on the table.

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‘Did you know the main arteries of a blue whale are so

large that a small person could crawl through them?’ he

yells out loud, his eyes wide and his nose flaring.

‘Oh really,’ I reply, ‘Well, did you know a blue whale’s

cock weighs two tons?’

‘No way,’ Donnie laughs, ‘and I thought I was the only

one with a two ton pecker.’

Si bursts out laughing, but Byron doesn’t flinch and

remains focused on winning this stupid ‘did you know’

game.

‘That’s bullshit, mate. OK, did you know spiders are not

insects?’

‘Of course I did,’ I quickly reply, ‘they’re arachnids! Did

you know the Dalmatian dog is originally from Croatia?’

‘I’m not stupid,’ Bryon smirks, shaking his head. ‘Did you

know hippos have killed more people in Africa than any

other wild animal?’

‘Is that the best you can do?’ I laugh. ‘Did you know bats

always turn left when exiting a cave?’

‘Don’t insult my intelligence, fucker. Did you know elephants

are able to cry?’

‘Did you know the Khao San Road in Bangkok means

shining rice road?’

Byron nods. ‘Everyone knows that. Did you know in

nineteen fifty-five the first McDonald’s restaurant was

opened in Des Plaines, Illinois?’

‘Uh…did you know French Fries are not French they are

originally from Belgium?’

Byron snorts. ‘Even my dumb-ass chucks know that crap.

Did you know every year more than two-thousand-fivehundred

left handed people are killed from using right

handed products?’

‘Did you know a shrimp’s heart is in its head?’

‘What! Now you’re really insulting my intelligence, I

knew that when I was three years old. Did you know there

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are more than twenty thousand brands of beer in the

world?’

‘Yeah, and I’ve tasted them all!’ I cry, turning to Si. ‘OK,

did you know most lipstick contains fish scales?’

‘Did you know money is made of cotton not paper?’

‘Did you know a duck’s quack doesn’t echo?’

‘Did you know there are no clocks in the Vegas gambling

casinos?’

Byron takes a deep breath. ‘Did you know, because metal

was scarce, the Oscars given out during World War Two

were made of wood?’

‘Did you know China banned the pigtail in nineteen

eleven as it was seen as a symbol of feudalism?’

Donnie flicks his ponytail. ‘Hey, you keep me out of this!

By the way what does feudalism mean?’

I dart a look over at Byron. Byron turns to me, and

smiles.

‘Feudalism is a term that emerged in the Seventeenth

Century and has been used to describe European economic,

legal, political, and social relationships that existed in the

Middle Ages.’ Byron breathes out a sigh of relief and leans

back in his chair. There’s a smug grin across his face as he

reaches over and picks up his beer. ‘I think the game has

been won.’

‘Good game, guys,’ Donnie sings. ‘Let’s drink!’

‘Sorry, pom, better luck next time,’ Byron smirks. ‘I guess

you’re used to losing against Australia in the cricket.’

‘He’s only joking,’ Donnie smiles.

Byron shakes his head and scratches his bites. ‘No I’m

not.’

I fish around in my money belt and pull out a $10 dollar

note.

‘Thank you,’ Bryon smiles, snatching the money out of

my hand. ‘Winning for me is nothing new.’

‘I’m sure it isn’t,’ I reply, sparking up a cigarette.

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‘So, where in England are you guys from?’ Donnie asks.

‘Daventry in Northamptonshire,’ Si replies. ‘It’s a small

town a couple of hours north of London. Not far from

where Princess Diana is buried.’

Byron smirks. ‘So you’re a couple of farm boys?’

We all ignore him.

‘I worked in a pub in Covent Garden before I came out

here,’ Donnie grins, ‘but I had to steal from the cash till to

afford to live in the damn city. The pay is shit. I never had

enough money.’

‘That’s because you spent it all on dirty street whores,’

Byron laughs.

‘Go fuck yourself, mate.’

We spend the next few hours drinking beer and exchanging

banter. It turns out the guys flew to Puerto Maldonado a

few days ago, and are on an intensive one month tour of

South America. They’ve spent shit loads on their flights,

and seem worried about returning to London without any

money or a place to stay.

‘So, are you fellas heading for Carnival?’ Shaun asks.

‘Definitely, we’re travelling overland to Rio,’ Si replies.

Byron frowns. ‘Why don’t you fly?’

‘I guess that would make sense, but we’re on a tight budget

and we wanted to travel from the Pacific to the Atlantic

Coast overland.’

‘Where are you staying in Rio?’ Shaun asks. ‘We’re

booked into a hostel for five days.’

‘Oh, uh…we don’t know yet.’

Byron laughs mockingly. ‘Well, you’re fucked then, guys.

Looks like you’re going to miss the party.’

‘Yeah, we’re a bit worried about that, but we don’t want

to spend the whole of Carnival just in Rio. We want to go

to them all!’

‘Fucking awesome idea,’ Donnie cries.

Shaun looks confused. ‘Where will you sleep?’

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‘We don’t know, we haven’t really thought about that yet.’

Byron shakes his head with disapproval. ‘You’re fucked.

You’re going to end up paying shit loads for a shared

dorm.’

‘It is a bit of a gamble,’ I reply, ‘but what if we don’t make

it or we meet a couple of hot chicks along the way? All of

that money on a hostel in Rio will have been wasted. Who

knows what’s going to happen?’

Donnie nods his head in agreement. ‘You’ve got a good

point, guys. It’s like us with The Stones concert in Rio. We

booked our flights and accommodation before we knew it

was happening, and now we can’t go because we’re going

to be in fucking Buenos Aires.’

The guys all look pissed off about this, and shift uncomfortably

in their seats. Byron looks like he’s about to say

something, but changes his mind. I get the distinct impression

they’re having a tough time travelling together, and

I’m reminded of my first trip with Si across the United

States. In the beginning we’d found it hard to relax.

Society teaches us to always think ahead and try and prepare

for uncertainty – it had taken time for us to let go.

We leap out of bed at first light and find Jungle Hunan

waiting for us under a tree. He’s all kitted out and ready to

hit the trail. I’m wearing the same clothes as yesterday,

which smell a little stale and my socks are still wet. I can

hear snoring coming from the Aussie guy’s room. They

won’t be up for hours yet and I think about slipping my

email address under their door, but I can’t find a pen.

With Hunan marching in front along the track through the

thick mud, we race behind with our rucksacks on our

backs and glare open-mouthed at the jungle canopy. The

birds are wide-wake at this time in the morning, and the

activity in the treetops sounds promising. Hunan suddenly

stretches out his arms and we crash into him. He turns to

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us and places a finger to his lips before pointing up into

the trees. We look up and scan the branches. I quietly pull

out my binoculars and raise them up to my face. I can’t see

anything apart from green leaves and branches. Then I see

it!

Hunan taps my shoulder, and smiles. ‘Macaco, Squirrel

Monkey.’

I watch with fascination as the cheeky-faced money

hangs from a branch and stares down at us. Hunan waits

patiently as we try to snap a few photos, and pulling ourselves

away we continue on through the thick mud in our

rubber boots. On a number of occasions, I step into a puddle

and my foot disappears to just below the knee. With Si’s

help I manage to ease my foot out without losing my boot.

Hunan takes a left into the jungle and shows us many

interesting plants and trees. We chew on a piece of bark

and discover it tastes acrid in a similar way to a malaria

tablet. He informs us the Indians that live out here use

many of the plants for medicine. They are experts in the

art of survival in this environment and live in complete

harmony with the jungle. Being out here in the heat and

mud helps me to appreciate how hard it must be to survive

in this unforgiving wilderness, and I wonder how long we

would last out here on our own. Fighting through the thick

jungle and cutting down branches with my little blunt

penknife like Indiana Jones, well kind of, we pause as

Hunan bends down and picks up a couple of Brazil nuts

off the floor. We squat down beside him and watch as he

cracks one of the tennis ball size cases open with the handle

of his machete. He splits open a couple of nuts and we

all pop one in our mouths. They taste delicious. The tree

itself is huge, and we collect the remaining nuts off the

floor and put them inside our rucksacks.

After sometime, Hunan freezes again. We stand very still

as raindrops splatter across our foreheads. We’re completely

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surrounded by enormous leaves and long vines, and it’s

intensely humid. I reach out to grab onto a tree, but quickly

whip my hand away at the sight of a spider. Looking

around I begin to notice the smaller creatures that inhabit

the jungle. We’re literally surrounded by life. Everything

crawls, slithers and flutters and I begin to realise the sheer

volume of other organisms we share this planet with. It’s

hard to see this when living in the urban jungle, cocooned

inside our safe clean houses. Very rapidly, we have

blocked out the wilderness and separated ourselves from

the nature that surrounds us. Hunan presses a finger to his

lips and we follow him into the bush. We make our way

quietly through the trees and crouch down. He points to

the top of a large dead tree, and we see half-a-dozen blue

and yellow Macaws picking at the bark. A number of

smaller green Macaws, similar to the ones we’d seen out of

the bus window, circle around and perch in a tree nearby.

It’s the most beautiful sight I’ve ever seen, and we sit in

silence and observe their world. The parrots are at least

three feet long, including their tails, and click and squawk

at each other in the peaceful setting of the jungle. I close

my eyes and imagine this is my world, and fantasise that

close to here is my village where the meat I caught this

morning is cooking over a fire and the women of the village

are bathing naked in a nearby stream.

Devouring an omelette back at the lodge, we have another

quick swim in the caiman infested lake before packing our

bags and making the long journey back to the river. With

rucksacks on our backs and waterproof ponchos over our

heads, the sky opens in a torrential downpour. Si slips

headfirst into the mud, as we stagger along the boggy track

and Hunan doubles over and laughs like I’ve never seen

him laugh before. I laugh too, but more as a result of

watching Si flick the mud off his face and wrestle with the

anger monkey that bubbles up inside of him. Still in fits of

laugher Jungle Hunan waves us on and we slip and slide

all the way back to the banks of the Rio Madre de Dios.

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