Day Eighteen

Spent most of day working on the bamboo flooring on the first cabin. A pretty laborious process as most of the bark has to be stripped off. This is time-consuming process just re-affirms why we should not be building our structures too big. I once again voice this sentiment to the Repeator who boldly claims that it is of no matter and it will all work out. Suddenly, I don't trust myself around him with a machete.
Other bad news, the solar panels are only charging the motorcycle battery enough to in turn charge an IPOD for about 15-30 minutes daily. As this only leaves us with about 40 minutes of listening, we are very selective about when and what we listen to. Now I only have time to listen to the first half of Michael Bolton's Greatest Hits before I have to turn over the IPOD to Joe's music.
The night has become quite routinized--cook dinner, listen to music, talk, and turn in around what Joe and I originally thought was 10pm or so, but just realized when he looked at a clock that it was around 8:15pm. And so, contrary to how I believe I must look (havent seen a mirror in weeks), this 10 hours of nightly beauty sleep should have me emerging from the jungle as one helluva good lucking dude.
After dinner, we venture down to greet a German couple and their guides, who've just arrived from up river. We invite the couple up to our camp later to chat about the news from The Outside as they have recently came into the jungle and we are anxious to hear what's going on in the world. They were a really cool couple and Joe and I were cracking up at the idiosyncransies in their English langauge usage, especially his mix-up of the words "angry" and "afraid"--"I am very angry of the water!" They were astounded at the length of time we were spending in the jungle and made a promise that they would buy beer and have it sent downriver by their guides on their next expedition. We were excited by the prospect of a beer but did not want to get our hopes up by some off the cuff offer. Crossing our fingers....

Day Seventeen

Leaf collecting all morning....feel like I am getting more comfortable in the woods and probably a little too careless--setting myself up for a snakebite.
The Repeator is becoming increasingly annoying at the jobsite and I fear that Joe or I is going to snap on him one day.
Pulled the 2nd tick off me in as many days. I probably need to start being more proactive in searching for those. Although we remain in good health I am pretty convinced that I am leaving the jungle with some sort of parasite or other hard to detect micro-organism.
Brought some excitement to my day by hooking up the small dugout canoe behind the big one and doing a little Amazon surfing ala Teen Wolf.


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More pics added to album

Day Sixteen

Day starts with a full family outing upstream to collect more building materials. During our ascent up the river in the large canoe we encounter a massive downed log spanning the entire river. Initially, Otobo and his father attempt to cut a passage through with an ax--although for some reason their super-human abilities fail at this task and we are left with Plan B, which is to ram the log and slide over (the option I was secretly hoping for all along).

While collecting materials, the whole family fanned out in the woods and for the first time Joe and I were on a sufficiently distinguished path we felt safe enough to venture out far into the woods without a Huaorani chaperone. Apparently the feeling was not mutual as Joe and I noticed that the young Pescadero was semi-covertly shadowing us the whole time, apparently on orders from Otobo not to let the gringos get themselves lost or killed. Sending the Pescadero to follow us deep in the forest was not the best move as currently the boy is Suspect #1 in the OREO theft, which makes him vulnerable to an "accident" in the woods.

Strict rationing of food has become the law with Joe and I. We are terrified of running out of anything with taste as subsisting merely on rice or noodles the last couple of weeks would surely accelerate the crazy talk. Because of our almost fanatical food rationing, any disappearance of coveted foods (e.g. eggs, OREOS, Syrup) has resulted in directionless threats to those responsible, some of which would probably make Jeffrey Dahmer cringe.

Mental status takes another hit later in the day when I am sitting in the outhouse getting the business done when I noticed a group of biting ants swarming up the stool towards me. I frantically start using the book I had handy to swat at them. My defense proves futile and soon I am getting bit all over and running out of the outhouse with my pants around my ankles. Where can I find peace of mind?

DAY Fifteen

Stumbled out of my tent early this morning to boil water for my unfiltered coffee that I have become accustomed to. Early in the trip I was using the painfully slow process of straining the coffee grounds through a bandanna. Now I just lazily filter the grounds (and bugs) with my teeth as I drink.

Otobo and the Pescadero arrived at the worksite and announced that Conan left with a tour group that camp by as they were lacking a cook and he jumped on the opportunity to make some money for the next 7 or 8 days. This news means that besides the fact that Joe and I will be entirely doing our own cooking, we also will be sleeping at the worksite camp without the benefit of a Huaorani protector.
Otobo's family has been hanging around our camp alot more lately. Joe and I still cant get over the fact that his wife, who just gave birth 2 week ago, is now carrying logs and swinging a machete. I am glad I have witnessed this swift maternal recovery as it will surely serve as a time benchmark for what I will consider a sufficient maternity leave. "Honey, I know you are tired for bringing Brian Jr. to term, but when I was in the jungle the women....."--the point in which I will probably get slapped.
Otobo's wife brought their newborn to camp and when I inquired about the name of the child, I was informed that they do not name babies until they are around 1 year old. I threw out the feminine version of my name--Briana--as a possible name although I figure that baby is destined for a name with several more syllables than that.
After lunch, Otobo and I cleared the forest for the site of the first cabin. Once again, it appears that the Huaorani are inclined to build something way too big for what we really need. I begin to address this issue and Caiga (the Repeator) and he abruptly dismisses any notion of changing the size of the structure. I point to the comedor structure, because due to its unnecessarily large size, has taken us alot longer than anticipated. Caiga is undeterred and unreasonable and Joe and I are starting to harbor some serious resentments against him.
Later that night, Joe and I cook dinner gringo style and enjoy a dessert of one small package of OREOs that we brought in. Due to our short supply, our rationing of sweets is pretty comical. We eat the OREOs just like in the commercial--twisting off the top and slowly nibbling at the cream. What once took me 10 seconds to eat an OREO now is drawn out to somewhere like 10 minutes.
Tonight, as we were eating the OREOs, we noticed that someone had ganked one of our precious packages. Joe is ready to hang the Pescadero, as stealing something as 4 OREOs has become in our minds a capital offense, and I initially concur with the placement of guilt although I later change my suspicions to the Caiga's wife, who I saw eating a sucker this morning, thereby revealing herself as a possible sugar addict.

Day Fourteen

Awoke to the Old Man and Typhoid Mary chattering outside the tents. They were here to do the specialized weaving of the top leaves of the roof--evidence of the fact that some skills may die out with the older generation of Huaorani. The comedor is almost completed, although things are getting frustrating as Otobo is now asking if we should just have a dirt floor instead of finishing the laborious bamboo flooring. We advise that if they want to charge tourists the big bucks, some luxuries(like a floor!) are going to have to be made.
We eat a ¨big lunch¨ as the Huaos associate eating alot with being very strong and more capable afterwords, unlike me who finds a direct correlation between eating alot at lunch and dangerously slipping into a food coma while staring at a computer screen.
After lunch, we hear a motor and shortly after a canoe with several guides and two tourists pulls up. The tourists are giving us quizzical looks and inquire what we are doing here. I explain that Joe and I are political exiles and that we are serving out our sentence out in the Amazon. They seem to buy this explanation and ask nothing further. They leave to go tour the main compound, to return later, and Joe and I talk of how we can creep these people out even further--something about proposing to trade our bottle of rum for the guy`s girlfriend.
Later another motor in the distance---It is Caiga and Bartolo returning from The Outside with a re-supply of bread, butter, eggs, and other goodies. We rejoice like we have been given a new lease on life. Later have a sandwhich of rice topped with BBQ sauce--can life get any better?




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For all the Kansas Citians and others interesting in supporting a good cause---a friend of mine is doing a 24 hour-straight walk at Rock High to raise money for an orphanage that is being built in Guatemala. Please check out the site for more info: http://www.laboroflovewalk.com/default.asp

Day Thirteen

r
Spent morning gathering more leaves with Conan. Otobo dropped us off downstream via conoe but did not return for several hours--Joe and I were a bit pissed off. After lunch, we took the canoe upstream to pick up Omallavie, who had set out early that morning on a hunt. Eventually found him on the side of the river carrying a gun that appeared to have been manufactured arond the time Abraham Lincoln presided over the States. He was yelling in Huao, which was translanted to be that he had seen a huge pack of peccarries (wild pigs) but that he couldn´t see to get a shot off (his vision is failing). Not long later, we were walking in the forest when the Old Man diverted off from the group. Not much later he came back with a peccary slung over his shoulder. All that meat is taken to the main compound so Joe and I treat ourselves to one of the remaining cans of tuna and some ramen type noodles for dinner--a crap ton of soduim. Also, indulge ourselves in a couple drops of maple syrup for dessert. Boy, life has gotten pretty simple.
Rain falls hard while I am getting into my tent, which is good as our drinking water barrell is down to halfway.

Day Twelve

Woke up to monkeys climbing around the trees next to our camp. After breakfast of pinneapples we all headed out to cut down thatch for roof material. Watching Omallavie cut down the trees with the ax was quite a sight. The forest around where we were cutting trees was super-dense and served as a subtle reminder of just what exactly surrounded us on all sides.
Found a bite on my leg that looked in the first stages of what could be a staph infection. Drew a circle around it to monitor any growth.
After work, Conan headed with Otobo and the others to the family compound thus allowing Joe and I to dip into our bag ol´goodies (i.e. our secret stash of food and candy).
Bugs are starting to get bad and I have began using repellent fairly regularly. Also, have been smoking fires in the house to keep out the mosquitos.

Day Eleven

Awoke a little late after a little of bit of last night´s festivities. No sign of Otobo or Conan. Eventually Joe and I paddle one of the canoes upstream to the main camp to see whats up--just as those are heading down in there canoe. Back at our camp we hear a motor in the distance and eventually a canoe filled with non-huaoranis and what appears to be a gringa floats past and heads to the main camp. As we have not seen outside visitors in our area, so this arrival was met with a little curiousity. We quickly headed up to get a peek at the visitors. Conan stated that they were probably here to talk with Otobo about ¨political stuff,¨ which could mean several things.
When we arrived at the family compound we discovered the newcomers to be a Huao woman, who was in charge of a Huaorani womens group, a Uruaguyan filmaker, who had recently been in Columbia, MO for a film festival, and a girl from Quito, who appeared to have a screw or two loose. Not that anyone around here is really operating with a set of finely tooled screws though.

The Fourth--Amazon Style (Day Ten)

Had the last of the 1st of two boxes of pancake mix--a decision was made to put a temporary moratorium on our breakfast treat to make sure it lasts through the anticipated tough last weeks.
Our seclusion is taking its toll. Talk has turned to girls and Conan has tried in his own way to fill the void by cutting out a picture of the girl pictured on the box that an air mattress came in. Her name is Monica and she is a good listener.
Spent most of day helping put up palm-thatch roof on the comedor. After work Joe and I decided to celebrate our nation´s Independence by dipping into our rum stock. Also, during the day Otobo announced that we were going on a hunt later for caiman crocodiles. We were excited but unsure if this promise was to be fulfilled--the day sounded too American too be true--drinking and hunting.
Sure enough, after darkness fell Otobo and Conan picked us up in the canoe and we see off in the darkness. Drunk with excitement (and a little rum), we used our headlamps to patrol the banks looking for the tell-tale sign of a croc--the diamond shaped reflective eyes. We spotted several and eventually we ventured close enough for Conan to throw the spear. The first time was a charm for him and he got one through the throat. Otobo quickly pulled it aboard and cut of the head.
We headed home pretty quickly to cook up the kill. The entrails were sampled by a not impressed me but all the other meat was great.
So with the substitutions of warm rum for cold beer and a spear and canoe for a pickup truck and a shotgun, we managed to bring a little bit of home to the middle of nowhere.

Day Nine

Slow morning as Joe and I waited around for Otobo and Omallave to arrive with some wood for the comedor. Foot is feeling better although I am still hesitant to walk around on it too much, lest the wound re-open.
Discussed with Joe his growing obsession with killing every pesky fly, gnat, ant, or whatever that comes near us. This combined with his recent decision to let his nails grow long has made me concerned where things are leading. Pineapples make him very happy however, and he recently made the claim ¨a pineapple a day keeps Mr. Hyde away.¨ Will keep an eye on his homicidal tendencies.
Later in the day, Otobo, Conan, Joe, I, and a boy we called El Pescadero (the fisherman, because he caught us dinner one night, then got the nickname, and then never caught anything for us again. He got lucky, as he should have remained El Boy) went upstream to catch some fish. Otobo was reeling them in left and right while Joe and I were without luck. Only once I set down my pole to look at a pirahna that Otobo caught, did I myself catch one. On way home from fishing we saw another 6 ft anaconda sunning on a log. Otobo pulls the canoe right up beside it putting Joe and I a foot away. Having seen too many movies, at this point I am about ready to jump out of the boat to get away from it. Luckily, the snake beat me to the water.

Later we cooked up the fish, which tasted pretty darn good with our staple rice meal. Also convinced Conan to slice and fry the yucca in the style of my beloved freedom fries. These combined with my supernatural ability to pretend I am eating something I am not made the meal one of the best yet.

Semi-Cannibalistic Living (Day Eight)

Had a breakfast of add-water pancakes and monkey. Yes, you heard me right, we have pancake mix. And yes, also we have started to consume our closest genetic neighbor. Someone in the community had been out hunting and brought the arm of the monkey for the two weird gringos living amongst them to eat. Hopefully, this is the most near to cannabalism that I will get on this trip but you never know....Man, this thing would taste alot better with some Gates BBQ sauce.

Joe, Otobo, Conan, and I took canoe to go gather roof material--aka palm leaves of various sizes. Still pretty immobile so I waited alone in the boat and did a bit of fishing. I was unsuccessful although one of the small Huao boys caught a few to supplement lunch.

Monkey is the new goat,

BQ

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Hey, this is present day Brian speaking at your for a moment. As hopefully only a few of you know, I am returning back to the states for about a month in September. I am on the look-out for some side work while home to keep the Planetary Vagabond rollin´. Willing to move around a little if there is nearby work (aka things that involve lots of money with little effort--in St. Louis or Chicago). If not, I will be in KC down on the Plaza begging for a down payment on a cheeseburger.

In all seriousness, shoot me an email bquarnstrom@gmail.com if you have something to keep me occupied. I have a graduate degree in Sociology, which means I can talk to you about aspects of social interaction while I cut your grass or paint your rooms.

Day Seven

Foot looks the same as yesterday, which leaves me pretty disappointed. Went through the same idle routine today--eat, read, eat, watch work being done, read, eat, go to be early. Actually slightly broke the routine by whittling the three missing wooden letters for our travel Scrabble game. Left a small piece of rough wood on each to ensure that I could identify them when blindly fishing for them in the letter bag--thus ensuring that I win all the rest of Joe and I´s games. As my wise Grammy once said--ïf you´re not cheating, your not trying.¨
Had lunch of PB&Js, using up most of the bread we have. After lunch, Otobo left to go visit his newborn, who just arrived with his wife from downstream. Spent 30 minute talking with Joe about the amazing legend that is Don Parton of KC.
Later afternoon, did what little I could manage on my foot and moved some logs up to Otobo and Conan, who were up on the cross beams of the comedor. They continued to walk around above perilously one step away from a 25 ft plunge. Our jobsite is a OSHA nightmare, but hey, this is the jungle, this building need to last a couple years. Thats what I love about this construction. No need for levels as what are you going to make the house level to--the crooked trees or slanting ground? Any sort of ¨precision¨ cutting is done with a machete as with the digging too. Although, a simple pulley would do wonders as lifting the heavy logs are starting to get old.
Later Conan does some housekeeping and sweeps our dirt floor in our ¨house.¨ The inherent ridiculousness of sweeping a dirt floor makes me laugh but in reality serves the purpose of keeping out ants and other creatures. And hey, dragging more ¨floor¨ in from outside is a non-issue.

Day Six

Another day of idleness for yours truly. Feel pretty bad watching all the hard work go on while I sit like a labor boss in the shade. Just training for my future life in politics.
While everyone else was putting up the huge beams for the comedor (with the Huaos displaying amazing balancing acts walking across the narrow poles 30 ft up with a log on their back), I decided that I would be of some worth and make lunch. Rice with basil and garlic.
Foot is slowing healing more but still in some pain.
Later we eat some spaghetti with lentils to get some protein. Ended the night playing a card game called ¨Burro¨ with Conan and Otobo. The rules did not seem to make much sense but whatever.
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Looks like at some point in the last few days Planetary Vagabond received its 10,000th hit--meaning that after that many page views it has successfully not even bought me a cup of coffee. No worries however, as I am more enthused than ever about keeping this damn thing online for all you freeloaders.

More pics uploaded to the album.

Day Five

After breakfast I anxiously removed the bandages half-expecting the gangrene infested mass of tissue that my mind had conjured up the previous night. With relief, I found a decently clean and only partially open wound. I`m highly optimistic although Conan does much to squelch that feeling saying that he thinks, sans stitches, I will be immobile for at least 20 days.

In the morning Joe, Otobo, Conan, I and some other Huaos take the canoe upstream so they can forage for plantains and sugar cane. Traditionally, a tribe of hunters and gathers, Otobos family still relies heavily on what they can gather and kill for their food. Because of their high protein consumption, although short, the Huaorani men are are solidly built with little body fat. Joe and I have begun to wonder the possibilities of bringing Otobo back to play middle linebacker for Mizzou. We would lose our ass in his hunting permits though.

While they were off gathering the food back in the forest, Joe stayed with my gimpy ass in the canoe. Our idleness proved fruitfull when we spotted some pink river dolphins surfacing downstream. Also, while alone on the banks Joe and I heard what we thought was a distant motor downstream, which prompted the discussion of what we would do if the boat ended up being bandits of some sort or drug smugglers coming up from the border. Our answer was a pathetic nothing as we could flee only to die a slower death of starvation away from camp. The noise ended up being a bush plane that we never saw.

Basically unable to walk, I feel ever more useless and more of a liability to the group. Wonder just how long I will remain as such.

After they gathered the food in the forest, Otobo states that since it is Sunday, it will be a day of rest. Thank you Jesus. The Huaos go back up to the community leaving Joe and I to christen the first ¨Sunday Funday¨ in the jungle. First we are happy just not to be working (or just Joe as I am now useless) so we relax and do a bit of reading. Joe is reading one of the three english language books that Otobo brought down to our campsite (proably left by Tom and Mariela previously)--Gary Paulsen´s ¨A Dogs Life,¨ which is an entertaining although creepy love storyesque account of the famous writer´s life with his former dogs. I find a bit of irony in the books presence here as his books ¨The Hatchet¨and ¨The River¨ were both childhood reads that are probably partially responsible for my trips such as this.

Sunday Funday lived more up to its name when Joe and I decided to treat ourselves to some jungle rum-runners, aka flavored TANG mixed with our precious reserve. Its deliciousness amplified by our lack of other options.

Later Otobo brought back part of a peccary or wild pig for our consumption. Apparently, Omallave had hunted one earlier in the day. Cooked over an open fire it did not have too bad of a flavor.

Our water situation has been addressed. Using a big piece of plastic that drains into a 55 gallon barrel, we have started collecting rainwater. After its collection we filter it and use the Steri-Pen that I bought back in the US to kill any viruses or bacteria in the water. The recently invented Steri-Pen is basically a magic wand looking device that emits germicidal UV rays into a Nalgene bottle. Personally, I think it appears too futuristic for my believeability, let alone what the Huaorani think of that gizmo. I could probably conquer an entire village just waving that thing around.

Boy With No Tongue continues to lurk around the camp during work hours--occasionally helping out but never speaking--not even to the other Huaos. Has the stone cold look of a killer and it has been decided that if they are going to send in an assassin to finish off the worthless, gimpy gringo--its going to be him.



I realize that I have been speaking of names, without proper description, and so I am going to give a little list below to help out with the clarity of my ramblings:



Otobo: Huaorani; Mutual friend of Tom and Marielas and the guy starting the eco-tourism. Known, respected and sometimes feared by other Huaos and outsiders alike, Otobo is a pretty solid individual, who deserves much of the credit for our enjoyment and well being during the trip. Much of our day to day interaction was always with him and the occassional other Huao helping out.



Conan: Huaorani; aka Cookie or Coney. Camp cook and Otobo´s right hand man. Aside from Otobo he was definitely the most hard-working and capable of the Huaorani. Strong and long-haired, his Conan the Barbarian look was contrasted greatly by his tranquill nature and desire just to be the cook. A deep thinker and often out of nowhere Coney would ask Joe and I life questions that apparently he had been pondering for sometime. Even through our cultural barriers he had correctly indentified me as a source of all lifes answers. As the only Huao that slept in our campsite when he was around, he was usually a good source of Huao information and gossip.

Caiga: Otobo´s brother; aka The Repeater---given the nickname early on for his repeated stories of the fatal Tagaeri attacks and other things we did not care to hear more than once. Also, repeated everything that Otobo said. We would come to think badly of him and later dispise him due to his refusal to listen to building suggestions by cutting us off saying ¨esta bien, esta bien.¨ Luckily, due to his laziness, he was not around the worksites for extended periods. Would later find out that during Tom and Marielas previous trip in, there group had nicknamed him ¨Fredo¨ from The Godfather, which we considered the most appropriate name.

Bartolo: Otobo´s younger brother: Are only encounters with him were our entry and exit from the territory. Never gained our trust and seen as us as a potential hindrance in the cause of Otobos project.

Omallave: Otobo´s father and leader of the community. One of the only Hauos who routinely preferred to rock the naked look. He is the real deal and gained a cult like following from Joe and I. He makes Chuck Norris look like a useless hippie. I swear I saw him kill a wild pig with just a mean look.

Typhoid Mary: Otbbos mother, who was rarely without a smile.

Lenny: Otobos bro-in-law. A massive Huao who was so soft spoken we never figured out if he was speaking spanish or what to us. Performed several AMAZING acts of strength and courage that will be acknowledged later.

Boy With No Tongue: Unknown. Made undistinguishable noises.

And more character sketches as they become relevant.

Oh Sh-T! (Day Four)

One swift stroke of misfortune and one awkward stroke of the machete has sealed my fate of inactivity indifinitely. The blow glanced off the log I was notching and sliced clean into my coveted rubber boot. My first reaction was tremedous disappointment at the maiming of my boot, thinking that the comprimising of its waterproofness was going to make my life in the jungle hell. My next thought, admittedly delayed, was ¨hmm, that cut is right where my toe should be.¨ After quickly pulling off the boot I discovered a bloody rag of a sock and then eventually a stitchs deep wound showing some tendions in my big left toe. Otobo jumped in quick to put pressure on the cut and to tell Conan to boil water while I was contemplating how bad of a situation I was in should this become infected in the middle of nowhere. Talk about being in a bad place for something like this to happen. We had just found out the other day that the radio that was supposed to be here to radio in a plane in case of an emergency was not functioning...and would not ever be.
We immediately cleaned the wound and bandaged it up. As I could not walk without opening the wound I was forced to sit under our house structure and spend the rest of the day pondering my predicament. I was trying to mentally regurgitate all I had read in Tom´s 1979 Red Cross First Aid manual that I had read while at the lodge. Although, I was not too confident in this book as it recommended blood-letting for most of the ailments and cauterizing for cuts. I am just going to try my best and not have this thing get infected or accept the fact that my nickname may change to Four Toe Brian.
Anxious to peel the bandages off tomorrow to assess the damage.

Scars are souvenirs you never lose,
Brian

Day Three

Spent morning making a table for our eating area out of an old canoe. When first constructed, the table was at about at chin-level to Joe and I, which means that it was above eye level to our vertically challenged colleagues. Although they didnt seem to think this was a problem we suggested that it be lowered considerably. Their solution was to dig holes in the floor and to bury the legs. I guess it pays to have a dirt floor.
You may be wondering just how we are communicating with the Huaoranis? Luckily, Otobo and a few other Huaoranis have picked up Spanish and that combined with a little good old trusty sign language comprises of the communication interchange. No enligsh is spoken by any of the Huaos, leaving Joe and I the ability to talk smack freely. A good thing about witnessing Huao conversation in their traditional tongue is that it allows Joe and I a creative release by doing our own live voice-overs spectulating what they are saying or just imputing what we want them to be saying at that moment. It has never been so safe to be a smart ass.
After lunch (of Hunts BBQ suace on rice) the work group takes a canoe upstream to cut trees for the large comedor (eating structure), which is to be our first project. Several enormous trees our felled and cut up, leaving them to carried to the canoe. One of the soft-spoken Huaos we have named Lenny (think Mice of Men) is carrying one of the 400 lb+ plus logs on his back, which serves as the first of many amazing feats of strength that we would witness during the trip. They gave Joe and I a log to carry saying that it was ¨very light.¨ We could hardly carry it together and eventually had to have two Huaos finish the job. One of the young Hoao boys made the comment about us ¨their muscles must only be for girls.¨ Haha. That boy later disappeared and was not to be found again.
After a hard day of work, we thought it prudent to take a bath for the first time in possibly a week. As we are fully aware of what lurks in the rivers here-especially the small fish that swims up your ureathra and lodges himself in with spikes should you happen to take a leak in the water. I have given Joe instructions and a pistol in case this fatal tragedy should ever befall on me.
We look at the Huao for precedence in what to do about the issue of bathing. They jump out of a docked canoe to wet themselves, then get out lather up and then briefly jump back into the water to rinse off. This sort of river bathing routine would be the norm for us for the rest of our trip.
The drinking water we brought in is running low so we will need to set up some rain water catchment system tommorow.
Brought out the IPOD after dinner and those present appeared to be very interested in the device.

For those interesting...during our last week in the jungle we visited at area called Bameno, where a peace corps volunteers ventured in to hold a crafts expo with the Huao women there. She wrote up her adventurous experience and mentions us in it. The site http://www.ciao79.blogspot.com/

ANTS! (Day Two)

Woke up to find an old naked man walking around outside my tent. And so, life is slowly becoming a little more bizzare. The man is Otobo´s father, Omallave, andhe is in climbing around the top of our house patching up the roof with leaves to keep the rain out. You think a little plumbers butt (or ¨builders bum¨ if you are from the UK) is an unwelcoming sight? Try having a fully naked handyman.
Annoyingly, the clothes that we laid out to dry yesterday, were now fully covered in ants. Little did we realize how much havoc these little creatures would reap on our lives during our stay.
Otobo arrived around 10 am with a shaved head---he explained that his wife had a baby girl the day before (day we arrived) and that he shaved his head because he was morning the birth of a girl since now he has two. I had read prior that the Huaorani used to practice infanticide in cases such as this, so I was relieved that a head shaving was the only reaction to the birth. After the birth, life apparently gets back to normal pretty quickly due to the fact that Otobo left wife and child back downriver to come and greet his volunteers. Everyone was eager to start working so with little discussion, most of the Huao men present start hacking away at the trees and foliage around our worksite. We would have preferred to have discussed a little strategy before we all jumped into a little land clearing but oh well. The work was a bit rough and I got my first taste of the biting ants. All over my neck and back--not fun but luckily they were not the conga ants that are also present at the jobsite. We have the man-power today and there were about 7 machetes chopping away at once--thought for sure someone was going to accidently lop off and ear--most likely us. During the day, my watch stopped, which I thought was pretty ironic, as time telling was no longer a necessary activity in my life now.
Had dinner of spaghetti sauce on rice made by Conan---the can of sauce had noodles pictured on the label and Conan was asking me where the noodes in the can were--my guess is that Conan´s culinary training may have slightly on the primitive side.

Day One (Part Two)

After another day of motoring, we have finally arrived to the community that is to be out home for the next 6 weeks. This community consists only of Otobo's family including his parents, a brother and his wife and a sister and her husband. We set up our camp under a traditional Huao structure that was built not long ago---this camp was about 500 downstream from the main community structures. Relieved when I arrive that our tents will at least be not fully in the open as the rain is likely to be a big factor. All of the Huoas go up to their main community area while Joe and I take this opportunity to unload what we deemed highly precious cargo--emergency food reserves and two handles of rum that was smuggled in for its medicinal purposes. It has already been dicussed that if sh·t hit the fan on this trip we are taking our air mattresses and the bottles of Rum and trying to float downriver into Peru. By eagerly agreeing that we would set up our camp by ourselves, we have basically broke Safety Rule number 1-Dont go anywhere and be left anywhere without a Huaorani. Deemed this rule break necessary to hide our emergency provisions.

Conan, who is Otobo's right hand man and also the camp cook, returns and goes through the food that we brought in...he appears pretty disappointed at our variety and even the amount. Acts as if we have not brought enough--I'm pretty certain we won't starve as we lugged in about 50 pounds of rice but I am already loathing the future outlook of our diet.

By a dim light we eat a dinner of rice, plantains, and canned tuna sitting on the dirt floor as there is no tables or chairs. Reminding myself that I volunteered for this and wondering if I may have made a mistake, which would be the first in my otherwise impeccable record of judgement.........

Updated pics on my album---the first several our from the trip out by the rest our chronological...use the beard as a time index. Still have much more but uploading as we go.