Our Last Days Adentro (Inside) (Days 32-34)

I couldn't be happier when I awake this morning as redemption is here in the presence of Tom and Mariela, that and the vast quantity of delicious food that they brought in with them. The amount brought in with them for consumption in the next 4 or 5 days easily totals more than the amount Joe and I brought in for 5 weeks, which makes me wonder how we have survived this agonizing absence of taste.

Tom and Mariela confirm one of our worst fears: there is no jet fuel and we will have to canoe out instead of taking a bush plane. A rough revelation but the knowledge that we will be seeing The Outside within a week keeps spirits high. Another interesting bit of knowledge that they inform us is that supposedly Otobo has a warrant for arrest issued by the Ecuadorian military. Apparently not long before we arrived, Otobo was at the Shiripuno Bridge (last outpost before entering Huao territory) when he became enraged at what he perceives as the Ecuadorian governments recent initiatives to take over Huao land. He ended up using a spear to smash all the military outpost's windows. All while the heaviliy armed guards inside were scared out of their minds. Not wanted to provoke hostility with the Huaorani, they deferred any action at that point but have issued a warrant and a government liaison has spoken with Tom and Mariela about convicing him to come out and apologize to smooth things over. According to Tom, the liaison and some military apparently first tried to talk with Otobo by traveling into their territory by canoe but were rebuffed from even leaving their canoe by a confrontive Omallave. Given the apparently well known fact that Otobo has threatened to "cut off the head and put it on a stick" to whoever tries to infringe upon their land, they did not get off the canoe and opted to wait him out at entry/exit point of the territory. It makes me feel good to know we were living under the protection of such a badass yet slightly worried about fact that his fierce opposition to most outsiders has made him enemies of whom would probably not lose sleep about any gringo collateral damage while getting at Otobo. Tom indicates that he is going to discuss this matter with Otobo and hopefully have him accompany us to the Outside to settle the matter.

The next few days are spent on some finishing touches with the complex. We are pretty relieved that Tom and Mariela are impressed with what has been accomplished since we have came. Pictures are taken by them with Joe and I posing like tourists to be put on the soon to be developed website. We protest the rationale of the pics as our entirely disheveled and barbaric appearance is bound to scare away most potential visitors. Please check out the website and pass on to any friends or family interested in experiencing an amazing trip like this: www.rainforestcamping.com

Ever crazy and fun-loving, Tom and Mariela convince all of us to swim the 500 yard distance between the Huao compound and our campsite. Even with the knowlege that Omallave states he saw an anaconda hanging around the area the day before, we nervously agree. My decision is based soley on the fact that if we encounter something, Omallave and his Chuck Norris like abilities will surely save the day.

All in all, the few days are fairly busy ironing out the last details to prepare the cabins for tourists, but I am content in the presence of two people who I have come to consider my parents in South America.

Salvation (Day 31)

The air was thick with probably ill-placed anticipation. Per second-hand information received from the untrustworthy Repeater, our saviors Tom and Mariela are supposed to be arriving today via canoe from The Outside. Not wanted to risk the mental toll a no-show would inflict on me, I unsucessfully tried not to think about their possible arrival that day. Joe and I kept ourselves busy stripping bark off the bamboo flooring and frequently experiencing something like an audio mirage. With the perception of salvation so close we can almost taste it, several times during the day we would abruptly cease working at the sound of a distant motor. And everytime the noise ended up being some nearby buzzing insect or just some mental conjuring.
We take a break from work later that day to head up to the main compound to investigate the arrival of 3 Dutch travelers. They have stopped with their guide to meet Omallave and his family. We try chicha, a traditional Huao drink fermented with the saliva of the women. It is made with river water so we didn't drink much, although the process of production sounds savory.
By late afternoon it was getting dark and by this time Joe and I's disappointment at the non-arrival was pretty heavy. The only conversation that was uttered was that if they didn't show within the next week, we were going to try to get out without them.
At sunset, I walked down to the beach area near the river entrance to our camp. I needed them to show as I felt I was close to some sort of tipping point in my trip, where it was best to have some certainty in our exit strategy. Right there on the beach I made a deal with the devil and for all you naysayers who have said that the devil and I are in cohoots--you must be right because practically at the moment of sundown, I started to hear a distant motor. This was initially took as another mental trick but it became louder and Joe eventually came down to the beach and we smiled wide as if we had just escaped a grim fate.
Tom and Mariela arrived and I swear there was a white light surrounding their canoe. We have much to discuss but that will have to wait until the morning.

If Mr. Rogers Ate Monkey (Day 30)

I have been in The Inside for one month but it feels like three. The reoccurring daily activities have me settled into a Mr. Rogers-esque routine, which has made the experience physically managable although the slow chipping away of the mental stamina is sure to hit a tipping point if things don't change up soon.
Discuss with Joe that fact that we may be setting some sort of world record for most time consecutively spent within 15 ft. of another person. We work together, travel around the forest together, and otherwise exist in our Huaorani hut during all other times. Are we finishing each others sentences? Yes. Have we discussed every possible conversational topic known to man? Yes. Has Joe been contemplating ridding me from his life? Most definitely.

Witnessed another Huaorani super human feat of strength today. We were in the in forest cutting down large trees for the bamboo flooring with Otobo, Omallave, and Lenny. One of the cut trees was held up in the air by a large vine about 75ft up in the air. Lenny, definitely the strongest Huao among them, ties a machete around his ankle and bear-hug shimmies up the tree and while holding onto the trunk of the tree with one hand, hacks away at the vine holding the tree upright. All this about 75 feet above the forest floor. While Joe and I are nearly crapping ourselves in wonder, the other Huao are not even watching nor even caring that a slip up by Lenny would surely cost him his life. Just another day in the woods for them. I'm guessing that all the bad tree climbers don't make it to their 14th birthday.

A Jungle Mentality (Days 27-29)

Day 27
In the morning we discovered that something had been gnawing on some of our food during the night. The bites look small-ish so our concern lies strictly with our food disappearing in the night rather than us being eaten in our tents. Our daily routine has become exactly that: routine. And this monotony combined with the isolation is starting to wear us down. Joe seems startled when he catches me talking to myself although both Brian and I have been having great discussions about how we are going to get ourselves out of the jungle.

Day 28
Wake up early before sun-up to an low rumbling practically shaking the ground around our tents. Sounds something like a low-flying jet but the hows and the whys of that theory don't work out. Later at breakfast Joe comments on waking and hearing the same noise.

While working on the cabins with Otobo we discusse some of the conversations he had with the other Huaorani in Bameno. He stated that some of the other men were asking why there were two gringos living with him and his family. He explained that word has gotten around about our continued presence and indicated that some of the other Huaos are jealous about the help he is receiving with his eco-tourism project. Others are just curious about what is afflicting us that makes us want to live in such isolation.

Heavy afternoon rains halt work and Joe and I spend the next several hours playing cards in the house. Daylight seems to extend hours longer than usual and this seemingly bizarre fact coupled with the low rumbling earlier this morning makes my imagination run wild about something going on in The Outside. These weird occurences highlight how out of touch we are with everything that is going on in the world outside of our little sanctuary in the forest.

Right before heading to sleep we hear a rustling near our food table. We investigate with our headlamps and discover a little mouse in the oatmeal, who scurries off. Joe vows to dispatch this mouse on their next meeting.

Day 29
Hardest day of work in awhile--dig all the post-holes for cabin three and cut down and strip all wood for the flooring. The Repeator shows up to the worksite with no intention of helping out. His avoidance of work disgusts Joe and I and I feel sorry for Otobo, who is working so hard to establish something that will benefit his family and although he knows of the leeching his brother does, his hands are tied for familial reasons. Mine are not however, I my restraint hits its limit. I more or less let the Repeator know that WE are working today and that his presence is not welcome if he is not. He leaves not long later and we resume with our labor intensive day.

That night Joe makes good on is blood oath and catches the food thief (the mouse) in the act. He stabs it with his knife and amazingly pins it to table. Joe's teeth bearing and lick lipping during this process unsettles me and I go and hide in my tent to avoid catching the jungle rabies I am convinced he has.

A Stranding Averted (Day 26)

Our last day of "vacation" and I am ready to head back upriver to the luxury of my tent and air mattress as straight ground sleeping here in Bameno is getting a little rough. Any notion of an early departure was exstinguished early when we discovered the river had dropped significantly in the night, leaving the huge canoe beached in the mud. Have to wait for river to rise so can depart.
Finally are able to leave Bameno around 2pm and our three hour trip upriver takes a turn for the uncomfortable when a cold downpour mercilessly drenches us in the canoe. First we try and hide from it, then try to embrace the ironically hypothermic feeling the rain is giving us by doing push ups and jumping jacks in the canoe. Otobo and his wife look at us with conviction that their suspicions of our craziness have been justified. These attempts to stave off the cold aren't quite successful and because the rain never stops the ride back is miserable. Problems compound as we run out of gas still a couple miles from home. Our predicament is a bit stark as sundown is not far off and the likely scenario would be Otobo hiking a couple miles back to camp through the forest while Joe and I stay near the river with his wife, newborn baby, and 2 year old child! More or less meaning that his wife Carmen would have to look after her children AND Joe and I. Luckily, Otobo found about 12 ounces of gas that took us within 500 yards of our camp. We then cut long branches and hand-poled are way upriver to the camp. Arrive wet, cold, and tired but we are excited to break open a packet of Thai spice mix that Sean gave us in Bameno. A good ending to a potentially disasterous day.

Day 25

Wake up with an aching body as sleeping on the ground has taken its toll. We stroll into the "house" that the Huao slept in the night before and Conan makes some pankake-ish cakes over the open fire. With nothing on the itinerary for the day, we decide to go see if we can pitch in over at the Huao women's craft expo. Susan, the Peace Corp volunteer puts us to work drilling holes into the seeds the women have gathered to make necklaces and other jewelry. The work is a little monotonous but it allows us to chat up Susan and trade stories about the Huaorani--she has many as her involvement in the PC has given her about a year and a half of experience living/working with them. Also talk to a North Cal man by the name of Sean, who with his wife is currently traveling along with their daughter (one of the Duke students). In talking with him, he had an activistic rhetoric that would normally motivate the devil's advocate harboring inside of me, although in his case his passion came off as genuine and original. His community-minded investments had led to him and another person purchasing and developing a whole main street in a small town called Lolito in Northern Californing. His descriptions of the Utopian-styled town inspired me to visit the place some day.
Later that day, the group of Duke students along some Huao who had departed to do some GPS mapping early in the morning had still not returned to the settlement by the approaching sundown even though they were supposed to have around noon. Their absence drew a bit of worry from many although I was surprised how calm Sean seemed to be with the fact that his wife and 19 year old daughter were potentially stranded/lost in the rainforest. Eventually as darkness had almost fully fell, the group showed up and attributed the problem to engine trouble or something like that.
Had another vegetable-rich meal for dinner and retired early to the sound of group of Huaorani laughing and chattering.

Day 24 (cont'd)

(my fraternity had this exact type of party when I was back in college)

Otobo has been strutting around Bameno with a bit of a confident step, which is not surprising as from the info gathered by us before and during this trip, apparently he is considering a leader amongst the Huaorani and many of the men actually fear him. Another possible reason that he is displaying some alpha-male behavior is that he recently informed me that he is currently on the look-out for another wife (polygamy was traditionally practiced by the Huaorani). When I asked him why, he explained that his wife Carmen does not do any cooking or other household activities. I tried to rationalize with him saying that many cultures are afflicted with these types of women—in fact it has become sort of a world-wide epidemic. I advised him not to pursue another wife, lest he fall victim to possessing two with the same disease.
The Repeator shows up in Bameno, fresh from his recent trip to The Outside. For the first time we are actually anxious to talk to him as we know he probably bears news from Tom and Mariela about when they are coming to The Inside to take us out of here. The Repeator’s news is a bit startling—he claims to have spoken with them and they stated that they are arriving on July 25th, which is a week earlier than their previously stated date of Aug 2. The Repeator is notoriously unreliable so we take this news with a grain of salt.

Later in the day Joe and I along with some of the Hauo men prepare food that has been brought in with the Huao women’s group—courtesy of them and the Peace Corps. We feel the need to lend a major hand in this preparation as we fully expect to consume and continue consuming the assortment of vegetables that they brought from The Outside. Joe and I have become more than adept in the art of scavenging.
That night after dinner, a group of Huaorani put on a show of their traditional dancing and singing. We have seen a bit of this before but the display is still quite interesting. After the show, non-tradition techno music is fired up on the generator run boom box and many of the Huao men are asking the gringo female visitors present to dance. Joe and I sense that it will be not long before we are forced to entertain on the dance floor, so we creep out the back of hut and head for out tent. While falling asleep in the tent we had two surprise visitors—the first was Otobo, who had purchased (at a high mark-up) three beers (of about 20 that were transported from the Outside to Bameno by other groups) and gave them to Joe and I, rewarding his faithful laborers. We excitedly polished off the beers in our tent, mostly with the thought they would help the process of sleeping straight on the hard ground. Our next visitor was a large monkey, who was seeking shelter from the drizzling rain in our tent flaps. At first we were resolved to let him hang there until he started to try and open the zippers to get in. As Joe and I had been with
without a female companion in some time, that monkey was in some serious danger so I decided to shoo him off before he fell for Joe's sweet-talking ability.

A Jungle Vacation--Bameno (Day 24)

Where do you go on vacation when you are living in the wilds of the Amazon?--the nearest settlement of course. Which for us is the Huaoarani community of Bameno (population 100), located about 2 hours downriver from us. When I say downriver, I mean that they are further away from the Outside in the geographical sense although they are closer to civilization figuratively, because they possess a landing strip for light aircraft and thus receive news/visitors often. This is to be where we will eventually fly out at the end of our stay although word from the Peace Corp volunteer Susan is that there is no jet-fuel for the bush planes due to current government restrictions---meaning two disturbing things. One--no plane=we may have make the horrendous 20 hour canoe ride out in a couple weeks. Two--if something should happen to us during our stay (snakebite, unrelenting crying espisode, etc) the possibility of rescue by plane is not possible. We hope this dirty rumor of no fuel turns out to be a jungle myth.
We do a little work on the cabins in the morning before Otobo arrives. When he does we know he too is excited about our trip to Bameno because he is dressed up Huaorani-style--cut-off collared shirt and Converse All-Star type shoes. Like country folks heading into town, we excitedly load up the canoe and Otobo, Carmen with the newborn and 2 year-old, Conan, Joe and I set off towards Bameno. On the ride down Otobo points out the head of a crocodile in the water, whose length he estimates at about 6 ft.
We arrive to a quite happening Bameno. People are everywhere--the Huao Women's group has set up a crafts workshop under the supervision of the Susan, there is a couple Duke students who came in with that group to start an GPS mapping project and there is a couple of tourists that are visiting the settlement. Almost immediately Otobo, Joe, and I get involved in a heated Ecua-Volley game (volleyball with more lax rules). The game is slightly comical, besides the fact that we are playing on a dirt court in the jungle there is a young Huaorani boy who emerges during the game with a whistle and starts officiating. He's got some guts as he immediately starts calling foot faults and other minor infractions. Joe is so impressed with is officiating abilities he talks of bringing the boy back to the States and grooming him to be the first Ecuadorian Major League Umpire.
The plus side of all the gringos present is there is bound to have some meat and possibly fresh veggies and other non-rice options. At lunch Joe and I do our best to get invited to eat with the other groups by hanging around the mess area. Joe summed up our situation poignantly when he said "it is pretty bad when we are begging for monkey soup."

(cont'd Day 23) THE HUNT

Although our B-movie-esque fantasy of a campsite full of girls was unfulfilled, the day took a turn for the exciting when Otobo stated that Joe and I were going to accompany his father, Omallave, on a hunt--something we had been jonesing to do since we arrived Inside. We are heading to one of the nearby salt licks, deep in the woods where much of the peccaries and birds feast and probably our greatest chance to encounter a jaguar. But for me, the main draw is just seeing Omallave in his element. Just him and his the tradition weapons of choice: the spear and blow-gun, which will hopefully not be used on me.

The trip inside the forest is to be just Joe and I with the Old Man as Otobo states that he is going to stay with the canoe along the river. As the Old Man only speaks Huao this marks the first time that Joe and I will be without at least a marginal means of communication, totally trusting Omallave to not lose us or get us killed by god knows what. During the course of the 1.5 hour hike in Omallave frequently stops, listening to sounds unheard to us, occassionaly smells the ground and leads us to what we hope will be the craziest thing our eyes have seen. His tracking skills remind me alot of my old roommate Matt Kopp in the midst of a buffet--smell, lick, and attack.

Eventually we reach the salt lick and the Old Man conveys in his best pantomiming that the pack of peccaries (sometimes numbering 200+) has left, which is a big disappointment to us but there is still a ton of macaws and other exotic birds that Omallave has his sights on.
Right before he advances on the birds with his blow-gun the Old Man strips off his BVDs and stalks around in only his Komi (a string around the waist which holds Mr. Johnson upright), which the Huao believe give them strength. I make a mental note to myself about this year's Halloween costume.

Omallave is using the poisen tipped darts, which once shot into the bird, take about a minute or two before it's effects fell the bird. While watching him silently creep around in search of a good shot, it is apparent that we are witnessing an activity largely unchanged in more than a thousand years of history. This feeling of awe is followed by the tinge of disappointment knowing that this type of primitive behavior may very well die with the Old Man.

While Omallave is shooting away, he is indicating that his eyesight is failing him and Joe and I act as spotters for him. In the back of my head, I am wondering if Otobo sent us out in the middle of nowhere with a blind man...

Eventually, Omallave makes a direct hit and we wait for the bird to fall, which it does with a load bang. It would have taken Joe and I hours to locate the fallen bird but the Old Man, using his 6th jungle sense finds it immediately.

On the way out of the jungle we encounter and briefly follow a group of monkeys, although we lose them before the Old Man can get close enough for a shot. Also hear what sounds like a freight train but is a pack of peccaries far off in the distance.

On the way out, it occurs to me that we have just had one of those experiences that will never be accurately conveyed with words, written or told. The weeks of fly swatting, ant attacks, and isolated existing has been made worth it in one single experience.

Here are two videos of Omallave stalking around the forest:

Days Twenty One, Two and Three

Great news!-I have been given a new lease on life, or to put it another way my IPOD is now working again. After spending the night caressing its metallic body and whispering desperate pleas in its ear, it came alive this afternoon after a small solar charge. My faith in a merciful Being has been restored--as to snatch away such a vital companion surely has to be the work of the devil.
Other signs from above---the tour company that had brought the German visitors last week has returned and their promise has been fulfilled--the guides showed up with two beers for us. Joe and I jumped up and down and praised Grerman reliability. Then we try our best at prolonging the experience by taking quarter sips of the beers. To enhance the euphoria we bring out some salsa we have been hoarding in the "bag-o-fun" only to discover a layer of mold inside the jar. After about a half-second of hesistation, Joe scoops out the mold and we proceed to finish off the precious substance. Never in my life has mold seemed such a non-factor.
After the days work, I convince Otobo to set up a rope swing near the "beach" area of our camp site. He easily scales an overhanging tree, ties the rope and we spend about 30 minutes horsing around. After each fall-in, I scramble out of the water with record speed to avoid the water monsters I perceive chasing me. My fear of underwater lurkers has to be further cast aside later when I jump in to try and salvage the two spoons I dropped in while washing the dishes from the safety of the canoe. My underwater rescue attempt is unsuccessful and I feel slightly guilty about potentially losing 2 of 10 eating utensils available.
At night, Joe and I stay up chatting with Otobo and his wife along with Conan. The three-languaged conversation proves pretty entertaining, mostly spent making fun of one another. Trash talking is a universally loved past-time.

Day Twenty two

When Conan returned the day before from his work stint with a tour group he had some pretty infected eyes. Today they seem worse and we are a little weary of picking up this mysterious ailment. Word on the street (or river) is that this problem is now going around at Bameno, the nearest settlement 2 hours downriver.
There was some good eating today as Conan made some flour cakes using the Ramen-noodle type seasoning. I also found two smooshed Fun-Size Snickers in the bottom of my backpack, which Joe and I devoured.
Later in the night, while already in our tents, a canoe goes by and we assume it to be the rumored boat of "gringo girls" that Otobo and Conan have been clamoring about the past week. They have explained that the group is coming as part of a traditional handicraft expo or something of the like. I fight the urge to tear out of my tent and try and latch onto their canoe.

Day Twenty-Three

Otobo and Conan show up early in a canoe from the main compound and excitedly exclaim that there is "30 gringo girls" up at the main compound and that we are postponing work so Joe and I can go gawk. The story sounds fishy but the remote possibility of such great fortune is worth investigating. We can't get to the canoe fast enought to get up there. After arriving, Joe and I notice the main lodge teeming with other Huao women, with no gringas in sight. It is painfully apparent that we have been had by Otobo and Conan but we still wait around for signs of any Western phermonal presence. Our stake-out results in meeting a Peace Corp volunteer, who is traveling with Huao women down to the Bameno settlement. She appears to speak some of the language and our brief chat with her nets little info on what exactly is going on other than their canoe arrived late last night and that they were lucky to have a full moon to guide them downriver.
Otobo scores a 3 liter of orange soda from the group and we head back to our worksite chugging it down. Otobo also announces that we will be heading to Bameno in a couple days to attend a festival there. I am excited by the prospect of a "vacation."

Day Twenty

Invasion! Woke up to ants everywhere--all over the floor around our tents, around the food, and on the clothes. Joe the Insect Assassin goes after them with a vengeance while we both wonder how this happened. Conan's absence and therefore lack of housecleaning (yes, even a dirt hut needs cleaning) must have led to the ant infiltration.

Otobo and the Pescadero show up, thankfully without the Repeator. The thatch roof on cabin #1 is getting wrapped up by those two, while Joe and I cut the site for cabin #2. Workday ends in a torrential downpour.

The dishwashing routine is finally breaking me. Today, after spending about 15 minutes scrubbing the pots and dishes in the river I tried to walk back up the muddy embankment, only to slip and re-dirty the dishes. My mental well-being further slackened when the roof leaked onto my ipod, which now appears to no longer work. I feel as if someone just shot my dog. I'm going to wait until after tomorrow's dose of solar power before I start officially grieving.

At night, I try to awaken my almost totally defunct sweet-tooth by attempting to make some skillet cookies. A sugar-rich solution somewhat resembling a batter is concocted and partially cooked, although Joe and I later ditch the cooking part and basically start eating the batter.

I go to bed with a sugar high that could rival a 7 year-olds after discovering the delicious bliss of Fun Dip.

Day Nineteen

Another Sunday-Funday---well, kindof. We worked on cabin #1 sans the Repeator and built the entry stairs and roof structure. For lunch we had some veggies that the German couple left us. After lunch, we cut out of work and floated down river with Otobo so he could show us one of the nearby salt licks--an area where many of the nearby animals congregate. Entering at the river's edge, we began a walk into the forest that ultimately produced us so far in that if we were to become seperated from Otobo it would surely result in our being lost--most likely for forever. For the first time I realize the feeling agoraphobes experience as we could essentially walk for days in any direction, ecountering the same looking trees and landscape, without emerging from the jungle or seeing any difference in topographic pattern. In other words, we would probably die. Otobo further drives this point home on the return hike to the river he asks Joe and I to see if we could find the path out, which solely consisted of the broken branches that we snapped on the way in for this very purpose. We were able to start in the right direction but after 15 steps or so, total disorientation prevailed. Luckily, Otobo's innate sense of direction would eventually provide our compass out.
While at the salt lick, we didnt have much luck with any animal sightings although we do hear a distant monkey howl and Otobo responds with his own call, which suprisingly the monkey responded to. We set out in search of him without any success of locating him.
Once back at the river, on a canoe without a motor, we painstakingly use 10 poles to push ourselves a mile upriver back to the worksite. At the worksite, Otobo's 2 year-old daughter Weecama, who up until now has been terrified of the bearded white giants that have been with her father, has started to slowly warm to our continued presence. This change of heart only occurred since we have taught her the game "Throw the stick at the gringo's head," which she does with amazing accuracy.