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."