We started our third day in the rainforest with good things – a bunch of fish in the net for later, sloths stationed really close to the river, a few bufeo dolphins on the water. But then we had an accident – while we were passing under a low tree branch, Señora hit her head and fell in the water. She grabbed the branch to keep the current from dragging here along and climbed back into the boat with no problems.
But afterwards she had a wretched headache, and had gotten water in her ear. Señor was worried about her until we stopped for lunch, as was I. I gave her some of my ibuprofen for her headache, and she was incredibly grateful. I realized how much further off the beaten path we were than places we had been before. I realized that there might not be a pharmacy in Lagunas, and that Señora maybe couldn’t afford even mild, over-the-counter pain medicine if there is a pharmacy. I realized that it was a good thing that the Professor and I had our own first aid kit, because our guides’ kit probably consisted of what they could glean from the rainforest. Which I am sure is a lot, but apparently doesn’t include painkillers. Or mosquito repellent.
Things got better after we viewed an enormous tree in the middle of the flooded forest. Señora seemed happy to show us the tree, and was perkier. We even backed the canoe into its crevasses for photos, which unfortunately caused the Professor to get many, many bug bites. Señora had, the previous day, washed his clothes in the river (she offered), and we surmised that the vigorous scrubbing might have scrubbed out some of the built-in permethrin. But looking up at the giant trunk from between its buttressed roots was, in fact, very neat.
Heading back into the main river, we traveled on. We saw a hoatzin, a fascinating bird whose young retain two claw fingers on the bend of their wings (!) for clambering around on vegetation. They lose these claws when they mature, but still look awfully prehistoric. They only eat leaves, and smell bad, which saves them from human hunting.
When we were almost at the end of the day’s journey, a sound of a fountain of liquid caught our attention. We backed up the boat, and sure enough, it was a sloth hanging from a branch with only its two hands, noisily eliminating into the river while keeping its own person relatively tidy.
Sometimes, traveling on the river, I felt as though I was in the midst of an animated movie montage, probably Disney, where the heroine sings about how wonderful the world is, and the animators set out to dazzle you. I mean that it was a parade of macaws, parrots, butterflies and monkeys, with the occasional dolphin for a big crescendo. As we passed close to branches poking up out of the water, dozens of tiny vampire bats would fly away in a burst. It was magical.
Arriving at our destination, I think we were all a bit dismayed. It was a simple open-sided cabana in terrible repair. The thatched roof was falling apart. Fully half the boards were missing from the floor, fortunately all on one side of the structure. The other side was mostly solid, apart from a few iffy bits. Black-headed vultures and a hawk were congregated on the roof. They flew off when we approached. There was no dry land at all.
Señor cursed a bit, but said that the next cabana was too far away to make before dark. Cutting some wood to make a new beam, he rigged up a tarp to keep the rain off us for the night, and added some poles to be the tie points for our mosquito nets. Señora swept the bird droppings off the floor with a twig broom. We were to sleep on the two mattress pads under a mosquito net, while Señor and Señora slept on a blanket under another net.
For the first but far from the last time, I felt uncomfortable that these people almost 20 years our senior were doing all of the work and bearing much of the discomfort. But this was their job, and we were paying them. It was a quandary for me. We often offered to help out more, but they generally refused, and sometimes even stopped us when we attempted to help without asking permission.
Leaving our things at the cabana (except for my backpack, which I said was to lean on but was actually for my peace of mind), we rowed off to another oxbow lake where the beautiful La Victoria Reina water lilies grow. Their enormous leaves, which start out as fleshy purple buds that look like blossoms, are big enough to float a cat on. Even a big cat like Rudimouse Prime, aka Butterball Rudy, my fat creamsicle-colored fella back home. And the lake where they were was lovely, with patches of peridot-green water plants.
Clouds were piling up, and we began rowing quickly back to the cabana. The rain began, dazzling because the cloud cover was not complete, and the sun was setting. Everything was gold touched and full of watery light, and we were only a little damp when we made our shelter.
That night, I asked Señor if he knew more stories about the dolphins. He said he did, but the stories turned out to be a description of the traditional medicinal uses for dolphin body parts (they are apparently rarely hunted, but when they are, this is the purpose). The traditional medicinal uses amount to sympathetic magic to overcome male lack of confidence with women.
I told Señor that since he had told me that dolphins are like people, I felt sad for the dolphin’s parents, spouse, children and brothers and sisters. He agreed that it was “mucho peine” for the dolphin family – the same word Señora had used to describe the emotional anguish of the loss of their daughter.
– The Private Eye
The Professor and the Private Eye: Adventures Abroad 