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In Amazonas - 1998

In Amazonas - 1998

Jacek Pałkiewicz
2006-06-18 22:36:03

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top of four wooden poles. It wasn't much to look at, but it still offered the prospect of shelter. We would be able to cook something there and protect ourselves from the damp. We were still half a day's march short of the river which was our next objective.

I soon had to re-think this plan, however. There was no wood to be found that would burn. All the branches lying around were so soaked in damp and mould that the flames would not catch hold among them. All we produced were annoying clouds of billowing smoke, which did, at least, serve to drive the insects away.

As a result, we had to put with a supper of hard biscuits and salted cheese again. The salt is to prevent the cheese from fermenting. To give us a change of diet, the Indian guiding us offered us some seeds which were nearly as big as dates. He opened them and with a finger extracted fat, creamy white larvae which we were obliged to accept. They didn't taste too bad, but their revolting appearance made me want to throw up. To cut supper short we went to bed, retiring under the cover of our mosquito nets. Our guide continued to move around for a little while, throwing wood on the fire, which was still smoking, before he too turned in.
A stifled noise woke me up with a jolt. In the pitch darkness outside I intuited, rather than saw, several stooping figures scuttling around the hut. I broke out in cold sweat, which did, at least, give me a welcome respite from the humidity. At the same moment I realized that I had stupidly left my machete outside, wedged in a tree trunk. I had nothing larger than a multi-blade penknife to defend myself with. This error might easily have cost me my life. I had the sensation that our guide was also awake, but neither of us could make any move. We didn't know the intentions^ of the men, or how many of them there were. I guessed that they had been drawn to our camp by the smell of woodsmoke. I cursed my mosquito-net which has always been a faithful companion but which was now an obstacle as I thrashed about, trying to get out of bed. It was like being in a giant sweet-paper. In the dark I thought I saw the gleam of a blade. I threw myself to one side just as a body flung itself on to my hammock. "We're being robbed!" I yelled at the top of my voice waking everybody up with a start.

At once the intruders retreated. "They were gringos" our guide said. "They made too much noise", he added disparagingly. The following morning, in fact, we saw a number of boot-prints around our camp, proof enough that the would-be thieves had been white men, since the Indians go barefoot. Perhaps they were garrimpeiros, desperate vagabonds who have nothing to lose by robbing strangers. Mr. Fixit said: "Imagine the headlines in the papers: Robbed in the Jungle!".

Being robbed is fair enough in London or New York, but here! In the Amazon, where being ripped apart by a ferocious animal is an everyday threat, being robbed would have offended my sense of adventure.