When the coach set off from the 'rest stop' it had gained two passengers, a machete caressing, bare-
chested, slight fellow, and his chainsaw.
"Alfredo is here he will help us in the forest. He brings his little saw because trees they are always
falling across the road."
There were two inaccuracies, at least, in that statement. Firstly the saw, in all of its greasy ferocity, was a large Husqvana with a 36 inch bar. This is not described in their catalogue as a 'hobby' or 'little' saw. In the hands of an expert it could fell trees up to seven or eight feet in diameter. The second exaggeration was the use of the word road. The 'widened path' was as much like a road as a nail file is like the aforementioned chainsaw. Roads are usually wider than the vehicles that pass along them: even the road from Ittinge to Bavinge meets this criteria (most of the year). The majority of roads, even with council cuts, do not have pot holes filled with stagnant water teeming with Anopheles mosquito larvae and equally most roads do not require the presence of a human brush-cutter and tree feller such as was riding shotgun on the coach.
After a mile or two the coach lurched to a halt and the fellow leapt to his feet, crossed himself, kissed the blade of his machete and left the coach to do battle with an obstruction. Those in the front seats could see what was happening, those less privileged could not. Those in the latter group who possessed imaginations could only sit and interpret the sound track to the slasher movie that was being reinacted ahead. Repeated thwacks of machete on wood interspersed with the swish of the blade passing cleanly through a limb rang out in the forest. Each was accompanied by a scream or yell of an intensity and terror that could only be equalled by the effect of the appearance of a sirloin steak in a vegetarian restaurant.
The human clearing saw returned to the coach, crossed himself once more and kissed his machete, triumphant without even a hint of perspiration. The coach moved forward and window after window revealed to passenger after passenger the carnage that had resulted from his efforts. There, at the side of the road, with sap dripping as blood from many severed limbs lay the butchered remains of a once magnificent, imperious, rain-forest - shrub. Alfredo stood in the aisle at the front of the bus, grinning a sparsely toothed grin and nodding much as brave St George once nodded to the fair lady as he stood with one foot on the dragon's lifeless neck.
The next stop required the mighty Husqvana which roared and whined like an angry motorbike for five minutes. Alfredo summoned George and they cursed and yelled for another five minutes. They re- boarded the coach, Alfredo crossed himself but failed to kiss the saw. Clearly they were just good friends and would not encroach on the love that Alfredo and machete shared. The coach pulled forward and rows of passengers waited anxiously to see the remains of a bush perhaps or large herbaceous plant. By the side of the track were barely rollable sections of a huge forest tree. The gap between the severed ends just sufficient for the coach to inch between. A few more miles and the journey was over.
Standing by the coach which filled the space between the forest walls, the guide briefed the group. "We walk very slowly. We stay very quiet - no talk. Wildlife, he hear us coming and run like, you say, a greasy light. Keep seeing the peoples in front of yous. OK we go now," and he and Alfredo disappeared, at speed, into the forest where there was no discernible gap. Magicians carry out tricks that sometimes baffle even the most observant - this was better than the best of the magicians.
George reappeared out of a solid wall of vegetation like a spectre passing through a wall. Auntie commented, "There must be a door." Passengers laughed ands George looked unhappy.
"You listens again. You must follow close. Is dangerous you get lost. You get lost, you die, George lose his job." His concern for the welfare of the group was touching.
"Then show us where the track leaves the road.," demanded Mrs tomato face.
"Is here, look is here," said George with the tone of tired parent, at the end of his tether, saying "Because I say so."
He parted some lush foliage and revealed a narrow, feint path. Tropical rain forests either heal or fester and here, the wound that was the entrance to the trail had healed with fresh growth since the last party passed that way. Once inside the forest the humidity was higher than a glass of water and the temperature, burning outside, became oppressive like an additional burden for each trekker to
There were two inaccuracies, at least, in that statement. Firstly the saw, in all of its greasy ferocity, was a large Husqvana with a 36 inch bar. This is not described in their catalogue as a 'hobby' or 'little' saw. In the hands of an expert it could fell trees up to seven or eight feet in diameter. The second exaggeration was the use of the word road. The 'widened path' was as much like a road as a nail file is like the aforementioned chainsaw. Roads are usually wider than the vehicles that pass along them: even the road from Ittinge to Bavinge meets this criteria (most of the year). The majority of roads, even with council cuts, do not have pot holes filled with stagnant water teeming with Anopheles mosquito larvae and equally most roads do not require the presence of a human brush-cutter and tree feller such as was riding shotgun on the coach.
After a mile or two the coach lurched to a halt and the fellow leapt to his feet, crossed himself, kissed the blade of his machete and left the coach to do battle with an obstruction. Those in the front seats could see what was happening, those less privileged could not. Those in the latter group who possessed imaginations could only sit and interpret the sound track to the slasher movie that was being reinacted ahead. Repeated thwacks of machete on wood interspersed with the swish of the blade passing cleanly through a limb rang out in the forest. Each was accompanied by a scream or yell of an intensity and terror that could only be equalled by the effect of the appearance of a sirloin steak in a vegetarian restaurant.
The human clearing saw returned to the coach, crossed himself once more and kissed his machete, triumphant without even a hint of perspiration. The coach moved forward and window after window revealed to passenger after passenger the carnage that had resulted from his efforts. There, at the side of the road, with sap dripping as blood from many severed limbs lay the butchered remains of a once magnificent, imperious, rain-forest - shrub. Alfredo stood in the aisle at the front of the bus, grinning a sparsely toothed grin and nodding much as brave St George once nodded to the fair lady as he stood with one foot on the dragon's lifeless neck.
The next stop required the mighty Husqvana which roared and whined like an angry motorbike for five minutes. Alfredo summoned George and they cursed and yelled for another five minutes. They re- boarded the coach, Alfredo crossed himself but failed to kiss the saw. Clearly they were just good friends and would not encroach on the love that Alfredo and machete shared. The coach pulled forward and rows of passengers waited anxiously to see the remains of a bush perhaps or large herbaceous plant. By the side of the track were barely rollable sections of a huge forest tree. The gap between the severed ends just sufficient for the coach to inch between. A few more miles and the journey was over.
Standing by the coach which filled the space between the forest walls, the guide briefed the group. "We walk very slowly. We stay very quiet - no talk. Wildlife, he hear us coming and run like, you say, a greasy light. Keep seeing the peoples in front of yous. OK we go now," and he and Alfredo disappeared, at speed, into the forest where there was no discernible gap. Magicians carry out tricks that sometimes baffle even the most observant - this was better than the best of the magicians.
George reappeared out of a solid wall of vegetation like a spectre passing through a wall. Auntie commented, "There must be a door." Passengers laughed ands George looked unhappy.
"You listens again. You must follow close. Is dangerous you get lost. You get lost, you die, George lose his job." His concern for the welfare of the group was touching.
"Then show us where the track leaves the road.," demanded Mrs tomato face.
"Is here, look is here," said George with the tone of tired parent, at the end of his tether, saying "Because I say so."
He parted some lush foliage and revealed a narrow, feint path. Tropical rain forests either heal or fester and here, the wound that was the entrance to the trail had healed with fresh growth since the last party passed that way. Once inside the forest the humidity was higher than a glass of water and the temperature, burning outside, became oppressive like an additional burden for each trekker to
carry. Sweat pores opened like taps and clothes clung like a second skin. Little light reached the forest
floor and a few moments were needed for eyes to acclimatise before anything could be discerned.
"We walk this way, now please."
The party moved off in single file along the narrow path that dodged between the aggressively thorned trunks of palms and young trees waiting for a gap to appear in the canopy when they would fight for the light against each other and piggy-backing vines and lianes. A similarly savage competition took place between the walkers as people tried to jostle for a place near the front and the attention of George and Alfredo. Survival of the fittest became survival of the rudest until the line was divided into three distinct groups. The first, still jostling each other, close behind George and able to hear his commentary. The second, politer group, doggedly trying to catch up with the leaders when they stopped for George to address the group. When they managed to catch up before George had finished his explanation they found that the first group had formed a tight cordon around the object of interest, obscuring it from view. More often they caught up with the lead group just as George set off once more. The third group nearly caught up with the others at George's first stop but while searching for whatever might have been the point of interest all the others disappeared from sight. The track was obvious in places if only two feet wide while at other points it was obscured by fallen branches or lianes. The choices were plain. Trying to retrace steps to the coach was feasible as by that time the group had only ventured a hundred yards into the forest. The second possibility was to stay put and hope that at some point George would count the group, discover that he was missing three members of his party and send Alfredo to guide them onwards. The chosen option was to press on having spotted that at intervals a small, discoloured plastic strip had been tied to a stem by the side of the track. The group of three, a botanist, an oceanographer and an entomologist made good progress, locating most of the plastic strips easily and only twice having to fan out to discover strips that in one case had fallen by the side of the trail and in the other was tied to a stem in an area that was so dark it was almost invisible. The greater delay was caused by the discovery of things that induced wonder. Ants, an inch long with crisp black and white chequer board patterns on their back climbing trees with a white powdery fungus on their bark that smelled of sweet vanilla. A palm tree with six inch needle sharp thorns arranged in downward pointing rings every foot along its trunk. They found a rubber tree that George must have used to illustrate the production of latex as the small wound still bled a white tear which had attracted a small group of exquisite bees, metallic blue even in the dull forest light. Above their heads noises betrayed a small group of howler monkeys, just movements in the canopy while in a clearing formed by a fallen tree a shaft of sunlight was pointed out a basking green iguana. The wary beast looked with cold eyes at the three intruders and determined that it was age to stay. Whispered conversation between the three agreed that he had just regained his perch after being dislodged by the passage of the mob. From time to time a scuttling in the leaf litter to either side of the path revealed unseen animals and occasionally a crashing with human voices indicated that the others were still ahead.
In another clearing a pair of black and brilliant yellow birdwing butterflies swooped and danced at speeds that defied the camera. They were joined by small fritillaries and then high up in the vertical tunnel of light an electric flash of blue returning to black as hand sized wings closed only to astonish again as the wings flapped open and caught the sun. The next clearing, like a tall thin aquarium filled with light held orange butterflies dancing above three heads, each filled with awe and wonder.
After an hour and half the group was reconstituted, George having paused to deliver a lecture about a buttressed tree. The three arrived just as the lecture drew to a close and George invited all to sip some water. Some had, of course, finished their water long ago.
"Is there anywhere we can get some more water?"
The question was ignored while most sipped luke warm mineral water. Quietly the red faced woman walked across to where the disconsolate, waterless folk gathered and produced a spare bottle from her pack which was grasped perhaps a little too eagerly but at least with spoken thanks. The donor looked up and saw that she had been spotted, walked over and said, "I really am sorry you know. I probably read too many lurid thrillers."
"Apology accepted, of course. That was a generous act, giving away your spare water bottle.
"Oh I always carry a spare on excursions - there are always some who guzzle their water in the first few minutes."
Someone told George that he had lost part of the group.
"We walk this way, now please."
The party moved off in single file along the narrow path that dodged between the aggressively thorned trunks of palms and young trees waiting for a gap to appear in the canopy when they would fight for the light against each other and piggy-backing vines and lianes. A similarly savage competition took place between the walkers as people tried to jostle for a place near the front and the attention of George and Alfredo. Survival of the fittest became survival of the rudest until the line was divided into three distinct groups. The first, still jostling each other, close behind George and able to hear his commentary. The second, politer group, doggedly trying to catch up with the leaders when they stopped for George to address the group. When they managed to catch up before George had finished his explanation they found that the first group had formed a tight cordon around the object of interest, obscuring it from view. More often they caught up with the lead group just as George set off once more. The third group nearly caught up with the others at George's first stop but while searching for whatever might have been the point of interest all the others disappeared from sight. The track was obvious in places if only two feet wide while at other points it was obscured by fallen branches or lianes. The choices were plain. Trying to retrace steps to the coach was feasible as by that time the group had only ventured a hundred yards into the forest. The second possibility was to stay put and hope that at some point George would count the group, discover that he was missing three members of his party and send Alfredo to guide them onwards. The chosen option was to press on having spotted that at intervals a small, discoloured plastic strip had been tied to a stem by the side of the track. The group of three, a botanist, an oceanographer and an entomologist made good progress, locating most of the plastic strips easily and only twice having to fan out to discover strips that in one case had fallen by the side of the trail and in the other was tied to a stem in an area that was so dark it was almost invisible. The greater delay was caused by the discovery of things that induced wonder. Ants, an inch long with crisp black and white chequer board patterns on their back climbing trees with a white powdery fungus on their bark that smelled of sweet vanilla. A palm tree with six inch needle sharp thorns arranged in downward pointing rings every foot along its trunk. They found a rubber tree that George must have used to illustrate the production of latex as the small wound still bled a white tear which had attracted a small group of exquisite bees, metallic blue even in the dull forest light. Above their heads noises betrayed a small group of howler monkeys, just movements in the canopy while in a clearing formed by a fallen tree a shaft of sunlight was pointed out a basking green iguana. The wary beast looked with cold eyes at the three intruders and determined that it was age to stay. Whispered conversation between the three agreed that he had just regained his perch after being dislodged by the passage of the mob. From time to time a scuttling in the leaf litter to either side of the path revealed unseen animals and occasionally a crashing with human voices indicated that the others were still ahead.
In another clearing a pair of black and brilliant yellow birdwing butterflies swooped and danced at speeds that defied the camera. They were joined by small fritillaries and then high up in the vertical tunnel of light an electric flash of blue returning to black as hand sized wings closed only to astonish again as the wings flapped open and caught the sun. The next clearing, like a tall thin aquarium filled with light held orange butterflies dancing above three heads, each filled with awe and wonder.
After an hour and half the group was reconstituted, George having paused to deliver a lecture about a buttressed tree. The three arrived just as the lecture drew to a close and George invited all to sip some water. Some had, of course, finished their water long ago.
"Is there anywhere we can get some more water?"
The question was ignored while most sipped luke warm mineral water. Quietly the red faced woman walked across to where the disconsolate, waterless folk gathered and produced a spare bottle from her pack which was grasped perhaps a little too eagerly but at least with spoken thanks. The donor looked up and saw that she had been spotted, walked over and said, "I really am sorry you know. I probably read too many lurid thrillers."
"Apology accepted, of course. That was a generous act, giving away your spare water bottle.
"Oh I always carry a spare on excursions - there are always some who guzzle their water in the first few minutes."
Someone told George that he had lost part of the group.
"It is very dangerous to go off like that. Very bad. Now we walk with George at front and Alfredo at the
back. Make sure you stay together."
Alfredo spun his machete in his hand as a tennis player would his racquet.
As George set off the jostlers, jostled, the strugglers struggled and the three miscreants gave occasional glances over their shoulders to see the machete catching any shafts of sun. George stopped every 50 yards or so and explained about some aspect of forest life. Another rubber tree, a tree with huge buttress roots produced to provide stability on the thin forest soils, bromeliads and other things of interest, all interpreted without passion; knowledge without passion. The walk was interesting nonetheless even if unscheduled stops were made by the three to examine filigrees of fungus, lines of leaf-cutter ants or a huge yellow and black banded caterpillar, the size of a generous banger. Each of these stops was greeted by a series of guttural noise from deep in Alfredo's throat. His lips did not move and the noises were unrecognisable as Portuguese or English but the meaning was clear and the tone as friendly as cornered adder.
After two and a half hours the group broke through the black-out curtain of vegetation and emerged onto the path just ahead of the coach.
"It's a shame that we didn't see any animals," bemoaned the chief jostler
"Oh we saw some ants and .."
"Not things like that, butterflies, birds, deer or reptiles."
"We saw five or six species of butterflies and an iguana as well."
"Where were they? George didn't show them to us."
"No it was when we fell behind the group at the beginning."
"Yes, they were wonderful and we caught a glimpse of some howler monkeys."
"We heard those," said the jostler resentfully.
"Well sometime sit's best to be right at the back."
Just then another scintillating morpho butterfly flashed its metallic blue as it flew behind her back. "Look, there behind you."
"Too late now, I wanted to see these things in the jungle."
"And worse," added her handsome and perfectly dressed husband. They both wore Versace sunglasses and sun hats that must have come on board in hat boxes. His a perfect, high domed panama (but not a 'folder') and her's a similar hat but in a planters style with an intricately embroidered band and an understated feather to the left.
"That's right much worse," he repeated in an accent that had its deep tap root somewhere near Byker Hill. A Geordie accent as thick as the Angel of the North is wide and almost as impenetrable.
Her floral, fine silk sun dress was picked at by an impertinent breeze which finally tired of teasing and lifted it high enough to reveal a skimpy bikini bottom. She blushed.
"Shit," she said in an accent as thick as his, "come on Barry, back to the ship, I've had enough of this stinking hole."
Alfredo spun his machete in his hand as a tennis player would his racquet.
As George set off the jostlers, jostled, the strugglers struggled and the three miscreants gave occasional glances over their shoulders to see the machete catching any shafts of sun. George stopped every 50 yards or so and explained about some aspect of forest life. Another rubber tree, a tree with huge buttress roots produced to provide stability on the thin forest soils, bromeliads and other things of interest, all interpreted without passion; knowledge without passion. The walk was interesting nonetheless even if unscheduled stops were made by the three to examine filigrees of fungus, lines of leaf-cutter ants or a huge yellow and black banded caterpillar, the size of a generous banger. Each of these stops was greeted by a series of guttural noise from deep in Alfredo's throat. His lips did not move and the noises were unrecognisable as Portuguese or English but the meaning was clear and the tone as friendly as cornered adder.
After two and a half hours the group broke through the black-out curtain of vegetation and emerged onto the path just ahead of the coach.
"It's a shame that we didn't see any animals," bemoaned the chief jostler
"Oh we saw some ants and .."
"Not things like that, butterflies, birds, deer or reptiles."
"We saw five or six species of butterflies and an iguana as well."
"Where were they? George didn't show them to us."
"No it was when we fell behind the group at the beginning."
"Yes, they were wonderful and we caught a glimpse of some howler monkeys."
"We heard those," said the jostler resentfully.
"Well sometime sit's best to be right at the back."
Just then another scintillating morpho butterfly flashed its metallic blue as it flew behind her back. "Look, there behind you."
"Too late now, I wanted to see these things in the jungle."
---OOO---
Heat pervaded everything on the coach as it passed between deforested areas growing soya for export
and other areas of poor vegetation that followed soya once it had exhausted what little goodness the
soil held. Kickadees, a tropic bird and several black vultures heralded the return to the ship where the
hot and soaked group disembarked tipping George as is the custom. Some did not and it occurred that
it would be ironic if they were the jostlers - that selfishness that led them to compete for first place and
being able to hear the guide was the same selfishness that would make them ungenerous in fact as well
as spirit.
---OOO---
The remaining hours in Santarem allowed enough time to walk into the town centre along the baking
waterfront. A couple from the ship were overtaken about a third of the way along the route into town.
"Don't bother, there's nothing interesting there. We went right to the middle of town and it was so
poor it was horrid." The slight hook in her nose seemed to strengthen as she turned up her nose. "And
there's dog mess everywhere."
"And worse," added her handsome and perfectly dressed husband. They both wore Versace sunglasses and sun hats that must have come on board in hat boxes. His a perfect, high domed panama (but not a 'folder') and her's a similar hat but in a planters style with an intricately embroidered band and an understated feather to the left.
"That's right much worse," he repeated in an accent that had its deep tap root somewhere near Byker Hill. A Geordie accent as thick as the Angel of the North is wide and almost as impenetrable.
Her floral, fine silk sun dress was picked at by an impertinent breeze which finally tired of teasing and lifted it high enough to reveal a skimpy bikini bottom. She blushed.
"Shit," she said in an accent as thick as his, "come on Barry, back to the ship, I've had enough of this stinking hole."
Along the shore riverboats were being repaired, re-painted and re-victualled. Passengers awaiting
trips to Manaus and beyond milled around on bleached landing stages. Some with carrier bags of
luggage, others with matching Samsonite cases (famed for their water resistance) but all with the
ubiquitous hammock which would be their bed for the journey that might last a day or a week. Every
walk of life was there. A man with a bamboo cage of chickens and a box of essentials shaded by his
hammock was chatting to a whisper thin girl in stylish, fashionable clothes and sitting on her leather
luggage: the peasant and the model.
Along the shore line, between the boats, great egrets invigilated, stark white against the muddy waters and drifting debris. Above, black headed vultures circled on rocketing thermals while others hopped bad tempered along the pavement, rested and then with a scowl as approached hopped another yard or two. A few young men stood with polystyrene boxes filled with fish and ice hoping for a sale. Behind them two more were fishing with a long net. The first remained on the shore with one end of the net while his partner took the other end and paddled himself in an inflated inner tube in a half circle returning to shore still wearing the ring. They pulled in the net and as it reached the shore, the now small semi-circle of enclosed water glistened and writhed, flashing scaly silvers. The three or four fish were gathered up and delivered to their final bath of ice.
Golden orioles flashed by and cormorants, like long-necked curates prayed for fish from their pulpit on a grounded log. More tropic birds flew by and a bright yellow flycatcher darted into the air to secure its meal. Old men sat smoking in groups in patches of tree drawn shade on the sea wall watched life go by in the afternoon heat.
From the foreshore the far bank of the river could not be seen and with small waves breaking on the sand and mud it was impossible not to believe that the water would be salt, even though Santarem is 200 miles from the sea. The scale is unimaginable.
The camera, fresh from the chill of the air-conditioned cabin ran with condensation and was left on a locker to warm while a first circuit reconnaissance was completed. On completing the lap there was no camera. Ships are closed systems making theft most unlikely and a probable explanation was that some kind soul had presumed the camera to have been forgotten and had handed it into reception. At the moment of departure to collect the camera a seven inch wide, pink and yellow hawk moth landed on the deck head by the locker.
"Hello, sir, can I help you?"
"Has someone handed in a camera in the last few minutes, please?"
"Ah yes sir," and she bent down to recover the camera from a shelf beneath the counter.
She re-appeared with a small Sony camera.
"Oh dear, that's not my camera."
"Not your camera? But sort, it was handed in a minute ago."
"I'm looking for a much bigger camera with a large, white lens and that isn't it unless it's shrunk."
She bent down again and came up with a Canon camera and telephoto lens.
"Ah, that's it."
"You please sign for it."
"Of course."
Paperwork complete it was good to discover that the hawk moth was still there so camera raised it was a disappointment that the chill of reception had cooled the lens and condensation won once more. The moth, avoiding publicity, flew away before the lens had warmed.
Along the shore line, between the boats, great egrets invigilated, stark white against the muddy waters and drifting debris. Above, black headed vultures circled on rocketing thermals while others hopped bad tempered along the pavement, rested and then with a scowl as approached hopped another yard or two. A few young men stood with polystyrene boxes filled with fish and ice hoping for a sale. Behind them two more were fishing with a long net. The first remained on the shore with one end of the net while his partner took the other end and paddled himself in an inflated inner tube in a half circle returning to shore still wearing the ring. They pulled in the net and as it reached the shore, the now small semi-circle of enclosed water glistened and writhed, flashing scaly silvers. The three or four fish were gathered up and delivered to their final bath of ice.
Golden orioles flashed by and cormorants, like long-necked curates prayed for fish from their pulpit on a grounded log. More tropic birds flew by and a bright yellow flycatcher darted into the air to secure its meal. Old men sat smoking in groups in patches of tree drawn shade on the sea wall watched life go by in the afternoon heat.
From the foreshore the far bank of the river could not be seen and with small waves breaking on the sand and mud it was impossible not to believe that the water would be salt, even though Santarem is 200 miles from the sea. The scale is unimaginable.
---OOO---
After dinner is was time to patrol the deck as the ship made her way between an island and the
southern shore. Clouds of crickets, moths and beetles arrived on board and gathered busily around the
lights.The camera, fresh from the chill of the air-conditioned cabin ran with condensation and was left on a locker to warm while a first circuit reconnaissance was completed. On completing the lap there was no camera. Ships are closed systems making theft most unlikely and a probable explanation was that some kind soul had presumed the camera to have been forgotten and had handed it into reception. At the moment of departure to collect the camera a seven inch wide, pink and yellow hawk moth landed on the deck head by the locker.
"Hello, sir, can I help you?"
"Has someone handed in a camera in the last few minutes, please?"
"Ah yes sir," and she bent down to recover the camera from a shelf beneath the counter.
She re-appeared with a small Sony camera.
"Oh dear, that's not my camera."
"Not your camera? But sort, it was handed in a minute ago."
"I'm looking for a much bigger camera with a large, white lens and that isn't it unless it's shrunk."
She bent down again and came up with a Canon camera and telephoto lens.
"Ah, that's it."
"You please sign for it."
"Of course."
Paperwork complete it was good to discover that the hawk moth was still there so camera raised it was a disappointment that the chill of reception had cooled the lens and condensation won once more. The moth, avoiding publicity, flew away before the lens had warmed.
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