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February, 1975. Somewhere in Amazonia…202Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡfuXEJ48MMR
We were living in the jungle, far away from everything. Our everyday friends were monkeys, lizards and an amazing array of birds of every color imaginable and of course, the caimans.202Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡZ73GtvfYLr
Humidity was very high, so we were always sweating. Rafael had the most experience, having been in other jungles and being too tired to talk, I just copied his moves. In this case it was mud. He covered every visible part of his flesh with it and I immediately did the same. Mosquito protection. Ronnie, his brother, has been napping for two hours.
Still breathing. All good.
We picked up a map and after conferring for a couple of minutes, we both cracked a smile of satisfaction. We have made great progress which brought a mix of satisfaction and excitement that I remember to this day.
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We sailed from Argentina where the political situation became intolerable and everyone, especially the young, were living day by day, never knowing when that day would be the last. The repression by the military juntas was suffocating and constant. Everybody was suspicious. Everyone was subversive. There were never any defense lawyers, trials or juries. People just disappeared. If you wanted to continue living, your best bet was to get out. Pack a few items, throw them in a backpack and leave the country. And that was exactly what we did.
--Get up, Ronnie!, shouted Rafa. It must've startled him, as always, his deep blue eyes almost popping out of his skull. Ronnie always thought the end of the world was coming when he heard loud noises, but only when they woke him up. It was kinda funny, really.
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Our immediate destination was unknown since we didn't even know where we were (with any real precision)...but we knew we had to keep on going.
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Rivers or just wide streams were always a problem. We had to cross them before dark so we could spend the night in the next village. Unfortunately for us but great for the fishermen, these small rivers were everywhere.
Since going back was not an option, we had to think quickly.
Our options weren't abundant just like our food rations weren't. The best bet was always the Chinese boatman, "el Chino". For a few coins, he'd take us across. For a few more, he wouldn't go the opposite way to run some errand he just made up to squeeze more of a profit. Ronnie knew them well, having lived in Sao Paulo's Chinatown for years. He was in charge of the persuasion.
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They were, probably --looking in retrospect-- the best times, the best years of my younger life. We managed with what we had, which wasn't much. A tent, a sleeping bag, a backpack, mosquito repellents, malaria pills, and plenty of water.
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I tried to keep a diary, but some of the pages got wet and broke off. I ended up with spare notes which I figured I'd edit later, assuming I survived the ordeal. Rafa handed me the hood of one of the ponchos to use as a "waterproof" container.
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The countries the three of us "visited" were sometimes a total surprise as we crossed invisible borders designated by plants and trees of the exact same kind. And the monkeys all spoke the same language, easy as pie to understand. We got used to knowing what the mood was by the kind of sounds they made. Sometimes we realized trouble among them was imminent, especially when --just like us-- the chattering got faster and exponentially louder. After that, it wouldn't be long.
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But no, no visible borders in the middle of the Amazon jungle. So, we hitchhiked from Porto Alegre in Brazil to a French speaking colony named Cayenne, traversing the entire Amazon covered savannah in the process. From there, there was no other way but North since anything civilized was by the coast. So, we ended up in a Papiamento-speaking nation (a Dutch/aboriginal dialect) in Suriname to outright English in Guyana. No customs, no passport checking and certainly no visas.
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--What do you mean we already crossed the border?-- we asked in broken English to the fisherman carrying his load.
I pointed at a location on the map. He pointed back at the big letters that read: "Guyana".
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So. It looks like we had indeed…
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--Onward to Georgetown!, Ronnie happily houled.
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As it turned out…we made it around five countries in less than a month, all the way from Buenos Aires in Argentina. Again, hitchhiking.
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We kept on going until we hit the main road. We just were in the small bush path and now we are in Big Daddy. So, we didn't think they were borders but it turns out they were. The big soldiers that guarded it and encountered us by the side of the road made sure we understood that. And now is, of course, --Papers, passport, papers!!!...
--okay, no problem, sir, I said, overwhelmed.
The only problem was that none of us spoke their language as it was, like i said, a dialect that didn't sound like anything we ever heard before.
Rafa said we have to manage through sign language and kind manners.
That didn't work very well. These were huge guys, probably conscripted soldiers that didn't want to be there any more than we did but had to.
The one in charge wanted to know where are our Visa documents were to come into the country, and he wants to know what kind of money we have to travel around the country.
White folks, he figured, --American Express?" I let out a laugh rather unintentionally that I'll regret forever. I thought it was the funniest think at the time and probably was, considering our circumstances. He didn't agree. At all. The butt stroke off his rifle was so strong I thought he broke my back. My "brothers" picked me up while trying to calm him by repeatedly saying "sorry" and I'm puking my guts out.
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Of course he wanted a bribe but since we had none to give him, that made him even more angry. He wanted to know how we're going to get out of the country. In what plane or bus would we leave? Ticket out? What ticket? We didn't have any of that, I tried to explain that to him to the best of our abilities, but let's face it, the man wasn't very happy with me saying that I didn't understand.
It got so bad that at one point he shoves his enormous fist in front of me and he screams, --Do you understand this?!?--
I suddenly realized that I better talk to this man with utmost respect unless I wanted to pay consequences and they didn't look like they were going to be very good. So Rafael looked at me, I looked at Ronnie, and Ronnie looked back at Raphael. Like telling each other with our eyes only: "Do something!"
We were in a little jam and we needed to figure a way to get out of it. Like a plan B, except we didn't even have a plan A!
Since we didn't have any of the documentation that he wanted, or money to offer, we needed to think of something else. Quickly.
Time to showcase Italian drama. We exchanged three or four code words between us and we opened the food gates. To drive him crazy. And that we did. We needed to plead with the man and explain our situation, telling him that we were just Globetrotters, and that we would be getting out of the country as soon as we could travel. That we will do that so fast his head will spin. That we have been broke since we could remember, hungry, thirsty and now scared to death. That there's no way back for us, we wouldn't even know how. It'd be literally impossible.
--Please, help us, we know you have a heart!--
The man looked lost, a huge question mark for expression and his colleagues no better. Even worse, they didn't understand a word we were saying.
All of us at once, each with our own spin. A plea for mercy with a Greek tragedy twist. When he lifted his hands to grab his head, we knew we had him. He finally ordered us to be quiet. --Enough!!"-- he shouted. --Enough, enough, enough!!!-- as he left the room. 10 long minutes went by. We are nervous as we imagine the worst, being deported. Having done all that for nothing. Our hopes and dreams dashed and crushed.
When he returned, he instructed one of his soldiers to do something with us which of course we couldn't decipher. Before we know it, we find ourselves in this big bus with a driver and no one else and back into a small road in the jungle. No one told us where we were going. We have no passports because he kept everything and here we are in the middle of nowhere going into who knows where. But hey, at least we were in the road again. That was the most important thing and the familiar smells of the jungle were somehow comforting, refreshing, assuring. Not only that, but we were also heading north, thankfully North. They could have easily gotten rid of us, nobody would care, there'd be no questions asked. No consequences or repercussions. And we were criminals sneaking into a foreign nation without proper documentation.
They could have made us disappear without a trace. We're sweating bullets; the driver was no help and made the intrigue worse. We tried to ask him a few questions but I don't think he understood a single word. He wasn't being unfriendly or menacing in any way but he wasn't saying anything that would give us a small hint of what he or others were going to do. Or where was he taking us. And why only one driver? He was a soldier and had a side arm but we were three. He was just one and driving. Even if we succeeded in overpowering him, one look around told you all you'd need to know. There was no place to go. And the jails in these countries wouldn't be too advantageous for one's health.
That option was quickly voted down.
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Finally we reached something that looked like a big city, at least lots of traffic coming and going and lots of pollution and noise.
Just five minutes ago we were in the middle of the jungle. Now we're in a very bustling city and we don't even know the name of it. We found out soon enough. We are in Panamaribo, the capital of Suriname. The bus driver came to a southern stop right in front of a hotel. He turned around, gave us $50 USD, our passports and told us, simply, go. --Go, go go!--
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We didn't know what to make of it but we figured, yeah, they're letting us go!. Let's do exactly that. No questions. Don't say anything except for thank you, get down from the bus quietly, and mix into the crowd.
So we did.
We couldn't believe it, we really couldn't believe it. We jumped, danced and hugged each other like crazy maniacs in the middle of the street. People walking by didn't know what to make out of it but they smiled at us, almost as if they knew what we just went through.
They saw three hippies dancing, shouting and hugging and didn't have a clue why but they were happy with us or for us. I'll never forget that moment.
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North. That's all we had to do, just keep going…
Rafa made the observation that the three Guyanas were remarkably different from each other which was true. Three European countries colonies, two, independent, the only holdover, French Guyana had chosen to stay French.
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Ronnie started believing we were being protected by his dead grandma. Rafa didn't concur in the least. He wasted no time in calling her a complete witch. Ronnie retorted - Por eso mismo, tarado!- (that's exactly why, you fool!)--
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No jungle shortcuts this time, we had a nice solid road to travel on. All we had to do is find a way to get on it.
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We devised a plan that could not work. Language barrier again. But we had to try.
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We stopped at this gas station where we saw tracks pulling over for gas and air for the tires.
(In very broken English): --Mister, pardon, minute, sir…We go that way…you go too? --Three, me, him and him-- , I said pointing at myself and then the bros. --We, auto stop, you know? -- (showing my thumb making the motion).
It took us a while, practicing and polishing our mantra verses but we managed to finally make ourselves understood; not amazingly well, but relatable. Until, a woohoo moment when this very cool dude said he can take us all the way to the border with what was known then as British Guyana. The whole of 170 miles! Even better, he wouldn't even take our money as payment. Instead, he pointed, teeth shining and waving his arm, c'mon, -- "Hop on!".
We had no idea what 'hop on' meant but God bless sign language. That was such an incredible break, Ronnie wasted no time winking at his brother as he's saying "it's Granny! Told ya!". Rafa had to reluctantly smile a
at the whole thing while nodding his head in approval.
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Georgetown is a typical port city, busy, noisy, and really smelly. But it felt glorious. We had reached the pinnacle of our foot travels. We still needed to reach Venezuela but there was no way that could be done by land. The Amazon was on the way. This time with a thousand tiny uninhabited inlets, impassible by land. We had to flight over those. With a stop over in Trinidad Tobago. Good, because we didn't have enough for three tickets to Caracas.
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The plan was a simple one. We would bust our asses working our 'artesania' which consisted of making these beautiful necklaces, bracelets and earrings, sell them to stores or individually and pay to continue our expedition to other countries and cultures.
I have to say, we were doing pretty well so far. And even better; we weren't dead or in jail. We all agree that was definitely a plus.
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Mothers to the rescue. We had to. The bros didn't want to ask, i didn't either but we couldn't figure out how to get out of Guyana all three without chartering a plane. These folks were broke and they're no tourists here. No one is going to buy hippie handmade jewelry. Face it. So we made the dread phonecalls to our respective mothers. Funny how they know, eh? We didn't have to explain long for the musically sounding, 'how much?' took over the conversation.
Good bless them because without their help, who knows what would have happened. Probably sold by Caribbean pirates for high sea labor.
Our dreams were alive and well, so we booked to T&T, capital Port of Spain.
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Soon, our backpacks would be worth a fortune valued in hopes and jewelry.
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Maracaibo, Venezuela, here we come!
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