Any Body of Water

A road block prevented Andrea and I to travel by our preferred means of transportation: the cheapest AKA 'bus'. A strike somewhere between La Paz and our destination of Rurrenabaque had halted all traffic between the two cities. Getting through on a bus was out of the question. Our only remaining option was to book a flight. Transporte Aereo Militar: The Bolivian Military Airline, about $60 and an hour in the air and we would arrive. Upon "booking" we were told that everything was set, unless it rains. Rains? The landing strip in Rurrenabaque is dirt. Well, mud if it rains. Which presents quite a problem when attempting to land an aircraft.
I know what your thinking. And I was thinking the same thing. Military aircraft? I expected to cross the tarmac and be strapped into a bullet riddled, rifle green fuselage of a cargo plane and pushed out with a parachute over my corresponding destination. Unfortunately, this was not to be. A spotless, sparkling white and bright blue painted aircraft pulled up to our gate. Surely, I thought, there was a new coat of paint recently applied to cover the bullet holes; but as we boarded, the cabin was impeccably clean and no different than any other plane I had ever been on. The stewardess brought around drinks, followed by sandwiches, and a turn-down service. Mind you we were airborne for less than 50 minutes. Try finding service comparable to that by any US carrier, let alone for a flight less than 8 hours and in economy class! My favorite part of the plane was the obligatory pre-flight lecture about safety. Oh wait, there wasn't one, nor could you self-educate through the aid of brochures, as they too had seem to have been forgotten...I enjoy the Bolivian sense of reality. Why worry about things you have absolutely no control over and disillusion yourself with information that can persuade you into thinking that you are in control. If the plane goes down there is only one thing that can save you, and you won't find God with your head tucked between your knees.

Views from the plane window were incredible. Circling the city in order to climb high enough to hop over the Andesn(barely) we were privileged to views of their peaks cruising past an arms length away from our plane windows. The floor of the Earth rapidly changed from the dusty brown of the Altiplano, the snow capped gray Andes, and the descent into the green sea of the Yungas. I had barely finished my second cup of coffee and my hot towel still retained its warmth as we made or descent. Trees whipped by our windows at an alarmingly close proximity, and we seemed to float over the jungle canopy for an extended period of time. In the vast expanse of green I didn't even see the runway before we made impact. Brownish-red dust clouded the air and every bump of the ground jolted the plane. Our Pablo-Escobar-like jungle landing left us in the middle of nowhere. A sign above a shack indicated that we were indeed in Rurrenabaque, and that the shack was, well, the airport.
Motorcycles line the dirt road leading away from the 'airport'. Jungle versions of taxis these bikes are a two-for-one. They get you to your destination and thrill you along the way. Holding on for dear life the motorcycle taxis fly down the cobblestone and dirt roads dodging pot holes, on-coming traffic, and cattle alike.

Our next leg of the journey was a trip down the river Beni, a Bolivian branch of the Amazon, and deep into the pampas. Our rough four hour 4x4 ride was exacerbated by our conspicuous concoction of a lunch; a hamburger meat, gravy, and french fry casserole...of sorts. A relaxing dug-out canoe ride down the smooth waters of the river came just in time. For another three hours we floated deeper and deeper down river. Our guide pointed out, literally, hundreds of alligators and caymans. The overgrown mutant rat on steroids that is the capybara could be seen lounging in the mud. Squirrel monkeys shrieked at us from trees and thousands of bird varieties gave us music while we bobbed down river. These creatures among others would be our constant companions in the days to follow.
Arriving at our lodge for sunset a game of soccer with guides and local river dwellers ensued. When darkness had descended and the black shadow of night had blotted out the surrounding forest green we boarded the canoe and drifted downstream. Equipped with flashlights and instructed to point at the banks of the river our thin beams of light revealed the menacing hollow glow of crocodilian eyes hiding above the blackness of the water. The banks crawled with the massive reptilian predators, but the stillness of the night imparted a silent reverence from the beasts. We spent our nights in the lodge suspended 6 feet above the jungle floor; wine drinking nights reminiscing about the day's adventures in a neon-green fluorescent glow were cut short when the generator was switched off and we were relegated to the protection of our mosquito net beds.
The following day was spent plodding along the pampas in a search for anacondas. Not entirely fruitless, our guide managed to rustle up a skeleton from under a tree. Clomping through the wetlands splattering through knee high mud, pushing aside bushes and tall grass, as well as shoving my hand down dark holes attempting to locate one of the giant snakes kept a constant smile on my face.
Once again returning to the lodge at sundown we were serenaded throughout the night by the perpetual hum of tree frogs.
On our final day our guide invited us to try our hand at fishing... for piranhas. And the only thing I like more than fishing for piranhas, is fishing for piranhas! I stabbed a hunk of meat with my hook and tossed it, attached to a piece of string, over board. I awaited the tremendous smack from one of the voracious fish to jolt my line. After several minutes of jigging I grew impatient and pulled in my line. The entire piece of beef had been stripped clean off the hook. My next attempt imitated something I had seen on the Discovery channel. I dipped my newly baited hook just below the surface of the water. Almost immediately a swarm of piranhas, teeth snapping and heads jerking, tore apart my bait. Too small to take the hook and too quick to snag, reeling in a piranha remained elusive. But I will always catch baby catfish... and the Beni River of Bolivia was no exception. Andrea even caught one. Her first fish ever her, first ever time fishing! Luckily our guide snagged a piranha, which we later grilled. It was bony...and teethy.
Shortly after fishing we made our way back up river towards Rurrenabaque, once again surrounded by cayman and alligators. In the open water our guide stopped the dugout and said that if we would like to cool off and go for a swim, now was the time. Pulling the boat onto shore, our guide walked down the bank and started yelling at an alligator. "Juan!, Ven aca!" (Juan, come here). Whistling, splashing his hand in the water, and flinging bits of meat he eventually enticed the undead dinosaur over towards us. "Don't worry, I'll keep him distracted, go for a swim!" Insecurity set in as I had already stripped down and was now being swept down shore and towards all of the countless other hungry alligators, oh yeah and those piranhas too! A lifesaver was thrown into the water and we were told to relax and try not to splash. I could see movement just below the surface of the water. Large ripples began to give way to pointed dorsal fins. What kind of crazy river fish was surrounding us ready for lunch? A pink nose poked out of the water and the tell-tale click of a dolphin echoed off my ears. We had found the pink river dolphins of the Amazon and were now swimming with them. This, our guide tells us, is what keeps all the hungry predators away.
I fill my lungs and look around trying to breathe in all amazing the nature around me. Floating down the Amazon with pink dolphins, surrounded by things that could eat me, while being stared upon by the thousands of terrestrial fauna...any body of water, Dad....ANY body of water