Napo River Adventure

This is a story about a trip I made into the Amazon Jungle with a group for a week of training (May 19-24, 1997). I hope it gives you a taste of one aspect of Ecuador, and that it encourages you to visit soon.

On Monday morning, we caught a bus that took us way up to the top of the Andes, where sharp, giant monoliths raise their heads into the clouds, ancient gnarled trees stand firm against the relentless winds, and the Condor rides the updrafts looking for its meal. At the top we stopped for lunch at a place where they raise fresh-water trout, and where hot mineral springs gurgle from the rocks and are collected in steaming pools to relax the nerves and cure whatever ails you. Then it was on down the other side, towards the Amazon Region, on a narrow, curving, unpaved road that often hung from the edge of a cliff or deep ravine, and a few times we saw where land slides, caused by the heavy rains of the season, had been pushed over the edge by a bulldozer.

Eventually we were on flat land, passed through a small but lively city, across a bridge, and down a long stretch as the sun set behind us, to a small town on the Napo River (a tributary of the mighty Amazon) where long, narrow river boats, which are actually large dug-out canoes called “piraguas”, were lined up waiting in the dusk. When everyone was precariously seated and bundled up in life vests (someone said these were not to keep us alive, but rather so that they could find our remains after the various meat-eating river varmints got through with us, but I think they were just trying to scare us and make us feel more adventurous), we set off down the river with the out-board motor gently humming to itself, the rushing water swishing softly under out gently curving bow, the silver moon playing lazily on the ripples, and the dark jungle casting weird shadows that slipped silently by on either side.

Finally we turned a bend, and saw in the distance a mountain of bright, twinkling lights: “La Casa del Suizo” (the Swiss man’s house - remember to always pronounce both S and Z like a strong S). The able boatsman skillfully navigated around the obstacles and brought us nicely along-side the narrow stone dock (far left in photo). Up a thousand steps we climbed, past many cabins and bungalows, until we came to the main house. The whole place is very rustic, made of river-bleached, lacquered trunks and branches, rough brick tile floors, and palm-leaf thatched roofs, with Indian crafts and utensils hanging from the walls. All the walks are raised a few feet off the ground and are covered with thatched roofs, because of the constant heavy rains in the jungle. My room had, besides the usual comforts, slabs of tree-trunks for the tables and closet, stick lamps and other accessories, and a broad view of the river from the back porch where a comfortable hammock swung.

It rained all night and all morning, but after lunch the clouds parted and the sun came out. That afternoon, once classes were over, we donned visor caps and rubber boots, and clambered back into the piraguas for a half-hour sprint down the Napo river, into a tributary and up a stream, to a tropical fauna reserve, where animals in trouble are taken care of until they are ready to return to the wild. A friendly young German woman, with her little son and two dogs scampering around her, was our guide. We saw a bear with “spectacles” that lives in the trees, and some very strange creatures, some with long flexible noses, and others with no nose at all. Suddenly, a wild party of chattering monkeys came swinging through the trees and landed plop on our shoulders. They turned out to be the welcoming committee, and curiously passed from one to the other, playing with our ears, rummaging in our pockets, and swinging from our arms as if they were branches, until everyone had met everyone else, and then they were nimbly up the vines again and got on with the normal business of monkeys. Further on we saw an owl with its round, blinking stare, a wildcat slinking by warily, a boa constructor that curled up on our arms and necks for warmth, a wild pig, tapirs, and lots and lots of parrots and other multi-colored birds. At a small shed, we had something to drink and our guide showed us how to use a genuine blow-gun, loaded with long, slender palm darts with cotton-like fibers twisted onto the end, which the Indians use to hunt for food. We returned the way we came, as a thin mist rose from the river and slipped into the jungle. Back at the lodge, we had a swim in the pool to freshen up before dinner.

On Thursday, we again went down the liquid highway for a hike through the jungle. The piragua left us off at one place, and picked us up later down river. At first we saw small plantations of sugar cane, mandioca (yucca), naranjilla, banana, coffee, cocoa, oil palm, cinnamon trees, etc. But as we went deeper into the jungle, we saw many wild plants (some medicinal), beautiful and strange flowers (especially orchids), and many-colored birds. There was a tree called “drago” with blood-red sap, earning it the gringo epiteth of "dragon blood", which the Indians put on cuts to make them heal faster. In a swamp we saw several of a small crocodile-like animal called a “caimán”. Hiding in the crotch of a tree we found a tarantula as big as my hand. While trying to cross a stream, one of the girls sank into soft mud, and each time she tried to pull one foot up, the other one would sink deeper. We had to pull her out before she disappeared completely! We went through an Indian village, with thatched huts on stilts, hammocks for beds, and their typical (scanty) clothing. On the way back, we went over some shallow parts and had to get out and push the canoe. Once we got going again, one of the guys couldn´t get back in and got left behind until we could stop the canoe by holding onto branches and vines, so he could swim down and heave him aboard.

On Friday, over a long lunch break, we took the piraguas to a water-side depot and picked up piles of balsa wood logs a foot thick and several feet long. These we took up-river to a sandy beach, unloaded them, and tied them together into rafts with rope. Then we hunted around and found some long bamboo poles for pushing. Finally, all 20 of us piled onto two make-shift rafts, which promptly sunk to knee-depth! So some got off and boarded the canoes, and we had to take turns between the rafts and canoes. What fun to pole our rafts down the river like Tom Sawyer and Huckleberry Finn, alternating as rivers do between fast and slow water, and jumping off to swim alongside! When we got to the hotel, the canoes were fired up and the rafts hauled ashore.

That night, our last before leaving, we were entertained by a group of Indians from nearby. The men played native musical instruments, the children danced and did skits of their daily lives, and the women shared the traditional “chicha” as a farewell treat to their visitors. Then, one by one, they invited us to joint in their dancing until everyone was participating in a river of movement and celebration. Later, resting on the back porch and watching the moon-lit river, I felt as though I had been there for a very long but lovely time. As the piraguas strained slowly up-river the next morning, overloaded with passengers and luggage, our hearts were torn between the familiar world that awaited us and the one we were leaving behind.