Two White Men and a Funeral

April 30, 2012:  An evening while staying along the Suriname River we were invited to a party for a corpse  we never met, nor did man who invited us – in short…we were funeral crashers.  It took over an hour to get to this village, traveling somewhere on a long boat, hiking somewhere and then transferring to another boat going somewhere.  I am glad I didn’t lose the group I went with since I would have had the most difficult time asking someone for directions to, somewhere. 

While sitting at an extended picnic like table in some sort of logged community center that served beer from a small opening in the wall, a random man from Guyana came over to talk to me.  Sitting awkwardly close, he would finish every sentence with “Man” and every other sentence making this “pff pff pff” noise such as Hannibal Lector made in film “Silence of the Lambs” when he said “I ate his liver with some fava beans and a nice Chianti.”  It sort of freaked me out as did my friend, Jason - as he so conveniently excluded himself from our conversation. 

The music started at 2am…only a mere 3 hours behind schedule.  I was sadly exhausted and ready to go back to the lodge before midnight.  Standing outside around all of the table clothed wearing woman, I felt as if I was drugged and could barely stay horizontal from exhaustion. 
The music did not encourage the typical mourning dancing (is there even a designated mourning dance?) or even the chaperoned catholic school sort of dancing…it was wining (aka dry humping while vertical).  A strange act to pull off while in public around kids, ancient aging adults and those in actually in mourning.  Learning how to do it while in Trinidad visiting a friend of mine for Carnival, I had a little experience practicing on her Mom, Aunt and her.  Standing around, fighting to stay awake, a few girls crept closer in their table cloth-like clothing, backing up into me for me to hump them – I mean to wine them like a South American street dog.  Wining tip:  While wining, make sure your pockets are empty.  I so awkwardly had a head lamp in my front pocket – so awkward...

Leaving to go back to the village at 4:16am our drunken group included a drunken boat driver suffering from impaired vision.   He had no need for that headlamp I carried around all night or any light for that matter – he did a great job going down the foggy dark river.  He wasn’t concerned since I am quite sure they don’t have breathalyzers in this part of the Amazon.

The next day we headed farther up the Suriname River racking up some more kilometers.  The deeper we powered up the Suriname River on the local super stretched long boat, the more interesting the people watching became.  Women were getting a little National Geographic-like as they began to lose their tops exposing their gargantuan utters that almost touched their ankles while the younger people seemed to not see the purpose to wear anything.  On the stairs of the river banks, the women were busy washing piles upon piles of dishes and what minimal clothes they might have had.  They perfected the skills of balancing big plastic buckets with dishes stacked so high it was as if I was watching a street show without the need to toss change in some sort of cup or dirty receptacle.

By the end of our brief exploration up the Suriname River and its communities, I counted 52 bites on my legs plus 1 on my frankfurter.  Perhaps a bath in DEET is necessary for future explorations. 

To...Somewhere

April 30, 2012:  When standing  on the side of the road with Jason in a small unpopulated area, I waved down anything with 4 wheels going in our direction.  From one vehicle to the next, we hopscotched to the  end of the road at the riverbank of the Suriname River.  

On our journey here, very few people spoke English.  If I knew Dutch or one of the many other indigenous languages that flooded this region, it would have been easier, but not as...interesting.  The plan was to go up to the Suriname River for a few days, spending the night wherever we could - preferably in a small Amerindian or Moroon villages.  Tossing our bags onto a riverboat, off we went to...somewhere. 

Back from Amazonia!

August 31st, 2010: I am having one of those moments. I been gone in the Amazon at Manu National Park for the past 9 days and unless I decide to sit down and write you a top selling book on my experiences…you will have to get the minimized 2 or 3 paragraph version.

I went to the jungle and saw a lot of monkeys, birds, fauna and insects that are typical in cartoons and other Hollywood type jungle settings. All gave me satisfaction, even some of the birds – does this mean I am now going to join a birdwatchers club when I get back home? I am not that old, so that is a big “NO.”

One of the greatest moments that will be etched into my brain for years to come was seeing my old High School Mascot in person…a Jaguar. It looks much better in real life than the fool in a furry Jaguar costume supporting an Allen Park Jersey running about the football field or basketball court bouncing around as if they had a constant intervenes feed of caffeine being pumped directly into the heart.

Another memorable occasion was seeing a Spider Monkey hanging directly above me by its tail as the loose leaves would shower me as we had a moment staring at each other. Seeing these and 7 other species of monkeys this past week in their natural environment, witnessing the suicidal jumps from tree to tree to their basic monkeying around…it was difficult to think of them in the small residential cages they typical reside at in the zoo – not saying zoos are bad…just, different. In a way, some people living in concrete cities can be considered voluntary caged animals, but that is just a random comment with not much thought.

I have always known that dreams inside tents can be somewhat questionably strange…but the ones in the jungle in a mosquito net can sure send a partially sane man into insanity in record timing. My dreams and memories are too strange to write about and to add to this…I have no desire to remember what went on in my grey mass residing deep inside my skull - I will leave these dreams up to my poor memory to retain.