Cartagena & the Caribbean

It is a well-known fact between fellow GapYah travellers to never form an first opinion on a place when arriving at night, as character, beauty and charm are often concealed by the night-time arrival. Cartagena however is an exception to this rule. From the moment we stepped off the plane and into the ubiquitous speeding taxi ride from the airport to the hostel, we were enthralled with the cities twinkling lights, winding streets with their bustling plazas and the colourful colonial architecture. Our guide book promised us all-night partying, gourmet dining and beachcombing - and we were ready to taste all three, and taste all three we did.

Just before we left England there was an article in the Guardian Travel section on Cartagena where the author discusses 'the essence of Colombians' and explains that an introductory panel in the Palace of the Inquisition describes them as a people who are "happy because happiness is the most natural way for us...and what best identifies us from the other people on the face of the earth". The author goes on to give his opinion on why Colombians are just so bloody happy all the time; "If Colombians seem to be grinning a lot, it maybe the dancing. Colombian dancing would make a corpse happy". Our first night in Cartagena was spent in a salsa bar in Getsemani, and I couldn't help but agree with Stanley Stewart's analogy, as just watching the amazing live band and the Colombian's quick-stepping around us was enough to make Forrest and I grin from ear to ear!

Our escapades at The Habana salsa bar had left us slightly worse for wear, so we spent Sunday lazing around the hostel, skyping with family and then praying for forgiveness for our sins at the Catedral's evening Mass. The beautiful Cathedral provided the perfect evening entertainment, in keeping with Colombia's (and mine!) strong Catholic heritage, and although we only stayed for 15 minutes or so, the atmosphere was really quite moving. After a lovely Italian meal on Plaza de San Diego, we headed back to the hostel to sleep off the remaining bits of our hangovers to ensure that we were fresh and ready for the beach the next day!

The beach in Cartagena itself is just south of the Old City in Bocagrande, Colombia's equivalent of Benidorm. Seemingly overcrowded and pretty dirty, we didn't really have much reason to head down there apart from to buy Forrest a replacement pair of Converse. The real Caribbean lies about 50 minutes out to sea from Cartagena, where an archipelago of small coral islands are sunk in transparent turquoise waters. We planned to spend the night on Playa Blanca on Baru island, lured in by tales of massages from Sam and Emily. We were joined on our overnight island jaunt by Abbey, Tara and Chris, and we spent an incredibly relaxing day in the sun, followed by an incredibly relaxing full-body massage, followed by an incredibly hot and sandy night in a tent on the beach! Playa Blanca is renowned for it's intense beachsellers offering all sorts of Colombian crappy souvenirs and the massage ladies disturbing your peace as they elbow your back and force you to have a massage, but we found that just walking five minutes down the beach away from the flotilla of tourists and you are practically on a deserted beach surrounded by palm trees, white sand and crystal clear water... sounds pretty horrible doesn't it?



On our last night in Cartagena we went to the famous salsa bar Donde Fidel for a drink in the main plaza, a former slave-trading area, followed by Pizza Al Parque in the picturesque plaza near our hostel, and it was there that we made the decision to return to Cartagena, the first place on our Gap Yah that was love at first night.

Our next stop was Taganga, and as with nearly every place so far we had heard heaven and hell stories from various people, the scariest of which being some friends from home who were robbed at gunpoint... (thanks Doug!) Our hostel, although slightly disorganised, was absolutely beautiful - up on the hill with views over the village and beach, great cocktails and a lovely restaurant. When we arrived in Taganga the whole of the village, which is tucked into the mountains, was illuminated by a stunning sunset over the ocean and we enjoyed a cocktail on the roof top bar as the night drew in.

We made friends with an American couple who were doing their PADI course in Taganga, one of the cheapest places in the world to do your qualifications, so the next night after a rather relaxing day by the pool and cocktails on the beach at sunset we got a little tipsy with them for Happy Hour at the hostel before heading to some bars in the village. Unfortunately, despite hearing amazing things about El Garaje, when we went there it was pretty dead so didn't end up staying too long which was a shame as Emily had told me it was 'pretty banging'.



The next morning after a chaotic check out we waited patiently for our booked transfer to Tayrona National Park, which was due to arrive at 9:30am. When it still hadn't arrived at 10:00am we were impatient but not surprised as South American time runs much slower than normal time, but when it got to 10:30am and the guy from the hostel asked us whether we needed anything, we realised that they had managed to mess up our transfer so we were given a lift into Santa Marta and pushed on to a local bus to take us to the park gate.

After an hour hiking we arrived at the first campsite where we decided to stay the night; we had heard good things about the restaurant there and it was the only place that took card, so we could keep our cash free for necessities like ice cream and beer. The only downside to the beautiful and tranquil site was the water at that particular beach was dangerous and there were signs everwhere stating that 200 people had died in the past few years and warning you not to become a statistic. So after allocating our hammocks, we walked a further 20 minutes to the nearest swimming beach, La Piscina, and chilled there for a couple of hours. Dinner that night was amazing as promised... we shared ceviche and empanadas to start and Forrest had a Caribbean lobster bisque/stew while I had fish wrapped in an banana leaf with coconut rice and an avocado salad... not paleo exactly but very delicious!

The next day we walked some more (in hindsight this was very good training for the following week, but that will become clear on the next post...) to the next campsite which was next to one of, if not the most beautiful beach I have ever seen.



Whilst I relaxed on the deserted beach Forrest, unable to sit still for more than a second, went exploring. He was gone for a while, and when he finally returned he was looking pretty happy with himself and explained that he'd just had a lovely walk to the next beach down. Smiling, he explained that it was pretty deserted but the first people he had come across had been naked, but he'd just assumed it was because they thought they were on their own on the empty beach. But bizarrely, everyone else he had encountered had also been naked and the thought finally dawned on him that perhaps he had stumbled upon the nudey beach. Unsure of nudey beach etiquette, he admitted that he had contemplated taking his shorts off for the walk back but was worried about sunburn!

After an early night in a tent at the second campsite, we woke to find that Forrest had had a nasty allergic reaction to some kind of insect bite on his hand. Luckily though, after hiking back to the park entrance we shared a taxi with a Brazillian couple who noticed Forrest's hand and they were both doctors and the girl had trained to be a dermatologist and handed Forrest a steroid to stop the inflammation - you should see the size of his guns now!

One more night in Taganga, although this time at Divanga's sister hostel as they had managed to misplace our booking for the second time (or third if you count the transfer!) which we spent having a roast chicken dinner Colombian style with potatoes, yucca (as gross as the name suggests) and salad, and drinks with our friends Chris and Ruth who were newly qualified scubees! The next day we went to The Dreamers hostel, which as the name suggests was the perfect place to spend a chilled out Valentines Day by the pool with champagne that Forrest had sneakily snuck into our room (the 'Australia' room - how did they know that I had spent a year in Australia?!) and a beautiful meal at the Italian restaurant attached to the hostel. The next day was spent doing absolutely nothing apart from sunbathing, swimming, reading and being completely relaxed before packing for the five day hike that I had somehow been persuaded was a good idea, but more on that next time...!

Photos are on both mine and Forrest's facebook so if you're not already then please friend us so you can bring my droning voice to life with pretty colours!

BACK DUE TO POPULAR DEMAND... FORREST'S FINAL THOUGHT!

After less than two months travelling in South America my grasp of the Spanish language has been improving at an astounding rate; simply remarkable some might say. Whereas once I would sheepishly approach someone and quietly mutter the words “Do you speak English?”, I now stand tall, and with the utmost confidence, and with broad shoulders and an even broader smile, I pronounce the words “Habla Ingles?”

Was machst diene kaninchen am wochenende?

Escaping the chaos of Manaus, we boarded Voyager III on the morning of day twenty, a passenger and cargo boat that would take us up the Rio Amazonas to Tabatinga. We had been told contradictory reports about the boat journey - from Doug telling Forrest that he loved it and just drank rum for the entire trip which was echoed by a guy in Hostel Manaus, to two Swiss girls in the jungle horrified that we were travelling by boat rather than by plane as they had been told that all foreigners get horrendously ill from the food onboard and it was a terrible decision on our behalf.

We had made the wise decision of paying a little extra to get a cabin, rather than a hammock on deck. Although conscious that we would not have the full experience of the trip by missing out on sleeping crammed in between the locals making their way back to Tabatinga after what seemed like a shopping trip to Manaus, the lure of a locked cabin for our valuables (namely Doritos and Cachaca), our own bathroom (the Swiss girls warnings had not gone unheeded) and aircon was just too great. Plus we had the added bonus of plug sockets so we could pass the time watching films on the laptop (so far an invaluable last minute investment). The aircon however turned out to be a double-edged sword, as during the day it provided a welcome relief from the heat but at night time it turned the top bunk in to the arctic. I spent the first night alternating between shivering and sweating in my UGG boots and thermal top as I turned the aircon off and on, and for the rest of the trip forced Forrest to share his bunk with me which he was obviously delighted about!



We shared our ride to Tabatinga with around 150 other people, the majority of whom were Brazilian or Colombian, however we were able to find some other English speaking passengers – a relief as it meant that we would have someone other than each other as company. Our comrades on board consisted of Sebastian and Jürgen, German/South African-German dentistry students using a break from their studies to travel round South America and Barrie, an older gentleman on a research project for his film production company. After a few days on the boat our little English-speaking community was joined by another Sebastian, a Colombian student on his way back home to Bogata, who had finally plucked up the courage to practise his English with us, but more on that later.

It’s amazing how a weeklong trip can amalgamate into one long dazed and confused memory filled with cards, furro and chicken...

We woke late, around 9:30/10 (so late for me, very early for Forrest!) having missed the breakfast of coffee and very dry “cookies” and went out on the top deck to check that we were still on the Amazon and the weather. Having confirmed that we were still afloat and on our way to Tabatinga and that it was sunny/rainy/chance of rain (*delete as applicable), we went back to the cocoon of our cabin to wash in our en suite bathroom and perhaps squeeze in an episode of the Sopranos.

Lunch was served every day from 10:30 – 12:00, and dinner from 4:30 – 6:00. Meals consisted of rice, spaghetti, chicken pieces, and occasionally a bean and beef stew, a beef dish and a chilli-type dish to break the monotony, accompanied by chilli sauce and mandioca. Mealtimes were held in a tiny room at the front of the boat, and we were ushered in as space became available. The protocol was to load your plate before you squeezed on to the bench, eat and then leave to make space for the next person. Our first meal on the boat was a watery vegetable soup with sodden pasta that disintegrated as your spoon touched it, and as Forrest was ordered out the second the last morsel touched his lips, we were worried that we hadn’t brought enough crisps and biscuits to last the trip. Forrest was practically wasting away already. However, after the very poor first supper, the food became consistently good, if lacking in variety, and mealtimes were definitely a highlight of the day (no surprise there!)

Our afternoons, or rather the time between lunch and dinner(!), was spent reading either in the cabin or on the top deck depending on the weather, and watching the Sopranos. We began watching the Sopranos almost exactly two years ago, and for some reason it has taken us an eternity to get through the six seasons. It may have something to do with the fact that I tend to fall asleep in every episode, and then we have to watch the rest of the episode again the next time we watch it for me to understand what’s going on; a constant game of catch-up that seemed never ending. However, our trip to Tabatinga provided the perfect opportunity to make some real headway and I am proud and delighted to announce that we are now in the sixth and final season. We probably watched as many episodes on the boat as we did in the whole of 2010!

After dinner, our little English-speaking community would converge on the top deck for beers and cards, and chat about how we had found the chicken to be that day inbetween reminding Barrie of the rules of the card games that had to be retaught to him every day (“it’s a 9 Barrie, you have to put down a lower card!”) Hanging out with two Germans provided Forrest with the perfect opportunity to practice his German, which some might say had become a little dusty after sixth form. Forrest’s German language skills seemed to revert back to year seven, with the only question he was able to ask really being “was machst deine kanninchen on der wochenende?” ("What does your rabbit do at the weekend?"!)

Our complete lack of ability to converse in any language other than English, and sometimes that’s even a struggle, is something that becomes more and more embarrassing the deeper in to South America we go. Along the way we have met people from all over the world whose grasp on the English language has astounded us, but none more so than Sebastian Rodas Quintero. At 20 years old, he has never studied English in his life, but has simply taught himself the language from watching American TV shows online. His favourites included How I Met Your Mother and Two And A Half Men but regretfully he admitted that he had never been able to watch Gilmore Girls as they spoke far too quickly for him to understand! He is quite clearly a bright guy, picking up the card games we were playing without any explanation really (something that Barrie from somewhere between Manchester and Sheffield couldn’t get a hold on after detailed explanations and demonstrations) and was constantly asking questions like “What do you call … in English?” and asking us to pronounce words for him which you could see him silently mouthing and repeating until he had memorised it.

The soundtrack to our time on the boat was a constant loop of loosely translated American songs that bore some resemblance to the original, the occasional Justin Beiber track, The Scorpions, and a type of Brazilian music called Furro (I think?!) blasted out so loud that conversation proved difficult. Grumpy old man Forrest complained constantly about the music, although his little eyes lit up when ‘What if God was one of us’ was played one night!

As one might expect from a boat trip down the Amazon the weather while we were on the boat was varied, but for the majority of the time it was very hot and cloudy – perfect burning weather. Sebastian and JR took this as an opportunity to declare their love for their respective girlfriends back in Germany by painting their love on their chests in suncream and paint and allowing the sun to burn the words in to their bodies. The effects of which you can see for yourself…



When the weather changed, the views were incredible as you watched the rain come closer over the jungle, or the rainbows cast after the rains had been and the sun came back out. There was one sunset in particular that took my breath away as we headed west towards Colombia, and when away from the glare of the boats lights the stars were amazing.



We stopped at perhaps 9 different ports on the way to Tabatinga; unloading precious cargo such as chickens, cachaca and hundreds of bottles of rola cola, and dropping off and picking up new passengers. At one stop we got off to explore the town however after one drink in a weird little café, the boat’s klaxon sounded to signify its departure and we were forced to run back to the boat. In true South American style, we needn’t have rushed as it was a good couple of hours before we actually left the port. On the last night on the boat, we “docked” at a tiny village, where the entire village came out to greet the boat. Sebastian told us that he had been told that the indigenous people from the village were not particularly fond of ‘gringos’, to put it mildly, due to years of evangelical bullshit and deforestation that they had had to endure, but sending a plague of locusts to spoil our last night on the boat seemed pretty extreme! There were literally bugs EVERYWHERE; huge flying beetles that clung on for dear life when you tried to shake them off, locusts in their hundreds flying into my hair, moths of all sizes blindly flying into the lights and bouncing off every surface they encountered. The kids on the boat had a field day kicking and squishing the bugs, however it all got a bit too much for me and I was forced to retire to the safety of our cabin, but they had somehow even managed to get in there!

We arrived in Tabatinga at 5:30am the next morning, and when JR knocked on our cabin to let us know that we were there, the hundred or so hammock dwellers had already departed in the 10 minutes we had been docked, leaving just a few stragglers (us included). With the German dentists and Barrie, we left the boat and walked aimlessly for half an hour as we decided what to do and where to go. Eventually, tired of walking in no particular direction, we said our goodbyes and jumped in a cab to take us over the border into Leticia, Colombia and they continued walking towards Tabatinga, with the view to get a boat asap to Peru. Our guide book only had a short paragraph on Leticia, which reviewed two hostels, so choosing the cheaper of the two we asked the cab driver to take us there. A very wise move indeed.

We pulled up at a beautiful hostel, surrounded by lakes and beautiful flora and fauna, and were ushered in to beds until a more respectable hour. Once we had reawakened, feeling less like refugees after our boat trip, we checked in properly for two nights, and set about exploring Leticia, our first taste of Colombia, and booking our flights to Cartegena. Our first taste of Leticia was positive, with the locals all helpful with directions and advice, and the sun shining brightly to welcome us, however our first taste of Colombian cuisine was not so good… As we both felt a little funny around the tummy, we both decided to get simple meals; steak for Forrest and fish for me with chips and salad to accompany it. We also ordered some “nibbles” as a starter, without knowing what we were actually ordering, however just assumed it would be something fried as promised in the Rough Guide. The “nibbles” we ordered arrived after our mains had been served (my fish being covered in a mushroom sauce, which I was delighted about), and I kid you not, it was a skewer of onions and WICHITY GRUBS, last seen on I’m A Celebrity. They were cooked, however it did not make them look any more appealing than they do in the Bush Tucker Trials, and I struggled to eat the rest of my meal knowing that they were hiding behind the napkins. Stupidly, we hadn’t taken a camera out with us so I can’t show you photographic evidence of this, but please take my word for it that it was gross! Of course Forrest tried to say that if he had been feeling better he would have definitely tried it, but it’s all very well to say that whilst tucking in to your steak and chips with no intention of biting in to one of the squirmy little things!

So after a couple of days chilling at the hostel, we headed to Cartagena. Coined “the jewel in the Spanish crown” (cheers Em!), Cartagena and the Caribbean coast is one of the places I am most excited about visiting. Expect the next blog to be full of pictures of white sandy beaches and crystal clear water : )

Big Nasty

Our arrival in Manaus, the capital of Amazonas, found us both literally and figuratively in travelling wilderness. We were travelling blind without our trusty guide ‘South America A La Emily’, upon which I had become a little too reliant in Rio, but also Manaus was our entry point into the vast Amazon rainforest wilderness. It was time to see what Gillian McKeith was making such a shrieking fuss about.

We organised our jungle tour through the tour operator conveniently located in the back yard of our hostel, and despite being warned by the guide book of the unrelenting sales patter of the tour operators in Manaus, Andre in the office of Amazon Antonio Jungle Tours simply showed us some photos of Antonio’s beautiful eco-lodge and we were sold. Our cunning disorganisation served us well as we had unwittingly timed our four day trip to the jungle beautifully to coincide with a boat leaving the day after our return to Manaus, which would take us down the Rio Amazona to Tabatinga.

We spent the rest of the day in Manaus preparing for our trip to the jungle; changing travellers cheques in order to free up enough cash to pay for the jungle trip and the boat trip the following week, catching up with friends and family and sewing contraband salt and spices in to the crotch of my knickers a la McKeith. A pretty hectic and mundane day of “chores” was topped off wonderfully with a spaghetti bolognaise (traditional Amazonian cuisine) and a bottle of red wine.

At seven the next morning we were picked up at the hostel and after a hair-raising car ride (“the driver is laughing because this journey normally takes around 20 minutes and he has managed it in eight minutes” Andre explained) we were plonked on a bus with some pineapples, bananas and a watermelon and the promise that the bus driver would let us know when we had reached our stop. Three hours later and we were truly in the jungle, the mighty jungle. We were met at our “stop” by Otto who spoke no English and simply put the fruit in to the basket at the front of his bicycle and cycled off towards the river indicating that we should follow. Otto ushered us in to a waiting motorised canoe and we sped off down the river. Not a word had been spoken besides his opening line of ‘I’m Otto’, and I was already having the overwhelming urge to shout ‘I’m (practically) A Celebrity…. Get Me Out Of Here’, however when the mirador of Antonio’s lodge became visible through the canopy of trees my worries immediately dissolved.

Before we even had the opportunity to go for a pee, our newly introduced guide Francisco has whisked us off on a tour of the lodge, showing us the pineapple tree, explaining the water system and forcing jungle fruit down our throats. Whilst Forrest happily munched on some vaguely banana-tasting eyeball-textured fruit and I smiled politely and tried not to gag, Francisco informed us that lunch was ready which provided me with the perfect opportunity to wash down the offending fruit with something that didn’t taste like vomit.

After lunch we took a little walk around the outskirts of the lodge, looking upwards at every sign of movement expecting to see a family of monkeys swinging through the trees singing ‘I’m the King of the Jungle y’all, the Jungle VIP” however we saw nothing, and it didn’t take us long to realise that Planet Earth had given us a slightly unrealistic and unattainable impression of the Amazon. Talking with Francisco as we canoed around the floating forest later that afternoon, he explained rather patiently that we were in the Amazon, the largest rainforest on the planet that covers over half of Brazil and a large portion of South America. If we saw any wildlife we would be extremely lucky, but what tourists often failed to recognise was that the rainforest itself was enough.

Our first taste of the wildlife the Amazon had to offer came later that afternoon on a fish hook, had sharp pointed teeth and would later be served as dinner; Piranha! After canoeing around the peaceful and serene floating forest we spent a couple of hours fishing for our supper, and getting to know Francisco. Piranha fishing, as with most practical things, did not come easily to Forrest, and despite nearly managing to capsize us every time he threw his line out he only managed to catch one measly piranha compared to my rather magnificent three! Although in fairness to him, his one fish was huge and could probably have eaten all three of mine in one toothy gulp.



After caiprinhas and conversation with a Chillean-Argentine couple watching the sunset from the top of the tower, it was time for dinner. The food in the lodge, although simple meals of rice and spaghetti accompanied by salad, chicken and meat, was always delicious but that evening with our own freshly caught piranhas as the dish of the day, it was outstanding.

After a couple of very strong caiprinhas, I had forgotten that we were to go out again on the canoe and it was on rather unsteady legs that I climbed in to the canoe in the pitch black to go and search for Caiman alligators. Speeding down the Amazon in the darkness, ‘illuminated’ only by fireflies, was an experience I will never forget, and was only awoken from my reverie of how amazing it was when Francisco slapped the tails of three baby Caiman on my bare legs. They say a picture paints a thousand words, and I believe this is certainly true with the photographs below when describing how we felt about our encounter with the Caimans…



The next morning we were woken at 5:45 by Francisco to hear dawn breaking in the Amazon, and to see if we could spot dolphins. We were in luck and spent half an hour watching the pink river dolphins surface on the calm water of the ‘lake’ where they were hunting for fish (probably with more success than we had had the day before) which was an amazing experience. The sounds of the Amazon waking up provided the perfect soundtrack to a beautiful early morning canoe trip. A great night’s sleep had wreaked havoc on my hair however which provided Francisco with great amusement as he described it as a birds nest, although with his accent it sounded more like he was calling it ‘big nasty’ which I feel is going to be how my hair is going to look and feel for the remainder of our Gap Yah.

The rest of the morning was spent on a jungle walk where Francisco explained the medicinal properties of various trees and plants and their derivatives in modern medicine which was very interesting and after lunch we got ready for our overnight stay in the jungle. They don’t call it the rainforest for nothing, and our two hour hike to our jungle camp gave us a very wet experience of this! Francisco showed us an enormous tarantula on our way to camp, and even through the pouring rain its massive fangs and poisonous bristles were clear to see and did nothing to alleviate my nerves for the night ahead. Arriving at the camp, soaked to the bone with rain and sweat with puddles in my (inappropriate as always) shoes, I felt pretty miserable but once the hammocks were hung, the fire was roaring, the sausages sizzling and clean dry clothes in place of our sopping wet ones I couldn’t have been happier. As bright green fireflies floated past, Francisco set about whittling spoons and making plates out of leaves for our campfire dinner and we chatted (probably not wisely) about the killer snakes in the jungle and his experiences with them (his own grandmother and uncle both dying from snake bites!). After a fulfilling and filling meal of rice, vegetables and sausages we settled down for the night in our hammocks and drifted off to sleep listening to the sounds of the jungle.



I was woken early by Francisco throwing leaves and twigs in to my hammock in an attempt to scare me, and after a breakfast of boiled eggs, crackers and fruit, we set off back to the lodge, thankfully in the dry this time! Although we had only been camping for one night, our dishevelled and dirty appearance gave the impression that we had been lost in the jungle for months, and after a wonderful shower we washed our filthy clothes and I even had the opportunity to sunbathe. The afternoon was spent fishing with an American couple, Amy and Julie, who were working on a floating university campus called Semester At Sea which takes its students all across the world in one semester. I was very successful in my piranha fishing once again catching five fish, whilst Forrest had improved slightly and caught three. The sunset that night from the lodge was breathtaking and I started to feel sad about leaving the next day after having such a wonderful time.

The next morning we explored some of the smaller channels off the river, and said goodbye to the jungle and to Francisco, who we absolutely loved and had made our experience entirely unforgettable. With the promise that I would come back and work on the tiny bar in the lodge one day, we said a bit of a tearful farewell. My tears soon turned to tears of pain as I stumbled getting in to the canoe and after what seemed like about an hour tripping and slipping I finally managed to get upright again with the help of Forrest, who said I was a millimetre from the water, and with a bruised toe and a very bruised ego we set off with Otto to catch the bus back to Manaus.

That evening back in Manaus we met with Antonio and Andre on the off chance for a drink on the Praca Sao Sebastiao, as they had an after-work drink overlooked by the stunning Amazon Theatre. We gushed about our jungle experience, and after a few drinks we headed off for an all you can eat buffet at a Brazillian churrasco restaurant. Forrest was in heaven.

Manaus is described in my Rough Guide as ‘a city in the midst of the jungle, consciously designed to show the mastery of man over nature’. With more shops than Oxford Street all crammed in to one tiny space, the commercialism and consumerism could not have been more different from the tranquil serenity of the jungle. As I waited for our transfer the next morning to take us to the boat which would take us down the river to Tabatinga, and observed the chaos in the hostel and listened to an American complain about not seeing any monkeys on her jungle tour, I couldn’t help but agree with the Italian trapeze artist who had been at the lodge with us when he whispered to me, “I think I preferred the jungle”.