Samaipata: Return of the Tent

Howler monkeys, clearly attracted to the essence of a like-smelled soul.

Small towns are inexplicably safer, more enjoyable and entirely more friendly than their large city counterparts.  I think this is the case across the world.  In fact, outside of cultural relativity, I'm certain of it.  And Samaipata--a two hour taxi ride outside of Santa Cruz--might just be the perfect counterbalance to the big city depravity.

As with most great places we'd first heard about it via backpackers, then realized it was in the guidebook, and finally relegated ourselves to our lonely planet fate.  By any source, rumor had it that a solstice festival of Bolivian proportions--and if you've ever seen a Bolivian woman..,(1)--was to take place during the upcoming weekend.  We also read of tons of hiking and some pre-colombian ruins and most importantly we learned it wasn't Santa Cruz.  Sold.

Our first and most unique experience took place at the local zoo, or more accurately the tiny little refuge which allows tourist a chance to pay-to-play with exotic animals.  The theory is nice:  abandoned or mistreated wildlife from the surrounding area, cute and cuddly animals from boars to monkeys and goats to parrots, tennant the cages until they are ready to be rereleased into the wild, or as is the case much of the time, find themselves permanent residences because they are no longer fit to fend for themselves (Darwin would probably fire-bomb the place).  It's a win-win situation really.  Tourist get to experience first-hand, unintrusive nature while at the same time funding the wild-equivalent of the SPCA.

We swung spider monkeys through the air, marveled at macaws three feet away, saw a three legged feline about the size of two housecats who genuinely spewed bitterness and resentment at the world and had howler monkeys clamoring for our attention.(2)  It was not all fun and games though, some animals seemed to have assimilated themselves towards human devices a bit too much.  After forcing the male howler off my lap, he either decided to get revenge or show me who's boss by proceeding to attempt an ascent up beths skirt.  The handlers got to him before anything scandalous occured, though I'm pretty sure I saw him flash me a sneaky grin of victory on his way down the stairs.  Note: Beth was unharmed during this visit and I think even a bit flattered, if a bit put-off by the forward nature of the monkey, by the whole experience.

Jason getting bandied about by a little monkey.  

The next evening was the all-night, top-o-the-hill solstice festival.  By evening we'd recruited (or been recruited) a garrison of 7 gringos, obscene amounts of Bolivian beer and the infamously dangerous and hangover inducing Ron Cubano, or cheapest rum in the world.  We met in the main plaza (small town, it's like Wal-Mart for the Midwest, you stay there long enough and the whole town will venture through) and after some pre-Rons hailed the hour and a half long taxi.  By the time we got there every spot had been claimed but the wind-rattling section on the side of the hill.  Due to beer consumption along the way we stumbled through setting up the two tents (the point is to stay up all night and watch sunset, hence our 1am arrival), wandered the vendors a bit, saw the fire from afar, missed the 2am dancing because there wasn't a seat in the house left, I drank a bottle of vinegar with an Englishman who was convinced it contained booze (3), and eventually we were all in bed well before sunrise.  The most exciting part of the night was the girls fending off a drunken Bolivian trying to get into the tent and the return of my one stolen shoes by some good Samaritan.

Two days later, and many hours napping outside of our tent or resting in the hammocks of our amazing campground by the name of El Jardin, we had recovered...from the lack of sleep compelled upon us by the all-night solstice festival.

The main tourist draw of the area surrounding samaipata is the rich tropical forest.  Tours between from anywhere between 1 and 16 days are offered.  We tried to catch on with a four day fishing tour (which included much boating, non-fishing nature activities and vegetarian cuisine), but were unable to find two more suitors--a minimum of four people being required by the guide.  So, we settled for an all-day hike through the cloud forest an hour and a half outside of town.  It was an easy meandering hike through lushly green forest.  The highlight of the lowlands is an ancient fern tree, perhaps 10-15 feet in height and all well over, if i remember correctly a 100 years in age.  But, the pinnacle of the hike comes when you enter the dense layer of clouds that is starkly different than the surrounding lowlands.  Moss drapped trees dominate the highlands with a dense layer of moisture coating your skin as you enter into a vastly differently ecosystem created by the accumulation of moisture.  The entire forest from tree tops to ground level morphs into a moldy breeding ground of damp.  The only drawback was that it was also a home for ticks, one of which attacked me with great zeal.  If not for the guides handy, "turn right three times then extract from skin" rule of thumb, I might have turned into some bumbling degenerative fool with a fondness for poop pies and fingerpaints and thus never been able to tell this story--that's not true, apparently south America doesn't have lymes disease, the head was removed and I wouldn't digress into nincompoopness that quickly, but I admittedly was concerned, at the time, of contracting some incurable South American disease.  Alas, I am well and our jaunt through Amboro National park was thoroughly enjoyable and most rewarding in that for the first time in days we got out of our hammocks and trolled the area for flora and fauna.

A day and two book exchanges later we headed west towards the judicial capital of Bolivia, Sucre. (4)        

(1) Bolivian women, by all accounts, appear to be truly matriarchial, inspiration to the likes of Jewish mothers and Gloria Steinum, alike..  They work, they tend home, they bare godawful amounts of children, and they deal with Bolivian men.  Men-- notorious for their intemprance, disdain for work and, well, perhaps I should stop there as I'm noticing some commonalities here between Bolivian men and a certain blogger...named Beth.

(2) maybe the cutest damn thing I've ever seen:  howler monkey perched on my lap.  Me never having experienced this before, I treated him like a dog, scratching/petting/bonding.  After 10 minutes I'd had enough, so I stopped.  Howler, however, hadn't, so he reached back, grabbed my hand and began petting himself with my hand until I took back over.  Then the female monkey, who'd previously been locked up in a cage on time-out for bad behavior (personification gone feral) came over and ruined our moment.

(3) to his credit the woman selling vinegar was claiming it contained alcohol of some unknown percent.  I do not believe that the "red wine vinegar" had a lick of booze, but I drank my fill anyway.

(4) book exchanges have been surprisingly friendly, for the most part, but nothing has compared to Samaipata.  Half the towns businesses are owned by foreigners and half those again have legitimately good book selections.  So, it was with a gay little trot that I left town with Blood Meridian and a book of short stories by Philip Roth.

Note:  The best part of our campground was the copious amounts of orange trees and the accompanying juicer, which the owners gave unlimited access to for campers.  Nothing says last nights cheap rum don't hold me down like fresh OJ.

Dinosaur statues of South America aint got nothin on the San Bernardino County museum.

Beth Loves Dogs