Crocs, and Piranhas, and Gringos! Oh My!

If her tornado had taken a different turn, Dorothy might have skipped Oz and ended up in the magical land of Rurrenabaque, a tourist-saturated town 20 hours northwest of La Paz. Rurre's unique landscape gives it prime time gringo-backpacker real estate: Emerald City (the green lush that is the Amazon jungle basin) accompanied by Munchkin Land (the pampas, inhabitated by possibly the cutest little creature we've yet to encounter outside of munchkins themselves,  the want-to-pinch-their-cheeks-cuties, the capybara.)

In fact, the commute to Rurre is much like Dorothy & Toto's own wild, swirling, twirling adventure.  Descending a couple of thousand meters over a relatively short distance along the famous deadliest road in the world (1), the Bolivian bus (read: worse- than -a- lemon, overly-booked, people- in -the -aisles, animals- under- the -seats, Chitti-Chitti-Bang-Bang of buses), traversed a side of a steep mountain road, whirling and twirling us around and continually giving us views of our potential death hundreds of meters down the canyon. Unlike lucky, little Dorothy's open sky commute, the road is also only one lane wide in several places, requiring the drivers to reverse, with a few only feet of land on each side on an unlit road on the side of a cliff, to allow another bus going the other direction to pass.  By the time we arrived, we were ten pounds lighter (water weight lost from the sweating in the sweltering heat, frostbitten (from the sweat freezing at night), and extremely happy to be alive.        

Upon arrival we merrily skipped and sang our way following the brown dirt road and (probably to no ones surprise) found the cheapest digs in town, family-run Residencial Jisilene, a cute little hospedaje  with hammocks overlooking the river and a friendly orphaned sheep to boot. After a little r&r, we went in search of the cheapest tour to take us to Munchkinland.


We ventured upon Munchkinland with our own little lollipop guild of 4 other gringos and a guide, 3 hours down a calm and beautiful river to Gringo Summer Camp.  Along the way, we spotted hundreds of crocodiles, dozens of species of exotic birds, turtles, and the star that stole the show, the golden munchkin himself, the capybara (if unfamiliar with this munckin relative, picture the cutest 130 pound guinea pig you can imagine. The capybara is in fact the world´s largest rodent.)

   

Little known to the outside world, the unoffical language of Rurre and it's surrounding tour areas is our familiar friend, English. At Summer Camp, we were told of our camp activities, including meal times and the organized "volleyball time". Although we hadn't seen a volleyball in our six months in South America, it somehow made sense (?) to include this activity, since it a well known fact all white people  love volleyball, even when in the pampas. We bunked up with 30 other pale people and enjoyed separate-but-equal facilities. (Gringo quarters vs Bolivian quarters, gringo dining table vs Bolivian dining table, etc. Seems Rosa Parks never made her way this far south.)
   

We spent the rest of our time in Pampa Munchkinland taking more trips out on the boat, spotting more crocs and caiman, birds and capybaras (who, like munchkins and gringos on this tour, hang out in groups of 10 to 30. although land animals, capycuties can miraculously stay underwater in croc infested waters for up to five minutes.)Additionally, we were introduced to the pink river dolphin, who is the uglier, less playful stepsister of our bottlenosed friends, but pretty thrilling to see in their own right.

Other gringo activities included watching two amazing sunsets on the pampas (flat grassland above the river and jungle-ly terrain below), monkey spotting, one beatiful sunrise, and "anaconda searching", which to our guide (who may have been working for the Wicked Witch of the West), inexplicably meant wearing wellies and trudging in a two feet deep thick mud pool for an hour. While all the other gringos and guides marvelled at an anaconda on the dry, sunny grass area nearby, our lollipop guild was stuck knee deep in mud, watching our more fortunate comrades on dryland finding anacondas. By the time we were out, we each had temporaily lost a shoe to the mud. Though I fell once, stuck in a crazy complicated yoga position to avoid being completely submerged in the goopy filth until someone could take the 5 minute, 4 ft journey to help me up, we made it out safely (and looking much more Bolivian with our new brown skin), but unfortunately not before the anaconda slithered away.  

Though we never found the Cowardly Lion or Scarecrow, there were several Tin Men missing a heart, who spent one afternoon (cut very short in order not to miss Gringo volleyball time) hunting and killing  (with a small, wallet sized piece of wood attached to fishing line and hook) pirahnas. Though our group only caught one (which was sneakily eaten at dinner to avoid being scene by the film crew of 2 from Colombia University documenting on the environmental impact of backpackers) (2), several small catfish were victims of collatoral damage.

After 3 days, we headed back to Rurre proper, still without any ruby slippers, and fretting over when our next opportunity to play volleyball would be.
Two days later, we were off again, this time to the Emerald City, located in Madidi National Park, accessible again only by boat.




After settling into camp at a gringo settlement of only ten,  we headed out to hike through the jungle with our new guild of 4 plus guide, Mario, who was also in cahoots with the Wicked Witch. After learning about the medicinal and practical uses of several varieties of plants we passed, Mario began banging his machete on a large, seemingly hollow tree. Unbeknowst to us, the purpose of this "parte de la adventura" (the south American guides favorite slogan when something on a tour goes against the gringo's liking) was to release 100s of this jungles version of oz's flying monkeys, angry black bees who had formed a nest there. Harmless but annoying and stinging little buggers, the bees nestle in your hair and clothing till they can make their way to your scalp, armpits, bellybutton, to stick to you, repeatedly stinging you. Not all members of our tour were amused.

Jane of the Jungle, twice. If you have the misfortune of zooming on the pic on the right, you will see that Jason is sporting a pony tail. 

After another 2 days of trekking through the forest, we discovered (unfortunately most of the time, with our noses first, a wild pig smells worse than Dickers after 4 days and no shower, which I also, unfortunately, know how that smells.) packs of 400+ wild pigs, macaws, monkeys, a puma footprint, seeds and plants used to make jewelry, and several new jokes about "Bat"s, since Mario, unable to fathom the "th" sound that does not exist in Spanish, really believed my parents named me after the night- loving creature.


Unfortunately,  we still hadnt found our ruby slippers by the time we left the Emerald City. With our original return date of September 7th quickly approaching and with no way to teleport ourselves back to Kansas, we had no other option but to extend our trip. Sometimes being a cheap little bastard has it's perks.... We'll see you all in the States for Christmas. Winterwonderland Volleyball, anyone?