After selling our souls to the Amazon River and it’s tributaries for the last twenty four days as well as making it through malaria infested waters, dengue epidemics, long spells of dysentery, boat break downs, pirates and unbearable Portuguese music, we had had enough of the river. Joey and I had spent what was to be most of February afloat down some 3,000 plus miles of river via slow boat. Epic river journeys are overrated. It was time for a new start. We swore that we would not be caught up on a long river journey anytime soon.

We arrived in Guayaramerín, Bolivia, two days ago after taking a ferry across the border of Brazil. Guayaramerín, a lost in time northern Bolivian frontier town tucked away from the rest of the world. The town lies surrounded by dense jungle with only one dirt road leading south out of town and the dark milky waters of Mamoré River. The main transportation around town was via motorcycle or tuk tuk, a rickshaw of sorts with rigidity seats for two people on the back of a beat up well rode motorcycle.

We got a room at the Hotel Litoral, a musty place with very hard wooden framed beds, I felt right a home. For only three dollars a night, I guess you could call it a real steal. Joey who had been very ill for the past several days still was not speaking and instantly lay down on the bed. Being the tough guy and Alaska state wrestling champ Joey is, he looked up at me and said “Mick you have to promise me that if I do not make it, you can never tell anyone I got sick.” “No problem,” I replied. Joey, looked as if he was nearly dying. He had not been eating for days and had a very high fever. Good chance he could have malaria I thought.

Days later we got our blood tested which was a long motorcycle ride on a red dirt road that lead us deep into the jungle. Upon arriving a sign read morgue/clinic in large letters taking care of a possible extra trip I guess. Dusty old microscopes, the kind I had in grade school checked our blood samples to see if we were postive or not. The air was tense as the local doctor read the results of a young woman before us, “positivo” the man exclaimed. The young woman let out a loud cry, the kind that makes your heart full of sorrow and your eyes water. We were far luckier and both tested negative, we did however end up with a great case of dysentery.

Joey and I had purchased a bus ticket for the next day that would take three to four days to travel 400 miles and end up in the capital city of La Paz (if we were lucky). The journey would not be an easy one as we would be traveling on the world’s deadliest road (the road that sees the most fatal deaths per year). A vehicle on average goes over the steep edge every two weeks causing instant death to those venturing over. Weighing our other options that all had to do with water, it sounded like heaven.

The following morning we got up around dawn to catch a tuk tuk I had arranged the night before. We put our packs into the back and bolted to catch our bus to La Paz. The morning was very rainy, a nice change from the unbearable heat waves of the past several days. Upon arrival to the bus station it continued to rain, a hard dense monsoon like rain began to flood the area of the bus station. We would have to wait another day to take the “la carretera de muerte or death road” as all buses were canceled after an hour because of extensive downpour. The Bolivian wet season had started to show itself in full force that day.

The Bolivian wet season had started to show itself in full force that day.

Joey and I remained at the Hotel Litoral for most of the day wondering whether we would be leaving anytime soon. Later that day, we received word that there would be no bus the following day or anytime in the near future. Apparently, a key bridge on the way to La Paz had been washed out or had just been erased from the flooding. No one knew exactly when or if it would be fixed. That left only a few options for Joey and I as we had to get out of town because we were running out of money.

We decided that flying to La Paz would be our best bet. It was then that I learned Joey had only a small amount of money. Together we had just $150 U.S. dollars, not nearly enough to get us landed in La Paz. I went to visit the Bolivian military, who offered cheap domestic flights when they had space available. A small dark mustached general behind a small wooden table told me that the earliest we could fly out was in nineteen days, about two weeks more than what we could handle. No ATM’s and traveler check cashiers in Guayaramerín spelled trouble for us. That night we struggled with what decision to make or one that we knew we were going to need to make.

Our last night at Hotel Litoral was spent playing Monopolio, a Monopoly inspired game with the exception of cheap advertising and girls with bikinis imprinted on the board. Clearly Parker Brothers was not receiving any royalties from the Bolivian version. A Bolivian man ended up being the winner as Joey and I tried to take each other out of the game. After dinner, a salted banana dish and some flan for desert, I retired for the night not knowing what tomorrow would bring.

The morning brought Victor, Hotel Litoral’s Robert De Niro looking owner. Victor seemed to be in his fifties and out of shape (which later he would prove wrong). Victor had told us of a boat he was heading south for Trinidad, Bolivia on down the Rio Mamoré later today. Trinidad, a bustling town in Northeastern Bolivia was our only hope in getting some more cash and taking a bus to La Paz. Joey and I got a lift via motorbike to where the boat would be taking off. To my surprise the boat was not just any boat but a tugboat that had an oil tanker attached to the front of it.

I talked with the captain who shared an exact resemblance to Benico del Toro about his slightly sea worthy rig. Benico was a tall Bolivian man with flowing black hair, an unbuttoned shirt and toothpick that hung on his lower lip. He told me that the trip would cost $300 Bolivianos or about $35 dollars for each of us for the entire trip including three meals a day. He estimated the trip would take six days of travel to get to Trinidad, Bolivia. Knowing that the wet season was full blown and about to be washed up, we accepted to take on the river journey. No questions asked.

We would leave an hour before dusk and journey into the night. Joey went back to the hotel to gather up our belongings and I went to the market to get last minute goods for the trek. That would mean I would have thirty minutes to grab the absolute essentials for the river journey. We had pooled our money together which was somewhere in the range of fifty U.S. dollars, I would have to be smart about my spending. The market was a crazy place full of mangled fly ridden meat, fruits, grains, coca leaves and canned foods. The funny thing is all vendors sold exactly the same thing, no specializing in a certain product here. With not a lot of time or money, I grabbed the essentials which included toilet paper (perhaps the most valuable resource of a river journey), strawberry wafers (for extra nutrition), Oreos(more nutrition), a jar of green olives, fishing line, bamboo, a saw blade, bananas, ten gallons of water, a bottle of Tres Estrellas (Bolivian firewater), some tobacco for possible trade and a large can of peaches. The bamboo and the saw was an idea I had to make a fishing rod, in case we got so desperate as to fish. Upon arrival back at the tanker I showed Joey what I had purchased. He thought the Oreos to be a little excessive for the trip, I thought they could be a key asset and that he did not have to eat them!

The 1980's camping tent that Joey had found some years ago in the Alaskan Wilderness would prove to be extremely useful as the tarp hanging from the rafters on the oil tanker had major holes in it. Alongside a group of fifteen or so Bolivians including our friend Victor we would began to make the intense slow float down the river. After departing Guayaramerín, I knew one bottle of Tres Estrellas would not be enough for the journey (I thought to myself secretly, the Oreos could have been two more much needed bottles of Bolivian fire water). We all make mistakes.

The tugboat pushed the oil tanker very close to the dense jungle shore which was different from the other ferries we had been on. I hoped this would give us the chance of seeing more wildlife that the Amazon basin had to offer. After departing, I set off to explore the two vessels. The oil tanker which we were staying on sat about three feet above the river and was somewhere in the range of 100ft in length and 20ft wide. It looked like a very small aircraft carrier with edges that dropped off into the murky waters of the Mamoré. On the top of the tanker were open frames that were around seven feet high that took up most of the space on the tanker. The tugboat was half as small as the tanker but had three levels. The bottom floor consisted of the bathroom, a few crew rooms and the kitchen. The bathroom consisted of a small room with a toilet and a great view of the river running beneath it. It was also home to the noisiest motor in South America. The middle floor had the eating quarters which included a picnic table to eat on and also an extra room attached to it. The top floor or the Captains quarters was an open area with the exception of the controls for the tugboat.

As we got ready to crash for the night, I brought out my thermarest (inflatable mattress). The Bolivians abroad had never seen such an unique piece of furniture. Each one of them took turns lying on it asking where they could pick one up at. I had to break the news to them that there was no where I knew of this side of the Amazon to get one. That night we met a Bolivian in a San Francisco 49ers hat named Harold chewing coca leaves. Harold told us that the main reasons why Bolivians chew coca leaves are to starve off hunger and for acclimatization. Which was a good enough reason for Joey and I, so Harold gave us our first sample of coca leaves. First Harold gave us a root to chew on and then the leaves to chew on. At first taste it was if I was chewing a mouthful of freshly cut grass. After building up a big ball of coca leaves Harold gave us some baking soda which acts as a catalyst with the leaves. The final outcome was a real nice gentle numbing feeling that seemed to sooth the mind and body. I now see why Bolivians are so easy going.

That night as most nights on the river, Joey and I sat in front of the tanker talking, looking at the stars above us and watching vampire bats fly into the tugboats gigantic spotlights. The tugboat uses large spotlights in an attempt to out maneuver logs and other debris in the river at night. The Rio Mamoré is one of the largest rivers in Bolivia and for most of it’s journey is a mile wide. There is no shoreline as the jungle encroaches into the silt filled river. I go back to the tent and lie on my inflatable mattress falling asleep to the millions of stars up above. While falling asleep a dance with the idea of real life pirates on the river and what has brought me here. Good night, I say, Good Night.

The second day on the Mamoré went by very slow. The rain that had put a delay on our travel had now turned to a boil cooking everything in sight. It was a challenge to find shady spots all day on the boat. Our tugboat/tanker duo stopped at a village on the way and loaded up logs and tiles for the journey. Not quite sure what will happen with all the new luggage but I am sure it will be used wisely.

Joey and I spent most of the day trying to avoid the heat and playing cribbage. While playing cribbage Victor came and sat by us and told us how to make cocaine. I must admit that his cocaine speech was very informative and used great detail when telling it. Could this man in has fifties be a part of some cartel? After Victor finished up his chat the lunch bell rang. Joey and I sprinted to go get our food on the bottom of the tugboat.

All sanitary conditions are thrown out the door here. Our cook a very large Bolivian who was missing a great deal of his teeth dished us up. It looked like mystery food yet again, at least I recognized the boiled banana. Meager portions in addition to not knowing what your eating is not as romantic as I first thought. One thing is for sure, I can bet tonight’s dinner will include rice, beans and bananas with absolutely no spices.

Day 3: Early the next day, the boat came to a halt. Outside the boats are men on horses, at first glance I would say they are Bolivian gauchos. This is an interesting place unlike other places we have seen on the Amazon. There is a huge ox on shore hauling a trailer behind him. It looks like something out of the 18th century. The forest for the most part as all been turned into farm land for cattle. There is no jungle that I can see. For all I know we could be in Georgia. Workers unload the logs and clay tiles off the tanker. Still confused to what is actually going on it turns out that we are picking up cattle to haul south with us. Workers install plywood on the floor of the tanker and put up gates around it. Since the cattle are going on top of the tanker everybody is forced to move to the already crowded/noisy tugboat. We decided to stick it out with the cattle and place our tent in a small spot on the tanker in between the gates and the tugboat. I am looking forward to see how all this turns out.

Victor overhearing Joey and I joking around about riding the gauchos horses decides to go and talk to one of the cowboys about it. After talking to a cowboy for sometime, Victor walks over to us and tells us to get ready to ride. Joey and I both look at each other and have a big laugh, except this is no joke. Having never rode a horse before I am directed to get on. So I am now sitting on a horse having never rode and going to someplace I am unaware of with a bunch of real life Bolivian gauchos. After a brief introduction of how to ride a horse in spanish we take off for parts unknown. A few of the gauchos double up as Joey and I ride their horses. Joey’s horse immediately takes off bucking with him and sending him screaming like a small child. One of the cowboys run up, grabs the horse and settles him down. We have built up quite a posse including nine horses, two dogs and a ox drawn cart.

Ever since I was little, I had always wanted to be a cowboy, that day I learned I am not cowboy material.

We travel through the muddy landscape of the ranch. As we pass the plains of the ranch and enter into a wooded trail, three scarlet macaws fly directly in front of us. Absolutely amazing. I am stunned by both the beauty of the macaws and how much it actually hurts to ride a horse. Ever since I was little I had always wanted to be a cowboy, that day I learned I am not cowboy material. While riding, I see perhaps the biggest snake of my life inside a tree stump. Lucky for me, my horse did not see the large serpent. We continue to a large mud hole in which the ox and his cart get stuck. The cowboys have Joey and I ride on while they pull the ox out of the mud hole. The thirty minute ride to the ranch yielded quite the scene, a small homestead in the middle of the Amazon Basin.

Upon entering the estanceria (ranch) the first thing we noticed was leather being tanned and beef drying in the midday sun. The place was something out of a wild west movie. Around the ranch were fields that went on forever. In the fields sat hundreds of cranes. The cranes were brilliant looking creatures that had a black head, red throat and a white body. Joey and I walked around the ranch, it seemed that the people here had set up their own community totally self sufficient from the outside world. All of their water was collected from the rain, food was gathered in the fields and tangible goods were made my hand.

After all the gauchos got back and took care of the horses we were invited in for lunch. The women of the ranch had prepared two large pots of soup with meat in it. There was a total of twenty or so people all eating together at one large picnic like table. We ate up and thanked the cowboys and their family for their gracious meal. We knew we had to get going as Benico could be pulling away in the tugboat at any time. As we walked deciding not to ask to use the cowboy’s horses on the way back, the heat slowly began to take its toll on us.

We arrived back at the tugboat a half day later to see that the cattle have not been loaded. Due to the sweltering heat I sought shade on the tugboat while Joey stood under a large tree. While sitting on a hammock in a secluded back part of the tugboat I watch an amazing story unfold. Joey decided to try to walk on one of the ropes that was holding the tanker to the shore. The fifth-teen foot rope holding onto the tanker looked bigger than my neck. The tugboat lie cocked to the tanker. As I watch Joey walk the tight rope across I notice the Mamoré River jetting by underneath creating a ripple affect against the tanker. I watched Joey fall quicly into the darkness of the river… everything seemed to disappear. I heard a woman scream from the shore. Joey was gone.

The screaming continued as one of the women on board thought her child had fallen in. The whole scene seemed to last forever, when Joey popped out of the murky water on the other side of the tanker gasping for air. The mighty Mamoré was propelling him downstream about thirty yards before he could reach shore. Joey made it back to the tugboat, his face was white as a ghost and lucky not to be a victim of river. Joey looks at me and confides that that was the closest he had ever been to death. That is when something absolutely startling happens. Victor who had seen the whole episode of the near drowning bets Joey he could not do it again. Victor runs up to the tanker and jumps off to where Joey had just went under. Joey soon ensues. After a few distraught looks Victor and Joey pop up on the other side gasping for air and swiftly float down the river until they can swim to shore. Joey and Victor spend some quality time chatting underneath a large palm while I decide to go lie on a hammock to get out of the heat.

Later in the day, after a nameless dinner, Joey informs me what Victor and him talked about under the palm tree. It turns out that Victor, this short stocky man was engaged in a bloody conflict against the drug cartels in the late 80’s and 90’s, being involved with the Bolivian Navy and also being sent on secret missions to infiltrate drug labs. He also casually admitted to Joey that he had killed an undisclosed amount of people while on these missions. Great, that at least cleared my suspicion that he was involved in a cartel.

Day 4: We wake up in our tent to the blazing sun scorching everything inside. It’s fucking hot. No one is in a hurry to load up the cattle on the tanker. By the look of things we could easily be here for a month. However, breakfast was an actually pleasant meal of some deep fried bread, my favorite meal of the journey. Oh do I look forward to another feast of deep fried bread.

After looking around endlessly, I find that my bamboo supply has all but disappeared down to my walking stick. I vow to keep a very close eye on those people left on the boat.

“Where is the rain?,” I keep asking myself. Joey and I decide to go swimming in the milky brown waters of the Mamoré. There is only one thing stopping us and that is that the river is way too fast. After pondering shortly we decide to ask Benico if we could tie one of his ropes to the back of his tugboat. After a crazy smile, he tells us as long we put it back where we found it. Joey and I go down to the noisy floor of the tugboat and grab the longest rope we can find. After tying the rope to the back of the tugboat, we toss it out. The Rio Mamoré quickly swallows the seventy-five yards of rope. It is now up to us to test the rope. We climb two floors to the top of the tugboat, the metal on top burns the bottoms of our naked feet. Looking for relief we plunge twenty feet into the questionable water below. I hit the water and instantaneously am swept down the river. In a adrenaline rush, part trying to come out alive, I swim with all my energy to where I hope the rope to be under the water. After looking and not finding it right way, thoughts crossed my mind that I could be in for more excitement than anticipated. Maybe it was not the best idea to go swimming in the caiman infested waters of the Mamoré.

I dove deep into the water with one last effort in hopes of finding the submerged rope underwater. I briefly touch something with my hand and then grab for it, it is the rope! There could not be that much rope in back of me as I was a good hundred feet from the boat. Struggling against the river, I slowly pulled myself foot by foot back to the tugboat. I climbed abroad and took a deep breath, what a rush. Following two more attempts of the river we spend the rest of the day playing cribbage hiding from the sun.

As I crawl into the tent for the night after another long day on the river, I hear a small girl yell Michael a-cei-tona (Meaning Michael olive)! We hear laughs around the boat, the girls goes on a thirty minute rampage of what she thinks is fun keeping the two gringos awake by chanting Michael aceitona, Michale aceitona, Michael aceitona! Joey and I have a brief chat about throwing the small girl overboard in the morning until we fell into our own deep slumbers for the night.

Day 5: That morning we were awaken to the sounds that no one should be awaken too…..A herd of cattle being loaded to you with in breathing distance and next to your tent with only a metal barrier separating you! The gauchos herded up the cattle and led about one hundred fifty to two hundred head of cattle on the tanker. Joey and I looked on in disbelief, we would now have even noisier neighbors. It will definitely make for an interesting night sleeping next to the cattle.

I will never recommend sleeping next to a herd of cattle. The constant breathing, moving around, rustling, the loud moooos and that smell….. left me wanting to jump ship!