July 27 – Stopover in Carmen del Enero, Tacana I Community
428 km and 9th day of navigation from Guanay
After spending the night in the forest by the rio, we wake up at 5:30 a.m. to start the day early. We row all the way. A small salad completes the leftover black beans we had kept from the day before.
In the early afternoon, we pass close to a tree standing in the middle of the rio. The opportunity is too good to miss, so we moor to it and take some nice photos of the boat. We start the engine for the maneuver and head toward it, going against the strong current. In a few seconds, the engine stops after quickly losing power. We quickly realize that something has wrapped around the propeller.
The current begins to put a lot of pressure on the engine shaft. I plunge my hands into the water, shouting not to start the engine. I feel a rope wound around the propeller and begin to unwind it. There’s too much, so I grab a knife and cut this small cord. We are freed, and the boat starts moving again.
I pull this piece of plastic on board and discover a hook the size of a hand, with a small pacu serving as bait. The size of the setup makes us wonder about the fish intended to take this bait.
We arrive early in Carmen del Enero. Captain Suarez tells us over the radio that we are invited for dinner. Many people gather on the shore to see us arrive. Children run to follow Pipilintu, arriving slowly at the dock. It’s a dream welcome from the whole village.
The Tacana I community has about 800 people. They have an official dialect, a school up to the secondary level, and houses with motacu and jatata roofs. The “correridor,” the community leader, welcomes us with a tour of the village. He immediately shows us the sepo, a punishment tool where anyone who misbehaves is restrained by the leg, wrist, or even neck in public. We are made aware of the local justice system.
Some of us are busy presenting the boat. We work on finishing the butterfly painting on the sail. Children from the village bring out brushes and help us. Others join the ongoing soccer game.
In the evening, we are welcomed at the correridor’s home. His wife cooks a fish with rice. We eat until we are heavy with food. Fatigue falls on our shoulders. Night falls in the village, and the flickering of the streetlights sways with the distant hum of the electricity generator. It’s so hot.
The correridor informs us that the ceremony planned for our arrival will not take place. Great, I’m exhausted. I head for my hammock. I enjoy the smell in the pueblo, the beauty of the houses, and especially the absence of mosquitoes. I go to sleep.
July 28 – Departure 9 a.m.
The next day, we are invited for breakfast at 7 a.m. We pack our belongings and eat a paixe, a huge fish with tender flesh.
It’s back-to-school day for the students. The principal invites us to say a few words as we prepare to cast off. We go to the playground and wait behind about fifty students, ranging from 6 to 17 years old for the oldest.
Benjamin hides behind the bleachers and pretends to be playful. Captain Suarez explains that the basketball court is covered with about ten centimeters of soil, deposited by sediments from last February’s floods.
The principal calls us and introduces our expedition to the children. I speak first, starting to talk about the expedition. Benjamin had encouraged me, saying that I should speak loudly and mime for the children. So I speak loudly and mime the rowing motion twice.
Then Benjamin speaks, followed by Thomas. Thomas gives his perspective on the meaning of Pipilintu. The monarch butterfly is capable of traveling several thousand kilometers, little by little. His metaphor emphasizes the importance of dreams, even if they take a long time to achieve.
His view nicely complements the explanation I had given so far for the name of the expedition. I enjoy hearing him speak and then take the floor again to say a word about our collaboration with the army.
Captain Suarez surprises me with the words he uses to criticize mining operations and tree poaching. He insists on preserving their way of life, fishing for subsistence and using the forest’s resources only for their own needs.
A teacher then speaks, returning to Thomas’s words, adding to the importance of having dreams and illustrating the sacrifices that this can entail.
The principal invites us to sit and offers us a soda. This school is made up of teachers from La Paz. I am pleased to see their custom, as I pour myself a glass of this small, chemically flavored pineapple soda.
The two months building the boat in Huatajata gave me a soda addiction, and I feel guilty pleasure in pouring myself another glass. Here in the Oriente, customs are different. Coke is not a necessity.
We listen to the school band play an anthem as the rows of students enter their classrooms one by one, in single file. It’s beautiful to see this village life centered around the children.
Later in the day, Santi will open his bottle of homemade fermented pineapple soda for us. It’s so much better.
We arrive in Monterrey under a torrential downpour. The weather had been threatening all day. We have a meal prepared by a woman for 12 bolivianos (about $0.80), rice and fish. She also prepares a turtle for her children. We sleep at 9 p.m.
