Enjoying Bolivia 211The trip beyond Mamacona was still in doubt. Andrew
explained to the guide, as best as he could, that the group’s
purpose was to set up an ecotourism route that would be
managed exclusively by the local residents.
Mamacona was an improvement over Turnia: two houses
instead of one, with a stunning view of the green, velvet hills
and deep precipices of the semitropics. “Such an exotic view,”
Andrew marvels, “from huts of such squalor.”
Here it became necessary to negotiate for guides. The
Mamaconians awaited their local fi esta a week later, and
offers of cash were not enough to divert them from that
momentous occasion. Finally, the offer of a machete to go
along with the money convinced two men to act as guides:
20 per cent of the Mamacona population. This deal was good
for a limited time only, since the guides would be needed to
hunt down their fi esta feast.
“Past Mamacona, we reached one of the most beautiful
places on earth,” Andrew marvelled. “Rolling fi elds of what
looked like broccoli, with protruding plate-like mountains
and rivers crashing through deep gorges. We walked along
the edge of a gorge in order to avoid the thick vegetation,
chewing coca along the way.”
The cultural gap between Quechua-speaking guides
and the English/Spanish-speaking trekkers was bridged
by a young boy who translated. The locals wondered why
anyone would want to take their photos. They hadn’t made
the national football squad, nor were they soap opera stars.
The guides were treated to tapes of Bob Marley and the
ornithologist’s bird recordings.
In the thickest jungle, Andrew and his companions
were left without guides, forced to carry burdens of 30 kgs
(66 lbs) each. They knew they were more than a day’s trek
from their destination of San José, a town of 400 people,
on the Tuichi River, reachable only by foot or by boat, eight
hours to the nearest road.
At a moment when it seemed they could advance no
longer, when even the coca leaves were losing their effect, the
promised guides from San José showed up. ‘There is a god,’
Andrew thought, as his backpack thudded to the forest fl oor.