The Amazon

It wouldn't be a South American adventure without a visit to the Amazon. We decide that Bolivia is the best country to see it - it's reasonably accessible and the Madidi National Park is supposed to be a vast untouched tract. But probably more significant for us is that the Boliviano makes it much cheaper than the options in Peru, Brazil and Ecuador. From La Paz, there are two ways to get to Rurrenabaque, the gateway to the Madidi Jungle; a 35 minute flight in a pencil plane or a 20 hour bus trip along stretches of road that could stake a claim for the World's Most Dangerous if only the traffic volumes were higher.

Our guide pushing through the shallows 

We've heard horrific accounts from other people in our hostel about the bus and we splash out on the flight. After the obligatory delays, engine problems etc. we're noisily bumping our way past snow capped mountains at 6000m before plunging down into the jungle.

After nearly a month at altitude, we're priming ourselves to be athletes back near to sea level but the heat and humidity quickly sap this idea. Not that we need too much energy because our guide for the next 4 days, Obi, lets us know that we're the only people staying at the lodge and the program each day is entirely up to us.

Fishing spot

Bolivia, up until this point, has felt more of a tourist destination than any other place on our trip. In the 10 days preceding, we've toured the salt flats, biked down death road and crawled through the silver mines. All of which was great fun, but all part of a well beaten track. But the 3 hour canoe ride up the Madidi river to our camp, with just a spluttering 2-stroke motor and our camera to hint at an outside world, is wonderfully remote and untouched.

Arriving at the camp there are no distinguishing features that draw attention to it from the river; the canoe pulls up to the bank and we scramble up an overgrown track to a clearing. Clustered around the clearing are a few simple timber huts with thatched roofs, an open walled dining area and a vege garden. Obi repeats the schedule for us - that there is no schedule, other than dinner at seven - and we opt for reading in the hammocks strung up outside our room.

Nic spots this guy on a night walk in the jungle

When Obi wakes us in fading light and urges us to follow him, we shrug off the grogginess and wade into the jungle in our jandals. He's heard the call of monkeys from the camp and we crash our way through the bush behind his careful steps. We only catch glimpses of the monkeys through the leaves, but still it's more satisfying than through the bars of Santa Cruz zoo. Arriving back at the camp (by some mystery of navigation to us) dinner is served and it is a banquet. 

Nic does not spot this guy in her hammock before climbing in. The screams defied a farm upbringing. Above left, we stumble on a herd of wild boars during a walk. Above right, a fat wad of Australian cash.

The next four days pass in a similar relaxed way. Walks in the jungle in the morning and hammock time in the afternoon, all interspersed with great meals. We catch fish in the river (well, Nic does) and help prepare it for dinner. We hike to a farm plot a few hours from camp and pull up veges for lunch. Nic can't overcome the fear of muddy water - piranhas lurking, we're told, though perfectly safe if you're not bleeding or peeing - so I make the return trip from the farm by myself floating in a tube.

Hard at work digging up yucca. Above, Nic catches a piranha for dinner and gets shown how to make delicious banana leaf parcels with it. 

Relief from the sticky jungle heat

The dining room

Leaving the jungle we return briefly to La Paz on our way out of Bolivia and into Peru. En route we stop off on the Bolivian side of Lake Titicaca, at a place called Copacabana. There is water and something resembling a beach and that's where the resemblence to its Brazilian namesake ends. But it's a nice enough spot to spend the night and we're happy to break up the bus trip. Reaching the alternative layover spot on the Peruvian side of the lake, bleak and ugly Puno, we realise we made a good choice stopping where we did. It's not a first impression that Peru should be proud of, but Puno does have one minor redeeming attraction, the floating islands. 

Only photo evidence of Copacabana

Touristy beyond comparison the Islas de Flotantes are a collection of about 50 manmade reed islands floating on Lake Titicaca. We hop on a boat for a tour and chug out to one. As we approach you can see the families living on the islands rush about in preparation for the incoming dollars: mothers frantically pull traditional clothes over their children's heads while the dads set-up knick-knack stalls. Historically these islands were a refuge from war-faring Incan tribes but now it's a sham for tourists. They still use the traditional techniques to build the islands (labour intensive, reeds are restocked every 2 weeks) and for me, this is the interesting part about the tour. The sensation of walking on them is unnerving; it moves under your feet like a bowl of jelly and you're never really certain that you won't fall through.

Model of the floating island on the floating island. Compacted earth cubes with reeds layered on top.

As we cast off from the island a huge storm passes overhead and the back of the boat is covered by a sheet of hail. It's at this point we realise our competent captain, Henry, hasn't successfully started the engine. Something smelt funny leaving Puno and it's apparent that the electrics are buggered. An irritating Canadian aboard, old and with a know-it-all looking beard, painstakingly crafted to disguise multiple chins, informs us that it was most definitely burning copper wires we smelt earlier. The boat drifts out into the lake and the deluge continues on deck.

Storm approaching

Henry organizes to be towed back to Puno by a boat we happen to bump into but the added weight is too much for our saviour tug and its engine gives up also. A third boat is strung on the chain and it's a slow and ungainly haul back to the harbour. We have time for a dubious meal at the bus terminal before boarding for Cusco (which we get duped on by the boat operator. We're sold a combo boat/bus ticket but the promised bus company won't accept the chit and we're stuck traveling with some dodgy outfit). Ah Peru. You've got some work to do.

And striking

For my sister and all the underwhelming moments we suffered at corner stores in Brazil. The sugary colours of South America at last.

A rather negative finish. And things get worse before they get better, I'm afraid. But we're now happily ensconced beachside in Ecuador and I'm writing from a hammock. Don't feel too bad for us.

xN&G