Parque Ambue Ari - Escape from Alcatraz - 'Parquelife'

Parque Ambue Ari - Bolivia
30 OCT - 17 NOV

Santa Maria is a small town, in fact, it's a small village located about 8kms down the road from Parque Ambue Ari. Of an evening it became our one and only saviour, a refuge from the park, a place to relax and obtain a cold beer. Essentially it was our local hang out, one that allowed us to complain away the ills of the day and recalibrate the mind in order to mentally and physically prepare for the following day, which would usually kick-off with a 6am wake up call. The 'rules of the park' were such that each volunteer was required to be in camp by 7am at which time they would undertake their 'weekly' task. This could involve one of a number of activities such as feeding one of the many species of birds in the avairy or one of the other 'minor' variety of animals. The weekly task was also to be quickly followed by an assigned daily task, to be completed between the 7am-8am timeslot, and it was one that could range from cleaning the lavatories (long drops), getting breakfast ready for the masses (usually between 40-50 people) or sweeping the patio (a revered area of glorified dirt and rocks infront of the common room). Once completed then it would be time for breakfast and our most favoured time of day, 'annuncios'. Loved the 'ole annuncios! They were delivered each day by Zach, a typical Australian with the standard type of drawl that had me wishing at times that we, Australians as a collective unit, could at least upgrade our accents to something a little more dignified and that had with a little more class. Some sections of the 'global villages' say that it's part of our charm but really, when you get to a place where you think is the middle of nowhere and the first voice you hear is that of an Australian saying, 'G'day mate, how 'ya goin', alright?' - seriously, the accent gets on your nerves. Well, to qualify that, it's probably not so much the accent as for the fact that Australians are anywhere that you can think of on this planet, literally anywhere! When I was in Estonia they had a saying in the hostels that went like this, 'Germans are everywhere and Australians are anywhere!'. Randomly think of any remote place you can, travel there and I'll make you a bet that when you arrive there will be an Australian opening up a local brew and they'll greet you with a 'Hey mate, wanna drink?'. As a person that likes to travel and as an Australian I have to say that this unique trait can sometimes be more than a little annoying.

Our standard days in Ambue Ari more often than not involved long stints out in the sun, walking cats, doing construction or sitting back in hammocks watching monkeys escape into their Amazonian hideouts (yeah ok, so I had it easy).What this also often meant however was that that getting sold on the idea of an 8km journey down to Santa Maria each evening was rather easy. The nightly ritual kind of went like this, 'Hey, are you going down to Santa Maria tonight?'

...'Well, I wasn't going to but now that you've put up such a persuasive argument, how could I refuse?'. Also, the fact that the 'park rules' stipulated that alcohol was not allowed on the property and that a lack of electricity meant that the standard temperature of any cold drink that you could find in the park was about 30 degrees meant that Santa Maria was the ONLY place to go after getting beaten down by the steamy climate.

Now I have to say that I had quite a few issues with the way the park was run and my stay there in general was less than ordinary but with that said there were also a couple of standout moments that I'll carry with me for a few years to come. I recall one night whilst a group of us were heading out of the bar attempting to make our way home from Santa Maria we were stuck for a ride.Not an uncommon event considering that the local bus that travelled the line passed somewhere in the vicinity of every three hours or so. On this evening there were probably 10-12 of us waiting up on 'highway 1' hoping that a good samaritan would come along and allow us to jump a ride back to our base. Watching a small flicker of light from several kms down the road grow larger and become a beacon of temporary hope, a prospective saviour of enduring boredom, we jumped out in front of the vehicle as it confronted outskirts Santa Maria and managed on this occassion to hail ourselves down a dual carriage cattle truck.Realising our opportunity, the 'United Nations of volunteers' clambered aboard our Bolivian vessel of austerety and prepared ourselves to sail across the 8km Amazonian sea of darkness to our abode.Now imagine this, there we were, twelve of us sitting about 3-4 metres above the ground on large wooden pailings that acted as the cattle fence on each respective carriage. Arched down the middle of the carriage from the back to the front was a large metal bar which provided us with support and was little bit of safety assurance from the truck's often wayward movement. As the truck drove off into the darkness pulling anywhere between 70-90kms an hour, there we were atop the cattle express, 6-8cms of wood to support our rear ends and with only a metal bar to hang onto in order to provide stability. If there had been a need for the truck to stop suddenly for any reason then it would have been a 'midnight carnage affair' and the local papers would have been reporting a major international incident. Not that I really thought of that at the time, what really captured my imagination on the journey were the small blueish coloured lightning strikes occuring on either side of the road amongst the tall trees and dense vegetation. Hurtling along the desolate road these captivating streaks of light were the only things that could be seen, brought to you directly by the  luminescent abdomens of the fireflys that made this area their home. Sometimes its the very small things that manage to capture the imagination.

Motoring home 'Parque style'

By the time our stay at the park had ended it seemed that Santa Maria had a lot to answer for. It was virtually the only place that we could go in order to get away from the park albeit with the very same people that we had worked with during the day and hence I'd say that it had a lot to do with the high incidence of 'musical beds' that was taking place on most nights and it also had to do with a moderately embarrasing/amusing episode that I had one evening after the park Halloween party.

The Halloween Party - cause of all things stupid!

I don't know what I was trying to explain to Dina but I think she was thinking 'What the f**k has he taken!?'

No wonder I lost my way home!

Seriously, do I have teeth missing here?

Savouring the opportunity to have several drinks and take advantage of the only half day free that we had in the week (we worked 6.5 out of the 7 days), I along with many others decided to tie one on in order to celebrate Halloween (although we never really needed a reason to drink). Calling it quits somewhere around 2:30am I was fortunate enough to catch one of the local line buses that happened to be passing as I made my way out of one of the two locals we frequented. Now the 10 min ride down the road was uneventful but when we got to the park I immediately realised the error of my ways. The park was electricity free, which equalled no light. Thanks also to the density of vegetation the entirety of this place was also pitch black. Fortunately I had made my way back to home base with two other revellers who had brought toches, unfortunately our barracks, or rather the one that I'd been assigned was 300mtrs down the road from the main camp. Immediately realising my predicament I asked around for a light and was kindly handed a Bolivian lighter. Now if you know anything about Bolivian lighters you know that they aren't built to last....very long...at all. Flicking my only source of light as I walked down the road I must have looked like I was some type of maniac at a Bryan Adams concert. Surprisingly I managed to find the start of the trail from the main road that led to our digs - and then - it was lights out. The crappy piece of Bolivian ingenuity literally crumbled in my hands! I had absolutely nothing! It was pitch black, I was standing on a road in the middle of the jungle with nobody around me, relatively smashed and desperately wanting to crash out for the night. Using my amazing powers of reasoning I decided to ditch my currently inoperative sense of sight and closed my eyes hoping that my other senses would be heightened and that I'd be able to feel my way along the trail, straight into the comfort of my straw matress bed...FAT FREAKIN' CHANCE. On my first attempt I must have made it 10mtrs before crashing into vines, thick undergrowth and all things jungle like. Actually it was this first attempt that sobered me up rather quickly as it took a few mins to get my bearings and find the trail again and in those mins I thought I really would be spending a night out in the jungle amongst the tarantulas, snakes and all possible things nocturnal. Making my way back to the road I attempted to mentally visualise the path and then when I was satisfied with the route that I'd mapped out I renewed my assault on the trail. Unfortunately I failed yet again! Walking back to the road yet again I prepared myself for one of two options. Wait for someone from our barracks to make their return, which I think at this point in time was only Dina and really,who knew when the hell she'd be back, or, there was the option of waiting alongside the road until dawn. Both those options quite frankly were crap, especially knowing that a bed was only 50mtrs away. I decided to give it another crack. Walking deeper into the jungle than my previous two attempts I thought on this occassion I might just have passed through the eye of the needle, that was until a copped a mouthful of leaves. It was then that it dawned on me. Whilst I was probably only 15mtrs away from the front door I was also effectively lost. Those fateful and familiar words of Axl Rose quickly entered my mind, 'Do you know where you are? You're in the jungle baby...you're gonna die'! So, what are you suppose when you're lost in the jungle at 3am? Well, there's only one logical thing to do...and out it came, 'Help....Heeelp, I'm lost!'....'Can someone help me please!'. Calling out into the pitch black at 3am, waking up your neighbours. How do you think that would go down as a way of winning friends and influencing people? Thankfully it was one of the permanent Bolivian staff, Jaime, that jumped out of bed and kindly scouted me out with a torch. The big smile on his face just screamed out 'You're such a dumbass!'. I knew he was right but I was also tanked and at that point could only be greatful for his rescue.

What I was hoping NOT to run into!

Me being 'AWESOME' - I know, it's really not hard for me!

It was only the next morning that I actually started to put together how crappy and badly run the park was. After a park 'sanctioned' night out we were still required to make it to daily and weekly tasks at 7am the next morning, set kindly on the only half day off per week that we had. Somewhat fortuitously I managed to roll out of the comfort of my straw matress bed for the the 7am start but Dina stuck to her hungover guns and stole a few additional hours in order to make up for the hours she traded against the evening before. This unfortunately did not sit well with the 'Parque elders'. After being called into the office for administrative purposes on this morning Dina was then given a somewhat sanctimonious 'lecture' regarding her duties and obligations in the park - the line that I'll always remember from this conversation, one that stands out for its sheer insensitivity and stupidity was this, 'I don't care if you're vomiting out of your nose, you still need to get out of bed and make it for your tasks each day!'. Excuse me but what kind of retard delivers a line like that, straight faced and means it? In fact it was also this same dumb ass girl that laid down the law regarding how the park should be portrayed online in terms of the photos we 'should' be posting, i.e., no photos of cats jumping, none of them hissing or being aggressive in any manner. Apparently photos like these would only show the park in a poor light and would damage its reputation! Oh really!? So essentially you don't want people to know that the park is dangerous, that you can in fact be attacked at any point and be injured quit significantly and seriously. In addition the website doesn't mention anything about its lack of medical facilities, that the only person that can really assist you is a veterinarian that will simply place iodine and a band aid on the most serious of injuries, that the park has no form of transport at its immediate disposal and that for serious injuries you'd need to endure a 5hr journey to Santa Cruz.

Fight night at the park - I wondered how I earnt the nickname 'Balboa'??

Whoa, I swear I left my car keys here - no more pina coladas for me!!

In short, in my opinion, the park acted in a manner that was both negligent and fraudulent, something that I advised them of when I let them know that I'd be leaving earlier than the original one months stay that I signed on for - the immediate response being 'well, I won't be giving you a refund'...really? After having advised you of how shonky I believe your dealings to be, howI think your organisations totally misrepresents what and how they do it, your leading concern is standing firm on not returning $60 USD to me? Seriously?

The 'Monkey trail' - the route that I took to 'work' each afternoon

Parque central

 

The end of my stay at the park quite fortunately came earlier than expected and it did do in slightlymade parque friends (Nick and Jade) had also decided that they'd enough of this little farce in the jungle and plotted their escape. Advising the parque  representatives of their desire to leave two weeks earlier than scheduled the none too surprising response was 'ok but you need to pay for the remaining two weeks that you said you'd stay'. Also none too surprisingly the response from Nick was something roughly equivalent to 'You're dreaming!'. After what I was told was quite a heated argument and what involved tears from the dumbass volunteer that I mentioned earlier, Nick was directed to leave the park the very next day. Now without going into the specifics of how disgraceful and unprofessional I thought the actions of the park were, Dina made the call that in act of solidarity that we should make our 'escape from Alcatraz' at the same time. This was a no-brainer for me. My time at the park had been the only low point on my trip thus far and leaving in order to get back on the road was something that I'd been  considering for nearly two weeks. My bags were packed in  melodramtic circumstances. Approximately 5 days before our readjusted date of departure, our newly under 10 mins and a few hours later D and I were on the floata heading for Ascension de Guarayos and beyond that the rest of my South American excursion.

Parque Ambue Ari - Monkey business

Parque Ambue Ari
Amazonian Basin (Bolivia)

30 OCT - 17 NOV

I'm stubborn, I mean really stubborn, so much so that at times it can be quite detrimental. The day after I was attacked by Yuma I decided that I was going to get back out on the trails and walk that damn cat to the point of exhaustion. Yeah, I was going to show that wild beast who was boss! I mean it already sounded as though everyone in the park had a similar story of either being attacked, 'jumped' or mauled, I was simply going to have to suck it up and deal with the situation, no matter what the consequence. It was only later, in my own quiet time and with some equally critical reflection that I realised the park, with its specific type of 'eco-adrenaline-adventure' activity may in actual fact be a large drawcard for a specific group of people that we'd commonly term as 'nut jobs'.

Out on the trail with Yuma on my second day was not a particularly pleasurable experience. I was hyper-vigilant, I was overly watchful and wary of every single move the cat was making. Everytime she stopped on the trail, every slight turn that she made, I assumed the worst and had mentally prepared for a rush at my legs, or even worse, my nether regions - 'why oh why had I decided to leave the box at home?'...'Always protect yours nuts Henry, ALWAYS!'.

Popular - see that mouth? That's why there's a need to protect your nuts!

The previous day I had made some mental notes of a few hazzards or some potentially difficult situations on the trail should the cat decide that it wanted to test my metal. The day before I had dismissed these thoughts as being overly cautious but now out in her territory on my second day and in light of past events I was at best only hopeful that she wouldn't try to test me...unfortunately I didn't have to wait long until the battle commenced.

Taking photos of the flora - better than getting attacked by the local fauna

Walking down into a little gully I already envisaged would would happen with the cat out in front of me on 2-3 metre lead, it was kind of a self fulfilling prophecy. As Yuma reached higher ground and comfortably stood a metre or so above my head she turned to face me, then immediately she gave me that evil hiss which I knew was a test but at the same time automatically had me hitting panic stations. Looking at her straight in the eyes I was judging the distance and already agreeing with the assessment that Yuma had already made, 'Yes, a leap from there would have you around my throat quite successfully'. Facing off for what felt like an eternity I saw her feet start to move and then she took two or three quick steps. I tell you, there is nothing quite like the experience of mentally preparing yourself for a puma to be flying at your head. It's not like being in a plane where you have the tried and true 'brace position' to use for your protection - although if you're going to be hitting land at somewhere close to 500kms p/hour is there really any comfort or solace to be found in placing your head between your legs? In any case, as quickly as the move started and as quickly as I started back pedalling, it was over. She stopped before pouncing. Yuma just stared me out from her vantage point with a type of defiant look that said 'I own you'. The damn cat had bluffed me and caught me with my pants down. It knew very well that I was scared and this test I had failed dismally. There was no recourse, there was no coming back from here.

Meal time for Popular

Later in the walk Yuma did go for me one more time and drew blood but by then I had mentally checked out. There was just no way in the world that I'd be comfortable walking her again let alone on my own. In my mind it was just too dangerous and too stupid a notion to contemplate. That honour would need to be accepted by another brainsick volunteer whose disturbed nature would adequately suit the moody and temperamental Yuma.

The next day I was transferred to a male puma named Sayan. He had an interesting story. For sometime he had been the pet of a Bolivian family on the outskirts of Sucre. Most of his life had unfortunately been spent in a relatively small cage, an absolutely cruel existence especially considering that over the years he actually got too big for the cage and effectively 'grew into it', deforming his spine and leading to extreme digestive problems. One particular year his Bolivian 'carers' were suffering financially, perhaps their cocoa crops were failing or perhaps the Uruguayan matè market was starting to look for more exotic import destinations than nearby neighbour Bolivia. Whatever it was, their financial crises demanded a quick and prompt resolution, the 'family decision' being that a sacrifice to the Gods would be enough to alleviate their difficulties and set them onto a new path of wealth, prosperity and good fortunre - Sayan was to be their offering.

Popular - in his usual spot - just chilling out and escaping the sun

Now, the story of how Sayan was saved seems to be a little patchy. Apparently volunteers from one of the parks had heard through the grapevine of the existence of this cat in Sucre. They decided that it would be in their best interests to make a visit to this family and convince them that the best place for the cat would be far beyond the Sucre city limits in the wilds of a former cocoa plantation. Fortunately their actions couldn't have come at a more opportune moment. In the way the story was told to me, the scene must have been reminiscent of an epic drug bust of one of the new wave Mexican narco-cartels. The door was kicked down and in rolled the volunteers with their peace flags fluttering in their swift wake, finding poor little Sayan tied to the table with his 'death clock' reading at under five seconds. When I imagine the scene in my own head I see the patriarch of the family with a double handed grip on a huge kitchen knife ready to plunge it into Sayans' heart - and then my mind automatically defaults to what an 'epic fail' it must have been from the families' perspective. Their lives were just about to become infinitely better with this offering to the Gods and on the stroke of midnight it all imploded with these 'do good campaigners' breaking down the doors and stealing their golden ticket. I wonder how the family fared in life after those events?

The few days that I spent with Sayan were comfortable. Orr, the volunteer that had been looking after Sayan for the previous month, spoke ad nauseum in regards to what a great creature he was, as to what his respective idiosyncracies were, as to the best way to entertain him...and for the most part he was right, the cat was calm, fantastic, and I loved the way that he 'play stalked' me everytime I turned up to his cage. Unfortunately the realities of the wild cat scenario had dawned on me. No matter what I did, no matter how careful I was, these creatures only needed the smallest trigger and they would be 'at' you. That evening I decided that the daily exercise requirements of wild cats, with only my experts ninja skills as reasonable protection would probably not lead to a long and healthy life. I made the call and pulled the pin on the escapade. My next project was to be a group of Howler monkeys whose only requirements were to be an afternoon feed of bananas and a few hours let loose in the in the trees.

In a short Sayan post-script, my volunteer replacement, a young docile German guy by the name of Atiene had his arm savagely torn by the cat after Orr incorrectly judged the amount of playtime that the cat required. Atienes' arm looked like he had just come back from a weekend spent at a self-harm clinic, it had been shredded. Unfortunately Atiene had learnt of the ferocity of these cats the hard way ....a week or so later when I had left the conservation park I met Atiene briefly at Santa Cruz bus station, he was on his way to somewhere far safer. Apparently his 'heart conditions' had returned and he thought it best to leave the park in search of appropriate medical advice. I simply read that as code for, 'Bro, I was shit scared!'.

The Monkey Challenge

Ah monkeys, what could possibly go wrong with a cheeky group of Howler monkeys? After advising the park co-ordinators that being torn to pieces in the midst of the lush greenery of the Amazonian rainforest was not actually my thing - to their moderate dismay - I was transferred onto the rather cushy afternoon gig of 'walking the monkeys'. I know, counterintuitive right? How the hell do you go about walking monkeys? Is it even possible? Well as a matter of fact yes, to a limited extent it is.

The simple logistics of this gig was as such. Go to the monkey enclosure, take out the largest female monkey named Thalia (the Muse of comedy), put her onto your shoulder and walk her down to the monkey park with the other three monkeys, two males, named Bin Tong & Chico, and a young female named Faustina, following in Pied Piper fashion close behind. Then, in the park, you simply let them escape into the tree and lie back in your hammock for a few hours, reading, daydreaming or formulating your escape from the park. At the end of those few hours you call them back to their crib and lock them in for the night...so in theory it sounded like a cakewalk and in reality it looked easy as my American 'monkey coach', Chase, had pulled off those very steps teaching me the ropes.

Taking Thalia for a walk

Faustina

So with all the confidence of a veteran monkey walker I entered their enclosure one sunny Tuesday afternoon in November in order to take this group out for their afternoon session of tree swinging. Walking through the first of the double doors I could already tell that the monkeys were excited to be going. As I opened the second door however all four of these cheeky bastards shot straight past me and jumped onto the first door, which unfortunately had not been properly locked. Quickly realising the error of my ways I made my way for the door but this guys had split - it was a freakin' jailbreak of epic proportions. They were already out of reach and shooting up into the trees! Bloody hell, how was I going to explain this back at camp, '...well guys, yeah, I kind of lost your monkeys'. What kind of person is dumb enough to lose four monkeys on their very first day on the job? Well ladies and gentlemen, let me introduce you to Mr Henry Elisher!

Trying to keep an eye on these guys through the trees I called out their names continuously. I was like a bad Billy Ray Cyrus song on perpetual loop, nauseating and depressing. There was simply nothing that I could do to get them back. This essentially became my life for the next two hours, 'Thalia....Bin Tong....Chico...Faustina', 'Vamos Chico's, vamos'. As the hours of the day drew on I could envisage myself sitting out on the trail in candelit, calling out to the trees in the withering hope that these monkeys may return.

Cruisy afternoon - laying in a hammock with a bunch of monkeys

Monkey business - you can just see that they're scheming for something that would inevitably amount to no good

Yeah - trash that hammock - 'go ape', or something close to that

Hours went by and I sat by their cage, not knowing what to do or whom to turn to ....and then....with the sun dropping in the sky and the familiar colours of an Amazonian sunset colouring the sky behind the dark curtains of trees, these cheeky bastards made their way home, Thalia first, followed by Bin Tong, Chico and then Faustina. It was like the Brady Bunch had just come back from an afternoon picnic and Alice (aka, yours truly) was waiting for them with a cheesy grin and an equally cheesy line, 'Well where have you been you cheap banana sluts?'...ok, that wasn't my line but it should have been. In any case they were back home and I was happy that all was now well in my neck of the woods.

Hanging out with Thalia in her favourite spot

After that first day things became much easier. I figured out how to lock and unlock doors professionally, how to get Thalia onto my shoulder with any difficulties and also how to swing my afternoons away in a hammock as the kids played in the trees above my head. It was definitely a 'sweet ride'. Who knew that 'monkey business' was going to be so much fun?

Parque Ambue Ari - The 3:10 express from Yuma

Parque Ambue Ari
Amazonian Basin (Bolivia)
30 OCT - 17 NOV

Ah, the lush greenery of the jungle, the overwhelming density of the flora that surrounds me, the sunlight illuminating the trees in an intruiging matted fashion giving my surroundings an agleam and fulgid look in a most rarefied atmosphere. I'm walking along one of the many trails that meander through this particular version of the 'Garden of Eden'. I then notice something extremely odd. Approximately two metres away from me there is a fully grown female puma walking the same trail. Actually, she appears to be quietly going about her own business. In fact, it's now that I notice that there is a long rope tied around my waist, and hey, wait a minute, it's somehow tied to the puma that's walking in front of me! Thinking back a few moments, I believe, in fact, I know for certain, that I had deliberately clipped the caribiner on the end of the rope that now dangles around my waist to the freakin' COLLAR of this wild animal? Thinking a little more clearly now in a kind of Avatar inspired type of fashion I question the sanity of this symbiotic relationship between me, man, and WILD ANIMAL! Is it an absolute neccesity, dear Henry, to take this wild, unpredictable, moody and temperamental creature out for a walk in its natural environment? In fact, what the fuck were you thinking when you convinced yourself that any place for this beast other than the inside of its cage was going to be a winning scenario for you?

'Welcome to the jungle' - Parque Ambue Ari - Amazonian Basin, Bolivia

Popular - not the cat that attacked me, but you can see the look in its eye - I'm looking mighty tasty

Day 1 in camp - all smiles after my attack...but internally I was more than a little freaked!

My trainer in all things puma related and inspired, Sebastian, a 23 year old German from the great city of Berlin, stalls for a moment on the trail and then casually announces in a cool, Euro-rasta style cross accent that you're sure was brought to you by the boys from 'Ganja 'R Us'...

'Yeah, this is where she went a bit funny on the trail yesterday'

'Oh shit, really?' I think to myself - actually, I may have said it out aloud because Sebastians' slow resonating and considered response was 'Yeeahh' as he nodded thoughtfully. Also, it was delivered in such a casual way that in actual fact he may have only been reaffiriming his own initial statement. Truthfully however,

at this point in time, I wasn't all that fussed to find out whether I prompted it or not. My mind was totally focused on other things.

Yuma, the cat that I'm now apparently walking, stops and gazes out through the thick undergrowth. My 45min orientation course of 'Yumas' trails' informs me that she's now being jungle mindfucked by a residual scent coming from somewhere in the vicinty of the river. Yuma,(aka, this freakin' wild cat) hisses into the dark depths of the Amazonian jungle, and then turns, turns and faces me squarely.

'Ummm, ok Sebastian, red alert on the psycho cat front! What did the guidebook say about dealing with pumas that have flipped their schizo dial to inbetween 11 and Watchu talkin' about Willis!?'

Sebastian, having already anticipated the possibility of this confrontation, tells me to shorten the lead on the rope, quickly! My mind, processing the situation at alarming speed, (I recently upgraded my internal processor to a Pentium 5), questions the validity of pulling a raving lunatic of an animal towards myself. The issue however, which I quickly deduced, was that the current slack on the rope meant that this mental bitch now had free access to any part of my body. I can see the cat staring at me, its ears folded back, its teeth exposed, preparing to pounce and use me as its very own churrasco.

Popular - the cat that I finally settled with - just chillin' out for the afternoon

Then IT happens. From a low rolling type of growl to an unmistakable wild cat snarl and then yowl, this thing makes its move with blinding speed. In an instant its claws are wrapped around my ankle and calf, its jaws around my knee. It starts ripping into my leg, the ferocity of which catches me completely off guard...'Hey cat, I'm on holiday man, why are you being so uncool?'...my mind now races in order to find a solution to the problem. 'OK, what did Sebastian say, try and be calm and try to assure the cat that everything is ok'...

So, out comes the following, 'Tranquila, tranquila chica'.

Nothing happens, the attack continues ...Ofcourse the attack is fucking continuing, this is a wild animal, what part of the Spanish version of 'chill out girlfiend' did I actually believe would resonate with this beast and prevent it from doing what it apparently needs to do? It's only at this point however that my mind turns to the potentially aweful outcome that is so common to such shows as 'When animals attack', 'When animals go wild' and the infamous Darwin awards. Could this animal be so ticked off that it actually wants to kill me? I've seen these ridiculous situations on TV before. A nutter getting into a cage with a grizzly, a circus elephant with a violent toothache rampaging through the streets of Dehli! Now could I, Henry Elisher, have put myself into the position where I was going to become another idiot statistic? Mauled to death by a puma that's more than likely trying to take out its sexual frustrations on me! I'm a God damn volunteer for Christ's sake, and I'm on holiday! Haven't you read the script today Yuma!? This is not the way it's suppose to go! Imagine what my parents are going to think? What sort of shame am I going bring on the family with such self inflicted idiocy. What sort of explanation could there possibly be to interested parties when asking of my demise? There's really no credible way of explaining a death by starting off with the words, 'Well yes, Henry had tied himself to a puma and...'.

Sweet Howler monkeys - they looked like they'd be much more pleasant to handle

Lorenzo 'showing off' for Dina - I swear, there was something ON between those two!!

'You're in the jungle baby!'

Yuma, after her first mawling frenzy backs off for a second. It's a slight breather but it's nothing more than that. In she comes again, her jaws land higher on my thigh and her claws are tearing at me just around the knee with animalistic ferver. Endorphins are flooding my system whilst at the same time I'm still convincing myself that the Parque Ambue Ari playbook response of trying to reassure the cat the everything is ok is the safest bet, I come out with the following firm response, 'No Yuma, no!' - because obviously the switch from Spanish to English was going to be the smartest thing to do! Pushing her mouth away from my upper thigh with my hand, a stray claw makes a sweet gash on my palm and my own sweet red claret starts dotting the jungle floor. Looking up at Sebastian for something, anything, he responds by saying 'Yooomaa',in the same way that a father might berate their child for being ever so 'silly'. 'Why thankyou Sebastian, thumbs up for instinct and protecting your fellow man'.

Suddenly it stops. Yuma backs off and lies down on the path panting, like her afternoon attack class has taken it out of her or something. My brain simultaneously realises that the immediate threat is over. Sebastian stands in front me and points to my right hand, telling me that I'm bleeding.

'Should I take the rope' he asks.


'Oh yes, this cat is all yours bro'.

After several more hisses and one nerve wracking stand-off Yuma turns around and walks back down the path from which we had just come. She basically guides us, meaning Sebastian, back to her cage. This is her territory. She knows the trail, she knows the way home and she knows the routine. Walking a cat, in Inti Warra Yassi theory, should be this easy. The potential to get 'jumped', the colloquial Inti Wara Yassi term for a cat pouncing you, or either being bitten or mawled is not actually highlighted in red on their site.In fact it's not mentioned at all. In that sense the organisation (but not your average volunteers), tend to cover up that well known fact. Whilst I don't really want to discuss that 'perculiar' aspect in this write up, I will address this extremely fraudulent and negligent aspect in the next.

Parque Ambue Ari - Bolivia - 'A road runs through it'

Dina our little fashionista shows off the latest in Ambue Ari jungle wear!

So, how was my first ever day as a volunteer? Alarming! At the end of the day I did come to realise with absolute clarity that these cats do not really understand Spanish, or even English for that matter. Also I realised that if a wild animal is going to attack you then the best form of defence is probably not to be there in the first place.

The next day I was given the pleasure of reading some of the impressions that previous volunteers had written of Yuma during the time they had worked with her. The general pattern or rather flavour of what they said went something like this, can be aggressive, is moody, is temperamental, is definately a princess, either likes you or hates you. Reading those impressions and pausing for a moment to allow them to sink in, my brain regressed. I remembered girlfriends of years past that could have been described in a very similar fashion and I knew then, as I knew now, that the only wat out was to run...to run and never ever look back!



Sucre - Off the Grid

Sucre (Bolivia)
27 October 2010

This evening you´re going to have to deal with Helisher ´unplugged´, a stripped back version of a Year Full of Saturdays that finds itself, out of necessity, having to deliver its impressions through simple words rather than having its narrative aided by the standard visuals. For those of you than scan my write-ups only for the happy snaps, well, this one isn´t for you - I´m aiming an arrow squarely at you on this one Frichot! Read the damn thing will you!

In a few days time D and I will literally be dropping ´off the grid´ and finding our way into the midst of the Bolivian Amazon, volunteering at a wildlife sanctuary whose main purpose it is to rehabilitate rescued animals - if you´re interested in understanding what it´s all about, check it out via this link http://www.intiwarayassi.org/articles/volunteer_animal_refuge/home.html

For the next month however I´ll be out of touch with most of the world, so there will be no impressions, no solemn moments of introspection, no moments of wild reckless abandon and certainly no moments when I´ll question out aloud, ´hey, does anyone know where I left my pants?´, JJ and Kim, you still have a lot to answer for. For my part it´s kind of a shame as I know that when I make my way back to Sucre at the start of December I´ll be playing catch up on such fantastic places as Mendoza, Bariloche, Villazon and a wicked 60hr bus adventure to Sucre that ended with me getting a friendly reach around from a guy named Pablo, (well I assume), under a brilliant moonlit night on the high dusty roads of the altiplano. Ahh, the high Bolivian plateau has ALOT to answer for, and whatever cheeky ´blanket action´that Pablo tried to pull in the murkiness of the witching hour I know will haunt me for quite sometime. Bolivian bus PTSD, it´s a reality and it´s a problem!

A couple of words about Sucre before I drop off the face of the earth for the next few months. This place is the constitutional capital of Bolivia and is located at an altitude of 2750 mtrs, which may explain why I´ve had a dull throbbing headache over the last few days, a sudden gain in altitude whilst walking up to the heavens tends to have that affect on you. It was very much a Spanish city during the colonial era, and the style, architecture, layout of the town and even in some ways the people, reflect the Andalusian culture that has embodied the city for the last several centuries. As D and I walked around the town this evening, taking in the place amd absorbing it, we both commented that aesthetically, it´s not the most appealing town/city that we´ve seen but it certainly has a feel that´s warm and inviting. It has the capacity of quickly drawing you into its realm and I guess in that sense you feel extremely pleasant and at ease. It´s for this reason that I´ve decided that once my pirate sidekick, aka D, and I finish our Amazonian expedition, that I might settle in here for 7 to 10 days, get a true feel for the place and throw myself into an intensive Spanish course - those guttural sounds of very vague Castellano need improving, and muy rapido!

So, until I walk out of the jungle in approximately a month´s time, enjoy what November has to offer, especially if you´re in the Southern Hemisphere and not having to cram for law exams! Just to let you all know that I´m having an absolutely amazing time and I truly think that from this point on, well, it´s just going to get better!

Your Explorer on the road,

H

Buenos Aires - The Quickening

Buenos Aires (Argentina)

02 OCT - 06 OCT

10 OCT - 15 OCT

I'm standing out on the grounds of Castenera Sur, an ecological park on the eastern border of Buenos Aires which fronts the Rio de la Plata. Rage Against The Machine have for over the last hour delivered a ferocious, brutal set that has lit the fuse of testosterone amongst a predominantly male audience. The intensity of the performance, the power of the delivery and the common themes within the  lyrics of their songs of raging against the establishment, fighting oppression and standing up for ones rights are not lost amongst the Argentinian faithful. The tumultous political history of this country and some of the horrors suffered by its people fits the message that Rage delivers like a glove. As if by design the rain increases in intensity during their set, assisting in the transference of an invisible electric current through a 50,000 strong audience so that at the point where  they drop the bomb of 'Killing in the name of', the charge is released, lifting the crowd off their feet in unison, bouncing bodies off one another like protons in a nuclear reaction.

[Rage Against The Machine - Testify - 1st song of set - 13 OCT 2010] 

Recoleta - Buenos Aires - Argentina

For this last hour I've been carried along by both a wave of emotion and  the immovable force which is the vast sea of people around me. This moment and this particular time however, for me, has been more than just the music, more than the energy, even more than the sum total of the individual components of the event. Drifting in and out of my own thoughts whilst relinquishing myself to the ebb and flow off the human tide that has consumed my being has strangely enough given me the opportunity of being able to connect with myself without distraction. As strange as that may sound, the unanswered  questions that have been rolling around my head for some months, those of which I really hadn't attacked, for some reason at this point in time and in this space required a little attention.

The Obelisco de Buenos Aires - morning of arrival

Casa Rosada - the official seat of the executive branch of government - Buenos Aires - Argentina

Absorbing the towering skyline of Puerto Madero that served magnificently as the backdrop to the stage my mind traced a line back to the origins of where this journey actually began, poetically almost, a year ago to the day. Back then the decision to up and leave felt like a decision literally made within seconds but really, it had been at least 5 years in the making. My life had become sterile and sedate, driven by routine and obligation. Starting my days at 6am, working the standard 9-5 gig, rolling on in the evening for hours of lectures and study, sacrificing away my weekends for the sake of relatively arbitrary results, in the end didn't add up to much. It wasn't a stimulating existence nor did it make for a particularly interesting individual .I guess at the crux of my thinking therefore was the truth of the matter, the fact that I had hidden from my own demons for such a long time with the assistance of a self inflicted routine that the true root of the issue only felt like a symptom rather than the cause. The end result whilst being uniquely subjective, in the way that only self analysis can be, came back as this. Essentially I know that I'm just you're average guy, not much of  an inspiration to anyone, not a marvelous intellect, sometimes even just a plain boring person! What the hell had the last five years  really done to me or for me for that matter? Now, I know that I also have some great qualities also, but those are the ones that aren't causing me the concern, so please, don't feel obliged to provide me with a list, I'm not sad or depressed here, I'm just looking for a way to better myself and this type of reflection is a necessary part of the process.

Punta de la Mujer - Puerto Madero - Buenos Aires

Che Guevara mural - San Telmo - Buenos Aires

San Telmo - Buenos Aires

In Dead Poets Society the English teacher John Keating asks his students at one point to venture out into the hall and look at the photos of alumni from yesteryear.He asks them to lean in and listen intently for their voices echoing down through the years. Rather than quoting the typical line that usually arises from that movie the one that I feel to be most pertinent is this, '...make your lives extraordinary'. From somewhere I hear the sound of a hammer hitting a nail flush on the head - 'make you're freakin' lives extraordinary'. Doesn't that sound like the right thing to aim for? In addition, whilst journeying through Argentina for the last few days I've just touched on a collection of essays by one of Mexico's most well known writers, Carlos Fuentes. Quoting Marsilio Ficino at one point he says '...nothing is incredible, nothing is impossible, the possibilities we deny are but the possibilities we ignore'. With those quotes in my back pocket I really had to ask myself, 'in the truth that will be true only for you, in what manner will you deem your life to be extraordinary?'. For those wanting me to answer that, for right now, I don't have clue. Is it to love fully and to be able to completely give myself to another person? Is it about being a well rounded human being and having deep pockets of knowledge in several areas rather than just selected specialised fields. I don't know, again, I don't have answer for myself at this point. It could be all those things and much more. What I do know is that there is a need for change and that the journey that I placed myself on a year ago was 100% the best decision that I made for just myself at the time and one that I think has put me on a path that has allowed for this type of self realisation. As cheesy and as daft as it may sound, coming from a sceptic like me, this process of soul searching has felt like exactly the right thing to do at this moment.

Sunday sunshine - San Telmo - Buenos Aires

Tango in La Boca  - Buenos Aires

Calle Caminito - La Boca - Buenos Aires

After Rage Against The Machine finishes their set the massive crowd disperses into a damp and cold Buenos Aires evening. I find my way out of the crowd and catch up with Dina who had watched the gig from somewhere towards the back. Oddly the  intensity and demands thrown out my such a combative band had affected the thought processes of this self confessed pacifist also. After my initial rant as to how fantastic I thought the gig was D let loose with snippets of thoughts from her mind that suggest that right at this moment she was mentally 'spinning'. Now for anyone that doesn't know,  this girl is SWITCHED ON, as in her intellect outstrips mine by a factor of 50. When someone like that is in a moment where their thoughts are in a 'spin', well then you better prepare yourself for the wicked ways in which their mind will construct a momentary thought, question or statement. There could be 20 things that gets them to their final summarised outcome which they're in turn now putting to you for assessment. As an aside to this however, what I have come to find out over the last few weeks is that like everyone she carries around a bag of her own worries struggles and slight insecurities. Without mentioning any of them here, because it's not my place, I can say that its kind of poignant that she's travelling along with me at this point in time as it seems that in a strange way we're kind of looking for the same thing on this journey.

Dina, did you pack the cat? .....smart girl but still she can´t get the basics right!

Avenida 9 de Julio - Buenos Aires

Wondering the streets for a few hours after the concert we end up in the barrio of San Telmo. This area is 'old school' in terms of its architechture, lovely cobblestone streets and old style colonial buildings, it is known to be the oldest barrio in Buenos Aires.. On this night we're able to find ourselves a bar that his able to provide us with a few bottles of Malbec that will keep us going until 5am. A few days earlier however, after having made our way back from the disaster of visiting Argentina's close cousin, Uruguay, we had walked down La Defensa in San Telmo on a glorious Sunday afternoon in order to pick our way through the markets. Now, when I say that these markets go on for miles, I literally mean that as far as I could see down this road there were people trying to scout themselves out a bargain. The activity and the atmosphere was just so warm, friendly and good natured that you didn't really even take notices of the hordes around you. Whats more, once we had made our way almost to the end of La Defensa the San Telmo samba 'crew' started up with an improptu display of drumming and we were effectively coerced  back to Plaza de Mayo at the top of La Defensa via the magical samba rhythms that had unwittingly intoxicated us all.

San Telmo - Buenos Aires

San Telmo samba

Ernesto lives on!

San Telmo samba

La Defensa - San Telmo markets - Buenos Aires

Buenos Aires is kind of a tough city to get a grasp on straight away. Each barrio is its own entity, different in character and style from one to the next. For that reason it took me a little time to be able to connect with this town but when it happened, and when the roots were firmly planted, I really fell for it as a whole. On one of our daily excursions into this city we headed down to the barrio of La Boca, another old neighbourhood that's considered to be one of the towns' most authentic, colourful and energetic. The area had originally been settled and built by Italian immigrants that had worked in the warehouses and meatpacking plants in the area. Considered to be one of the  poorest barrios in BA, it's major drawcard is Calle Caminito, effectively a small street with bright colourful housing that now serves as the centre for all things tango, tacky and touristy. Not that it's such a bad thing, the surrounding streets do provide you with the opportunity of walking around and taking in the creation of a famous Argentinian artist by the name of Quinquela Martin. His inspiration for the creation of these colourful streets originally came from the conventillo (shared housing) that use to be the predominant type of accommodation in the barrio. Originally the houses in the area were mostly tacked together with scrap corrugated metal and wood from the local shipyards. Families would then make use of any leftover paint from the port in order to spruce up their doors, windows, or facades generally in bright colour combinations that was traditional for the predominantly Genoese migrants that inhabited the area. Whilst the old style convetillo's were pulled down and eventually replaced by dull, lifeless small rise apartment blocks, the streets inspired by Martin stand proudly as a reminder of those times. They can also easily draw hours out of the tourist that goes in a little trigger happy on their camera. Unfortunately on the day that I was there my battery died within the first few minutes otherwise who knows when I would have left and who knows what the outcome may have been.

Calle Caminito - La Boca

Tango boys - kickin´it old school style

Recoleta and Palermo are the barrios with the greatest number of inhabitants. They lie to the north of the city and are considered to be predominantly areas of the middle to upper classes. Their streets have a distinctly European feel, reminding me of such places as Madrid or Paris in terms of architecture, street life and even temperament. Again, they're interesting places to walk around and experience although it takes a little bit of work to convince yourself that you are in one of THE thriving metropolises of South America and not elsewhere. Most of our time in this space was spent in Recoleta, scouting out their main museums such as the Museo National de Arte Decorativo and the Museo Nacional de Bellas Artes, the latter being a real highlight due to the fact that my crash course in art history over the past few months was starting to pay dividends,albeit small ones considering that they were now being delivered in pesos and had to deal with a volatile exchange rate.

The remains of the day - Recoleta

I really thought I had a shot with Mafalda!

Punta de la Mujer - Puerto Madero - Buenos Aires

Overall I have to say that Buenos Aires is a place that I think that you need to feel rather than it being a place that you can capture purely through aesthetical beauty. Whilst there are definitely places that you can see and be satisfied in that respect, some of the things that enticed me dealt more with the impact that it had on my emotions and collective senses rather than those that were distinctly visual.  From the  distinctly meaty smells that waft from one of the many paradillas located in the backstreets of San Telmo, to the uniqueness of the tango which originated in the area of the Rio de la Plata, to a drunken improptu salsa on the streets, to dulce de leche, to the plethora of happy perros that roam the back alleys. Buenos Aires to me was a feel, a place that I had the  opportunity of connecting  with and a place that in my own personal searches allowed me to ask and seek answers from myself that may have otherwise gone unchallenged.


The post that follows this is Colonia del Sacramento - Riding the red wine and empanada revolution  for the period 07 OCT - 10 OCT 2010, and then,

 - Mendoza - The smoking gun theory for the period after 10 OCT 2010.