Rain Forest Part II: The trip to Cuyabeno, jungle life with monkeys, birds, and boa constrictors

We arrived at Cuyabeno at ten o’clock at night after a hair-raising day full of travel snafus: our flight to Lago Agria was cancelled because the plane needed maintenance,
so we had to take the only remaining flight to another town. From there, a cab took us to Coca, from which we were supposed to take the 6:30 bus (the last bus!) which turned out to have left at 6:00 (the tour agency told us it was leaving at 6:30) When we asked how much it would cost for the cab driver to take us to Cuyabeno, he wanted $60.
It was still a good 2.5 hour drive away, so the fee was not unreasonable, especially since he had to drive right back to Coca. Luckily, there was a cash machine in Coca, and Mike was able to withdraw the cash. The cab driver drove like a racing car driver in the dark taking hairpin turns at terrifying speeds, but somehow always knowing where the speed bumps were in the road and slowing down to accommodate them. (There are no speed limits or police, and we soon discovered that all cab drivers in Ecuador drive this way.) We went through several small towns, and by small I mean 3 or 4 blocks and then you’re on the main road again. The driver had never driven as far as Cuyabeno and was not sure of the route. The signage was unhelpful and infrequent, and when we finally came to a rotary I was convinced we were going the wrong way. But as fate would have it, we eventually ended up at a junction by the river where the guide and the cook were waiting to take us by motorized canoe to the lodge at Cuyabeno, a 10 minute canoe trip away.

We tried to convince the cab driver to leave his cab at the junction and stay at the lodge with us, but he refused, insisting he had to drive back to Coca that night. He had been driving us since that afternoon and not a drop of coffee had crossed his lips. He said he never drank it and didn’t get sleepy while driving, which is a good thing because the road between Coca and Cuyabeno does not have any 24 hour McDonald’s serving bad coffee.* So we gratefully said goodbye to him and started the next leg of our journey.

A canoe trip at night on a dark, slow-moving river—-you could barely see any current, and I was relieved at the absence of rapids—-is a mystical experience, and even more so if the river runs through an Amazon rain forest. Vines like small ropes hung from the trees and brushed the water. The sound of thousands of insects and frogs filled the air that would have otherwise been silent except for the quiet low-power motor. There was the thrilling, anxiety-inducing possibility of the appearance of an anaconda or an alligator. (None appeared.) Soon we were at the slimy wooden steps leading up to a wooden terrace which led to the main lodge dining room, which was a large hut with a palm-frond thatched roof and a kitchen in back. There were maybe ten tables. Our table was neatly set and our dinner was soon served. The food was very tasty. I think our first meal was composed of fried piranha (the dreaded flesh-eating fish of the Amazon), fried plantains, and rice, followed by a delicious tropical fruit compote. In Ecuador, you’ve got all your basic starch food groups covered, plus your basic fried food groups. Throw in a little meat, corn, and some fruit for dessert, and you’ve got a meal. Green vegetables, while not unknown, are not commonly served. I had asked for vegetarian food, and they complied nicely by sautéing some green beans and giving me beans and rice with the fish (I agreed to eat seafood). At each meal we were served a juice made from a different fruit. Many of these fruits are not exported to the U.S. and are delicious.

* You can get KFC in Quito, though. Mike says they use the locally raised chickens, which are much tastier than factory-farmed birds, and when combined with that secret mix of herbs and spices with some empanadas on the side, you've got yourself a treat!


We chatted with Hugo, our guide, about plans for our hike the next day, and then walked down a long elevated board “sidewalk” (every structure was on stilts, perhaps because of flooding) to our cabanas.

Mike and I each had our own hut. The huts are like hotel rooms—-some have twin beds, others have a double bed and two twins, more like a suite. There is a private bath with a toilet, sink, and shower, but no hot water. There are shelves and tables for clothes and other items. I was surprised to see that there were no screens or glass on the windows—they were just rectangular openings in the board walls. To protect the occupant from deadly mosquitoes, spiders, and vampire bats, a pink mosquito net was draped above each bed, to be pulled down around one’s body while sleeping. I liked the mosquito net—it felt like being in a little tent without the claustrophobia.

Everything reminded me of summer camp, except that it was a lot better because there were toilets instead of latrines, and we didn’t have to play tetherball or capture the flag. The dampness was amazing—nothing ever really dried out completely, and I kept my clothing in plastic bags to protect it from the damp. Amazingly, the bedclothes stayed dry. I soon found that the “quick-dry” hiking pants, jacket, and socks that I bought at REI were not quick to dry. In fact, they never got dry at all, so every day my clothes were a little damp. I had brought two swimsuits expecting to plunge gleefully into the river at the end of every day, but in fact I only went in the water twice. I don’t like swimming anywhere I can’t see the bottom, and the thought of electric eels and piranhas nibbling at my ankles was discouraging. Mike insisted that I jump in, so I did, and what I thought was a feeble current began to drag me downriver! It took all my strength to swim against it and return to the boat dock. I washed my hair with biodegradable soap and then got out.

I had to get over my city girl high-maintenance beauty regimen. To begin with, it was absurd that I was in the jungle with magenta nail polish on my nails, and it was even more absurd that I thought I might actually style my hair with a hairdryer since there was an outlet handy. No matter what I did, my hair returned to its natural state of wavy frizz within minutes because that’s what humidity does to hair like mine! So I took to wearing it in a long braid with my bangs slicked down to one side and fastened with bobby pins. With my blue glasses and my cloth sunhat, I looked like geek of the week, but it wasn’t a goddamn beauty pageant anyway!

The next day a bird with a foolish-sounding call awoke me at 6 a.m. (I had slept so soundly that I had not been awakened by the eerie distant roar of the howler monkeys which awakened Mike.) We were going on a hike after breakfast. In preparation, I slathered every inch of exposed skin with sunblock and mosquito repellent. Then I put on my long-sleeved jacket and my trail pants. Since the jungle was wet, the lodge provided us with knee-high rubber boots which proved useful for trekking through streams (although they leaked). I put my sun hat on, and we were off: Hugo leading, Mike next, and me usually at the rear. We stopped frequently to marvel at insects, birds, monkeys, armadillo holes, termite nests and tall anthills. Hugo also showed us rainforest trees which were used by indigenous people like drums—the sound produced by striking the buttresses of the trunk were said to be heard for long distances. We also saw a fallen tree which was the source of a psychedelic drug: the bark was boiled with various other ingredients until the resulting liquid was deemed potent enough. Then, after you drank it, you would vomit (there is nothing in the world that I would rather avoid than vomiting, except maybe a 25-foot boa constrictor) but after the vomiting, you would experience an excellent high. And this is no joke: the tour agency we used actually offered hallucinogenic tours during which this beverage would be consumed. If it hadn’t been for the vomiting, I would have been tempted. Just as well—-I have already destroyed a large number of badly needed brain cells from using drugs in the 70s and 80s.

We encountered a baby boa constrictor which was about 3 feet long when extended. I like snakes when the startle factor is removed, as it was in this case because Hugo was the first to encounter it. Snakes are always at their worst when you encounter one unexpectedly. But this one was well-behaved and regarded us calmly and motionlessly (it was probably terrified) because we were obviously too large to be its prey. Its markings were beautiful and we took pictures before we treaded delicately around it and continued on our way. (The next night, the cook appeared after dinner with another baby boa which he had found in one of the empty cabanas. It was even smaller than the one we saw, and not dangerous-looking at all. It coiled itself around Mike’s arm. The thought that immediately sprang to mind was, Two baby boas! The mother must not be too far away! One of them was found in a cabana! What if the mother is waiting to get me in my cabana?) However, I was assured by the guide that a) mother boas are not nurturing and abandon their spawn soon after birth to return to the deep jungle and b) full-grown boas generally live deep in the jungle. They can grow to be anywhere between 15-25 feet long, can climb trees and swim, so there is no escaping them. A well-aimed slash with the big mean-looking machete that Hugo carried might save us. Maybe. But you can’t have these fears if you expect to have exciting jungle adventures, most of which do not involve dangerous snakes.

That first day also provided my first glimpse of monkeys in their natural habitat.
A family of little squirrel monkeys is hard to see because they inhabit the tops of very tall, very leafy trees which are usually at some distance away. Moving branches are a clue that they are there. I was very glad to have binoculars because otherwise they would have been impossible to see. They really are cute—-unfortunately, no other word describes them accurately, unless that word is “mischievous.” My childhood friend Annie had a squirrel monkey as a pet (she also had a horse and I longed to switch parents with her.) It had very unsanitary habits—-refused to be toilet trained and would leap onto the kitchen table and make tracks through the butter. Mike told me that monkeys will drop poop on you, so I kept my distance. We could hear their high-pitched chatter punctuated by the patter of fruit peels dropping to the ground as they ate.

In the next chapter: Mowgli, cacao seeds, and fishing for piranhas