Buena Vista

It feels as though I’ve lived through a lot of hours this weekend, as though Friday morning was ages away. I certainly packed a lot of experience into a few days.

This morning I woke up at the (for me) ungodly hour of 6:30 to take a bird and a monkey-searching walk into the jungle with a local guide. Shortly after I’d arisen and thrown on my clothes, Robin stopped by.

“It’s cold and windy, and will probably rain. I don’t think you’ll see much. It’s probably not worth going.”

Given his expertise, I trusted him and went back to bed. But then I reconsidered. I wanted the opportunity to talk to a local, to not get all of my local information from an Englishman who is not on very good terms with the community. In any case, I wanted a bit of exercise, so I might as well take advantage of a morning walk.

Roberto lives down the road from Robin and owns 48 hectares. He’s a farmer, who grows rice, yucca, plantains and vegetable for his own consumption and local sale. He also has some chickens and a cow. He and his son work the land, growing on one portion while allowing other areas to rest for 4-5 years.

Robin has to walk across his land to do his beetle work, and to take tourists on walks. So it seems they have an arrangement. On the rare opportunities when tourists come, they are expected to take a walk with Roberto, at a cost of $10. I thought this was fair.

True to prediction, we didn’t see too much. But we went much further into the damp, thick greenness. We crossed a small stream, scampered up and down bank, and walked amidst a mist of butterflies. Besides the sloth, the butterflies are my favorite animal in Bolivia, flapping around in a brilliant array of reds, yellows, whites, blacks, blues, and oranges.

We could hear monkeys, and at one point, looked up to see a capuchin monkey almost directly over us. We took a short break at a simple thatched hut. Underneath the roof was a pile of hay, some dried corn, oranges, and a few dishes. Roberto offered me an orange, saying this was where his son worked. We then slid down a steep slope and approached the clear sound of monkeys. We could hear their calls, we could see the tree branches shake, we could hear the fruit falling from the boughs, banging against the ground.

When we stood still for a while, we began to see them crossing. First one, then another, later another. I had the realization that I was standing in the middle of the South American jungle watching monkeys and I appreciated the moment. Not a bad way to spend a weekend. Despite my fuchsia windbreaker, they didn’t seem to pay any attention to us. We were silent witnesses to their gathering and feeding off the bobosi tree, a fruit popular among several local mammals.

Coming back, we had a nice close-up view of a hummingbird, which seemed to freeze momentarily in mid-air. Around us, we heard the calls of many different birds, including toucans.

Last night I stayed up until midnight skimming through a draft manuscript Robin has written about his experiences in Bolivia. It left me with a sad feeling after reading of constant tension, conflict, and inability to create alliances – the result of a man with a singular drive and passion who has difficulty bringing others to his cause. After reading about the opposition in the town and the government towards founding the National Park, I asked Roberto what he thought about it. Had the town benefited from it’s creation?

“For us, who live a bit further away, not so much,” he said. “But those who live closer to the boundary and in town have had more opportunities to earn money from it.”

Did he support its creation?

“Sure,” he said. “It was only the people who lived in and near the park who were against it. For everyone else it was OK. I think it’s a good thing that we have this area saved. So that something is left for my children and their areas. So that if they use up everything outside the park, something will still be left for them. The problem is that many people have a hard time looking into the future. They only think of what they can get today.”

So for him, a toothless middle-aged farmer, the benefit was not so much the preservation of species as making sure some resources remain for his family in the future. His perspective was understandable.

He did have a good quality pair of binoculars, one of the 18 Robin say exist in the village, and seemed to enjoy identifying birds, though not with the same passion as Robin. I learned more about the wildlife from Robin, who was able to bring it to life for me through descriptions in my own language about the vegetation, birds and animals. From Roberto, I learned more about the local life.

He told me only a few people are employed in Buena Vista. “Much of the work is only short term, for a day or a week. There is not much stable employment. So many live off the land, growing what the can. And the young are heading for the city, where they can earn a bit with more stability.”

In the afternoon, I met several work friends for lunch on the plaza, followed by a tour to the local coffee producing factory, and a stop at the river Surutu, a river that one can walk across to enter the Amboro National Park. Even though the river wasn’t too high, and a busload of locals were on the other side, cooking lunch over a campfire, I wouldn’t want to wade across. It was wide, moving at a good pace, and hard to tell exactly how deep it was. I read that each year, several people die walking across the rivers in that area. A run-down, sad-looking, but evidently formerly colorful bus was on the beach, part of it’s occupants across the river, the rest sitting in the bus to escape the cold wind. “Comfortable, elegant, service” was written across the top of the bus.

I’ve got a couple of days to focus on working and on packing up, then begins a pretty hectic month of travel.

Beetles, monkeys and birds

Last night I woke up at 3:30 in the morning, itching my arm. The darkness was deep as velvet. But as my eyes adjusted, I looked out the screen across from my bed and saw a light show – a flashing display of lightening bugs. Robin told me there are tyrophorous bugs as big as his thumb, with two lights on back and one on the front. He said catching one would provide enough light to read a book by. And the natives cut off the head and thorax and make a necklace from them that glows for an hour.

After turning on the light, I checked on my three companions – the moth, the spider, and the toad. All had moved and were now in unknown areas of my room. I noticed a bug bite on my wrist. So I got up, put on a long-sleeve shirt, rubbed some bug spray onto my hands and wrists, and went back to sleep.



In the morning, I had breakfast with Robin and Sonya in their modest 3-room house. Then Robin offered to take me on a 15-minute walk to spot a particular bird. I agreed. It ended up being a two hour hike, complete with education on how beetles lay eggs, develop and mature, how the forest is affected by slash and burn agriculture and how the birds are affected by wind.

He showed me a tree with a dual name – the Palo Devil’s Stick or the Palo Saint’s Stick – depending on whether it’s being recognized for the stinging ants that live inside the branch, or for the arthritic help these ant bites can provide. He brought me right up to the bird, a heliconia. According to Robin, it’s the cutest bird in the jungle. When we heard howler monkeys, a loud roar like a powerful wind, we walked off the path to track them. Although we could hear them nearby, we failed to find them. But we did come across a group of squirrel monkeys moving across the branches. That was my first monkey sighting in Bolivia.

I enjoyed walking through the forest, listening to Robin attract birds with his pygmy owl calls, and watching bright butterflies flutter around us. I also enjoyed Robin’s evident passion for the land, the animals, the birds and the bugs. He is a cynical, negative person, with almost every other sentence coming out as a complaint. But those alternating sentences were full of interesting facts and stories. In two days, I learned enough to imagine the story of his unique life – the moves from country to country, the relationships that didn’t last, the jobs that didn’t last, the consuming passion for the land and animals, and eventually, a focus on a subject that took him out of the conflict zone - beetles.



In the afternoon, after a nice siesta, I went to the top of the observation tower, where I could hear howler monkeys, making a noise like cows. I felt the warmth of the sun, the light breeze rippling against my skin. As I looked out across the greenness extending in all directions, I listened to the rustling of leaves and the cooing of birds. I really felt out in and one with nature. Looking out over the patterns of light and shadow made by sun and clouds, it was as though I stood on top of a big, green, wild world.

Later, I sat with Robin and Sonya on their overlook, to watch the birds come back. We peeled and ate mandarin oranges as we waited for their arrival. Robin pointed out the pretty green white eyed parakeet. As dusk fell, Sonya showed me the progress two beetles were making in chopping off branches.

The beetles were dull dark, colors. I could barely see them against the branches. I had imagined brilliant sparkling, Amazonian insects. Those black things seemed to me a rather boring way to spend one’s concentration. But later that evening, he showed me his collection, which contained a wider variety of sizes and colors. In just about every collection box, several of the species were highlighted yellow, an indication that it was a new species he’d found. While the bugs he’s focused on now, the Hemilophi tribe, aren’t very pretty, they are unique in that they make two cuts in a branch before dropping to the ground, extra work that isn’t explained. According to Robin, he’s the first to discover this species and this habit.

I spent my evening reading a draft of a book Robin wrote about his life and battles in Bolivia – against the exporters of endangered animals, against the indigenous squatters, against his colleagues and bosses, against his romantic liaisons.

Alone in the Jungle

Boy, this is sure an adventure. Tonight I should have been in a romantic cabana in Samaipata, showing my husband Bolivia for the first time. But due to flight delays, he didn’t make it. And rather than come for a hurried two-day visit, we decided to postpone it a month or so until he had more time.

Of course, I was disappointed, after putting in so much planning and expectation. It would be too sad to follow through on our planned trip alone. And being home would just remind me that he should have been there as well.

So I decided to get out of town and travel in the other direction, to Buena Vista. While Samaipata is situated on one end of the Amboro National Park, Buena Vista is at the opposite end.

I found a hotel mentioned in both my guidebooks, promising 200 hectares of primary forest, a bird-watching tower, and guided wildlife walks. Sounded great.

After work I took a shared taxi for the two hour trip to Buena Vista. There is room for 5 passengers – two in front and three in back. When I saw a Japanese couple approach the car at the same time I did, I thought they were Japanese tourists going to visit the park. Only after I got in the car did I see two more young Japanese in the back.

It turns out they are all students in Santa Cruz and come from the village of San Juan, which is one of the local Japanese colonies. Similar to the Mennonites, the Germans, the Russians, among the variety of ethnic colonies, they have maintained their language and culture since coming year during the war in the 1940s.

The girl next to me told me her father is a mix of Bolivian and other nationalities, but her mother is Japanese. The other three appeared to be pure Japanese. They played with their cell phones and mp3 players and spoke in alternating Japanese and Spanish.

After we got to Montero, about an hour from Santa Cruz, the traffic disappeared and the road became dark, with few settlements along the way and no streetlights. I looked up at the clouds moving across the half moon.

The driver let me off at the motorcycle taxi stand on the central plaza of Buena Vista. There, for $1.25, I got a ride to my hotel.

It took no time at all to get out of town and soon we were riding down an isolated dirt road, stars twinkling above us in the striated sky. I breathed in the fresh air and tried to enjoy the nature. But I found it pretty uncomfortable riding on the back of a stranger’s motorcycle, on a sandy, dark road, in the middle of nowhere. At any point, he could turn off the engine, pull a knife or gun on me, steal all my stuff or worse, and leave me there on the rural road. Unfortunately, those are the kinds of scenarios that Nicaragua put in my head. I tried to reassure myself that Bolivians are nicer, this is a small town, and the whole posse of motorcycle taxi drivers saw me go away with him.

Unbelievably, we turned off the dirt road onto an even smaller road, rough, rutted, and overgrown with grass. Overhead, trees united to form a low arch. Only a small wooden placard labeled “Forest and Fauna” assured me we were actually heading in the right direction.

After what seemed like a long ride, but was probably 15-20 minutes, we reached some cabanas, but they were dark and look abandoned.

“There is no one here,” the driver said. He pulled over as if to turn around.

“Go a little further please,” I asked. “Let’s see if there is an office.”

Finally, we spotted a light. I could see a man without a shirt inside. Were these guests? Was this a private home? It didn’t look much like an office. But it was a human, so we approached the door.

“It’s pretty late,” the unshaven, 50ish man said as he opened up the door, buttoning up his shirt. “We go to bed early around here.”

I told him I’d called the Santa Cruz office and told them I’d be arriving around 8.

“You know we’re closed,” he said.

“No,” I replied. “I thought I’d made a reservation. Do you have room for one?”
“Yeah, sure, come on in.”

I paid the motorcycle driver and wondered how I’d ever find transportation back into town.

Robin, who spoke to me in English, became more friendly, offering me supper, and when I refused, got me some boiled water.

“How long have you been closed?” I asked.

“Forever,” he said. “There are no tourists here with Evo Morales.”

I’d read that Buena Vista was becoming part of the “gringo trail.” If anything, I worried I was going to someplace too touristed. But it seemed I was the only guest.

“It’s OK with us though,” he said. “We have scientific projects that keep us busy. And if some people come and we’re able to make some money from that, it’s good. Mostly though, we have scientists visiting us.”

He showed me to my cabana, pointing out a wooden observation tower on the way. “If you don’t plan to sleep right away, you can do some moonwatching there.”

One of my guidebooks had listed this as a luxury hotel. When I called to make a reservation, they told me they had a swimming pool, gym and bar/restaurant. So the simple twin beds and disheveled facilities came as a surprise to me. However, it’s perfectly comfortable. I have good light, good screens, a normal toilet and shower, warm
water and a fan.

Nevertheless, I feel myself very much in the jungle. On one wall I have a unique moth, on another a large spider, and on a windowsill some type of frog or toad. All three have been motionless for a very long time. Several bugs are pressed against the screen, approaching the light, and sometimes I hear them bang against it. The jungle is full of noises – crickets chirping, the coo of some nocturnal birds, and the sounds of an animal I don’t recognize at all. Sometimes I hear the cracking of branches. Since I know the only couple here is going to bed, it has to be an animal. Maybe they are the monkeys Robin mentioned.

I took Robin’s suggestion and went up for a little moonwatching. It was pretty sitting at an elevation, looking out over palm fronds and the shadows of tropical trees, and up at a dark sky brilliant with the light of stars, a half moon and the illuminated, moving clouds.

This doesn’t seem to be much of a place for resting. I was given the choice to get up at 5 for breakfast with Robin, or to come by at 7:30 for a more complete breakfast with his wife Sonya. I chose 7:30. Probably on Sunday I’ll get myself up at dawn to try the bird and monkey exploration walk they offer.

My plan was to head to town tomorrow and to see what kind of tours the local travel agencies offer. Then I did something unusual for me – I appreciated what I have at the moment. I’m already in the jungle, surrounded by animals, and all alone. What do I need a tour for? I should enjoy and explore the place I am. So while I’ll probably have to head to town for food tomorrow, I mostly plan to spend the day in the jungle. And I’m looking forward to it.