The opposite jungle

Another whirlwind transition, in which I admit to have strayed from the fisheries quest a bit. However, I've met few people with more of a myopic fixation on fish than me, so the tangential wanders may be less boring to some than the main subject...

The best way to leave the Manaus was by ferry boat, down the Amazon, to the coastal city of Belem. The passage has a romantic billing, but this feeling leaves the passenger as soon as he steps on board. It turns out that getting to Belem is only the secondary goal of the ferry boats, the first goal being to achieve a new world record in the number of hammocks that can be slung aboard, while still allowing for people to fit within the hammocks, and for these people to still be able to breathe. I'm exaggerating. The hammock scene was fun while it lasted, and was indeed intimate. The trip downriver went smoothly enough, and the crowd aboard was spirited and friendly. For a good chunk of it, I was fighting an internal war with worms which seemed to be having a party in my intestines, so I wasn't a very keen observer of much outside of the quickly-degrading toilet facilities.

Along the river were a few remote homes, which seemed to have the ferry schedule dialed. As the ferry passed these houses, canoes would dart out, into the path of the oncoming ferry! The ferry had the aspect of a bulldog and plenty of inertia, so at first this seemed like a ridiculous move on the part of the young children paddling the canoes. Sometimes, as the ferry bore down, plastic bags filled with miscellaneous objects would be tossed towards the canoe from the big boat. I learned was a unique form of charity for families far from easy luxuries. Extra fruit, food, or clothes were bagged by ferry crew or passengers and tossed to the canoes, and the kids would give a quick wave and would then scramble to collect the gifts before they sank. Other times, the kids would magically position their boats to just miss being steamed over, and then the boy paddling in the bow would exchange his paddle for a rebar hook, which was tethered to the bow of the canoe, and would quickly snag one of the giant tires that served as fenders, lashed alongside either side of the ferry. The young paddlers would hitch if they had something- often fish- to sell on board the big boat. The risk taken in hooking the ferry seemed to far outweigh any profit. The canoe would immediately accelerate from a standstill to 15 kilometers an hour, the canoe was swamped with the big boat's wake, and it always looked at though the canoe were about to be swept underneath the belly of the bulldog. I have no idea how these kids learned this trick, but they are damn good paddlers to pull it off.

Belem has a huge fresh fish market in the part of the city known as Ver-o-Peso. Here were fish new to my eyes, with a range of big catfish species replacing the colorful mixture from upriver. Saltwater species resembling sea trout, mullet, and sardine, along with shrimp of all sizes, were being hawked by middlemen who sat on wooden crates on the slimy riverfront sidewalk. A small fleet of fishermen aboard gillnetters ranging between 12 and 15 meters, taking a few days rest from recent two-week trips in the high seas, watched the morning fishmongering spectacle with pretended disinterest. By around 8am, restaurant owners had pecked over the fish and carted away their choice fins, hired muscles were carrying the bigger loads away, flip-flops through the slime; the middlemen were drinking beers before nine.

So it's farewell to Brazil, where locals would give me a simple, earnest thumbs up which said it all. A place where the rainstorms were predictable and intense, just like the catcalls on the streets. Here passion and sexuality were worn on the outside, and clothes fit tight. Where the clothes and fish are both colorful, and the fish and plants often have more teeth than the fishermen or farmers. Here the jacaré is the grizzly (where everybody has an epic story about a friend who just barely made it), the woods are loud but the cities are louder, and the general attitude might be summed up best by an old lady I met in Belem, still going strong nicotine in here late 80's- "I don't know why I love the life, but I do!"


Traveling from the jungles of Brazil to the jungles of southeast Asia made for an unavoidable excuse to see western Europe for the first time in my life. First stop, Madrid, Spain, and with it a shock of culture and age. An old building in Alaska is one from the 1950's. An old building in Maine dates back to the 1800's. Here in Spain I found myself walking around in a medieval city- still throbbing with life today- founded in the 7th century! In my gawk my way through the ancient narrow streets of Toledo, I passed up chances to see fine museums, instead opting to save my euros for the "Instruments of Medieval Torture" museum, and to buy a hunting knife. I might have fit in well back in the day. I left Spain happy to learn that it's acceptable- even classy- to drink a big cup full of thick chocolate syrup instead of coffee, and impressed a layered culture formed with significant and often bloody input from Catholic, Protestant, Jewish, and Muslim faiths.

London. The place seems so familiar that I almost forgot that I'd never been anywhere near it before. In a two-day pass through, I found some parts to live right up to the Monty Python lore. [In a crusty British accent] announced repeatedly on London's subway (tube) intercom: "This is the Picadilly line traveling to Cockfosters. Next stop, Picadilly Circus. Reminder, no busking." Or the tight-lipped mother to her loose-lipped son, who called the transportation box in front of him an elevator: "We're British, Henry, we call it a lift." I do say! While I could see how these tendencies, mixed with the lovely British weather, would entice pilgrims to move west, I was blown away by London's ethnic diversity, bringing all sorts of energy and excitement, and can definitely see the allure of the city behind the grey front.

Another quick stop in the sand dunes outside of Abu Dhabi (airport complete with prayer room), and then right into the mad bustle of Bangkok. I managed somehow to weave around the especially thick swarm of smooth-talking tuk-tuk (motorcycle taxi) drivers at the airport, and onto the public buses. Sa-wat-dee kap! Kap-kun kap! First impressions of Thailand's capital are of smoggy skies, intense traffic, big smiles, polite wai (bows of respect), lots of cross-dressing Thai men, and incredible spices in the food.

Now off to explore the fisheries of the Mekong!