Lost in the Jungle Page 3

‘Israeli,’ I answered abruptly.

  ‘I’m Karl Ruchprecter. I’m Austrian, but I’ve been living in Bolivia for ten years now.’

  ‘Yossi Ghinsberg,’ I said, and shook his big, firm hand.

  ‘I’m a geologist and work mostly in the jungle. We look for gold, uranium, antiquities.’

  ‘That’s certainly an unusual way to make a living.’ He had aroused my curiosity.

  ‘Oh, yes, sure. It’s very interesting. I have some photographs here of my last expedition, if you’d like to see them.’

  ‘Yes, I would.’

  We marched up Comercio Street until we came to Plaza Murillo. Some of the old people there leafed through the afternoon papers in boredom or sat warming themselves in the sun. Others tossed kernels of corn to the fat pigeons. Their grandchildren ran about trying unsuccessfully to catch the birds. An ice-cream vendor made a racket hawking his Popsicles. We chose a wooden bench. A young shoeshine boy offered to polish my canvas tennis shoes.

  Karl’s pictures took me by surprise. The dapper European by my side looked totally different in them. He was dressed in khakis, a wide-brimmed hat, and boots, and had a shotgun dangling from his shoulder. In one picture he was skinning a wild boar, and in another he was gutting a huge fish on the riverbank.

  Karl could see that I was intrigued and explained that the following week he was leaving on a three-month expedition to an unexplored region of the jungle to look for precious metals. He would be happy to take me and perhaps one or two of my friends along. At the end of a day’s work, he said, it was always nice to sit around the campfire talking. Though he had many interests in common with his native assistants, he was always glad to have a few gringos along as well.

  ‘You can stay as long as you like,’ he said. ‘If you want to go back, I can send a guide with you to the nearest village. You’ll eat the game we hunt, sleep in the great outdoors, and your only expense will be an airline ticket out and back.’

  He was on his way to lunch. I was tired and still had an upset stomach and preferred my bed. We arranged to meet the next afternoon, and I promised to bring a few friends along.

  I went back to the old-folks’ home burning with excitement. I would talk to Marcus that very afternoon. Finally a chance to explore a real jungle!

  Five o’clock that afternoon I spotted Marcus crossing the road to the university. As always he wore his coarse, black-brown cotton shirt and his wire-rimmed John Lennon glasses. He was beaming as he told me about the day spent with Annick. She loved him, he declared ecstatically. He asked me about the San Pedro cactus trip. I told him what had happened, and he listened attentively. And what had I decided? Was I going to go on with him into the countryside? I started elaborating upon the reasons why I wouldn’t be travelling around Bolivia with him.

  ‘The answer is no, I take it,’ he cut me off, disappointed.

  ‘Hold on a minute,’ I answered. ‘You haven’t heard the best,’ and I told him about the Austrian geologist.

  Marcus wasn’t as excited as I was, but he promised to come with me to meet him the next day.

  After the concert I walked back to the old-folks’ home. I told my friends there about the expedition. A few were enthusiastic, but others didn’t take the plan seriously. Only Itzik voiced any genuine interest in the details and asked to come along to the meeting. I was very pleased. Everyone liked Itzik. At thirty-four he was the oldest of the mochileros and was often asked to represent our collective interests. He had a terrific sense of humour and an infectious enthusiasm, and he was helpful and good-natured.

  The next day he and I marched off in the direction of Plaza Murillo. On our way we met up with Marcus, who himself had a companion, Kevin Gale. It was the first time I had met Kevin, but I already knew quite a lot about him. Every traveller did. Among the mochileros he was a legend. Kevin Gale had done it all. They said that he carried the heaviest pack in South America, that he walked faster than the llamas up the sides of mountains. He was an enthusiastic naturalist and photographer, and one more thing: he was Marcus’s best friend.

  ‘Are you interested in going into the jungle?’ I asked him.

  ‘The truth is, I only came to La Paz to catch a plane home,’ he answered. ‘I’ve been in Latin America for almost two years, and I had decided to go home for Thanksgiving, but the idea fascinates me. I haven’t really been into the jungle.’

  Karl was waiting for us in the square. He got out his photographs once again and told us about his past expeditions. Kevin bombarded him with questions, with Marcus translating from English to German and back again, since Kevin had difficulty understanding Karl’s peculiar Spanish. Kevin was interested in a tribe of wild Indians that Karl promised we’d see. I took it all in attentively.

  ‘Would it be possible to go partway by river?’ Kevin asked.

  ‘This is my work, not a pleasure trip,’ Karl answered, ‘but maybe when you want to come back, you could do so by river.’

  Karl sketched a map on a notebook he had in his pack. He charted rivers, mountains, villages, towns, and mining camps. We were impressed by his knowledge. Kevin seemed satisfied but wanted to see a published map of the region. Karl promised to get one for him.

  ‘OK, I’m in,’ Kevin declared. ‘I’ll tell my parents that I’ll be home for Christmas instead.’

  ‘I’m going too,’ I said, though I had never doubted that I would.

  ‘I wanted to do some more travelling with Annick,’ Marcus said regretfully, ‘but I guess this is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. I’m with you too.’

  Only Itzik held back.

  Karl smiled at the lot of us, and we arranged to meet him that evening at the Rosario. Marcus left to find Annick, and Kevin, Itzik, and I walked back from the square. On a side street we found an ice-cream vendor. A small cone cost five bolivianos; a large cone, seven. I ordered large cones for us all.

  We looked around for a place to sit and chose the steps of a nearby shop, only to discover it was the entrance to a coffin maker. There were boxes of every description, including one covered in blue vinyl and trimmed with gold buttons, and another sized for a baby. We sat on the steps and licked our ice cream.

  Kevin was excited. ‘I have a lot of things to do,’ he said. ‘Cancel my flight and call my parents. They’re going to be really disappointed, but I’ve been dreaming about a trip like this the whole time I’ve been down here. A real jungle, a real Indian village, not a tourist trap. I’ll take photographs like mad. I’ll take a lot of film along, even a tripod. I’ll have to find some way to pack the cameras in waterproof tins or plastic, something that will keep the water out and float. I have to extend my visa. We’ll be there more than a month, won’t we? I’m sure it’s going to be really great.’

  ‘I don’t think that I’ll be coming along,’ Itzik said.

  ‘Why not, Itzik?’ I asked in surprise. ‘It’s going to be a fantastic trip.’

  ‘If I go off into the jungle, I won’t have any time left to travel in Chile. The rainy season will start, and I’ll miss the chance.’

  ‘Chile, schmili. Don’t you think a trip into the jungle sounds a lot more interesting?’

  Kevin didn’t understand, for we were speaking Hebrew, and he went to get more ice cream. I heard him tell the vendor, ‘Más grande, por favor.’

  ‘What’s the problem?’ he asked as he handed us cones.

  ‘Itzik doesn’t think that he wants to come along,’ I explained. ‘He wants to go to Chile.’

  ‘Don’t worry, he’ll come,’ Kevin smiled. ‘I’ll see to it. Take my word.’

  Kevin tried to change Itzik’s mind. He promised to map out a fantastic route through Chile for him. He explained that the weather now was lousy down there now, and he would be better off waiting. Itzik smiled and promised to think it over.

  We kept returning to the ice-cream vendor. ‘I know, I know,’ she said, ‘grande, grande.’

  The coffin dealer looked a little sad. He didn’t say anything to us about blocking
the steps to his store.

  At five that afternoon we were waiting for Karl in Marcus’s room at the Rosario. It was a new hotel with clean, spacious rooms, but the best thing about it was the price: two dollars a night. Kevin was staying there too. I had gone to his room to fetch him. Good Lord, what a mess! There were clothes everywhere, cameras, maps, cigarettes, a jackknife, half a loaf of bread, cheese, melted butter – all heaped on the floor, the sink, and the dresser. Kevin reclined contentedly on the bed; he didn’t seem at all bothered by the disarray. Though I had known him only a short time, I ribbed him about it. Something about him made me feel particularly at ease.

  Karl arrived at six o’clock. He didn’t apologise for being late, but, then, Latin America isn’t famous for punctuality. He had prepared a detailed list of things we would need to buy. It was all written down precisely in large, round letters. Spices, salt, sugar, alcohol, tea, and medicines. Cooking and eating utensils, cups, waterproof rubber sacks, and a machete to cut through the jungle. Snakebite serum and mosquito repellent were particularly important, but most important of all were nets to keep out stinging insects and large sheets of plastic for shelter at night.

  As for the route, he again promised to get us a map but, for the time being, charted it out for us from memory. We would fly to Apolo and be met by his crew, four Indians who lived in a village on the Tuichi River. From there we would have a week’s hike to the place where we would be working. The Indians had accompanied Karl on every expedition, equipped with digging tools and armed with shotguns and ammunition. There was no need for us to buy our own shotgun unless we felt the need for one on our trip back.

  The plan sounded perfectly acceptable. Kevin tried to get as much detail as possible about the river and reminded Karl of our need for a current map. We agreed to meet the following morning to do our shopping and try to find the map. Karl shook hands with each of us before he left.

  Despite our plans, the following morning Karl and I were left to ourselves. Marcus was going to ski the slopes of Illimani with Annick and Dede, and Kevin had errands to run. I suggested to Karl that we search for the map. We didn’t find one in any of the bookstores. On a large wall map Karl pointed out to some salespeople the relatively small area where we would be travelling; but we left the stores empty-handed.

  ‘Never mind. I don’t need a map. I know that area better than my own backyard,’ Karl reassured me, ‘but for you a general map will be better than nothing,’ and having no other choice, we bought one with a scale of 1:500.

  Karl knew his way around La Paz. We saw some jaguarskin coats in one of the shop windows. They reminded Karl of a jaguar hunt he had been on, and he described how he had bagged two jaguars and how much he had gotten for the skins.

  ‘The jaguar is a creature of habit,’ he explained. ‘If you spend any time in its territory, you’ll notice that it has regular paths it always uses. All you have to do is study the trails it takes, hide yourself well, make sure that you are downwind, and wait for your chance.’

  ‘Do you think we’ll be hunting any jaguars on this trip?’ I asked eagerly.

  ‘Could be. Sure, there’s no reason why not,’ Karl said. ‘You can make good money from a jaguar skin.’

  On our way back to the hotel Karl stopped at the post office while I waited outside. He came out looking upset. He had an opened letter in his hand.

  ‘Yossi, I’m sorry, but I have to call off the trip,’ he told me. I was stunned. ‘Call it off! But why?’

  ‘Look, I just got an urgent letter from my uncle. He has a big cattle ranch over in Reyes Province. He says in the letter that he bought a surplus truck from the Chilean army. It will be in La Paz at the beginning of December, and I have to bring it up to his ranch right away.’

  I was sorely disappointed.

  ‘I’m sorry, I can’t let my uncle down. I’m the only family he has here. Do you understand? He has some other relatives back in Austria, but he’s never been in touch with them. He knows that if he dies, they would just sell the place off without even bothering to come see it. I’m the only one who could run his ranch, but he’s let me know in no uncertain terms that if I want to inherit it, I had better follow his instructions. The only problem is, I can’t stand him. I can’t stand to be round the lonely old miser for more than a day or two. That’s why I’m biding my time working in the jungle. After he kicks off, I might settle down there, get married, and run the ranch myself.’

  I couldn’t have cared less about Karl’s family problems. ‘Isn’t there any way at all that you could still come with us, Karl?’ I implored. ‘Maybe just for a month. There’s more than a month until December.’

  ‘No, no. What could I get done in just a month?’ It takes a week to get into the jungle and another week to get back out. That’s ridiculous. I need at least three months in order to accomplish anything.’

  ‘So why not come with us for a month, just for fun? Not to work. You said yourself that you prefer life in the jungle to life in the city.’

  ‘No, Yossi. I’m not a tourist like you. I know the jungle well enough and have no call to just go wandering around in it for nothing. Anyway, it’s expensive: airfare there and back, food, and equipment. What for? There’s nothing in it for me.’

  He’s right, I thought to myself. Too bad.

  What would we do now? Maybe we could go into the jungle on our own. We could get along without him. I was beginning to get carried away with the idea when Karl broke into my thoughts.

  ‘Look, Yossi, there is a way. If you really want a taste of the jungle, I could plan out your route and be your guide. I know the jungle like the palm of my hand. You’ll see. But I couldn’t do it for nothing.’

  His suggestion was a terrific letdown. Up until then I had admired him, seen him in a romantic light. I thought he was the last of the Great White Adventurers. Risking his life in the primeval rainforest, searching for treasure – gold and uranium – staving off wild beasts and savages, making his living hunting jaguars. And here he was figuring up nickels and dimes, offering package deals, guided tours.

  ‘How much would you want?’ I inquired coolly.

  ‘Well, six thousand bolivianos would be enough. Of course, I would pay my share of all the expenses: tickets, food, and so on. It really isn’t that much. What do you say?’

  ‘I’ll have to talk it over with Kevin and Marcus,’ I answered abruptly.

  ‘I’ll be at the hotel at six. Put my offer to them, and you’ll see that you won’t be disappointed.’

  He held out a warm hand. I shook his hand without looking him in the eye.

  I met Kevin and Marcus that afternoon in the hotel.

  ‘We’ll pay him!’ Kevin said before I even had a chance to bring up my own idea of going without Karl. ‘How much is six thousand bolivianos? One hundred and fifty dollars. Fifty bucks apiece for a guide for a month. He can be a big help to us. There’s an advantage for us in it too. This way we don’t have to follow along wherever he goes; we can decide on the route ourselves and go where we want. We’ll plan a nice trip down a river, and he’ll be our guide and take us wherever we want.’

  After some consideration I agreed with Kevin. Marcus also thought this could be for the best.

  Karl was on time this time, and we explained to him that we wanted to take a route through the real jungle; wilderness, wild animals, birds, savage Indians, and of course rafting down one of the rivers. Karl looked at the map and made an alternate suggestion. We could fly as planned to Apolo, which was the farthest point accessible by plane. From there we would have a two-day hike to the village of Asriamas. That was, in fact, the entry to the jungle, the last settlement. From there it would be about a six-day walk to the Toromonas Indian village. That would be a real experience, for we would be passing through completely untamed jungle.

  ‘This Indian village isn’t full of souvenir shops, is it?’ I asked, having heard of villages like that. The guide lets out a warning whistle before he gets there with the tour
ists, and the Indians scramble about hiding newspapers, turning off tape decks, and changing from jeans to loincloths, and then go out to greet the visitors whooping and dancing.

  ‘No, of course not,’ Karl said. ‘It’s a big village; about six hundred Indians live there. I’ve been there twice. They aren’t hostile. But for myself, one other gringo, and perhaps a few missionaries, these Indians have never laid eyes on a white man. We can spend five days in the village, resting up, seeing what we like in the area. Kevin can take all the pictures he wants, we’ll get our provisions ready, and then we’ll head for the Tuichi, a two-day, downhill walk. There we’ll come to a place called Curiplaya, a gold-mining camp. It’s still in use, but when we get there, it’ll be deserted because they only work it from June to October. In Curiplaya we can pan for gold,’ Karl went on, ‘and we’ll stop over for five days or so. We’ll build a raft and spend the rest of the time panning for gold in the river. I can guarantee you one gram of gold for each day’s work; five days of work, five grams of gold apiece.’ He calculated the price of gold and concluded that we would make money from our adventure.

  Karl apparently noticed that we were all a bit sceptical. ‘You know what? I’ll buy your gold!’ he declared. ‘You only have to pay me three thousand bolivianos now, and you can give me the other half in gold.’

  ‘And what if we don’t find anything?’ I asked.

  ‘There isn’t the slightest chance that you won’t find gold,’ Karl answered. ‘I worked there for two years, and I found gold.’

  Kevin and Marcus smiled tolerantly, but I had gold fever. I was eager, full of expectations.

  ‘The raft will be ready within five days,’ Karl said, having gone back to planning our route, ‘and we’ll go down the Tuichi on it, about one hundred and twenty miles, until we come to the mouth of the Beni River.’ He pointed at his map. ‘There, near the mouth, is the town of Rurrenabaque. From there we can get a plane back to La Paz, or if you prefer, we could go on a little farther to the Reyes territory and visit my uncle’s ranch for a few days.’