The Beni: Potpurri (3 of 7)

I have a wide collection of silly anecdotes, storys, and thoughts on what has been happening here, far to many put in print and many unsuitable for a generally civilized audience. That said, I have a collection of random pieces of my life here that are, and that is, of course, the subject of this post

THE BENI POSTAL SYSTEM

The first item is a response to myriad questions about how, exactly, have your emails been able to make it out into the field unaided by electricity, fax machines, or voodoo. The chain of events begins with Toa, who prints off all my emails when he is in Trinidad, throws them in an envelope, and addresses it to a man named Don Tico Suarez, the administrator of Betania in Santa Ana. Don Tico then packs the envelope onto the next plane headed into the campo for any one of the ranches in the area, crossing out his name and putting my Bolivian name (Kris Duk) on the envelope. From there, the plane lands somewhere in the field, and waits until a cowboy happens to be passing through towards Betania, or ¨the ranch where the Gringo lives¨, as it is usually referred to over the radio. Said cowboy then carefully tucks the envelope into an area where it is guarunteed that his horse will sweat profusely on it, and rides off in the direction of Betania. Later that night, he arrives at the ranch and happily hands me the envelope, which I thank him profusely for, no matter what fluids it seems to have been soaking in. From there, it is a simple matter of drying the papers off, and once dry, pouring over every word over and over, I´ll be sure to save some of the more abused papers as souveniers, or ¨treasures¨ as Erica would put it. If I can make sure they aren´t supporting some sort of growth.

HELLO, NEWMAN...

As a number of you are already aware, I am far and away a lover of all things animal. That said, there are a select few who have succeded in making my Sh(oo)t List, an elite group of unlovables whom I utterly and totally despise. Official members so far include Ticks, Tapeworms, Polychaete Marine Worms, and Bill O´Riely. While here in Bolivia, I am thrilled to announce the induction of three new members to this hallowed club. Congradulations to these select few.

Botfly- Probably the fastest introduction-to-induction I´ve ever made to this list. This lovely little creature lays an egg on your skin, a tiny and seemingly harmless grain of life, which then promptly hatches into a maggot (it gets worse). The newborn then burrows underneath your skin untill it is completely submerged, save for the breathing hole it leaves in your skin. If you chose, you could then wait until it reached its full size (I´ve heard stories of 3 inches, may be tall tales, but seems feasible), when it then pupates and emerges from the hole as a brand new adult. I did not choose to wait with my first Botfly, and removed the foul beast immediatedly from his home he had made in my left foot. This involves covering the breathing hole with chewing gum, bringing the larvae closer to the surface, where it can be extracted with a knife. They don´t carry diseases, and my wound has healed into an unremarkable scar, but I think you will agree that its overwhelming repulsivness deserves immediate membership.

Ants- I can already hear Kalen snickering. The paperwork was already in the mail for these beasts, and although they play a huge part in every ecosystem they inhabit and are extremely remarkable for their strength and overall fascinating, they have crossed the line. I have been stung, bitten, and otherwise tortured by so many ants here, that I think the first thing I will teach my future kids to do is fry ants with magnifying glasses for sport. I´m not kidding. A non-comprehensive list of offenses includes:

1) Repeated stings and bites without provokation, and apparently just for the hell of it

2) Completely reducing our waterproof blind into something that closely resembles Swiss cheese, as a troop of leafcutters did (while it was raining, !%#&!!!)

3) Inhabiting every possible molecule of ground, making escape impossible

There is even a species that has forged an alliance with a common tree here, and at the slightest movement of a single leaf, hundreds of the little Nazis come pouring out of the holes peppering the tree´s bark, and proceed to bite and sting the bajeezus out of whatever is nearby. Their stings leave quarter-sized welts that turn to boils the next day, and cause an impossible amount of pain. Their host plant has been named ¨Palo Diablo¨, The Devil´s Branch, for exactly this reason.

Cows- These hulking simpletons have also been in consideration for induction for a while, and although they are delicious and useful when dead, in life they are 600 lb of dim-witted bullying malice. My initial attempts at a truce went unheeded, and every day I am charged, pursued, and otherwise pushed around by bovine fart-factories with nothing better to do. They are everywhere, an unescapable presence. Alonso tells me the best way to deal with them is to be aggressive back, but I have seen him come back to the house with cattle-inflicted injuries too often to believe him. Instead, I give them a wide berth, and when charged, I run. Or at least I used to.

I have discovered a secret weapon in dealing with these idiots. When ever I bring it with me into the field, their dull eyes bulge with terror as they see me wave it viciously through the air. The sun catches its polished handle, reflecting the horrifed panic flashing in the eyes of my unnaturally stupid opponets. I unleash a primal scream to drive the point home, and a terrified stampede in the opposite direction ensues, bellowing and mooing. What instrument of doom is this, the one that now never leaves my side and guaruntees me safe passage through cow-infested plains? It is the powerful, the terrifying...

...Butterfly Net.

Which leads perfectly into my next section...

GAMES AND ACTIVITIES

The Beni is not exactly the hotspot of the world, in terms of diversions, so I have devised a number of fun games that I play daily. Starting with...

Terrify the Cows Until They Evacuate Their Digestive Tract (Cow Panic, for short)

One of my favorites. Whenever I have a little extra time in my commute, or the cows have gotten a little too bold, or I just feel like it, the net that serves as my protector becomes my weapon. I carefully place my backpack, hat, and binoculars in the shade underneath a palm, note its location so I can find it again once the fun´s over, firmly grasp my Butterfly Net, unleash an unholy war cry, and charge blindly into the nearest population of cows, shrieking in toungues. It is great exercise, and I have discarded my morning jog in favor of this game to keep in shape. Anyone wondering why Latin Americans all think Gringos are crazy should be able to see that they come from images like the one I create: a tall, shirtless gringo in hiking boots, wildly pursuing a herd of up to 200 cows across the sun-baked savannah, swinging a butterfly net and flinging curses in whatever language comes readily to mind. The game ends when I get tired, or when a cow fires off a cow pie on the run, which I consider to be a suitable sign of defeat. I refuse to feel remorseful about this game in spite of its questionable ethics, because in the long run it does no permanent damage, the cowboys don´t mind at all and in fact encourage it (jumpy cows are easier to drive), and most of all because they (the cows) were the ones to start it, and I´ll be damned if I´m going to let them be the ones to finish it.

Bolivian Whack-a-Mole

To play this game, you need the following:

- A tent

-A rolled-up magazine

-An abundant population of nasty creatures

The game goes like this. Every night when I first enter my tent, there is a scattering of lumps in the floor, created by myriad creatures that have decided foolishly to take shelter underneath my tent. I open my magazine to an ad featuring Paris Hilton, roll it up, and get ready. To let my opponets know the game is on, I give the tent a good shake. The lumps then begin moving about in a confused pattern, and I begin bapping each moving lump that appears with Pairis´s smirking face, using sufficent force to make it a good decision for the lump to find another place to spend the night. I occasionally accidentally ¨permanently stun¨ creatures with exoskeletons, but generally I´m a lot more gentle than I would like to be. An independant referee stands outside and anounces the identity of each lump as it flees from under my tent (usually Alonso, Maria and Paco have phobias, and watch from a safe distance). The game ends when all lumps have been removed and identified, and I am confident that I am the only one in my tent. I enjoy this game quite a bit too, and I´ve been thinking of writing Paris a thank-you note for her ad for all the fun I´ve had (ME: Dear Paris, thanks for selling your soul to Guess and providing me a chance to pummel repulsive little creatures that hide under my tent in Bolivia with your face. PARIS: That´s hot. What´s a Bolivia?)

I play this game nightly, and have combined it with a ¨Guess what´s Under My Tent¨ guessing game, in which the whole ranch participates. Prizes for correct guesses include candy, beers, and a special congradulations from the others. I have compiled a list that once again in far from comprehensive, but nonetheless contains a good deal of the participants of this game (besides me). We have found toads, frogs, rats, mice, chickens, piglets, 2 species of Tarantula, scorpions, lizards, more species of spider and cockroach than I knew existed, and one especially exciting night when a large mystery lump turned out to be a Fer-de-Lance.

Make the Gringo Eat Something Gross and Tell Him Later

This game is a favorite of the cowboys, and I am usually an unwilling participant. I will discuss this in much greater detail in the Adventures post, I have just chosen to mention it as a teaser...