We arrived in Bolivia through the dust of the Chaco. A 26 hour slog on a rudimentary bus brought us from Asuncion in Paraguay, through the forested desert wilderness that is the Chaco (accounting for 60% of Paraguays territory, but only 3% of its population,) to the idyllic Eden that is the village of Samaipata.
Three hours from the oil boomtown of Santa Cruz, Samaipata is a village nestled where the Andes meet the Amazon. We arrived on 17th December. "Samaipata" in the Inca language, Quechua, means "rest in the high place." And that is exactly what we did. We spent 12 days in that paradise, and, when we did leave, it was hard to wrench ourselves away.
That 12 days was not all rest and relaxation, however. The first thing we did, after checking into our hostel, La Posada Del Sol, was contact a local guide named Rufo, and visit the ancient cloud forest in Parque Nacional Amboro.
About an hour from Samaipata, we left the road and within five minutes were in the eery silence of the forest. Five minutes after that we were gazing in wonder at the Park's horticultural showpiece..."lecho gigante" giant ferns! They lived up to their name, towering above us and providing shade, like enormous, organic umbrellas. Some were over a thousand years old, and they have been growing in that part of Bolivia since the time of the lumbering giants that ate them for breakfast - the dinosaurs. In Australia and New Zealand, the only other part of the world where they grow, they are known, therefore, as "dinosaur food." It may sound corny, but walking in that forest, surrounded by oversized plants, and deaf to the noises of man far away, it felt like walking back in time. We were walking with dinosaurs, conquistadors, and the enigmantic revolutionary Che Guevara.
Rufo's grandmother was a traditional healer, and so he knew the names and uses of many of the plants we passed as we walked under the great canopy of trees. One, called boldo, was a treatment for asthmatics, and immediately slowed our breathing rate as we climbed through the clammy undergrowth towards a "mirador" (viewpoint). Another medicinal plant was altogether more sinister...Rufo told us many Bolivian women had died after ingesting the innocuous looking, but highly toxic leaves to perform home abortions. For that reason, it was called "trebo maldito," or "god damned trebo."
Rufo said that it was an unusually silent day. Indeed, aside from the occasional bird call, we did seem to be alone. However, rounding a corner and chatting, we came face to face with a metallic blue humming bird, hovering in the centre of the machete made trail. The way it stayed perfectly still, its wings beating in a motionless blur, had a surreal beauty.
Eventually, after following a smooth stream that was like a water park slide up a steep valley, we reached the mirador. The view was worth the walk. A perfectly clear sky, light blue and shimmering in the midday heat, stretched out over an infinity of unbroken forest. To the other side, row after row of formidable mountains, gradually getting higher. It was a humbling sight; the kind of view that makes you feel small, and wonder at the majesty of the natural world. In the 21st century, the power of nature is diminishing...or we are forgetting how to listen to, and live in harmony with, nature. But on that grassy clearing, surrounded by a sea of trees and a wall of stone, I felt a kind of primal connection to the world we live in, the world we rely on, that we are poisoning slowly. Like I said, it was humbling, but in a way empowering too. I felt, seeing that forest that no chainsaw will ever touch, that it isn't too late to learn, and to change, the way we are. For that, just being able to feel that, the call and voice of nature, when I usually live next to London (the Big Smoke) and Heathrow, was a privilege I will never forget, and an experience I will cherish forever.
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