Secrets of the Amazon

On deck 7, on day 8 of the Rio to Manaus crossing, in the Amazon.  Sitting with Pema and Jonathan—Jonathan just came over to say how impressed he was with Ambassador Shannon guest-speaking in Kathy Manning’s leadership class, speaking about authentic leadership and connecting with people to build coalitions.  Untold stories are scrolling by—flat plains of dense jungle on river banks of about 10 feet of café-con-leche water.  Looking through the binoculars, you can see that the river occasionally floods about 20 feet higher, based upon the mud-markings on the trunks of the trees.  Some tree reach above the rest, their canopy in stark relief against the hazy blue sky.  Occasionally there’s the smudge of smoke, apparently the burning of sugar cane fields;  because of this, smoke tinges the air like a campfire;  the air also carries the scent of the river and the forest, so somehow it creates it’s own unique subtle incense.  It feels soft and fresh in spite of the smokieness.  We pass by cleared areas with cattle, we pass by islands within islands, we pass by little houses all by their lonesome.  Also through the binoculars, you can see how dense the jungle gets—it’s dark immediately behind the trees fronting the river.  I think I saw a toucan flying in the distance—a bird with a huge beak, a flash of red or yellow before it was hidden behind the leaves.  A big splash on the banks by fallen trees is probably a caiman;  several lucky folks have gotten glimpses of the pink dolphins (including Pema this morning, from our cabin, while I was brushing my teeth).  The flat jungle peaks sometimes into higher cliffs of red soil, and also spreads out into sandy beaches, but most of it is forest/jungle.  Cumulus clouds gather over everything, offering a brief respite from the powerful equatorial sun.  It is hot, and it is wonderful to float in the pool on the ship in the middle of the Amazon—I feel like my own island within an island.  Birds fly by with calls I’ve never heard before;  there may be white egrets and turkey buzzards in the distance.   We pass by people in dugout canoes, who wave back to us—I am in awe and wonder at the human connection.  Little moths are aflutter on the river and on the ship, while the big moths rest quietly, converting our decks to the equivalent of a hanger of spaceships of all sizes and shapes.  I’m in awe at their quiet resting and their size and their fuzziness—some look like they have fur all over their bodies, some just have fur on their legs which look like little moth-legwarmers, and others look like they are sporting furry mohawks or a riot of furry muppet hair.  Their shapes are designed to fit into nature in addition to their camouflaged colors, looking like leaves and bark and shadowy secrets.  Walking around the ship outside is like an easter egg hunt, with the reward being animals (can you call a bug an animal?  These little ones feel more like animals to me) beyond my imagination.  Last night Chris and I were watching the half moon set over the river, looking like a quarter of tangerine, while the ship was being paced by a cloak of bats, a ephemeral group of about 50 dark shapes, flittering in and out of the edge of perception.  The air is soft, with a warm breeze, as the sun lowers in the sky.  In utter gratitude, wonder, and awe of it all.  My imagination is fired up with what people do and how they make their living in this part of the world, and how they meet one another when it looks so isolated, and wondering what the rhythm of their days and nights hold.  Pema, Annalyn, and I are heading in to an eco-lodge near Manaus called Tariri;  I’m looking forward to catching a glimpse of life amongst the trees and caimans and piranha and fruit that you can only find in the Amazon and that only has a name in a language that I don’t yet know the name of.  Feeling full of thanks, happy to be on this journey with amazing people (this journey and the larger one as well).  Happy Thanksgiving folks!  Xo Lisa