500 Miles Down The Amazon
	It was at first light that I stood on the deck of our small wooden ship going down the Amazon River. In the distance I could see the faraway foggy silhouette of the jungle shore. I turned my head and looked in the opposite direction behind me and that shore was just as far away. I heard a voice behind me say "That one is just an island in the middle." in a heavy Spanish accent. It was the Captain of our vessel. It wasn't really a ship. It was like the African Queen but large enough to accommodate four six-ft.X six-ft. cabins. The Amazon was still a howling wilderness with dangerous animals of every kind and even head hunters. There were tribes where the natives lived their entire lives and died without ever going thirty miles away from the village where they were born. Because of the danger along the Amazon our boat was given permission to dock overnight alongside a Peruvian Naval Garrison. There were eight members in our party. My two closest friends were my main traveling companions. Patsi Aguero, an artist and longtime friend that I had worked with at Sears and the Tampa Tribune and my best friend, Dave "The Kid" Coker. David was my partner at Busch Gardens. He and I were in charge of Gorillas, Bengal Tigers and White Rhinos. There was also a young man along whose father, a veterinarian, had been on safari in Africa with us the year before. That afternoon we went by canoe down one of the tributaries of the river to a village to see if we could buy or trade desired objects from the Indians. Two of our guides went ahead to make sure everything was safe. After several hours of gliding through the swamps and jungles we came to a large marshy clearing. Nearby, pigeon sized bats swooped down to the surface of the water to drink. Out of nowhere on the other side of the clearing appeared a dugout canoe with three natives in it. They were covered in paint and feathers and beads and bones. The most impressive of the three stood up. Our guide said something. The native then replied with something that sounded a lot like "Hey diddle diddle, the cat and the fiddle." Our guide stood quietly at the bow of our canoe for several minutes as if thinking, then he said almost under his breath, "It's okay, come on." We went to the village and all the natives were painted and feathered and all the women were topless. They generously shared their food with us at a large fire. That afternoon we had a blowgun contest shooting darts at a pack of Camel cigarettes wedged in the fork of a tree. Then the trading began, their "treasures" for ours. They were mainly interested in tee shirts and Jeans and flashlights and batteries. My main objective was a boar tusk necklace the chief was wearing that was made of about thirty or more six-inch long boar's tusks. I tried trading him a cardboard box full of flashlights, batteries, a pocketknife, tee shirts, Jeans and an incredible pair of binoculars. I don't know how much English the chief knew but he certainly could say, "No, my adornment." I did however manage to maneuver a magnificent gold nose ring from one of the tribesmen. It was the shape of half a disc, thin and flat with slightly raised designs and about the size of the palm of your hand. Our guides informed us that it was late afternoon and we had to be back on the ship well before dark. The tribe followed us down to the water and saw us off. The chief bid me farewell by smiling and saying "No, my adornment." As we made our way up the tributary back to the ship I was savoring the experience I had just had. I could hear the slapping of the paddles in the water. The pink sunset was almost indescribable. I sat as we glided along and I looked at the large gold nose ring in the palm of my hand as I moved it all around reflecting the coral color of the sky. I couldn't believe how lucky I was. When we got back to the Naval garrison it was almost dark as we boarded the ship. We were paired up to sleep in our cabins, each cabin being a six-ft. square. There was the door and a bunk on each side. No windows. Patsi and I shared a cabin. The rules of the garrison, because it was military, were no cameras or binoculars out on deck at any time and after dark we had to stay in your cabins. That night Patsi seemed to sleep with no trouble at all. I, on the other hand, tossed and turned for several hours. There was no ventilation and the mosquito netting made it even worse. I had to get air! I went and stood in the open door which helped a little. Outside, next to the door, was a deck chair. I reasoned, "Well, what's the difference in standing in the doorway and sitting in the chair?" After all, it was only a foot away. After sitting there for about twenty minutes a guard came by and stopped. He said in Spanish, "What are you doing out here? You know you're not supposed to be out here." I couldn't understand him because I don't speak Spanish but it was clear that that's what he was saying. I tried to explain in the little bit of Spanish that I know by fanning my face and pointing inside saying that it was very hot in there. I knew that mucho calienti meant very hot and mucho freo meant very cold. Well, I got the two mixed up and was meaning to say mucho freo but instead said mucho frijole. The guard looked in at Patsi sleeping. He smiled a giant smile and nodded his head yes and walked away letting me stay outside. He had a gold tooth. A little later I realized what I had said as I pointed inside the cabin was "many beans." Lash Out Loud