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End Of The Race It had been a particularly bad year for me. I hadn’t worked the entire year (thank you Enron, Dick and George), my mother had passed away, and Plaintiff #2 took the kids and left. All this during an election year when the so-called Patriot Act was being touted as an effective measure to make me feel safer (no one of Middle Eastern descent had been detained, offended or otherwise insulted but my abilities to travel freely and do as I please with my own hard earned money have been seriously curbed), and the body count of young Americans was on the rise in a war that fewer and fewer of the American people wanted anything to do with. I remembered that someone once said that the only winners in a rat race are rats. Having remembered, I proceeded to act - that is to drop out of the race. I am more fortunate than most in that my work (Heavy Industrial Contractor) allows me to live anywhere in the world. All I need is occasional access to a telephone (I refuse to chain myself to a cellular phone) and the Internet.

The rest of my “stuff” I left to Plaintiff #2 to dispose of as she pleased. The money to be applied to some lawyer’s monthly Beamer payment. 

So shed, and having secured an equitable settlement (according to aforementioned barrister, anyway) with occasional visitation rights, laptop in one hand, suitcase #1 in the other, I headed off to the woods. Literally. 

The Woods

The Amazon Rain Forest covers parts of 9 or 10 different countries. Geographically, it is one vast tropical rain forest. Politically, for reasons known only to politicians (is it coincidental that most politicos have a law degree?), it has been divided into 2 different regions. One is known as Amazonas, which includes only the Amazon River Basin itself, from its headwaters to its mouth at the Atlantic. The other, which covers the rest, is known as the Selva, Spanish for forest, woods or jungle. 

The Attitude

Walled (or open) communities of American/European retirees, tourists, ex-pats, adventurers, wannabees, and missionaries are not for me. Why leave the States only to live in some small microcosm thereof? The only English I want to hear is on a job somewhere, and not necessarily even there. I want nothing to do with open-mouthed naïveté and endless questions. I prefer my anonymity, such as it is, and being the only gringo in my little barrio, it is after all, rather hard won. I knew where I was going, had been there before and actually lived to tell about it. It was an easy decision for me. Having said all that, it shouldn’t come as any surprise that I’d like to maintain that anonymity along with my chosen lifestyle so I’m not going to say where in all the vast Selva I’ve chosen to call home. Let’s just say it’s one of a number of small communities along some river, which finds its way to Mother Amazon. We’ve advanced somewhat into the 21st Century, in that we have Internet Cafes (convenient in finding work), but not so much that there’s a television and computer in every room of the house. Families still gather in the cool of the evening to talk to each other. Sunday dinners are still common as well. There’s a serious lack of McDonalds, Burger Kings, KFC’s etc. etc. ad nauseum. Food is still bought, fresh, at the Mercado, which consists of a huge covered warehouse style building (it rains in the Rain Forest) with individual vendor’s stalls inside. Saturday night is reserved for strolls around the Plaza de Armas, cold beer for the men folk and ice cream for the ladies and young ‘uns. It’s a tough life, but somebody’s gotta live it.
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Political Correctness is non-existent here. Fred Reed, (http://www.fredoneverything.net/) arguably the best editorial columnist extant, would love it here. The people are quite child-like, (as opposed to childish) and as a result a matriarchal society has evolved here. There is an almost complete lack of machismo. The wars of terror have been stamped out and/or are far away. Women enjoy being women and treated as such. Give a lady a flower and she’ll actually smile and blush. They also enjoy treating their men folk as men the world over enjoy being treated. Even if it’s only silently longed for as in the PC climes. Food is cooked and served, clothes washed by hand, dirt floors and yards swept, water hauled in buckets from community wells, chickens and pigs corralled at night, children borne and cared for, in a timeless cycle of life. All without bitterness and complaint over careers lost or fingernails broken.

A typical day for me runs somewhat like this (with variations for Holidays and Sundays):

5:30am: The women of the house awaken, sweep the floors and begin cooking breakfast, which consists of boiled bananas, fried eggs and fish, rice and coffee. While the coffee and bananas are boiling the women split off into groups, some to wash clothes others to uncover the chicken “yard” to feed the chickens and let them out for the day. Any eggs that may have been laid are collected for breakfast. 

6:00am: Those that have jobs or go to school in the mornings, bathe, eat and leave for work or school. This is about the time I get up for coffee, which has been cheerfully prepared by one of the women.

7:00am: I eat, usually a fried egg sandwich and some rice. Talk around the table; the younger children are fed as well.

8:00am: Out to the bathhouse for a cold bucket bath and a shave (this latter, usually every other day.)

9:00am: We head down the road a mile or so (horrors—on foot even!) to catch a motocarro (a motor cycle driven rickshaw) into the nearest town, about 7 miles away. This will cost about $.60 US. Once in town, I’ll check emails at the local Internet Café, make whatever phone calls are necessary at the local cabinas telephonicas, do the day’s grocery shopping at the Mercado and head back home in time for lunch.

12:00pm: Lunch. Consists of rice, beans, fried eggs, fried bananas and lemonade. Talk, joke, laugh around the table.

1:00pm: Siesta, or for those who care to watch them, noticias and novellas, which are about one and the same as far as I’m concerned. Unfortunately, they have their version of the Eagles’ “bubble headed bleached blonde” on the noon and evening news, broadcast from the Capital. As for me, it’s the hamaca under the shade of the mango tree.

3:00pm: Up from siesta, or off with the novellas, floors swept and supper is readied for the pot. 

4:00pm: High Stakes Community Bingo Game. Vast amounts of money will change hands today (usually $1.00 or $2.00 US if the game is hot and there are more than 5 or 6 players).

6:00pm: Supper, after everyone’s returned from work or school. Consists of soup, salad, and/or boiled bananas.

7:00pm Evening noticias, novellas or a pirated DVD screened on my laptop (I’m really, really sorry Hollywood, really I am).

9:00-10:00pm: Coffee and bread around the table, talk of the day’s events and lights out. Time to crawl under the mosquito net.
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That’s precisely why I like it here. The most exciting thing to happen here in recent memory is me showing up to stay awhile. Not exactly stuff for headline news, but it’s not every day a gringo moves into the neighborhood either. 

For recreation, there is the occasional fishing trip down the river, there are pig hunts up the river and Sunday nights there are dances and fiestas.

So if high adventure is what you crave, I suggest looking elsewhere. If, on the other hand, you appreciate peace, solitude, long languid afternoons lounging in a hammock under a shade tree, high stakes bingo and the close company of family and friends, this place might suit you. There are drawbacks. There has been a recent outbreak of the Dengue and Yellow Fever, mosquitoes and gnats are bothersome and the heat and humidity take some getting used to. It’s no worse than Southern Florida in the summertime. 
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