Team Anaconda...ready for the Pampas.

We woke up early and pre-packed, all the stuff we were taking to the pampas in our little day bags, everything else safely locked away in the big bags which we stored in the hotel. Our hangovers from the night before doing nothing to dampen our excitement to be finally on the way to the wilderness. We set out to have the biggest breakfast yet… pancakes, eggs, toast, coffee, juice, the lot. We’d need our energy for where we were going. At the agency we met our fellow adventurers, an eclectic lot, two Dutch guys, Richard and Pete, and three Irish girls, Claire, Ruth and Sinead who we could tell were completely insane from the start. Amanda took an instant shine to them. They’d left their boyfriends at home to come travelling and gone from adventure to misadventure all through Bolivia and Peru before meeting us. Sinead had been in South America for only a few days before getting her entire rucksack nicked from the top of a taxi. They were just mad.




Our truck took us away from town for about four hours to the river we’d be spending most of our time navigating up and down. Here we met with our guide, who shall be henceforth known as the “pampas man”, a name given to him by the girls, one which he didn’t mind at all. When not showing us how fearless and brave he was he spent the entire trip trying desperately trying to get into Ruth’s pants. Fortunately for Ruth he failed, though he did tell her he loved her towards the ends of our stay, a desperate mans gambit. Even before we got into the boat, another hollowed out tree with an outboard motor, we could tell this was going to be good. Just in front of the dock a couple of pink river dolphins were surfacing for air, probably just interested in the next load of tourists to sail upriver from this spot.

Simply messing about on the river!

We powered up the brown, muddy waters of our little tributary for a few hours to get to our pampas camp, passing dense overhanging trees and shrubbery. Amanda was immediately taken with the freshwater turtles that clung to the half submerged logs in close single file. She made it her mission from that moment to get a good photo of them. The only problem was that whenever the boat got too close they would drop underwater, one by one and scarper, some delicacy was obviously in order. Something Jungle Jim had very little of. The banks were full of crocodiles, some absolutely massive, not the placid variety we were able to approach and share our camp with in the Pantanal either. These were the vicious man-eating bloodthirsty variety that would take a bite out of you as soon as look at you. We were very careful not to get too close, they were everywhere. We also caught a glimpse or two of the water loving capybara, timid and quick to disappear into the undergrowth they look like boxy, hairy little pigs. A fine meal for the crocs that patrol the waters. The sun was shining hot and strong, and it didn’t take long for me to conclude that there is nothing half so worth doing as simply messing around in boats. Lounging back in our plank/seats we dreamily watched the banks for signs of life and chilled out, soaking up the quiet (apart from the roaring outboard of course) till we arrived at our home for the next few nights.

Not so friendly as the Brazialian Pantanal Crocs.



After bagsying our beds and hanging the mozzie nets for maximum protection we had our first meal. Suffice to say, it didn’t bode well for the future, it was cold, late, greasy and nasty. The “dining area” was full of wasps and flies that tried to get to the food you were about to put in your mouth. Luckily for us this was just a bad day, most of the rest of the food was good, though we still had to get out of bed before the cook. He didn’t ring the bell for breakfast till well after the fried eggs had congealed or been eaten by the flies.

Swimming With Pink Dolphins.

We boarded the boat that evening for what most people dream of doing, a swim with the river dolphins. It’s a bit of a lottery however. The presence of dolphins is the only things that keep the piranhas out of the area. No dolphins means you’re actually swimming with things that want to eat you. You’ve got to be pretty damn sure you’re in the right spot, not something they tell you in the guidebook. We knew we were in the right place, we could see a few pink backs rising out of the water to grab a puff of air. Stripping down to our togs (or in the case of the Sinead, checking your make-up and getting down to your undies) we all jumped in… and bugger the consequences.

The water was far too murky to see anything under the surface, what I hope were dolphins kept rubbing past my legs as they swam round to say hello. Either that or the local crocs were testing to see if we were tender enough for a bite. It was very disconcerting to be in a jungle river being touched under the surface by an unknown animal that was at least as big as we were. Pampas man took the boat a little upstream
though, so there was no use panicking, we had to swim through whatever it was, untangling out feet from the clinging weeds on the muddy floor and hoping this wasn’t the day we died. We all got back onto the boat with uncivil speed. It didn’t stop us going for another dip a little later on though. We must have gone in that water twice a day, some people just don’t learn.

It became obvious to us that this was going to be nothing like the Pantanal. Our experience in Brazil was a lot more serious, our guide was a professional naturalist and passionate about the area in which he worked. Hell, in the Pantanal we asked the camp cook where he most wanted to be in the world and she replied “right here”… This uniquely Bolivian pampas tour was turning out to be more of a pampas party. It didn’t help that we were along with three girls who must have been thrown out of Ireland for their over crazy behaviour. Well, if you can’t beat em, join em I say. After dinner we got Ruth to sweet talk our guide into taking us to a bar we’d seen a few minutes down the river, one that obviously only makes its money from the tourist traffic. I have no problem with supporting the local economy. We stocked up on overpriced (but still dirt cheap) beers and chocolate by candlelight, and retired to out own little slice of unreality for a drink.

Back on the boat the next day we thundered up the river further looking for big crocs, more dolphins to swim with and the other dangerous, flesh eating creatures that live out here. Of all the places in the world, I think this is probably the worst one to be a vegetarian. Any animal out here without big teeth needs to be worried all the time, there are always about three things watching you, just waiting for their next meal. Stopping every five minutes for Amanda to shout at Pampas man for not being quiet enough when sneaking up on unsuspecting turtles had the Irish girls in fits of laughter. They decided to adopt him as a fellow Irish, without the accent. I felt like Alice had just overdosed on psychotropic mushrooms and fallen off the tree. I spent the next two hours trying to get a picture of the four of them without them pouting furiously or putting on make-up. Ruth was driving Pampas man insane and Amanda still hadn’t snapped a turtle. We did see some more capybaras though.

Fishing for Piranhas

We stopped in a quiet spot for some fishing, armed with line, hooks and cut up bits of other tiddlers we dangled our bit in the water and waited for the piranhas to bite. It took about three seconds. They’re cunning though, they don’t try to gobble up the whole thing, just take little nibble, you have to feel them nibbling and yank the line, hoping to skewer them on the way. It’s not an exact science and we were all beginners. Mostly we just threatened to capsize the boat with our flailing. Still, I managed to get one, so did Amanda, though she wouldn’t go anywhere near it afterwards, I had to take the hook out and bash it still (technical fishing terms) before she’d even open her eyes.



We stopped off at a local farm to watch the sun set over the pampas, an amazing, burning red spread across the whole sky. You could be forgiven for thinking that world war 3 had begun. Jim insisted that Ruth have a go at riding the farms horse, I think he was looking to step in and save her when she got scared, though she mostly looked bored. I practiced talking in cow language through a barbed wire fence I was getting pretty good at it too before we all had to go. The cows had even started to talk back.

Dinner that night was (predictably) rice and piranha fish, which tastes nothing like chicken by the way. We finished off the rest of our booze and tried to kill as many mosquitoes as possible. I had by this time been eaten alive. I thought there couldn’t possibly be enough room for more bites on my skin. I was proved wrong the following night when I was repeatedly bitten THROUGH my long sleeved t-shirt. These were hard core industrial strength, genetically modified MOD experimental war mozzies. Bred in captivity to undermine the enemy’s moral, a batch must have escaped to Bolivia. They were serious beasties.



After not enough sleep we were up early the next day, not in time to get to our eggs while they were still hot. Today was reserved for the main event, the anaconda hunt….