Amazon approach: River notes

25 Jun 2009

At the juncture of the Rio Negro and Rio Branco they're building a market to organize and make permanent the stalls that cluster clutter the main ingress for goods from the river. The dark water of the Rio Negro meets the yellowish slower water of the Rio Branco in a confluence which, according to legend, never truly mixes. Boats crowd the dock, and we hop aboard a 25ft barebones aluminum craft with a sunroof stuffed with lifevests. It bounces over the surface, crossing from clear dark water to vegetation-floating sediment-filled Rio Branco as we head toward a village across the way.
We get in a van which takes us to our riverboat on another branch somewhere. I'm seized with an immediate need to jot notes:

Big black birds hunch in trees like enormous fruits of the papaya family. The air is thick and heavy, and the sun is strong.

A heron stands out stark white against the green.

Fishermen in long flat boats patrol their aequeous farmland.
The river lifestyle is another version of existence that appeals to me, and I renew my interest in checking out the Mississippi or Missouri rivers for a period of work (and adventure!) Mark Twain style.

The van splashes through segments of river that felt no reason to cow to the might of the road, instead flowing directly over the asphault in a shallow tumult.

Staring fixedly out my window, I wonder how different the view is on the other side of the van. Let's switch sides for the ride back, so I can see your experience! Immediate realization: if we switched sides and directions, I'd see the same thing as before. Lesson learned: unthinking desire to see the other angle forcing experience can merely enforce bias and same-old-lens-looking.

In a field of grass and water, cows pepper the dry spots amid scattered palm trees, ruminating the spongy tufts. How do they not sink on their spindly legs?
A vulture sits on every fencepost idly watching passing traffic. The living scarcely interest them.

Every building has a natural moat. This road is remarkably smooth and well maintained, which makes sense if one considers the amount of shipping coming through here.

Fences, barns, gates all reminiscent of any ranchland, except stuck firmly amid fields of water. A palomino horse grazes on an island of grass beside a big willow. Three boys in a skiff pick fruit with a long pole.

When we pull off the paved road onto a dirt path, the wind stops blowing on my face, and sweat immediately prickles my skin. I want to be barechested with a machete slung over my shoulder and a floppy hat drooping over my ears.