Then you have the snakes, spiders, man-eating fish, all that to invigorate your imagination. But all you have to do is follow the jungle guide, step here, not there, count your fingers and toes at both ends of the journey.

I met Cesar Peña in the city, in downtown Iquitos, Peru, which like the jungle, looks dangerous due the urban zoo-like atmosphere of a town that is mostly populated with people who are not far removed, only several generations advanced, from the Stone Age.

Cesar Peña in the Amazon jungle of Peru.

Cesar was riding a motorcycle, a dirt bike jacked up on the front end. He wore blue jeans and a golf shirt, the uniform of college fraternity boys. His bearing was that of a college student. By that I mean he bore the posture of entitlement. His confidence had authority behind it. He knew something about himself, and the environment he moved in, that would lead a stranger to ask questions.

Jonathan Shanin, the founder of AidJoy, was then a newcomer to the Amazon, as I was. Cesar had been assigned to interpret for Jonathan. We were headed out with Project Amazonas on a medical expedition up the Mazán River, planning to travel by boat some two hundred river miles out of Iquitos, into territory where I then imagined we might encounter head hunters.

When the opportunity came, I asked Cesar where I could get hold of a firearm. His English was not perfect. He missed some verb tenses and didn’t have all the syntax memorized, but aside from that, you could tell that he was thinking in English, and that nothing you asked, or that he said, had to be translated mentally. He told me I could probably buy a shotgun without much trouble. I gathered from what he said, it would likely be a worn out double barrel antique that some hunter had carried till he was scared to shoot it, and ammunition was hard come by.

In the end, I went up the river unarmed, or thought I was. I was not sure what Cesar’s job was on the expedition. Riding the boat for days on end, up a narrow tributary of the Amazon, most of the crew worked non-stop, feeding and seeing to the comfort of the medical team and volunteers. Cesar seemed to have few duties, almost nothing to do with the ship’s routine. He parked in a plastic chair under the wheel house and had his nose in a book most of the time.

He was reading a Peterson’s Guide particular to amphibians and reptiles in the rainforest, written in English. Finally I asked Devon Graham, the expedition leader, what Cesar was hired to do besides study the Latin names of lizards.

Cesar, he said, was the jungle guide, which surprised me, for he had seemed much at home in the city, urbanized as though from birth. He turned out to be the son of a Yagua tribal shaman, grown up in the bush. He was more at home out there, behind the wall of the jungle that rose either side of the Mazán River.

Now I grew up on boats. I was content to walk the deck as the crew moved the ship. I knew where to lend a hand. I was not baggage. The boat made a level field of experience for me to draw on in connecting with the baggage handlers.

Cesar was different. As the days went by, traveling farther from the city, he seemed more isolated in his manner. He always had a book in his hand. That alone separated him from the rest of the crew. He had the bearing of young captain riding on another man’s boat, responsible to observe and offer no opinion. He was quiet, always reading from the Peterson’s Guide, unless Jonathan needed him to interpret.

They were working together, doing interviews with indigenous people, compiling basic research that Jonathan would use in launching AidJoy, which at that time did not have name, but was only a concept still in liquid form. Jonathan and Cesar were thick in the business of hunting and gathering information.

We were looking for sick people. Ironically, instead of head hunters, we found hordes of children with anxious mothers, the young needing immunization and vitamins, the mothers and men needing dental work, pain relief, and antibiotics to counter infections.

There was no time on the medical expedition for trekking in the jungle. Cesar assisted Jonathan in filming and recording interviews with willing, and some not so willing, tribal people, who aside from a few steel tools and monofilament fishing line, were indeed still living in the Stone Age, hunting and gathering as the hunger of the day dictated.

They lived in thatched roof structures without walls, or much of any place soft sit down. They slept in hammocks, and much of the day, they lazed from one small job to another, washing clothes, bathing babies, cooking on open fires. The men, and children too, went fishing for the meat they would eat that day. There were fruits and vegetables to gather from the forest and meager gardens they tended that had been hard won with machetes and single-bitted axes from the overwhelming forest.

It was another year before I went into the jungle with Cesar, and it was just me and him a long way form the city. His method of watching over me was that of a parent letting a child discover new terrain. He waited for me as I would pause on the trail, gazing at something in the air, a blue butterfly, a humming bird four times the size of any humming bird I ever saw.
And then I would see something crawling and point to it. Likely Cesar would have it on file in the cabinets in memory from childhood, and if it wasn’t there, he would check the mental pages of a Peterson’s Guide, and struggle to pronounce the Latin name.

We were unarmed, Cesar rarely carried a machete, or any kind of knife. He went free handed like a hunter on an off day, when the object is to find how the game is moving, see what tracks were here today that hadn’t been the last time he walked this section of trail.

I had spent some time in the woods of North America, but nothing back there resembled the Amazon forest. The feeling in the jungle was that everything was created yesterday, exploded out of the ground all at once, and all looked the same to an eye unfamiliar.

At first I only saw the generalities, the color green and the tangle of it. It took a while for the curtain to rise.

The company of an experienced guide actually retarded the opening up of my senses. Everything was too strange and otherworldly. My internal mechanism was striving to shut out so much of the unknown.

The more time I spent in the forest, the more mesmerizing the small things were. Colors, other than green, flowers hidden, insects crawling as tiny rainbows out from under one dead leaf and under the next in a fleeting moment of maximum exposure to everything natural to swallow it.

Being in the jungle was like being underwater in the ocean, where the food chain includes you, and you are not at the top, but only somewhere near the top, a competitor like all the rest. You see and hear and smell and feel like one of the boys, just another player in the contest. Only it ain’t a game regardless of how casual Cesar made the outings seem.

Once in a place called Sabalillo, where the topography was oddly steep, of a mountainous quality almost, Cesar was head of me, where he always walked, me keeping two or three paces behind, when under the foot I was about to let down, there was movement. Cesar had stepped over it and not seen it, plain as a snake.

I recoiled and stood still, watching it slither away as Cesar turned, and I pointed at it. His casual manner disappeared. The snake likewise, a ribbon of green, black and yellowish stripes ebbed down a hole.

It was a Corral snake, Cesar said, very rare. I thought Corral snakes were red, but not these. I asked if they were as poisonous. Lethal, he said, and we looked at each other, with the tension gone out of air, and laughed at ourselves. Cesar was a little embarrassed that he had missed seeing it. I had nearly stepped on it. He told me if you were bitten, you would have about twenty minutes to get your affairs in order, and find a good place to go brain dead before you died.
And then he squatted down and looked into the hole where the snake had gone. He reached the mouth of the hole and lifted a drooping leaf. What was he doing that for?

The boat handler, river guide, who had delivered us to Sabalillo, was waiting back at the head of the trail. Cesar called out to him in some excitement, shouting in Spanish to Edwin, who was also the designated snake handler. According to Cesar, Edwin had only seen a green corral snake once, and years ago; he would surely want to capture this one if he could. I vetoed that.

Edwin; riding ahead in a skiff and clearing a mooring location for the hospital ship.

Cesar wondered if I would go on up the trail behind him, or turn around now, with snakes in
my head. I was under surveillance. Capturing the snake did not interest me, neither did losing respect. So up the trail I followed Cesar, much as before, though I found myself feeling protective toward him too, returning the service, I kept better watch.

Later Edwin did capture the snake. I was not there to see it. He and Cesar left me by the boat, with a picnic lunch, saying they were going for a walk.

About an hour went by. Then Edwin and Cesar came out of the jungle.

Edwin carried a short length of P.V.C. pipe in one hand. Both ends were capped with pieces of cloth tied around the pipe. Inside was the snake.

He took it out and played with it, holding it by the tail, swinging it for the camera as Cesar took pictures. Cesar waved his hand near enough the snake’s head that it stretched open its mouth to strike.

After the photo opportunity, Edwin let the snake go free. I watched it slither under the dead leaves, and then the jungle was clear to me, the curtain drawn back, and I was wide awake.

Cesar and Edwin brought me back to Iquitos. I left them there at the edge of the jungle. I came home to South Carolina, and the next thing I heard of Cesar, he had been injured in a traffic accident in the city. He was crippled in his hand. I thought of him waving the same hand in front of the snake, it wanting to strike.

I thought of Cesar reading the Peterson’s Guide, and the time he stopped me from grabbing the trunk of a spiny palm tree. The spines were sharp as porcupine quills. They caused bad infection if one broke off in your finger, and wasn’t taken out immediately.

I thought of him in blue jeans and a golf shirt riding his motorcycle. And then I remembered Cesar in tall rubber boots and old clothes, walking in the jungle just ahead of me, casual and loose moving, a hunter, and gatherer of knowledge from books, the brightest man in the bush.

Jonathan called and told me about the accident. Said Cesar needed money to have an operation and physical therapy to get his hand back.

Knowing how things are down there, if money doesn’t get to him, his hand will go to waste. What a loss it would be if Cesar were kept out of the jungle, relegated to the city doing one-handed jobs for the rest of his life.

Cesar Peña disinfecting a painful abscess in the Amazon.

Dr. Paul Kater investigating a child's sore throat

I’ve been working for over two months in the Amazon. During that time I participated in two consecutive medical expeditions. Aboard the first expedition over 85% of the international volunteers (people living outside Peru) learned about Project Amazonas from AidJoy’s work. On the following expedition 100% of the international volunteers became participants because of AidJoy’s work. What began with a Google search such as “amazon medical trip” resulted in volunteers bringing medical aid to people in the Amazon.

“When I wanted to take an authentic trip to the Amazon I searched online and found Project Amazonas. Everything I read and watched exceeded my expectations. With Project Amazonas I’m more than a traveler, I’m a participant.” Dr. Paul Kater

Technology, Media, and Marketing Volunteers.

Since 2008 there have been over seventy volunteers working at AidJoy to help expand the extraordinary efforts of Project Amazonas. This is the complete list of AidJoy’s wonderful participants: http://www.aidjoy.org/ngo-corporate/index.html.

Together our work enables Project Amazonas to:

* Provide medical aid to thousands of people.
* Purchase and equip an improved primary boat; the 74foot “Nenita”.
* Grow their volunteer base from around the globe.

What Happens Next?

We are going to show the world how difficult it is to receive medical care from remote parts of the Amazon rainforest. Additionally, people will get to meet the medical professionals that are dedicated to helping the people in the Amazon. And lastly, we will introduce a couple of sustainable solutions to the hardships facing these people.

* My deepest appreciation goes to ForeignTranslations.com, WatershedCabins.com and our generous individual donors. Without your support this work would not be possible.

To see photographs of medical clinics cruise over to our Flickr page:
http://www.flickr.com/photos/aidjoy/sets/72157626893034477/

Also, some of Mike’s favorite photos are here:
http://www.flickr.com/photos/aidjoy/sets/72157627017723026/

Huge Hug,
Jonathan

A Double Rainbow In The Amazon Rainforest

Mayer Chavez recounting his wife’s struggle to get to proper medical care in the Amazon Rainforest.

When you travel through this part of the world you will see a lot of buildings with thatched roofs. The best of these roofs will withstand the daily torrential rains for seven years. The expertise to make such a roof is passed from master to apprentice. On the Cochiquinas river, Mayer is that master.

Three years ago Mayer’s wife, Marilu, was pregnant with their third child. She was also struggling with a mild case of malaria. It wasn’t mild in the eyes of Marilu. She was outspoken about the severity of her malaria with Mayer. But she didn’t look that sick, and how many times can someone be taken seriously if they piss and moan about cold after cold. It’s a rainforest here. It’s really humid and bronchial infections are as common as people sneezing when flowers begin to bloom back in South Carolina.

The sole bread earner can hardly be expected to play nursemaid every time his hypochondriac of a wife comes down with a cold.

Mayer goes back into the jungle to continue making thatched roofs.
At the time we first met Mayer he was working to fulfill an order for 100 thatchings. That’s enough material to cover a comfortable family house in the suburbs.
Unfortunately Marilu’s health continued to deteriorate while Mayer was out of town. Her father saw the urgency of the situation and took off to find Mayer.

Getting Marilu the help she needed was now the entire family’s highest priority. The following morning Marilu and Mayer paddled their dugout canoe eight hours to the mouth of the river, seeking help from a shaman. The dire nature of this situation is readily apparent to everyone. Mayer recounts to us his wife’s words, “you’ve killed me Mayer. You left me when I needed help and now you’ve killed me.”

At the point where the Cochiquinas and the Amazon River meet they find a shaman. She takes Mayer aside for further consultation.
Note: We haven’t talked with this shaman yet. I can only tell you what Mayer has shared with us.
“While you were away working another man has fallen in love with your wife. He wished you would die and sought the help of a different shaman. A curse that was intended for you was accidentally placed on your wife. Now I’m unable to help her.”

The nearest help from this point will take over a day of paddling to reach. Despite that tail of jealousy, the people in this area do take care of one another. Victor (I hope to have the actual name of this person for you soon) shuttled Mayer and Marilu down the Amazon to the nearest medical center in the village of San Francisco in his peki-peki.

Marques is the medical technician in San Francisco. Like the shaman, Marques did not feel qualified enough to help Marilu.

With the continued generosity of Victor, the peki-peki’s owner, they continue their journey to Pevas.

Pevas is the main city for over 100 communities. There are 6,000 people in Pevas and the hospital has a staff of thirty.

No different than the shaman and medical technician, the doctors in Pevas were not capable of providing the care that Marilu required.  They would need to travel to Iquitos.

The journey from Pevas to Iquitos:

A. Several days via peki-peki (substantial canoes with outboard engines).
B. twenty-four hours via colectivo (large boats transporting everything from people and chickens to bananas).
C. six hours via rapido (we call them speed boats).


Question: How expensive is too expensive to save your wife’s life?
Answer: $192

Facts from the rainforest:

A. Mayer earns 50 cents for each 12 foot length of thatching.
B. Annually Mayer earns roughly $400.
C. That $400 feeds their two kids, parents, and Marilu’s sister.
D. In Pevas a gallon of fuel is over four dollars.
E. A rapido consumes eight gallons of fuel per hour.
F. The trip from Pevas to Iquitos is six hours.


While Marilu is receiving medical care Mayer seeks funds from the mayor of Pevas. For emergency situations, such as this one, the mayor is able to provide funding for fuel.

The following morning Mayer and Marilu are on a rapido headed to Iquitos. Marilu’s harsh words soften on this final leg of their journey, “This situation is not your fault Mayer. You need to take care of our kids. They are all that matter. Take care of our kids.”

Marilu dies en route to Iquitos. Their unborn child is trapped and dies within her.

Mayer continues to make thatched roofs. He is not always alone in the jungle. “My children are now apprenticing with me. They are not ready to make thatching on their own. I am teaching them slowly and carefully.”

Travel Time To Medical Care In The Amazon Rainforest

* 8 hours in a dugout canoe
* 3-4 hours in a peki-peki from the Cochiquinas river to the medical center in the village of San Francisco
* 6 hours in a peki-peki from San Francisco to the hospital in Pevas
* 6 hours in a rapido from Pevas to Iquitos
TOTAL TRAVEL TIME: 23-24 hours to proper medical care


* Without the support of http://www.foreigntranslations.com and generous individual donors this work would not be possible.

Cesar Pena interviewing Mayer Chavez about his wife’s tragic story trying to get to medical care in time.

The Forward

Intro

How can we allow you to see through our eyes?

What has been accomplished in April?

People’s open doors and hearts

Actions of desperation

What’s coming?

Recording Marilu’s Story About Her Placenta Stuck Inside Her Uterus

Interviewing The Medical Technician Marques Casara Grandes At A Remote Amazon Clinic

A Quick Conversation Before Talking With The Technician At The Village of San Francisco (in Peru not USA :-))

Add to this situation two individuals who are both accustomed to walking their own respective paths. Two close friends who find themselves bound together by a common dream, both still unsure just how to obtain the lofty goal they’ve set for themselves.

Sounds pretty intense doesn’t it?

Welcome to the Jungle!

[Click the "learn more" button to get the rest of the story.]

To say that AidJoy has come a long way would be (at least in my opinion) an understatement. Less than three years ago we were drafting and re-drafting paperwork; trying to explain to the IRS what AidJoy was before we were even sure ourselves. We’re still not completely sure. We have always been sure of one thing though: that there is a need (a very large need) to develop and be a voice for unsung charities, and that we can utilize our skills to satisfy that need. Through doing so we can become larger than ourselves, able to reach beyond our own wants, needs, and desires, and actually help to fulfill the needs of others.

We are so blessed to be where we are today, and I want to thank everyone who has been a part of AidJoy.

Thank you!

So where are we today? Geographically speaking, Jonathan and myself are in Iquitos, Peru- Jim is holding down the fort in Greenville, South Carolina- and our board and council members who share our vision for AidJoy—and have graciously believed in our ability to realize that vision—are scattered about The States, waiting for news. Likewise our sponsors, most notably Ken Zwerdling at Foreign Translations who directly funded this project, but also the wonderful people at Immedion, Watershed Cabins, Nimlok, and Eloquia without whose support we would certainly not be where we are today. And of course there’s our volunteers. To date over 70 individuals have invested their time and expertise into making AidJoy an effective reality. Thank you. Really!

But again- so where are we? What’s going on? Que Pasa?

The last three weeks we’ve been investigating stories in the Peruvian Amazon. We’ve spoken countless times to our friend Dr. Ernesto Salazar, the former Minister of Health for Loreto, Peru. We’ve interviewed medical students who have spent time in the regional hospital as well as in rural clinics and aboard Project Amazonas’s medical boat. We’ve gone to health clinics in the rural cities of Mazan and Pevas, and in the village of San Francisco, to talk to doctors, nurses, technicians, and obstetricians. We’ve gone into homes in remote communities to talk to mothers and fathers about their children’s health and their past experiences with health care- to discuss their lives, their losses, and their needs.

All of this to gain a better understanding of health care in the Peruvian Amazon and to locate the one story that would best convey to a broader audience what life is like here, who the people are, what they do for a living, and the challenges they face in raising healthy families.

We found that one story.

A story that is unique to the Amazon Rainforest. A story that could never happen anywhere else but here. A story that will amaze and inspire you– make you question who you are, and make you thankful for all that you have in the World.

I believe Jonathan will share our discovery of this story with you in the next couple of days. He’s been searching for the best words (they’re difficult to find when trying to do this story justice) while I have busied myself with developing peripheral projects that will support this core story.

The real challenge still lies ahead. Next week our two videographers, Marni Walsh and Leigh Reagan, arrive from Wyoming to spend the month of May with us.

We’ve found the story, set the groundwork, and prepared the logistics. We’re now ready to get down to the most intense part of the work. The first half of May we will travel back to the remote region of the Amazon where our story originates. From there we will trace its winding path, from its compelling start, to its dramatic finish. I can promise you it will be quite a ride!

The second half of May we will spend on a two-week medical expedition with Project Amazonas to the Rio Ampiyacu where there are indigenous communities of Huitoto, Bora, Yagua, and Ocaina. An international medical team anchored by Peruvian doctors and nurses will go into these communities, set up clinics, and attend to the people’s needs. We will be there to lend a hand and document the entire experience.

We will share all of it with you.

It will take some time to do it right- but it will be worth the wait I assure you.

In the meantime Jonathan and I are here, sweating, butting heads, laughing, working hard, making new friends, and trying to maintain our own friendship while fighting to realize AidJoy’s vision and our mutual dream.

It’s a hard and bumpy road here in Iquitos, in the Amazon Jungle, but we’re going to make it. I’m sure of it!

I’d like to dedicate this post to my friend, my colleague, my brother:

I love you Jonathan.

For you visual learners out there I’ve put up a lot of photos on AidJoy’s Facebook page of Jonathan and me working, smiling, and chasing our dreams.

Check them out Here.

…and thanks again for coming along with us for the ride.

Viva AidJoy!

Without the support of http://www.foreigntranslations.com and generousindividual donors this work would not be possible.

X is Iquitos, our home base, and the star is Pevas

My nemesis- The much loved yet much hated Tamale.

Last week we headed down the Amazon river to check out some leads for healthcare stories on the Rio Ampiyacu. For mere mortals it’s a 24+ hour trip one-way but we were able to do it in 5 with the help of our friends Cesar and Segundo and our trusty steed, the newly (re)named boat The Tamale Express. (She used to be named the Mai-Kai Express but being the manly men that we are the sole food we packed for our expedition—besides some peanut butter and jelly—consisted of a bag with cuarenta (40) Tamales)

I mean these things are cheap cheap cheap! Three for a dollar to be exact, and you can survive A-OK on one for breakfast, one for lunch, and one for dinner. “What’s a Tamale” you ask? “That sounds disgusting!” you say? Well well well, you have no idea what you’re missing out on. The local Iquitoan Tamale consists of a corn and peanut mush peppered with eggs, some pork, the occasional olive, and some seasoning. They’re Frickin Fabulous!

…and after last week if I ever see another one I’m gonna gag. Seriously.

Annnyyywaaayyy… So! The Tamale Express has a 100 horsepower motor on it, and when you run it full throttle, and head downstream while staying in the center of the current (while swerving all over to avoid the trees and masses of bushes that also like the main current) you can make some pretty good time!

Jonathan with the Tamale Express (nevermind what's written on the side)

So we get to Pebas by early afternoon. Pebas is a town of about 5000 people that’s situated on a hill overlooking the confluence of the Rio Ampiyacu and the Amazon. It’s a regional capital of sorts and serves as the main hub for over 100 smaller communities and villages who all come here to buy Inca Kola (the national beverage) and *ding ding ding* get medical assistance!

Before we head to the health post though we have to check in with the local Apu (big man). Cesar leads us up a winding path to what could only be described as an Amazonian Castle! The place has a tower and everything! Cesar explains that the monstrosity looming above us belongs to the internationally renowned artist Francisco Grippa—and that he is very cordial with visitors (i.e. he likes to sell them things.) No one seems to be home so Cesar leads us inside one of the dozens of doors into The Gallery. I say “The Gallery” because it’s immediately apparent that The Grippa is a very serious artist. The room we’re now in is the main wing of The Gallery. It’s about 30 feet by 50 feet and has giant canvasses exploding with color… everywhere. The biggest piece is easily 12 feet by 16 feet with the average one being a measly 5′ x 8′ or so. Wild stuff!

A taste of The Grippa's work

While we’re poking around one of the Big Man’s people emerges and lets us know that The Grippa is in town- so off we go.

Down a path, through a gate, some mud and the main square later we find The Grippa relaxing in his bar and restaurant (they call it a Disco, but I never actually saw anyone dancing in the thing so I’m sticking with “bar and restaurant”) working on what does not appear to my carefully trained eye to be his first beer of the afternoon.

Now now now, a bit about The Grippa. And I’m struggling here because I’m not sure how best to describe this unique creature… Well, for starters, The Grippa is a very large man– and he’s always covered with an impressive display of paints, kind of like one of the Jungle Animals he loves so much to capture on canvas. The Grippa will always tell you what he thinks. The Grippa has a larger personality than 99.99% of the people you have—or will ever—meet. The Grippa is crazy. The Grippa Rocks!

[Click the "learn more" button to see the rest of the photos!]

More to come soon-

Mike

Catching some Z's aboard the Tamale Express

A closer look at where we're at.

A map from Pevas's Centro de Salud

Bienvenidos a Pevas!

A view of The Grippa's Casa de Arte rising above Pevas and the jungle.

Cesar leading the way through The Grippa's preserve

Interviewing The Grippa at his bar and restaurant

The Grippa on one of his many porches

The view from The Grippa's Casa de Arte

A small portion of The Gallery

I know I have! :)

I still don’t know- but if you’d like to see how we do it here at AidJoy check out this video:

Interview—AidJoy Style from NGO AidJoy on Vimeo.

Without the support of http://www.foreigntranslations.com and generousindividual donors this work would not be possible.

So Jonathan and I finally made it to Peru. We were supposed to fly in this morning but fog coming up the cliffs from the Pacific prevented us from landing in Lima so we were re-routed to a military base where we sat for almost 5 hours listening to some incredibly loud monkey and/or bird sounds playing over a loudspeaker system presumably designed to scare off birds that might decide to Kamikaze the Peruvian Air Force’s jet engines.

We got some good footage while on the plane with Jonathan that shows him explaining AidJoy and Project Amazonas to our neighbor. You guys’ll get to see it down the line.

After running some errands this afternoon in Lima I headed out to take a few snaps. The light was escaping so I only got in about 30 minutes of shooting before it was too dark. The neighborhood we’re in (Miraflores) is a touristy part of town with plenty of shops and a mess of street life. Take a gander at the shots but please keep in mind that they in no way represent Lima, Miraflores (or anything really) as a whole. I was just walking and shooting whoever looked interesting from my hip as I passed.

Anyway- here’s thirty minutes of walking round Miraflores, Lima, Peru. (Be sure to click on the images and let em load up if you want to get a good look at them!)

Enjoy-

:)

Now, we’re off with a quickness– the primal fear of a missed flight sitting, unspoken, on our chests. Rounding a bend we’re greeted by the lights of a news crew, another downed tree and more powerlines. Oh Joy! One of the reporters comes up to us and before we can ask him how the devil he got INTO the neighborhood and how WE can get OUT he picks up Karen’s accent when she politely greets him. “You’re French!” he exclaims with a big smile. I can’t tell if he has a thing for French girls or if he just smells a story but Jonathan’s having none of it. “We’re going! We’re going!” says Jonathan, motioning to the reporter to move. The reporter points at Karen and glares at Jonathan “She’s friendlier than you are” then turns away. We dive back into the maze of streets, confronted a few blocks later by yet another tree. OK this is starting to get a bit ridiculous!!!

We turn again, drive two minutes and… guess what? A TREE!!! YAAYYYY WE LOVE TREES!!! Jonathan thinks we have a chance with this one though so out he jumps to move the caution tape. Karen drives through and up to the tree while Jonathan moves branches around. He comes back to the car and directs Karen to drive up the curb and onto the sidewalk, around the tree. No dice- Karen doesn’t like it, so Jonathan jumps in the driver’s seat as I run up to direct him.

There’s a damn stump blocking our path, and the trunk of the tree is still in our way. Jon jumps out and together we manage to pivot the tree in such a way that we MAY have enough room to get through. Jon’s back behind the wheel and ready for action. I hold back some branches and shudder as Jonathan revs the engine, up onto the curb, seemingly trying to jump the stump with Karen’s shiny Civic. The car crunches onto the stump and sits there, stuck. (In case anyone was wondering– Honda Civic’s don’t have very good ground clearance!)

Jonathan’s thankfully able to back the car off the stump and I help him realign for a second try. We’re going to take the front right wheel up onto and over the stump. Some deft maneuvering and inspired driving and *Presto* we’ve beaten the stump. Jonathan’s back out of the car again to help me push the tree (It’s about a fifty-footer) further out of the way, then he jumps back in while I grab branches. Next thing I know Jonathan is flat on his back, groaning. The tree has decided that it’s not going down without a fight! A few tense moments and we determine that Jon’s OK but Karen’s looking a bit flustered. I give her a hug and a smile, reassure her that her car’s alright, and we all jump in.

“Wait a minute- my headlamp!” yells Jonathan. The evil tree has stolen Jonathan’s prized headgear and he isn’t inclined to leave it. After a couple of minutes of rustling through branches with no luck we decide that it’s more important to catch our plane (Who knows how many more trees might be waiting for us) then locate a $35 piece of gear, so off we drive.

Karen appears to be a bit upset and drives silently. Jonathan seems afraid that he may have just squashed Karen’s and his relationship just as it was getting going. I’m glad I’m in the back seat– there’s a bit of tension in the air. After a mercifully incident-free 20 minutes we get to the airport and unload. I’m not sure what Karen is thinking but I’m worried about us leaving her on a bad note. Jonathan’s pretty crazy for Karen and he’s really excited about where their relationship might go. I’m super happy for Jonathan– I just met Karen but I can already tell she’s an awesome person and a great fit for my good buddy.

Thankfully, Karen really is as cool as she seemed to me and a quick phone call confirmed that everything was OK. (As most of you know, Jonathan and I can be pretty intense at times and it’s sometimes difficult for people to understand/cope with the wildness.)

So where does this leave us? At the moment Jonathan and I are in Miami waiting out a good ol fashioned thunder-bumper. We met with Dr. Devon Graham (Project Amazonas’s Executive Director) earlier this morning and hammered out some details for the next few months in Peru. Then we ran some errands and caught up with the lovely Carolina from Colombia for lunch. Tonight we fly to Lima where the journey will continue!!

Thank you for coming along on this ride with us!

Also- a big Thank You to our sponsors: Foreign Translations, Immedion, Watershed Cabins, Eloquia, and Nimlok as well as the individual donors who have supported us. We wouldn’t be here without you guys– but with you, we’re about to make some really positive things happen in the Peruvian Amazon!!

Talk to you soon.

Mike

You’re welcome to join us for one week, or both!

There are not many openings for these trips. If you are interested please let me or Dr. Devon Graham know before the boat fills up.

Devon is Project Amazonas’s President & Scientific Director
devon@projectamazonas.org

Availability:
4 non-medical volunteers
2 doctors
2 nurses
1 dentist
1 midwife

BIG PICTURE:
The medical boat will launch from Iquitos Peru; the largest city in the world with no road access. We’ll be traveling through the Amazon jungle aboard the Nenita (Little Baby Girl), a 74-foot river boat constructed of local hardwoods. The Nenita is piloted by a seasoned crew who has been managing medical expeditions in the Amazon for the last sixteen years.

These expeditions have proven to be extremely positive experiences for everyone involved; medical staff, crew, volunteers, and patients alike. Every year Project Amazonas provides health care to some 8,000 rural villagers while giving volunteers the chance to appreciate an exciting culture in the world’s greatest jungle.

WHAT WE’LL SEE:
The Amazon always offers an extraordinary world of exotic wildlife including wooly monkeys, sloths, capybaras, pink dolphins and agoutis, to name a few. However, the real attraction is getting to meet the colorful people who have carved out lives in this remote corner of the world for many generations. On this expedition we will introduce you to the friendly families that live in the village of “flowers”, the village of “hope”, and one of our personal favorites- the “electric eel” village.

OUR WORK:
Isolation, poverty and a general lack of healthcare education or medical supplies available to these communities contribute to an overall poor level of health. Malaria, yellow fever, hepatitis, tuberculosis, bacterial infections, intestinal parasites and snake bites are commonly encountered and treated during medical expeditions. Additionally, Project Amazonas provides training for village health promoters and equips them with the necessary supplies to care for their communities in our absence.

PLAY TIME:
After everyone’s medical needs have been met some people play an impromptu game of soccer, others relax with a cold beer, and personally I love to go swimming with kids in the village.

After sunset we meet-up in the mess hall for dinner. Chef Danilo Amasifuen serves up the finest meals we’ve had anywhere in Peru. We’ll enjoy a meal of fresh fruit and fish provided by local fishermen who attended the day’s medical clinic.

Each evening we’ll lay in our screened-in quarters listening to the sounds of the jungle and wondering what adventures await us tomorrow.

COST:
The cost is $750 a week ($375 for medical students) and covers all expenses while aboard the Nenita. (A good chunk of this money goes to medical supplies and gasoline to get where we’re going– the rest goes to food and other operating expenses.)

NOTES:
A. Neither Spanish nor medical training are necessary though both are helpful.

B. Check out the Medical Civil Action Program (MEDCAP) manual for more info on the region: http://www.aidjoy.org/docs/medcap-manual.pdf

C. If you can’t make it to the Amazon with us not to worry– this is just the first of a series of emails we’ll be sending out over the next couple of months so keep an eye out and we’ll update you as everything unfolds.

AidJoy’s FaceBook Fan Page:
http://www.facebook.com/pages/AidJoy/439077415530?ref=ts

* Without the support of foreigntranslations.com and generous individual donors this work would not be possible.

Huge Hug,
Jonathan, Mike, and Jim