Rurrenabaque: Jungle Fever!

While the Salar de Uyuni tour is Bolivia's biggest draw, Rurrenabaque is likely a close second. Many tourists to Bolivia quickly hit these two major sights then move on to more user-friendly countries. Everywhere we went people were coming from Rurrenabaque or heading there.

Rurrenabaque is a small town occupying an enviable location at the outskirts of Parque Madidi Nacional, the most easily-accessed park in Bolivia's piece of the Amazon Basin. Travelers come to tour the pristine jungle obviously, but other popular options are visiting the pampas, a wetlands area brimming with wildlife, or spending time in an eco-lodge, which generally benefit one of the local indigenous tribes.

The pampas tour involves 3 days of slow drifting in the wetlands with animals so close they practically pose for photos, "hunting" anacondas, catching piranhas for dinner and swimming with pink river dolphins. Because the Amazon jungle can be visited from other countries, most cross-continent long-journey travelers focus on the pampas—at least those who are not also visiting the somewhat similar Pantanal in Brazil (although the Pantanal also extends into Bolivia, near Santa Cruz).

That was our original goal as well, but because of time constraints and difficulty in choosing an agency, we went with the eco-lodge at San Miguel del Bala, which ended up being a wonderful experience for the most part. As part of that trip, we also took a few hours to hike in the jungle, which unfortunately was not as impressive as I'd hoped. The best part of the experience was visiting the local community of Tacanas, a warm and welcoming people. At /day, San Miguel del Bala seemed to be the cheapest eco-lodge in town, which means the great majority of tourists choose the much more economical jungle, pampas, or combo tours.

Check out San Miguel del Bala's website for more info (requires Flash):
San Miguel del Bala

Rurre town itself didn't do it for me, but some people absolutely adore it. People stay in the sweltering town for months on end, hanging out at the local gringo bars and slowly swatting bugs in the intense heat. However, the extremely touristy scene did not intrigue me and the humidity was stifling. While I enjoyed the eco-lodge and the opportunity to visit a different clime in Bolivia, I was also happy to cut our visit short, stop sweating for a while, and return to the gorgeous mountain scenery.

Quick Tips:

Only travelers with limitless time, iron backsides, and a complete inflexibility about their budgets travel to Rurrenabaque by bus. For those willing to brave a potentially dangerous, painfully bumpy road that may be closed during rainy season, the ride is only .20. However, it lasts 18-20 hours.

Alternately, flights are relatively inexpensive and take 45 minutes to arrive from La Paz. We used Amaszonas, which offers the most flights (4 times daily during high season, 3 times daily during low season) and charges round-trip. Amaszonas' website is not updated with the current schedule and doesn't really allow online booking despite the links, but will at least give planning ideas. TAM, the military airline, also flies to Rurre but you need to have a little time to play with in La Paz for booking, as there's no online list of schedules.

If you need to book in advance (our schedule was tight so we did), try contacting tour agencies. Some will book the tickets without charging a fee, even if you don't take a tour with them. We used America Eco-Tours. I tried to send the money in advance but the address they gave was bad, so they ended up meeting me at the airport instead with the tickets.

Once in Rurre, head to the tourist information center. Most of the tour agencies are located on the main street with the tourist office, but the 4 we visited were not, so the map was helpful. The lady in the tourist office speaks English and will give suggestions. There is also a bulletin board where people post opinions on agencies—although as I'll describe later, this can be more confusing than helpful.

Be aware, you will need some grasp of Spanish. Very few tour agents speak English, and they mostly have a rehearsed spiel. If you have specific concerns about the tours in advance, know how to ask them!

Best Way To Get Around:

Rurrenabaque is a very small town. There is really no better option than wading through the swampy heat on foot. I spotted a few people on bikes and scooters, but they mostly looked like locals. I didn't notice any rental places, but a helpful staffer at San Miguel del Bala tells me "there is a Greek guy that rents scooters on Calle Avaroa between Avenida Arce and Calle Pando."

The airport is about 20 minutes out of town. Amaszonas and TAM both offer shuttle service, with Amaszonas' costing 5Bs. At the airport, there's a delay in getting to town as the drivers wait for staff that might need a ride. From the town side, the bus leaves exactly on time—so don't relax too much.

Getting to the jungle or ecolodges involves traversing the Rio Beni by motorized canoe, which is really pleasant. Transport is included in tour price. The pampas (wetlands) is in a different direction and is reached by a long jeep ride.

To be perfectly honest, we headed to Hotel Bellavista first solely because it was supposedly Korean-run. Primed with questions on the Korean immigration experience, we entered the dreary low building on the plaza and noted it failed to resemble the guidebook description. The incredible price of $6 for a double room with bath could not compensate for the reform school-esque dark hallways and claustrophobic long layout, indifferent young staff and gloomy small rooms. Nary a Korean in sight. We stayed until the sweat dried, then quietly picked up our unopened bags and left.

On another side of the plaza was Hotel Oriental. Close enough! Obviously "Oriental" doesn't actually mean "Asian" in Amazon Basin countries, but we were amused enough. For the paltry difference of a few dollars, Hotel Oriental beat Bellavista by miles.

A kindly woman in her 50's welcomed us with glasses of fresh juice from the hotel's homegrown starfruit. Laid out in a rectangle with the rooms along the sides, rough-hewn tables and chairs set on the walkways, the hotel's prize feature was the tropical garden in the center with comfortable, colorful hammocks.

I'd had bad experiences with this layout in the past. Loud drunks love hammocks! At Hotel Oriental this is not a problem. Hammocks are taken down around 10pm, the night staff shut off the lights by 11pm to avoid mosquitos, thus gently discouraging late-night revelling, and the proliferation of gringo bars keeps the rowdiest folk out until bedtime.

Because most visitors to Rurrenbaque come for the jungle and pampas tours, the smiling staff are very used to people needing a left-luggage room. Hotel Oriental felt very secure.

The rooms are small and basic. There were no mosquito nets above our twin beds, but we slept with our DEET lotion on and felt fine. The blankets provided are little more than thick sheets but it's so hot that covers are not necessary. There was also a fairly weak ceiling fan.

For once, I actually WISHED the hotel did not have hot showers—nothing would feel better after a sticky day than a good dousing in cold water. Most visitors would be pleased that the hotel boasts all-day hot water. The showers are uncovered so a fair amount is splashed around, but otherwise the bathroom is decent.

Breakfast is included with private rooms, in the pleasant enclosed dining area in the back. There is plenty of butter, jam, and the Bolivian triumvirate of "Kris" brand ketchup, mayo and mustard on the long communal tables. Upon entering, the staff take orders for eggs and brings individual servings of bread and fresh fruit. They do fried eggs just as I like, nice and runny.

For those on a tighter budget, Hotel Oriental also offers rooms with shared bath, no breakfast. The plaza is low-key, away from the bars and tour offices, so hotels here offer a welcome respite from gringolandia. I strongly suggest the private double, however—with the lush setting, warm staff and tasty breakfast, $6 each is a great bargain.

Gunilla arrived at Hotel Oriental at 9am sharp (after all, she's not Bolivian) with a wheelbarrow for our bags. We headed down to the river, where Oscar and Juliano from the Butterfly Pub helped us into the canoe and pushed us off-shore.

The canoe ride was our first chance to feel refreshed in sticky Rurrenabaque. Quite obviously handmade, the canoe was long enough for 8-9 people, roughly-carved, holes patched with what appeared to be electrical tape, with a motor slapped onto the back. From the cool shade of the canopy we watched the jungle greenery fly by.

Juliano became involved in the San Miguel del Bala project 4 months prior. As a chef with extensive training, Juliano contributed by teaching the women of the community his techniques and recipes, adding value to the pricey eco-lodge experience.

At the lodge we met our guide Wilman and the manager Mario. Mario lived at the ecolodge full-time while his family stayed at the community; the cooking and cleaning staff traveled daily from the community. We basically had the delightful place to ourselves.

The "casa grande," a spacious building constructed by the community using local materials, was the main place to relax (and a more reasonable hike up than our cabaña). Extremely comfortable hammocks faced the river, frequently luring us to sleep. Information about the Tacana Indians was displayed in English, Tacana and Spanish. The casa featured books about the jungle wildlife and local people, examples of traditional hunting weapons, and glass cases of pinned butterflies.

Oscar casually described the cabañas as "up" from the river. It was much further than I expected, reminiscent of climbing monastery steps. The roasting heat did not make the ascent easier.

The cabaña was really lovely, also built ground-up by members of the community. The walls were made of reeds, the floor of the bathroom assembled from river-smoothed rocks, and the vaulted ceiling gave a great sense of space. Mosquito nets were provided and the twin mattresses quite comfortable. The aforementioned bathroom was completely modern. A few steps from the cabaña was a view of the river far below. Animal sounds surrounded us at all times, even more intensely at night. The lovely lodgings provided a true sense of the wilderness, with a welcome touch of comfort.

The climb to the cabaña was worse after dinner, with lanterns providing only a small radius of light. After struggling up the steps with Wilman's ghost stories in my ears, it turned out we'd locked the keys in the cabaña. We sat on the porch swatting bugs (too wussy to leave the lights off) while Wilman searched for Mario. No luck. On return, he peered through windows until he spotted the keys on the extra bed. MacGyver-style, Wilman threaded a branch under the window screen, pushed the keys off the bed and slid them under the door. The natural, rustic construction came in handy.

An hour later as we were ready for bed, Mario finally appeared with the extra keys. Viva Bolivia!

My frequent complaint in restaurants is that I'd prefer less food for less money, rather than gargantuan portions meant to justify prices. The same principle applied at San Miguel del Bala—the rate of $60/night was validated by overfeeding us. I'd rather pay $50/night for less food, but it was hard to complain because the money benefited the community.

The food was quite good thanks to Juliano. We had fresh juice and homemade breads. Each meal started with soup or an appetizer, and dessert followed the giant entrées.

Juliano supervised our first lunch, which was spectacular—a sizzling appetizer of baked eggplant parmigiana and a massive fillet of scrumptious local fish and steamed veggies. Bolivian food tends to be overly salty but Juliano kept it in check. After he returned to Rurre, subsequent meal were not quite up to the standard he set.

For dinner we had the traditional Bolivian kitchen-sink soup, but a good rendition. The entrée was slightly dry but wonderfully-flavored chicken breast with a mound of heart-stoppingly delicious mashed potatoes—it tasted like an entire stick of butter was in each portion. Wilman, who only recently learned to enjoy this type of food, joined us for meals. After dinner he told us stories of ghosts in the woods and his adventures from working as a jungle guide for other agencies in Rurrenabaque. His tale of spotting a jaguar's eyes during a night hike unnerved me when climbing back to the cabaña in the dark.

Breakfast was a weak omelet. There seemed to be a misunderstanding along the lines of the weird ice cream. The egg was crepe-thin and the flavors of the veggies and cheese did not meld. Disappointing, but the banana bread served with it was incredible.

When I returned from the jungle feeling ill, I also felt guilty knowing I'd be eating less than usual. Our sweet cook Anna had chosen this day to make an enormous lasagna, which wasn't quite to my liking. I managed about half my portion but was gratified to see some additional members of the community were sharing the meal that day.

We soon discovered why. It was Hemmy's birthday, and with a big grin Mario told her he needed to know her age because Anna was making something special. It turned out to be a BEAUTIFUL torta with 30 slices of tart apples adorning the top.

The people from the community—including Wilman's son Joahn with megawatt smile—gathered and burst into song. Wilman nonchalantly announced the tradition of shoving the birthday person's face into the cake. As Hemmy laughed in disbelief he quickly made his move. Much merriment ensued as she emerged.

Now this was a dessert Bolivians understood. No need to mess about with ice cream when there's layer cake soaked in sugar and milk, laced with cinnamon and slathered with meringue and apples. Days later in Tupiza, the man burning Hemmy's photos onto another CD couldn't stop staring at the torta. Yeah, it was that good.

On the plus side, the touristyness meant we could avoid typical Boliviano cuisine and eat something actually appealing. Because breakfast was included at our hotel, and the oppressive heat lowered our appetites, we only got out for two meals.

Around the corner from the tourist office is Casa de Campos, run by an incredibly sweet and friendly woman. The charming exterior drew us in—a pleasant garden of jungle plants with a hanging sign advertising vegetarian food. We weren't planning on eating it, but we appreciated the option and of course, knew that meant it wasn't Bolivian food.

Sandwiches—mine a perfectly-grilled chicken breast with cheese and BBQ sauce—were excellent and more than satisfied the desire to have something non-local. We topped off with a sundae which sounded wonderful from the description—fruit-laden with chocolate sauce, but discovered once again that Bolivians just don't "get" ice cream. Just like in the lovely Hotel Aranjuez, the ice cream erred on the icy side and had little flavor, and the chocolate sauce was of the thin variety used for mixing drinks.

Posted on the wall are glowing reports from Casa de Campos' devoted fans, many of who wrote of being in Rurre for months and visiting the restaurant almost every day. It was sweet reading how much people loved the restaurant and its wonderful proprietor, but hard to get past the idea of staying in Rurre for an extended time. Wherefore?

We returned to Rurre on Hemmy's birthday. Juliano, who we'd first met when redeeming our coupon for a free drink at the Butterfly Pub, and then again on the ride to San Miguel de Bala, welcomed us back to town. A French chef originally from Tunisia with extensive experience working in America, Juliano brings a bit of global flavor to this corner of Bolivia. Everything on the menu sounded tasty, so we asked Juliano for dinner suggestions. Being served directly by him, we were also hoping for special treats —whether freebies or a big discount—because he knew it was Hemmy's birthday. No luck, however.

Juliano suggested the Moroccan Chicken and the Curry Chicken as the two best entrees in the restaurant—we figured as the chef, he should know! Since these dishes were also far from the most expensive on the menu, it seemed he was being pretty honest. The food was plated in a most appetizing way and smelled heavenly. The chicken was perfectly moist, the curry sauce having a slight peanutty flavor. The Moroccan Chicken was in a sweet-and-sour sauce, but not the sticky glop from fake Chinese restaurants. This was light and fruity, a wonderful melding of flavors.

For dessert, Juliano brought out beautiful individual crème brulees, one with a birthday candle. Since we hadn't ordered it we thought maybe this was our free treat. Alas, no—but at 15Bs for 2 ($2) it wasn't a nasty upcharge. After the simple life in Torotoro and the muggy days in San Miguel de Bala, Juliano's Butterfly Pub allowed us a moment of sophistication.

My first clue that I am a complete unabashed wuss when it comes to the various creatures found in the jungle was when Wilman mentioned our sandals were an open invitation to biting red ants. Soon after that I felt the bites and immediately began wailing "GETTHEMOFFGETTHEMOFFGETTHEMOOOOOFFFF!!!" while swatting at my feet and basically throwing a hissy. No worries, Wilman told me—while the poison had the potential to kill me, he could find the cure in the jungle.

We were on our first activity at San Miguel del Bala, a hike in the area surrounding the lodge to learn about natural medicines. Wilman's depth of knowledge was impressive, but it was never clear how the medicines were first discovered. So this plant, boiled into tea, helps diarrhea. And this plant, mashed and made into a poultice, reduces swelling. But how many varieties of prep methods were matched with types of plants until these powers were determined?

Wilman didn't know the answer. He was our age and had grown up always knowing which plants were the medicines. The beautiful walk lasted about an hour and a half; without the further explanation of why the plants became known as medicines, it seemed almost too long. Wilman's constant checking of the time seemed to imply he agreed.

My favorite plants were not medicinal. The walking palm is a tall, spindly tree with exposed roots covered with thorns. As one "leg" dies, another grows in the opposite direction; slowly the tree makes its way across the forest floor. Another tree produced shells full of a cotton-like material; Wilman confirmed that people in the community would gather the fuzz to make fabric.

On the way back to our lodge, Wilman hushed us and pointed out a long tail unfurled beneath another lodge. We crept slowly around to the back while Hemmy stood guard in front. In eagerness to see it more closely I took one step too far and spooked it. The instant it took off I heard Hemmy's loud scream that she thought she saw a dinosaur... he jungle quickly makes fools of us all.

Members of the community at San Miguel del Bala are held strictly accountable for their contributions. A mayor is periodically elected to make decisions; Wilman had recently held that post. Anyone determined to not be pulling his or her weight could be placed in a torture contraption behind the community center, with the offender's legs duly whipped. It looked to be such a medieval device it was shocking to hear someone had been punished just last month.

This was the highlight of our trip: visiting the community that the tourism actually benefits. In truth, the tour should have been much longer and more structured for greater impact.

The walk from our lofty lodge was downhill the whole way; luckily the return trip would be by boat! The first stop was at Wilman's house on the outskirts of the community. At 29, he was running behind schedule with only four Wilman-spawn running around, but he told us he did not plan to have more—it was hard enough caring for four. The children were adorable—the oldest son quietly doing homework while the baby swung gently, bundled in a large scarf hung from the ceiling. His younger son wore an ear-to-ear grin the whole time.

We munched oranges on what was essentially a covered porch. Chickens pecked around us while his tiny daughter mashed rice in what looked like a huge mortar and pestle. The goal was to powderize the hulls and then walk slowly through the yard allowing the powder to blow off. Hemmy gave it a shot and found the masher to be surprisingly heavy, especially for a small child.

Walking through the rest of the community was just that—a walkthrough. We thought we would meet families, learn about architecture and jewelry-making as described in the brochure. Instead, we simply greeted onlookers while Wilman pointed out the school and the soccer field where at 5pm every day all the village women played. I would have loved to see that, but apparently we were in a rush of some kind.

We did get the wonderful experience of making sugarcane juice on another medieval-looking contraption— three barrels rotated creakily when a giant pole was cranked by pushing in a wide circle around the machine, while freshly squeezed juice ran down gutters into a plastic tub.

I fed an entire pile of sugarcanes through the barrels while Wilman barked at me to move faster, as he and two other women from the community pushed the crank. We made enough to fill bottles for Wilman and the ladies, plus a small glass each for Hemmy and me. So light and refreshing! I recognized the taste as being a large component of the sweet fruit juices we'd had at the lodge.

As we headed to shore to leave, I regretted that Wilman didn't seem to understand what we had been promised and that we hadn't spoken up. Noting the community's youth swimming joyously in the Rio Beni, I wished we could have spent more time really exploring.

With our very expensive 2-day ecolodge stay we were able to customize our trip. We figured a day's excursion to the jungle was a good way to get a little taste without committing to the more common 3-day journey most agencies in Rurre offer.

We started early, with breakfast at 7:30. Wilman and Mario disapproved of our lack of boots—we had so been looking forward to shedding our winter gear after Torotoro that we opted to leave our boots at Hotel Oriental. After some digging around the office Mario produced boots in our sizes, but then realized we were also sin socks. Ru-roh.

So first, we headed to the shores of the community. To my delight, Wilman and Mario leapt off the boat wielding machetes, bounding up the steep hill with long strides to hunt down the elusive medias from deep within the village.

The best part of the trip was the long, soothing ride by motorized canoe up the Rio Beni. One of the reasons we had been unsure of taking a pampas trip is because this was dry season; the wetlands were rumored to be difficult to navigate and low on animals. We witnessed a bit of the dryness along the ride—Wilman stood at the canoe's bow, using a long pole to push us off whenever the canoe scraped along the bottom. Other than the occasional bumps, it was a refreshing and relaxing ride.

Once we actually entered the jungle, the day was basically over for me. Instantly I felt sick—dizzy, overheated, shaky on my feet. If there truly was such a thing as jungle fever, I had it and had it bad.

Hemmy seemed mostly unaffected, except for the gallons of sweat. Wow, it was hot. Maybe it was just my physical discomfort, but I was also somewhat disappointed. Perhaps the much-ballyhooed dense lushness was missing during dry season, but other than a massive increase in buglife I didn't see a huge difference from the beautiful forests of Costa Rica. For some reason, I'd been expecting spectacular contrast.

After a steep, unsteady hike—made intolerable with the sweltering heat and my new conviction I'd contracted malaria—we reached the top of a cliff where we could spot gorgeous red and blue macaws soaring out of their nests. I quivered the whole time, not knowing the cause and really sort of freaked out by it.

Main highlight completed, I begged to return home. Wilman laughed derisively that we'd only been there a few hours, but I was shameless—I was exhausted and needed a hammock.

Back on the canoe, I ate an apple, drank a liter of water, then curled up on the bottom of the wooden boat, whimpering whenever the sun hit my face, and passed out until we pulled up at the ecolodge. I didn't truly recover until the next morning.

Our original plan had been to take a 3-day tour in the Rurrenabaque area. Although I hated to visit my second Amazon Basin country and miss the jungle again, the pampas tour with its promise of monkeys hanging overhead, pink dolphins to swim with, and lazy days of floating up and down the river was too appealing to pass up.

Unfortunately the week we arrived in Bolivia, all airlines schedules were changed for low season, and now no airlines flew to Tarija on Saturdays. This weighed on our minds a bit while we wandered Rurre—without the flight to Tarija our only options getting to Tupiza were flying to Sucre and taking the 11-hour bus ride or worse, busing all the way there.

At Rurre's tourist information center we checked out the bulletin board with comments on various agencies. There once had been a more detailed comment book, but it was a project that recently completed. The bulletin board couldn't provide nearly as comprehensive information. Many posts contradicted each other. Some protested the cruelty of the pampas tour in its tendency to tame the local animals. Others proclaimed the jungle tour boring because they couldn't easily spot animals. It seemed the only thing anyone agreed on was that Luis from Amazonica Tours was to be avoided at all costs.

Confused, we turned to the receptionist for advice. Pointing out glowing comments for Bala Tours and San Miguel del Bala (but only 2 each), she assured us Bala Tours offered the best jungle and pampas tours in town but the price reflected the quality, and that San Miguel del Bala was a very worthwhile experience in a local community. In addition to those two, we decided to check out Deep Rainforest, which had received 2 neutral reviews on the board but a few positive reviews online, and Flecha, which sounded the cheapest.

The official price for pampas tours was $35 per day, the implication being that agencies charging less cut corners. Deep Rainforest charged $25 a day and sounded pretty basic. Lodging involved a giant dorm room capable of sleeping 18! The agent already had 7 tourists for a tour leaving the next day, so she didn't bother selling to us. Her apathy was strange. Maybe if I were traveling alone I might have been swayed into trying it for the price, but Hemmy's distaste had us moving forward.

The agent at Flecha spoke a little English. She worked it much more—very friendly, showing us many photos and describing the tour hour by hour. But they only had 2 tentative signups for the next day and they would not send the tour without at least 4. She assured us they could combine us with some other agency to make sure we went, but we didn't like the idea of unknowingly being thrown at the last minute to an agency that might have received many complaints. With surprising honesty, she then admitted their showers were currently out of order. Instead, they were feeding river water—from where the pink dolphins swam—into the showers. Even for only $20 a day, this was too weird.

Bala Tours did seem quite professionally run. They could offer a tour with just 2 people, and despite warnings against women going in pairs (because of possible harassment from the guides), we were starting to feel a bit desperate. We appreciated the agent's honesty that this time of year was really too dry for swimming with dolphins and their tour didn't do it. They had nice, private accommodations but $40 a day seemed like too much to me.

For something a little different, we met Oscar at San Miguel del Bala, who was eager to tell us about the local community of Tacana Indians. They had traditionally lived in the jungle, but when Madidi park was created, they lost their right to hunt within its protected borders. They struck upon tourism for survival.

San Miguel offered tours from one day to seven, with a variety of activities. Eco-lodges are pricey, and so far no other backpackers had signed up. At $60 a night, it was double what I'd originally wanted to pay, but there were benefits. We could go for only two days and head to Tupiza early, solving our scheduling problem. And as the only visitors, we could customize our tour.

After deliberations, we returned to the office to meet Gunilla, a Danish anthropologist who had spent a while living in the community. She had returned four months ago to join the fledgling tourist operation in Rurre. She was more of a hard sell than Oscar, but her love for the community was very convincing.

With a quick scramble to Amazonas, we changed our return flight then rushed back to the San Miguel office to close the deal. No negotiations on the rate unfortunately, but we created a completely custom tour. We'd start with a short hike to learn about natural medicines and visit the community in the afternoon. According to the brochures we'd learn about local handicrafts and Tacana architecture. Back at the lodge, we were supposed to hear stories from a Tacana elder after dinner. (Later it seemed Gunilla had not made clear to the staff we actually did want to follow this part of the brochure exactly). The next day, we would visit the park proper for a day of hiking, returning to Rurre in the evening. I was a little confused why we were charged $60 a day for essentially a day and a half, but, well... we were just too hot to argue.

Because San Miguel del Bala is relatively expensive, I imagine that if other people joined they could get their own guides and a customized tour. The office was airy and attractive, with examples of Tacana jewelry laid out for examination. The staff were friendly, knowledgeable, and English-speaking. Overall, it was a much nicer experience than any other tour office in Rurre.

Have I mentioned yet that Rurre is ridiculously hot? It bears repeating. We spent less than two days in the jungle-side town and only received respites from the nasty, sticky moisture between 3am to 6am—not really prime time to enjoy it.

Surprisingly, the sweat does not bring an inordinate amount of biting bugs, although the super-intensive Ultrathon deet-soaked lotion we slathered on with our 40SPF sunblock may have helped. There was so little of interest to us in Rurrenabaque that the heat was what we focused on. Sweating up one street, sweating down another, it was truly difficult to even motivate for meals.

After being in Torotoro, the sheer volume of tourists was shocking. Rurre's a small town and the gringos seem to far outnumber the locals. And this was low season, evidenced by the relative dryness (probably "only" 70% humidity in September) and the lack of tourists actually taking jungle and pampas tours... everyone was just hanging out. Hemmy and I aren't really hippie enough to enjoy the local scene.

To cater to tourists, this town of no more than a few thousand people features no less than 4 karaoke bars and more pizza joints than my neighborhood in Brooklyn. Internet cafes on every corner. Laundry service everywhere, good for the sweat-stains. Many English-speakers. Bars full of backpackers, including the "world-famous" Moskkito Bar—although which world was not specified.

Despite all the tourists and the international flair, the Bolivian character still showed through in Rurrenabaque. One of the better examples came when Hemmy needed to burn her photos onto CD.

Almost every Internet place claimed to do this service. Most even went so far as to PAINT this information along their walls. So when proprietors with "CD BURNING" adorning the sides of the business would simply smile and shake their heads at our request, we had to understand it was just another part of Bolivian mentality. Along the lines of saying "we are leaving now" but meaning "we will leave at some point today," advertising CD burning meant "maybe someday we will have that capability but we find it best to start attracting customers now." Similarly, when we found a place to burn a photo CD, it called itself FastNet with an odd wall mural listing its services including Internet, but of course did not have Internet and the staff seemed puzzled why we would ask such a thing.

After trying almost every spot in Rurre looking for a place that featured both services, my shirt was soaked through and I had difficulty finding this amusing.