The Day I Ate Strawberry Shortcake in the Middle of Nowhere Amazon Jungle

A true tale from day one of a two month journey down the Amazon River in 1977. This was not an eco-tour

We dripped our way to the naval station near the village of Coca, Ecuador every morning for ten days. Before the equatorial sun rose high enough to drill deeper into the remains of our brains.

It was February, 1977 and the wet season had arrived with due diligence. Torrential downpours you could stand under and wash your hair.

Ten minutes later the world would be steaming under Sun’s iron. Fifteen later and your clothes are dried. Repeat cycle. Who needs a laundromat?

This was the season to travel the river, when water and commercial traffic was at its highest level. The jungle? Mind altering and time warping during any season.

We strode through the depressing small town filled with mangy, skeletal dogs slinking along building shadows. Sex workers, servicing the military, stared at us with narrowed eyes.

Stall owners placed limp vegetables and close to rotten fruits in heaps on dirty tables. Naked children had swollen bellies, bites and sores.

Now, it’s known as the ‘Gateway to the Amazon’ and has been cleaned up for eco-tourism.

Then, it was the launching pad for our Grade B, Spaghetti Western movie. Taking place under The Southern Cross. Starring two mid 20’s, western women gone Wild.

Rumors flew around about the unnatural silence on Rio Napo. Even the mail boat had disappeared. The only way we might be able to embark on the river was to petition the Navy for a ride along.

Every day we had to pass a lunging German Shepherd dog, posted at the entry to the fenced and barbed wired Naval Base. We watched it’s every move as we passed cautiously by.

On the ninth morning he broke the chain and nipped Karen on the back of her calf.

All hell broke loose until Captain appeared and motioned us inside his office with a First Aid kit. He had been telling us a boat would be leaving the next morning every day. This one was no exception.

“Be down at the dock at first light. Tomorrow we’re heading out for sure. Bring your packs and be ready to go. The dog doesn’t have rabies.”

He registered our passports in a ledger and assured us it was really happening.

Early next morning we scrambled through Coca for the last time. Please let it be so.

Arriving at the high cliff embankment above the dock we stopped in our tracks and exclaimed in unison: “There’s a boat down there!” Apparently we had never seen one before.

Two American men manifested behind us, having caught the whiff of a possible ride.

A sailor showed up, asking Karen and I to crawl, fly, whatever, down the cliff and be onboard for Captain’s arrival.

The embankment was a disaster zone, mud heaven, slip n slide. I doubted I would make it without a fall. Proving true as my pack shifted its weight halfway down.

Thrown off balance, I landed butt first on the treacherous slope. Giving up, I lifted my feet and glided down to the river bank. Standing up, I threw my pack in the boat and dove into the water for a cleanup.

Emerging from the river to a wolf whistle and cat call. “Hey baby, you won my wet shirt contest!”

I couldn’t resist taking his bait though I knew better. I turned and flipped him the bird.

“She’s a spicy one! My favorite type. Stick around honey. We’ll make some hot tamales together.”

Captain was now abreast of this arrested adolescent and said something curt and short, effectively zipping his lips.

A series of planks had been set down along the embankment so the five officers could descend with a bit more grace.

Captain entered the boat and shook his head, motioning to the morons from on high.

“Malcriados. They’ll never get down this river.”

Malcriado was one of my favorite Spanish words. It could be translated as spoiled brat or entitled jerk, depending on the context.

We were off to a good start.

Powerful engines ramped up and we zoomed away in a plume of spray. Karen and I retired to the prow, temporarily stunned by our success.

We made comfortable cushions using our packs and settled back to observe the rapidly moving jungle scene. Around an hour later, the engines were cut and the boat drifted to a small dock. No dwelling or people in sight.

Bathroom break Captain explained and we headed off gratefully in different directions. I had finished and was in the process of wiping when the ground shook. Plants parted with a thrashing as a way too big, wild boar charged me at top speed.

I shot out of there faster than lightning striking ground. Karen was snorting with laughter from her perch. We paused to watch the boar gulp down my deposit, then reverse course to Karen’s contribution. Talk about an eco system!

Back on the river and full steam ahead for another stretch before the engine was cut again. We drifted over to a well maintained, large metal dock. This was different.

Our queries were met with one answer: “It’s a surprise.”

We disembarked and Captain led our group along a well trod trail. We sweated profusely while posing theories about our possible demise.

“Do you think they’re going to rape and kill us?’

“It’s a distinct possibility. No one would find our bodies after the boars got to us.”

“Did you bring our knife?”

“I didn’t have time to grab it.”

Our cheery little conversation continued for the next 15 minutes or so as we wove our way deeper into the throbbing jungle. Enormous spiders the size of my palms hoped I ran into their webs.

Ta da! A massive, metal shipping container arose from the jungle’s floor. Was this a Twilight Zone episode or was I was stuck in a weird dream?

Captain walked up to a locked door and two armed men immediately appeared from — who knew where. Space? One unlocked the door. The other kept guard with roving eyes.

A blast of air conditioned coolness greeted our entry. Karen and I stood in place, unable to move until we grasped what we were seeing. Captain looked amused at our expressions.

At least a hundred men were seated at dining tables, eating lunch. Body scanning eyes devoured every inch of our skin. Is this a woman?

To the point I glanced down to make sure I was clothed. An eager supervisor appeared at our side.

“Welcome ladies! Forgive the stares. This is an oil extraction site. These men have been stationed here for six months and haven’t seen a woman for awhile.

Please sit down and tell us what you’d like for lunch. We have sirloin steak or pork loin roast. What’ll it be?”

“Um, is the pork loin from the local wild boar population?” I couldn’t help but ask.

Karen almost spit out her sip of ice cold lemonade.

“Do you have salad? We haven’t had fresh veggies in awhile. I would love some greens if they’re available.”

“I’ll take one too.” Karen eagerly responded.

“No problem at all. We’ll whip up some Chef salads. A wise choice since we have strawberry shortcake for dessert today. You’ll have room to enjoy it. Our chef makes the best shortcake in the jungle.”

Once seated, we were regaled with stories as we crunched away, savoring our tasty salads.

“There’s an underground war taking place between Ecuador and Peru over oil rights. No one’s officially labeling it as war but it is.”

“Travelers and supply boats have been ambushed by Indian tribes in the past month. A French man was killed downriver two weeks ago.”

“Formerly hostile tribes are uniting to sabotage progress on the Trans Amazona Highway and oil pipelines. They’re fed up with intrusions. They’re angry.”

We finished our salads just as overly generous bowls filled with strawberry shortcake floated onto our table. A mound of sweetened whipped cream on top.

The shortcake was buttery, crumbly and light. The berries juicy sweet and fresh. WTH! Where did they come from?

It was the best meal we had in weeks. Definitely worth the fright on the path.

Captain chatted with head honchos until we licked our bowls clean and waved goodbye.

Back on the Rio Napo, in a digestive stupor. Engines humming as we rumbled off. A bit later those same engines died with a jolting clunk and couldn’t be revived by the mechanic on board.

We continued floating downstream in blessed silence, with enough breeze to keep insects at bay. Karen and I mesmerized by brilliantly hued butterflies. Large as dinner plates. Fluttering along the river’s edge.

Captain and petty officers holding a vigilant stance at the back of the boat. Wearing mirrored sunglasses.

The equator is a zone of equal night and day. Night was moving in fast as we floated over to our final dock. This one was well structured and official looking with electricity and lights.

We had safely reached the Naval station next to the Peruvian border. Our boat’s destination.

Captain informed us they would be leaving for the evening. We readily agreed to staying in the boat for our safety. There were places we could lay out our sleeping bags and even shelter if it rained.

He showed us where water was stored and made sure we had food.

We decided to explore the boat a bit as darkness fell. The unlocked lid of a large metal box had prompted our curiosity early in the day and set it on fire now.

Machine guns, rifles, handguns, grenades and some weapons we had never seen before. Enough arms to mount a boat’s defense. We closed the lid and spent the night taking turns as sentries.

Early morning sun had begun its daily torture when two sailors came onto the dock. They quickly repaired the engine with new parts and cheerfully transported us to the nearby border village.

We expected to pay for our journey. All mention of money was waved off after we beached on the village shore.

“Captain wanted to make sure you made it to the border safely. He thinks you’re brave, but you have no idea what you’re getting into.”

He was right.

A smiling Goddess of a woman arrived. A cluster of butterflies swarming around her. A babe was suckling on her bare breast and a 3 year old followed in her wake.

“Greetings sisters. My name is Mariposa [butterfly]. I was told two American women had arrived. I was once an American. Long ago in Chicago. Flash of a brilliant smile.

I’m thrilled you’re here. I live with my Native husband in this village. These are my two children.

Come, you will stay in our home and share food with us until we can find you a canoe to the Peruvian border.”

But that’s day two.

A well lived life contains a certain amount of calculated risks. We were two seasoned, intrepid women explorers. Even so, our two month long, Amazon River undertaking, coughed up scenarios we couldn’t have imagined.

As our adventure, initiations and lessons unfolded we often looked at each other and said “ Can you believe this?”

When we finally docked in Belem, Brazil, located in the 205 mile wide mouth of the Amazon River , “Can you believe this?” had been replaced with “Why not?”