During breakfast, we inquired about the racket and learned that a bar was established about a half mile down the road and they apparently have speakers half the size of kitchen refrigerators. Last night was supposed to be Karaoke night. Fortunately, we never heard any of that because most people sing like the wail of the family dog when you step on the animals’ tail.
After breakfast, Kathleen and I walked along the paved road in search of wildlife and sights. Traffic frequently blasted by us at well over 70mph.
Faster than most traffic in much of South America. The section of road we walked was a straight stretch where people ‘opened her up’.Kathleen got some good pictures of a Black-capped Donacobius (a wren) and Smooth-billed Ani’s.
The Ani’s were doing some mutual preening on each other while catching some morning rays of sunshine with wings spread.
By mid-morning, we were packing up to move back to Hostal El Paisano in Misahualli (Miss-ah-hoo-ahyee) for a couple nights. When we paid our bill we discovered the station was charging us $60/night rather than the $30/night we had thought - $30/person. This was rather steep for a place with cold showers out of a tube, raggedy towels, very basic meals, and primitive sleeping accommodations. This cost took most of the money we carried and Misahaulli didn’t have an ATM. We would need money for our two nights in Misahualli.After checking-out, Kathleen and I decided we had to go to Tena (Ten-ah) to find an ATM. We sat at the bus-stop across the road from the station for an hour.
The bus arrived and we sat and watched ‘Home Alone’ for the near hour ride into Tena. The bus made all the obligatory stops where you could have someone’s rump in your face at one stop, or their belly-button until another. I can tell you, women, nor men for that matter, are into the belly-button adornments seen in the U.S.We got off the bus in Tena and, with a quick question to a couple of codgers regarding the where-a-bouts of an ATM, we were off. Within minutes, the ATM made that pleasant sound of money being counted, and then the card and money spit-out.
We then had lunch before following the directions in the Foot Print guide and walking across town to the local bus terminal for a bus to Misahualli. Portions of Tena were under some major street construction.
Other parts of Tena, were your ‘tipico’ South American city.
We stood about the local-bus terminal for about an hour. Finally, Kathleen asked two supermarket guards where to catch the bus to Misahualli. They said at the long-distance bus terminal, where we had came from. So, we walked the 20-minutes back to the bus terminal where we had arrived from the reserve. Here, Kathleen asked a couple policemen where the bus to Misahualli could be caught. They pointed to a street corner where we found a couple buses parked. One said Misahualli on the marquee. We hoped aboard, and in 10-minutes we were on our way to Misahualli; arriving in about 40-minutes.Had we not needed to go to the ATM, we would have been in Misahualli in about an hour. Instead, going to the ATM, by bus, took us nearly 5-hours. Four and a half if you discounted the time for lunch. This experience gave us some perspective about simple activities we take for granted in the U.S. Had we had our motorcycles – remember those? – we would have been able to perform this simple errand in less time and with more enjoyment.
In Misahualli, we went to Hostal El Paisano where they were nearly packed. Fortunately, they had a room for us near a corner of the quart yard. Parked in another corner was a Suzuki DR650 fitted with German license plates and pannier racks.
Some more salt thrown on to a slowly healing wound. Sigh. Hey, wait, Suzuki? Plates from Germany? If this person is from Germany they are committing blasphemy by not riding a Beemer!We had a nice meal on the plaza and watched some Capuchin monkeys commit larceny by swiping a bunch of grapes from a shop. This created quite the commotion with people running about, capuchins running amuck, and dogs barking. High times in Misahualli.
We returned to Hostal El Paisano to find our room filled with cigarette smoke. The wind was blowing in such a manner that each puff from people smoking in the court yard wafted into our room. Then, a family decided to go out on the town and sprayed bug spray all over each other right outside our screen windows. The repellant smelled exactly like WD-40 to Kathleen and I. You want the insects to slide off ya?
Okay, at what point does the music start blaring?
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