DAY 61. THE FIRST ATTACK OF PIRATES

I slept very well. I kept hearing voices on the other side of the forest – I must have wandered onto someone’s property. I pulled the boat off the bank. It is raining again.

No sooner had I had breakfast than I noticed that three men with machetes in their hands were coming towards me on a motorboat. It was a menacing sight. Is this it?

I talked to them tentatively. It turned out they were local farmers on their way to harvest my favourite farinha, and they decided to approach me to warn me about how many pirates were around. It is very dangerous for me to be here.

Oh, when one hears about pirates from literally everyone for two months… it gets tiresome. One gets a strange urge to finally meet some pirates and be done with the experience. How much longer is it before they come?

I slowly travel downstream along the right bank. It is the safe one, according to the locals. My boat is rocking on the waves, as it is still raining. I have decided to paddle less today to recuperate a little. My big toe is festering again. It is difficult to fully recover on the river as I put more and more strain on my body.

This is the last photo I took on that trip. 14 June, 11:11

All the photographs after that were taken by someone else and sent to me later.

By the way: during the night some termites once again made their way onto the boat along the trousers hanging down all the way to the bushes. They did not stop at that but built an entire tunnel for their transport route out of bits of earth and wood. They are quite industrious.

There are lots of scary whirlpools along the bank. I could not avoid getting into one of them. It makes the boat unpredictable and reminds me driving a car on ice. One must hit the throttle just in time.

***

Diary entry:

PIRATES! ROBBED!

***

Everything has been turned upside down. You know, I have imagined it many times. Like when I was a kid, when you are sent to the shop to get some bread, you rehearse quietly: ‘Bread, please!’ I used to be a reserved, withdrawn kid. I had been told so many times about pirates that I was practically waiting and rehearsing for this imminent encounter. The river played a cruel trick on me.

It was a perfectly ordinary day. It was a good day. I was reading one of Joe Abercrombie’s books (that belong to the genre of ‘dark fantasy’) where the main characters were chased after and attacked. At the time, I could not fully understand them. Like a kid who tries to read love stories but has no way to grasp what these people are so excited about. What is love?

Suddenly I heard an engine start in the jungle. I looked out and saw an aluminium boat speeding in my direction. Of course I was frightened. As it got closer, I could make out four men. In the boat, there was a man in his forties and three guys under 25. I greeted them, as they say, with my open skin. The first question I got was, ‘What are you doing here?’ Then I heard this: ‘Do you know that there are a lot of pirates here? You could be killed.’ I answered them exactly as I had answered dozens of times to others. That I am a writer, a traveller, that I am interested in the Amazon, its nature, the people who inhabit it and their lives. That I write about all this. That it is my dream.

I also explained to them that I have almost nothing to take, that I catch fish and salt it. I also shared the main idea of everything I write about: ‘The world is better than they say!’ I said that I believe that most of the time any relationship between people is a mirror, and that pirates are just as human as anyone else. If I treat them with respect, they will most likely not harm me, at least not kill me. The men nodded approvingly, wished me luck, and headed toward the bank. I decided that they were really just curious locals, and it was no big deal.

Not five minutes later, I heard the engine roar again. There they were again. That cannot be good. When they were just over 100 metres away, I noticed one of the guys starting to rummage around in the bow compartment of the boat. There was no doubt about it now. These were pirates. In the next instant the guy pulled out a gun and pointed it at me, and the two men behind him pulled out smoothbore rifles that looked like homemade guns. We were beyond the point of no return now.

When they were less than 50 metres away, their engine died. The pirates’ engine stopped working in the middle of the river! It was almost comical.

The two guys changed their rifles to oars and started paddling towards me, shouting something. The one with the gun demanded me to paddle in their direction with a threatening gesture. I did not resist – bullets obviously fly faster than I could flee.

When I got close enough to them, they started shouting something, threatening me with their weapons, and in my mind, it was as if I had switched to the script I had recorded earlier. I said in fluent Spanish: ‘Buenos dias! No te preocupes, solo me importa mi vida y mi diario, no me resistire!” It means ‘Good afternoon! Don’t worry, I only care about my life and my diary, I will not resist!’

I said all this with such calm and sincerity that they seemed stunned. I do not think they were prepared for that kind of reaction. I did not expect myself that the adrenaline rush will completely drive away my fear. Yes, a lot has happened to me over the years, and I have learned to perceive difficulties differently, but in a situation like this, my behavioral patterns could have collapsed all at once. Fortunately, that did not happen.

I was brought into their boat, and they started to tow my canoe to the bank. One of the guys climbed over into my canoe to search it. I volunteered to hold the rope to show as much cooperation as possible. As we approached the jungle, it got scarier. Anything could be done to me here. At best, I could be captured. At worst… nothing would matter anymore.

When we finally stopped, they put a jacket over my head for some reason. I do not know what practical sense it made, since I had already memorised everyone’s faces. The more ironic thing was that the jacket immediately fell to the floor. I felt like I was in an absurd comedy where inexperienced gangsters had seen too many films. Only it was not a comedy. There were two guns pointed at my back, and one gun stared in my face. One of the pirates was digging through my belongings in the boat, and I was trying to help them find the most expensive things, even took the solar panel off the roof myself so that it would not be damaged. They took my rucksack with the packraft, the power bank, my phone, even the rusty hammer gifted to me by Jonas for some reason. It was not in my best interest to stall for time. I prepared myself for everything to be taken from me, and I was ready to be dropped off in the jungle somewhere.

When it came to money, they were amazed that I had almost none. I had spent most of the money while preparing for the trip, and now I had barely $30 left. One of the pirates, the older man, took the news very badly and started demanding more, accusing me of lying, because a gringo cannot have so little. Yes, but I am not a gringo!

His hands on the gun, trembling with irritation, did not make me especially optimistic, but I explained in a calm voice that over there, in the bow compartment, there was some salted fish. This is candiru. The one that they do not eat in Peru or Brazil because it eats anything and gets worms. That is my food. Yes, I have learnt to catch plenty of them, yes, I must salt them hard and dry them, but this is what my life on the river looks like. Do I look like a bigwig?

This worked, no kidding. The man cooled off. I was told to return to my canoe. I could not believe my ears. To return? I asked for permission again. All right.

When I got back to my seat, I plucked up the courage to ask the young guy holding my phone to return the SD card to me. I explained that the photos were invaluable to me, as was my diary (which had been carefully examined for money). The guy was sympathetic and handed over the SD card, after which he waved his hand and added: “Go! Dismissed!”

They did not take my canoe. They left me a machete. I had my food supplies. Still in shock, I headed downstream, thanking them and assuring them that, and I quote: ‘It is no big deal, have a nice day!’ A minute later I was called again.

I looked back – they insisted I go back. I was scared again. This fickleness is truly frightening. Who knows what they have agreed upon now. I could not help it. I paddled back. When I approached them, the same guy who returned my SD card back held out $8. Then I somehow reflexively started to resist and assure them that I could manage without them, that I could catch fish without any problems, I would not be lost. I told them that I understood everything, that it was their job…. but they insisted. I took the money, we said goodbye. The river carried my boat further downstream.

Words cannot describe the emotions I felt at that moment. Something happened that went beyond all bounds of reality. It was terribly scary, but at the same time incredibly amazing. Even where there is absolutely no law, my mirror attitude worked. It was a miracle of communication. My language skills saved my life.

After a couple of hours, I noticed a boat with one person in it that had left a settlement on the bank. The boat was clearly headed towards me. A young 22-year-old guy just wanted to warn me that it was very dangerous here, pirates kill without any questions asked. I agreed to visit the settlement and use the internet.

On the way, as I was being towed to the bank, I wondered if this was another trap. Everything looked too suspicious, and there was no one around. I only had my life left. He knew that. Why take it?

Rationalisation helps at such moments. It is a shame we are sometimes surrounded by irrational people. That is what makes them more dangerous than any animal.

In the village, I met Lucas and other members of the community. They tried to persuade me that 100 kilometres to Coari should be made on someone else’s boat, with a bought ticket. Except I have almost no money, and I am not going anywhere without my ‘Libertad’. We are together till the end.

It got to the point where they even offered to pay my fare when they realised that I had been robbed. They ultimately scared me more.

I spent half an hour with Lucas talking about pirates, and he was quite surprised that I had travelled the last 600 km without any problems. After gathering my thoughts, I set off.

Lucas handed me a bunch of bananas and wished me God’s protection. Earlier, I had remarked to the same wish that God must have been asleep in the morning, since he had allowed the pirates to attack. This time I remained silent. The main thing is to get past Coari. It is safer after that. At least that is what they say.

No matter how well I held on, my strength just evaporated. It was raining, and the wind was blowing towards the bank where there are no villages. That is where most people get killed. I cannot let go of the paddle. I think I will have to set camp early tonight.

I do not have a watch or GPS now. Not only did the pirates steal my favourite knife, but they even took the rusty hammer which I had got in Peru! And they took my fishing rod… which was all broken anyway, both the reel and the rod. Good luck with their fishing, I guess. Or not. I do not want to wish them good luck.

It is a strange feeling. It is like I am not afraid for my life: I am more afraid to lose this story that I am telling. This is my job. If something happens to me, all my efforts have been wasted, all I have been through will be lost. I must keep myself and this diary safe.

As the evening approached, I decided to try my luck in one of the villages off the bank, Monti Bentania. I felt it was necessary to restore my faith in the people. I began to take every approaching boat for pirates. I could not go on like this, or I would go mad.

At Monti, I was met by some young boys. There were green meadows all around, and cows were grazing upon them. Jefferson (I had spotted him beforehand) was coming from the other end of the field to see if I needed help. He took me to his father named Solyud. They tried to help me contact my family (I wanted to tell them what had happened and reassure everyone), but the connection was not working. It does not work properly around here most of the time.

Nazaren – who had recently returned from his work, picking farinha in the fields – bought me a hot coffee. I sat down to rest on the grass. The anxiety has receded a little, but there was still at least one more dangerous day ahead before I could reach Coari. And beyond that I need to go 440 kilometres to Manaus, and it is best not to relax on that way either.

Wilson visited me at sunset, and in response to my doubts he said, ‘No, it cannot go like that, you will get there unharmed, and you will get back to your family safely’. Later it turned out that he was a priest. He was pleasant in communication and a true erudite. There are only a few people that can talk about religion calmly. Later he brought me some hot rice with chicken and eggs. The last time I had eggs was in Iquitos, about a month ago! They were delicious.

It was after dark when Jefferson, that young guy, came to see me again. If it were not for him and his eagerness to help me, I would not have stayed in this settlement. He had a strong accent, and I could hardly understand his words, for which he apologised, and I reassured him that I did not need words to understand his emotions. After all, the main thing was that he was close to me as an open and sincere person.

He smoked weed and asked about Russia, about winter, about my home in Siberia. For the locals it is as mysterious a place as the Amazon is to us. He admitted that he had decided to help as soon as he spotted me, so he hurried to the bank. I needed to restore my faith in the people. To restore my trust. Without it, my journey would have become even more dangerous. The rule of mirrors always works.

As we chatted, someone brought some fresh bread to give me a treat. That is nice!

It got colder during the night. Even in my sleeping bag I was freezing. The reason for this is the abundance of rain – and it rains every single day – does not allow nature to recover, to dry up. It is too cloudy.

14 June, ~56 (2702) km covered.