DAY 62. THE CHECKPOINT

Jefferson woke me up in the morning. He invited me to have breakfast with his family.

What a wonderful start to the day! As I entered the house, I was surprised, because just the other day I was thinking that I would love to eat some borscht soup and pancakes. I had been treated to borscht by two girls from Saint-Petersburg at the foot of Fitz Roy in Argentina, but pancakes were harder to come by. And here they were – buttered tapioca pancakes on the table! They were crispy and stretchy at the same time, with a local castaña nut in the filling. They were amazing.

I was escorted to the pier by those who had not left for work yet. They gave me a bag of local farinha for the journey – the source of my life on this harsh but beautiful river. This gift was especially dear to me.

I found out that about 60 kilometres before Coari there was a checkpoint where ships were inspected, making the stretch to Manaus noticeably safer. Hopefully this will help me. Now I feel like a missionary carrying an important story around the world, so afraid of losing it. It is so stupid of me.

There is thick fog on the river, it is raining again, and I am leaving. To warm my feet and hands, I dip them into the Amazon every now and then, and the water feels hot in comparison with the air. It is getting warmer.

The noise of the engines is especially clear in the fog. It is Thursday, so there should be plenty of traffic on the river for the next couple of days, which could factor to my advantage – or might even save me.

The wind is blowing from the south again. I am heading east, so it is in the way. Besides, it keeps driving me away from the right bank, the one that is more inhabited and safer. There is also a nasty drizzle that is keeping me from getting some warmth. I am freezing.

The wind picked up and the waves caught me by surprise half a kilometre from dry land. I strapped on the bow cover to keep my belongings from being swept away by another wave. Then I wrapped my feet in a life-blanket to keep them a little warmer. And then I began to fight for my life, not letting go of the oar. Ahead of me there was an island that divided the river in two. With redoubled effort, I began to paddle to the right bank.

Every now and then I had to slow down so as not to bury the bow of the boat in the waves. I cannot say how long it lasted, for I no longer had my watch. If it was an hour, it was one of the longest hours of my life. I was kneeling in the boat for stability, so I could clearly feel the water splashing inside. In the seconds of calm between the waves I managed to throw 2-3 litres overboard – and back to the oar. I reached out for my ‘second breath’ – then my third breath, and then I had no strength left in my shoulders at all.

By all rights and wrongs, but I managed to circle the island on the right side, to hide from the raging waves that separated me from the bank. A small settlement appeared ahead, in a straight line there were hardly 500 metres to it, but for me they were simply impossible. I found a small stretch of quiet backwater protected by the island and decided to take a breather, waiting for the storm to exhaust its rage. I was too exhausted to paddle, so I had to take a nap. I will not get to Coari until tomorrow.

It is very cold. With the rucksack, those pirates took my warm clothes and my ukulele, which had accompanied me for many months of my journey. It is depressing. I will not play my favourite ‘Pirates of the Caribbean’ tune again. I think that is kind of ironic, isn’t it?

I recovered a little, had a snack, and continued my way. The wind had changed its direction. Now it is oncoming. It slows me does, but at least it is possible to paddle along the bank. The hardest task now is navigation without GPS. I know neither where I am nor how far I have travelled nor how much is left. The weight of this doubt presses down on me and makes me insecure.

For the first time in two months, I came across some ducks. There were eight of them, black and white. The river never ceases to amaze me with its fickleness. Everything changes. One cannot get bored.

There has been no sun, though it is long past noon. My life blanket comes in handy. It has probably been the most important piece of equipment in all my travels. I can sleep on a volcano or in the Amazon. My right ear hears nothing again. The peroxide and antibiotics seemed to have given up on this kind of challenge I put them to.

I managed to throw a rope on a floating island that was luckily brought in by the waves from the other bank. At least I can rest a little now as it carries me forward. And the sun came out! It is warm – for the first time in three days. It only lasted for five minutes, though.

All day I have been looking for the checkpoint, wondering what it should look like. Only with this gloomy sky and no watch, I have no idea how much further I must go. Time and distance have ceased to exist for me.

I decide to cross to the other bank with the tailwind, as suddenly I notice a government yacht with a landing stage around the corner. Is that police? It does not matter. They will tell me how far I must go to get to Coari.

I started paddling upwind. I had to throw off the tent and put on the jacket so that the spray from the crashing waves would not soak me to the bone. On the pontoon by the boat, some men in military uniforms were gathered and watched my struggle with great interest. A gringo in a canoe with an oar is quite a sight.

As I docked, I expected to be welcomed as a guest, but that was not what happened, not right away anyway. I was taken in by a local special security force officer, who demanded my ID and began asking a lot of questions with the utmost suspicion. Even after he checked my passport, his attitude did not change in the least. When he left, I was able to get acquainted with other representatives of the state services, who treated me very differently, especially the big guy Chavez who was a military man in full uniform with an automatic rifle and body armour. Lucas, a policeman in civilian clothes, took my story to heart and gave me his phone to contact my family. Then the local cook brought a huge plate of rice with meat and beans from the canteen for me. It seemed that I was now safe in every sense.

The yacht to which the pontoon was parked was impressive. It was a three-storeyed vessel of enormous size, housing dozens of staff from various departments. All of them, once they sorted out who I was, were empathetic. I felt welcome. I was even offered to spend the night in one of the cabins, to sleep on a luxurious soft bed, but I politely refused, explaining that I would stay on my ‘Libertad’ until the end of the journey. My boat and I grew very close during these two months of travelling.

When it got dark, I docked behind the yacht to get away from the waves. It was an amazing day. It seems now that I have survived the worst of it.

15 June, ~51 (2753) km covered.