But our view also gave us advance warning of a new threat. The clouds closed in and a curtain of rain advanced upon us. We quickly donned ponchos, clambered down the tower and began our trudge back to the canoe. The rain hit hard and did not relent. The ponchos were effective ... for about 5 minutes. Then, the rain penetrated, trickled down faces and necks to our inner clothes, down pant legs and squishing into boots and socks. I commented that we were like the grunts in the movie "Platoon", marching in a dreary column along a trail in an uncaring jungle in a downpour. We reached our canoe where Luis and Pablo tried to bail the inches of water in the bottom using a cloth and a sponge ! Valiant but vain effort. There was little to do but climb in and listen to poor Luis struggle to paddle a suddenly heavy and unstable craft in a blinding rainstorm. I was concerned that the canoe would take on water and we'd be forced to abandon ship in waters inhabited by caiman and snakes. But Luis got us through safely. The next landing had us trudge to another huge tree to try to catch glimpses of a group of bug-eyed nocturnal monkeys. Telescopes and binoculars fogged up in the sheer humidity, but I was able to glimpse one of the strange creatures, looking down from his dry shelter almost laughing at us, his so-called higher evolved cousins stupidly standing in the rain.
Pablo wisely decided that a retreat back to the lodge to dry out before our next activity was in order. As we returned to the canoe, the rain finally stopped and Luis successfully bailed out the canoe ... with his paddle. We returned, bedraggled, soaked and slightly defeated. We dried as best we could, mounted up again and paddled, hiked, and motor-boated to the Sani village at the other side of the immense Napo River.
The Sani village is not, strictly speaking, where the Sani people live. Their homes are mostly scattered along the river. The village is a communal meeting place: elementary and secondary schools, athletic fields, community centre, a co-operative farm, an internet centre and other public buildings are featured.
Our host and guide was a remarkable woman called Margarita. She impressed all of us. She is one of two local women who administer the co-op farm plus the tours, which involve welcoming visitors, showing them around and running the co-op craft and souvenir shop where all moneys earned are fairly distributed to the artisans, mostly local women. Margarita spoke quietly and calmly to us: there was nothing fake or phony about her. Pablo had earlier told us that the Sami people were shy and reserved around foreigners, but I prefer to think of her as strong and dignified: this is where her calmness comes from. She was around 40, has born 9 children, runs the co-op and farms, along with God-knows-what she has to do at home. I was very impressed by her grace and serenity.
Although the sun came out during our visit, the morning's rain still exerted its influence on us. The sun seemed to release the rain water which had soaked into the ground back to the air to plague us. We sweltered, but the best treat of the day was still in store. Margarita and other women and a few men prepared a traditional lunch which we ate sitting on the floor, using our hands and sharing a communal pot of chicha to drink. The meal was cooked over an open pit and consisted of small fish and rice cooked in a banana leaf, roasted grubs and nuts, plantain, yucca and potatos. I tried a raw grub along with Luis: it was my "Lonely Planet" moment. It was actually not bad !! We sat together as a group, sharing and enjoying our remarkable meal. Ironically, the lodge had already prepared a more "modern" lunch for us. We ended up trading our modern lunches to the locals, who enjoyed them, while we sat, cross-legged and slightly disbelieving that grubs and tubers from the gound could taste so good.
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