The Adventure of a Lifetime for Three Brothers on the Road

February 1975. Somewhere in Amazonia…

We were living in the jungle, far away from everything. Our everyday friends were monkeys, lizards, an amazing array of birds of every color imaginable, and of course, the caimans.

Humidity was very high, so we were always sweating. Raphael had the most experience, having been in other jungles so I just copied his moves. In this case, it was mud. He had this trick where he covered every visible part of his body with it and I immediately did the same. Mosquito protection.

Giorgio, his brother, has been napping for two hours.

Still breathing, though. All good.

We picked up a map, and after conferring for a couple of minutes, we both smiled with satisfaction. We’d made great progress which brought a mix of happiness and excitement that I still remember today.

We sailed from Argentina where the political situation became intolerable and everyone, especially the young students, were living day by day, never knowing if the next will be the last. The repression by the military juntas was suffocating and constant. Everybody was suspicious. Everyone was subversive. There were never any defense lawyers, trials, or juries. People just disappeared. If you wanted to continue living, and you could travel, your best bet was to get out. Pack a few items, throw them in a backpack, and leave the country. And that was exactly what we did.

“Get up, Giorgio!”, shouted Rafa. It must’ve startled him, as he always did; his deep blue eyes almost popping out of his skull. Giorgio always thought the end of the world was coming when he heard loud noises, but only when they woke him up. It was kinda funny, really.

Our immediate destination was unknown since we had no idea where we were (with any real precision)…but we knew we had to keep on going.

Rivers or just wide streams were always a problem. We had to cross them before dark so we could spend the night in the next village. Unfortunately for us but great for the fishermen, these small rivers were everywhere.

Since going back was not an option, we had to think quickly.

Our choices weren’t abundant just like our food rations weren’t. The best bet was always the Turkish boatman, aka, “el Turco”. For a few coins, he’d take us across. For a few more, he would NOT go the opposite way to run some errand he just made up to squeeze more of a profit. Giorgio knew them well, having lived in Sao Paulo’s “Li’l Turkey” for years. He was in charge of hustle & persuasion.

They were, probably, the best times, the best years of my younger life. Even though I wasn't related to them, we had brotherly love. We managed with what we had, which wasn’t much. A tent, a sleeping bag, a backpack, mosquito repellents, malaria pills, and plenty of water.

We sweated and we bitched, we fought and made up and we did again five minutes later. The jungle’s birds and monkeys were laughing at us constantly, I was sure of it, then. How could they not? We were a sorry-looking lot. If I were a monkey, I’d laugh at myself as well. The sky was immensely high and the tree’s canopy made it so we were practically in the dark. The only reason we knew it was daytime is precisely because the jungle sleeps at night. By now, we knew the sounds. It was a very special language.

And the heat. It’s a different type of heat at night. It buzzes with a different type of life. And different kinds of predators. Snakes looking for frogs, frogs looking for bugs, bugs looking for smaller bugs, and all of them looking for us. We were the delicacy. We were hor's d'ouvre.

The worse part was the humidity without a lick of wind.

I tried to keep a diary, but some of the pages got wet and broke off. I ended up with spare notes which I figured I’d edit later, assuming I survived the ordeal. Rafa handed me the hood of one of the ponchos to use as a “waterproof” container. Funny guy.

But it turned out to be a great idea. A little tweaking and it worked.

The countries the three of us “visited” were sometimes a total surprise as we crossed invisible borders designated by plants and trees of the exact same kind. And the monkeys all spoke the same language, easy as pie to understand. We got used to knowing what the mood was by the kind of sounds they made. Sometimes we realized trouble among them was imminent, especially when the chattering got faster and exponentially louder. And then suddenly, dead silence.

After that, we knew it wouldn’t be long.

But no, no visible borders in the middle of the Amazon jungle. So, we hitchhiked from Porto Alegre in Brazil to a French-speaking colony named Cayenne, traversing the entire Amazon-covered savanna in the process. From there, there was no other way but North since anything civilized was by the coast. So, we ended up in a Papiamento-speaking nation (a Dutch-aboriginal dialect) in Suriname to outright English in Guyana. No customs, no passport checking, and certainly no visas.

And then…

“What do you mean we already crossed the border? “— we asked in broken English to the fisherman carrying his load.

I pointed at a location on the map. He pointed back at the big letters that read: “Guyana”.

So. It looks like we had indeed…

“Onward to Georgetown!”, Giorgio happily howled.

As it turned out…we made it around five countries in less than a month, all the way from Buenos Aires, Argentina to wherever we were now. Hitchhiking.

We kept on going until we hit the main road. We just were on the small bush path and now we are on the "Highway". So, we didn’t think they were borders but it turns out they were. The big soldiers that “guarded” it and encountered us by the side of the road made sure we understood that.

And now, of course, is “Papers, passport, papers!!!…”

“Okay, no problem, sir,” I said, overwhelmed.

The only problem was that none of us spoke their language since it was, like I said, a dialect that didn’t sound like anything we ever heard before.

Rafa said we have to manage through sign language and kind manners.

That didn’t work very well. These were huge guys, probably conscripted soldiers that didn’t want to be there any more than we did but had to. The one in charge wanted to know where our transit visa documents were, and he also wanted to know what kind of money we have to travel around the country.

White folks, he figured, — “American Express?” Stupidly, I let out a laugh rather unintentionally that I’ll regret forever. I thought it was the funniest thing. He wasn’t amused at me laughing. I said, "American Express??, really??" Well, he didn’t like it. At all.

The butt stroke off his rifle was so strong I thought he busted my liver. My brothers picked me up while trying to calm him down by repeatedly saying “sorry, sorry” as I’m puking my guts out.

Of course, he wanted a bribe but since we had none to give him, that made him even more angry. He wanted to know how we were gonna get out of the country. On what plane or bus would we leave? “Ticket out?” “Ticket, ticket!” he kept on saying. We don’t have any, I tried to explain it to him as best I could, but let’s face it, the man wasn’t happy with me saying that I didn’t understand.

It got so bad that at one point he shoved his enormous fist in front of me and he yells, as loud as he could: — “Do you understand this?!?” —

I suddenly realized that I better talk to this man with utmost respect unless I wanted to die. So Raphael looked at me, I looked at Giorgio, and Giorgio looked back at Raphael.

Like telling each other with our eyes: “Do something!”

We were in a little jam and we needed to figure out a way to get out of it. Like a plan B, except we didn’t even have a plan A!

Since we didn’t have any of the documentation that he wanted, or money to offer, we needed to think of something else. Quickly.

So, we figured it was time to showcase Italian drama. We made gestures between us with facial expressions and body language when they weren’t looking and we opened the floodgates.

The plan was to drive him crazy. And that, we did. We needed to plead with the man and explain our situation, telling him that we were just globetrotters and that we would be getting out of the country as soon as we could travel. That we will do that so fast his head will spin. That we’ve been broke since we could remember, that we are not only hungry, thirsty but now also scared to death.

That there’s no way back for us, we wouldn’t even know how, and that this is IT. “Please, help us, we know you have a heart!”

The man looked lost, a huge question mark for an expression, and his colleagues no better. Even worse, they didn’t understand a word we were saying.

All of us speaking at once, bawling, each with our own spin in two different languages did him in.

When he lifted his hands to grab his head, we knew we had him. He finally ordered us to be quiet. — “Enough!!” — he shouted.

“Enough, enough, enough!!! — as he left the room.

Ten long minutes went by. We are nervous as we imagine the worst, being deported. Of having done all this for nothing. Our hopes and dreams were dashed and crushed.

When he returned, he instructed one of his soldiers to do something which of course we couldn’t decipher.

Before we knew it, we find ourselves on this big bus with a lone armed driver and back on a small road in the jungle. No one told us where we were going.

We figured he wasn’t going to kill us because he was only one soldier with only a handgun. We are not being deported because we are going the wrong way and he gave us back our passports. So, where is he taking us?

We are counting our blessings: We are alive, we’re still together, we have our papers and most importantly, we are not in handcuffs and back on the road again.

That was the most important thing and the familiar smells of the jungle were now comforting, refreshing, assuring.

Not only that, but we were also heading north, thankfully North.

They could have easily gotten rid of us, nobody would’ve cared, and there would’ve been no questions. As if we had never existed. No consequences or repercussions. Either way and after all, we were criminals sneaking into a foreign nation without proper documentation.

They could have made us disappear without a trace. They still could but… would they?

We’re sweating bullets; the driver was no help and made the terror worse. We tried to ask him a few questions but I don’t think he understood a single word.

He wasn’t being unfriendly or menacing in any way but he wasn’t saying anything that would give us a small hint of what he or others were going to do. Or where was he taking us? And why only one driver? He was a soldier with a gun but we were three. He was just one and driving.

But even if we succeeded and overpowered him, one look around told you all you needed to know. There was no place to go. And the jails in these countries are not too advantageous for one’s health.

That option was quickly voted down.