I feel as if I am in a time machine and drifted back a few hundred years. There is an Amerindian family at the river landing, one lady rinsing her hair and another washing her clothes. They are startled by our presence; we are just as curious to them as they are to us. A toddler starts wailing, his mother grabs him to the safety of her arms, and the other children stare blankly. I slide my board into the water, and with a jump I am guiding through the water. One dig with my paddle I am flying down the river. The water is a dark tea color caused by the runoff from vegetation. It is pure glass and I circle the area. I am given instructions, “Keep left down the river,” and I’ll get to Simon’s, an Amerindian elder who will be giving me insight to their lifestyle. I am in a jungle of vegetation, trees, vines and a maze of water, with each dip of the paddle I am shooting down the stream, accelerated by the rapid flow. The SUP is piercing through the water, ripples fanning off the bow to the river banks. The mind is at peace and quickly absorbing this river culture. Almost 7 miles downstream I reach Simon. He resembles all Amerindians I’ve seen so far, short limbed, small framed, light brown completion…shy, soft spoken, he moves with this gentle grace. He welcomes me to his shack, a single room with a woven roof, clay floors, hardwood construction, it is extremely clean. There is a hammock swaying in the middle, with his wife observing us.
