It's not that the Amazon is hot; it's the humidity that kills you. Dripping with sweat five minutes after showering, the guide plunked us into canoes, and we were off to the quitude of Tapoche Lake. Quiet except for the flock of five Hoatzin (five is a flock, isn't it?), direct descendants of dinosaurs, that followed us. Quietude? Hoatzin are supposed to be shy, but they squawked and scolded us all around the misty lake. We’d lost our camera or forgotten to pack it, who could tell at this point, so I am pulling a picture off the internet. I can't decide if they're beautiful or funny-looking.
What is it with the girls in groups of threes?
I don’t have the folk dance, so here are marine iguanas. They face the sun in unison.
The land iguanas are more colorful: yellow and orange.
Steve eventually found the chip on the couch. It must have jiggled loose when I put the battery in and then flipped out onto the cushions when Steve opened the battery case to check. Good grief!
Early the next morning sailing to the airport, we circled Daphne Major, the tropic bird mating well, not island, more like large hunk of rock. We saw lots of tropic birds and also a short eared owl that had wrested a frigate bird from a tropic bird and was eating it's guts.
Tastes just like bacon!
My self-image as an efficient and organized traveler has taken a blow. Still, in the end, nothing stayed lost, and I was ready to go home to my light green-eyed pussycat.