Following a candlelit dinner of spaghetti bolognese, our cook brings out a bottle of White Eagle Whisky. With not much else to do, apart from retire to our hammocks, we manage between us to devour three whole bottles. It's vile stuff and even mixing it with coke only makes it slightly more palatable.
At midnight we climb into small canoes for a trip up one of the narrow 'cañonitos' (channels) of the Orinoco. Tonight it's a full moon and there's an enchanting feel in the air. Slowly we paddle up the river. The only thing I can see are the black trees silhouetted in the silvery moonlight. It's magical. Slightly nervous about tipping the canoe, as I'm only two inches from the surface of the water, I keep deadly still. The only sounds to be heard are the birds, still singing sweetly and the slow gush of water as we paddle on. It feels like a dream. Back at camp I'm brought sharply back down to earth by the whisky-induced snoring next to me.
(Photo - Orinoco River)
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