Water drainage is a serious problem for lowland rainforest roads. An effective solution is to make the roads out of sand. Effective for water drainage. Not cars. Cars rarely travel this road. Flatbed trucks never travel this road. Our truck tries. For being completely empty, our truck is surprisingly heavy. Our truck does not travel this road.
We dig. We push. We lay down branches. We're stuck.
A passing Indian notices our predicament. Minutes later twenty five Indians, a few friends, and I are pushing a flatbed truck through the sand in a jungle. Our progress is slow. Very slow.
Do you know the village we're looking for? TWO MILES!! Well where's your village? Just around the bend you say? What are your feelings on cookies?
Two Indians take off running while the rest of us continue our sandy trudge. I don't speak a word of Tupi, but I think they were shouting something like "Quick hide the T.V. and get out your feathers CITY PEOPLE ARE COMING!"
We arrive at a village of hastily painted faces rushing outside and trying to look natural. It is obvious their paint is still wet. The adults pull it off, but the kids pristine faces accrue a steady swath of finger smudges until it dries ten minutes later.
Many of the girls look extremely uncomfortable in their coconuts. It's obvious they only wear these for tourists, which don't come very often. The whole show is beautiful, but it feels horribly fake and insincere.
I would never go to Rome and expect everyone to be wearing togas and sandals and speaking Latin. I know they wear tight shiny jeans and shoes that look like boots but fall apart if you put them to any real stress. I know they speak Italian. Likewise, I would not go to Japan expecting to find a mob of kimono clad samurai waving katanas around. I'm sure they would in fact be dressed like Lolita dolls, or wearing some kind of animal costume with brown face paint and silver hair.
Neither would I want to find togas and samurais in these places. I do not travel for a love of history. I travel for a love of people. I am interested in the people and their real daily lives. So when I arrive at an Indian reservation to find that they have gone out of their way to hide their real identity under the paintings of their past, I am dismayed.
We significantly lighten our truck and turn it around, but are asked to wait before leaving. A runner is sent to fetch the chief. Chief Cassique arrives in flip flops, jean shorts, and a sleeveless Aerosmith shirt. He is too old and tired to care about appearances.
Check back soon for an exciting conclusion in "The Cookie Smugglers: Part 3"
Was my description of Japanese fashion unfair? Post your own thoughts
and observations of Japanese fashion in the comments section below.
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