Land of the Lost: A True Tail of the Amazon, with Guns, Indians and One Stubborn American
[This story, first reported in 2005, was supposed to run in a men's adventure magazine, but was never published. The accompanying photographer froze up — freaked by the raw circumstances — and shot almost no photos. It's a shame, because this was one of the most amazing stories of my life.]
As blood bubbles down my left arm, and the chief’s No. 1 wife begins to slice into my right, John offers me a tasty bowl of thumb-sized fire ants. They’re dead at least, drowned. I stare at him, keeping the pain from my face as Kamaihá uses a tool made from rapier-sharp fish teeth to cut lines into my arms from shoulder to wrist. I don’t wanna look like a punk in front of the indians. It hurts meanly, though, and I can’t imagine that tool has been sanitized… ever. “Thanks, John,” I tell the former Airborne Ranger evenly, “but I think I’ll deal with one pain at a time.” John, his shirt off, shrugs and pops an ant in his mouth. “Citrusy,” he says.
Kamaihá tells me in Portuguese that I’m a warrior now. She could be joking, I don’t know. Blood coughs down my arms and into the dirt. She rubs green leaves into the wounds. The Kamayura ingest medicine this way, including natural anabolic steroids, which would explain why all the men are so pec-bulgingly yoked. Kamaihá is the chief’s first wife (he’s got four) and the only woman in the village not totally naked; she’s wearing a floral dress. I ask her what the plant does, but she just smiles. Screw it, though, when you’re in the remote indian village, do as the indians do, right? John takes my place and merrily snacks on ants as Kamaihá bloodies him. He’s lived in the Brazilian state of Mato Grosso-with its indian wars, piranha-filled rivers, and cowboy gun-dueling ways-long enough to find it all perfectly normal.
[Members of the Kamayura, dressed in their party finery.]
This is the sixth day on a unique trip through a region of the Amazon that is half Wild West fantasy, half Conrad-inspired yarn. The Mato Grosso actually was the blueprint for Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s dinosaur-jungle fantasy, The Lost World, after a friend returned in 1910 and described the beautiful but inhospitable land. Almost 100 years later, John Carter, a Texan who’s lived here for ten years, has a plan to bring limited tourism that’s either mad or genius.
