Perhaps canoeing with my 68-year-old mother through an almost uninhabited part of South America was not the most responsible thing to do. However, she felt the trip would make a pleasant change from the misery of Zimbabwe and the gray dampness of England. Very well, but I hadn’t counted on her actually being in the boat. “You do realize that if you get hurt, you could be in pain for days?” She said she didn’t care, so I bought a 16-foot inflatable canoe we could paddle together.
Spondias mombin. The Latin sounds so much better than “Mope.” “When you are on the river, look for a big tree with little orange fruit. That’s Mope, and you’ll be able to smell it. You can watch Tapirs and other wildlife come to eat the fallen fruit.” I was also told that the river was so high it would be difficult to catch fish, find camping spots, or run some of the rapids we would encounter. But it was the season for Mope. Some consolation.