On the way back from the waters, Robo and Jean asked Cassio how much we needed to give him. The total he came up with was 400 Reais more than we were told from Elmo! We finally honed the information down to find out that the 400 extra was for the driver and the van! Oh great. And this driver wasn’t the least bit interested in waiting to see if the Anavilhanas paid him or not. Apparently Elmo had thought the transportation would be on the Lodge’s dime, since our flight time dictated that we leave earlier than the main shuttle anyway. But since the owners weren’t there to verify it, the driver, I’m sure, took it that we were paying him. Cassio too.

When we protested that we shouldn’t have to pay the driver, Cassio almost got huffy, probably fearing that they were gonna get screwed by the tourists, while the tourists were thinking they were getting screwed by the locals. Since Jean had instigated the trip, she felt most responsible for the mixup, with Robo’s illness making her feel even worse about it all.

Once Jean and Robo figured out the reason for the problem, they put their heads together for money. I certainly didn’t have any. Maybe .25 Reais in my pocket or something. Robo pulled out a bunch and put it in a pile. Jean went in the airport to get money out of the ATM. We finally had the requisite amount of cash. Jean had 1.80 Reais in coins left. Cassio graciously accepted the money, and we were all able to leave without a bad taste in anyone’s mouth, I think. Except of course for Robo. He had just gone through a two-toothbrush ordeal a few hours earlier.

We schlepped our luggage through the sparsely populated airport to TAM’s check-in desk. There was nobody in front of us except a young family with their baby in a basket. And there were two agents to boot! Hot dog! Jean decided to try the old “It’s his birthday” gag on the girls. In actuality, it WAS my birthday (like you could really fake them off when they’ve got your ID sitting right there).

“Can’t you put him in first class for his birthday?” Jean pleaded. “He’s never been in first class in his life.” I stood there with an expression I hoped was just north of pitiful, blending in loveability and cuddliness. I should have just presented the even look.

The main girl was very nice in turning us down with a flat, “Sometimes they will do on domestic flight, but is a policy to not do so on international flight.” This was delivered with a big smile and a “Happy birthday, sir!” Alas. She added, “Maybe you will come back for your next birthday!”  Right, I thought. On my birthday FROM HELL!  I smiled back at them as Jean and I picked up our carryon stuff and trudged off.

We went through security with no problems, and emptied immediately into the waiting area, which had all the amenities in the same big room. I was starving by this time, and on the right was a place that sold those cheese balls and everything else that could possibly be related to them as specialty items. Cheesy, doughy goodness in easy-to-eat pieces! Everything started at 2 Reais. Pettus was fortunate enough to have some money left, and bought a tray of balls, which she shared with us. I kept silently cursing our 1.80 Reais. Robo, of course, was uninterested in the food.

It was at that moment that we learned that our flight was going to be delayed an hour. Whoop te DOO! I couldn’t wait to sit there and have my stomach eat itself from the inside, bored to death, tired, and not scheduled for first class. At least Robo was feeling better.

It was a great chance to lay on my good old “Yeah, I told you it was food poisoning; I’ve had it before; not like that, of course; it sounds like you’ve gotten it all out at one time; when I had it I had it all night long; as a matter of fact, it was on my birthday when Jean and I were in college; we went to Ireland’s for my dinner and both got the chopped steak; I got mine medium rare, and Jean got hers medium well; well the meat was bad, and about four hours later I started in; then two hours later Jean started in, since hers was cooked more than mine; well we threw up and diarrheaed all night and all day long and I even went to a band job that next night, slept all the way to Nashville in the back of the Cadillac blahblahblahblahblahblahdlaha;jha;sdhjh;ad.” He responded with the perfect even look. Everybody was doing my own look better than me!

I decided to get up and look in the souvenir shops. Of the two, one was closed. There were some pretty neat masks for sale that cost more than the one Pettus wanted in Rio, and were about 1/5 the quality or imagination of hers. I’m sorry, NOT hers.

I went back to sit down just as a guy who looked like a walking Ralph Lauren ad sat down with us. Tan jacket. Blue jeans. Expensive tasteful boots. We had been looking at the luminary signage advertising Peacock Bass fishing tours with floating cabins. It was guaranteed safe, legal, etc.

“Those guys are a bunch of crooks and poachers,” he spat, seeing us looking at the ad. “Those cabins are unsafe. Who the hell knows when one will float off down the river? These guys go into the villages and pay off certain of the big shots who allow them access into the area, and to fish for the Peacock Bass. It’s very dangerous. Who says that everybody in the village goes by what these few guys say?”

“Wow!” we all enthused. “That’s heinous! How do they get away with it?”

“They pay the right officials. It’s amazing that they are so bold as to advertise in the airport like this. Now if you want the proper Amazon experience done right, you should see the place I have.”

He whipped out a packet that included full color pocket folder, brochure, DVD, with a 2008 calendar included. Luxurious paper and packaging, beautifully designed. It made the art director/production whore/advertising guy in me swell with pride. This guy had beaucoup class, because I wasn’t the least bit offended by his gesture, especially after seeing the quality of the piece and having a good idea of the per-unit cost. And also because he had displayed his concern for the Amazon people and how these other groups exploit them in their way. His card was included in the packet with his name: Philip Marsteller. His company is Amazon Tours. amazontours.com. It looked and sounded fantastic. The peacock bass is one of the most beautiful fish on the earth, in my opinion. Any fisherman would have to get a chubby thinking about it.

“At my place, I try to get these professionals like dentists and doctors in there. I’ll comp them the vacation as long as they’ll spend a few days working in the local clinic that I helped to set up. Once they do it, they’re hooked. They find out how sweet the people are and how great it is to directly help them, plus they get an incredible vacation out of it at the same time.”

All this was not only interesting, but compelling! The guy lived in Texas, was on his second marriage, had parents who were missionaries in Brazil, and he had lived there half his life. He had a buttload of money, obviously, but a love for the country that made me proud to have met him.

He was involved in the Rio Negro Foundation, that was designed to help the people of the Rio Negro while teaching them, healing them, etc. According to the literature, Phil helped to pioneer the catch and release programs for sport fishermen in the Amazon.

We told him we had been at Anavilhanas, and he nodded. “I hear that’s a great outfit. I’ve never seen it, though.”

He told us how he had been on 60 Minutes for helping expose some sort of trucking scandal in Alabama! It blew our minds! But he was specific enough about details and everything else that we had no reason not to believe him. I’d like Robo’s take on all that. I missed some of the details.

Phil Marsteller’s story was really interesting.  Here are the quick-recall high spots (all with implied question marks on the detail):  He made the point early in the conversation that he had brought his life back from the bottom. Later, after telling us about his fishing lodge, the clinics, etc, we asked him about that comment. He explained that he had had an aircraft charter and maintenance facility in Dothan. When he discovered that they were being supplied with parts being sold as “refurbished / certified” that were in fact of sub-standard quality, he started to track down the prevalence of the problem. He discovered that it was not only happening in private aviation, but also in commercial and military facilities. He tried to blow the whistle on it, which is where his appearance on 60 Minutes came in.  Somewhere in the process he relocated his operations to Texas. The forces on the dark side passed along “tips” to the FBI that his charter planes were being used to smuggle drugs. A protracted legal defense ensued, which ultimately led to his going broke.  ??? And to prison for 6 months — or maybe that was the threat if he didn’t come clean ???

Another interesting topic he talked about was land ownership in the Amazon. There are many regional authorities that are similar to our counties, and they control the policies for owning land. In some of these, you can basically stake out your claim, develop it, and it’s yours. The caveat is that typically you won’t have a clear deed to the land, and if the powers that be change (or change their minds), you could be at risk. He went through a long legal labyrinth of local and regional government offices to finally get a clear deed to the large tract of land his lodge is on.

Well! What a great way to be diverted before we were herded onto the big silver bird sure to fly sluggishly toward Miami. I honestly couldn’t tell you one thing about the flight. Surely it’s kind of like what happened to Sybil, when she blocked out the horrors of her childhood.

I do know this: we were late, and our connection in Miami to Orlando to B’ham was going to be ridiculous, and probably unattainable. My leg began to vibrate again. Happy birthday, indeed. I was beginning to feel a good pout coming on. Great.