Slow Boat to Manaus

I am cocooned. The thick red and black fabric of my hammock stretches hard and taut beneath me, the spare cloth I pull over me like a lid. I lie still enjoying the darkness, the faint smell of hessian sacking, the privacy of my own space however small and linear it may be. To my left I can feel the pressure of David’s body in his hammock as he sleeps, to my right I feel the rhythmical bump against my hip as my neighbour gently sways in her suspended nest.
Despite snug fitting ear plugs I can still hear the deep throaty rumble of the engines, feel the vibration juddering through the boat, the hammock, my body. Surprisingly none of this bothers me. The cramped space, the lack of privacy, the noise, the constant motion – I snuggle deeper, safe and warm and drift to sleep.

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