Tariano Indian Canoe

I love mornings. It’s generally quiet and I can read and write without interruptions. One morning on the Amazon, I was writing in my journal out on the bow deck when three boys spotted me and paddled over to the riverboat. In the bottom of the dugout lay half-a-dozen piranha fish, some of which were still flopping. One of the boys with a machete stabbed one of the piranhas and held the fish up to me. I thought he was trying to sell me the fish, but I wasn’t sure, as I speak very little Portuguese and zero Tariano. He made sure he had my attention and then flipped the squirming fish off into the shallow water between their dugout and the riverboat. Within seconds, the fish had been attacked by other piranha in the water and was gone. Once more, the young boy stabbed another one, held it up to me and then again flipped it into the water. Poof! It too was gone in seconds, as it seemed hundreds of piranha came and tore it apart. He repeated this several times, making sure I was aware of the process. It wasn’t until later that day that I realized he was telling me not to go swimming in his play area.