Dancing with the Ticuna in the heart of the Amazon

The boy at the hostel reception desk looked at me with boldness and began speaking in English freely; his words pouring forth like rain. A spring breeze seemed to blow through my heart, as people around here rarely speak English. He told me his name was Brano. 

"You must have come to see the Amazon, right?"

"You are correct. I have a fascination with the indigenous people of the Amazon. Would it be possible for me to stay with an indigenous family there for a few days?"

"No, they wouldn't allow that. But you can spend a few hours in a Ticuna indigenous village. I'll speak to a tour agency and arrange it for you. Be ready tomorrow at eight in the morning." Brano's words reassured me. 

The next morning, a car arrived. It picked me up and dropped me at a riverside jetty. As soon as the car stopped, an unfamiliar guide quickly ushered me towards the dock. Many speedboats were moored there, gently floating on the river, as far as I could see. The guide did not speak English, so there was no way to converse. This river is known as the Rio Negro; Manaus is situated on its banks.

A vast body of water stretched out before me. Around thirty of us boarded the same speedboat. The guide handed me over to another person and disappeared the moment I stepped aboard. I was simply being passed from one stranger to another. Inside the boat, I noticed that the person at the helm was a long-haired woman. I had never before seen a woman piloting a public speedboat ferrying passengers. I stared at her in amazement. Then I thought: well, this is Brazil.

Ticuna performers gather before welcoming visitors in an Amazonian village.

It was a captivating, adventure-filled morning. I was restless with anticipation, eager to experience the nature and culture of the Amazon in depth. At first, the river was calm. Sunlight fell upon the water, making it seem less like water and more like a shimmering black mirror. The water was deep, yet my mind was free of fear. On both sides, far in the distance, dense green forests stretched along the horizon.

The boat moved forward. Wind and water spray lashed my cheeks. The rattling roar of the engine filled my ears. From the distant trees came the calls of birds. I did not know their names, yet their voices felt strangely familiar, as though they belonged to some old fairy tale.

The guide told us that the boat had now entered the Amazon River. Suddenly, something leapt out of the water. Everyone shouted, "Dolphin!" The dolphin seemed to flash a brief smile before disappearing beneath the surface again. Eventually, our boat reached the shore. 

From a distance, I saw several men with large leaves wrapped around their waists, covering the lower half of their bodies. Their attire told me immediately that we had arrived at a Ticuna indigenous village in the Amazon.

Everything around me felt enchanted. Dense forest surrounded the village. From the outside, there was no way to tell that people even lived here. After getting off the boat, we followed the guide and walked further in. 

Wearing the symbols of the Ticuna people.

Soon, we came upon a communal gathering space. It was open on all sides, with only a roof of leaves and plastic overhead. There were circular seating arrangements beneath it.

An elderly Ticuna man, bent beneath the weight of age, stepped into the centre of the gathering space carrying a flute almost as tall as his own body. He began to play. Perhaps he was welcoming us. 

I do not know what it will look like when Israfil blows his trumpet on the Day of Judgement, but that sound reminded me of him. Israfil's call is said to herald the destruction of Earth. This melody, however, spoke not of destruction but of love. It was a call of invitation. I was his guest.

A group of Ticuna men and women approached us carrying Amazonian pigments. They wanted to paint our faces, though for that we had to pay. We tourists rushed towards them like a shoal of fish. I took off my glasses and sat down on a wooden bench. A young Ticuna man began to paint my face with colour, as though he were writing poetry upon it.

While we were still enthralled by the Amazonian hues, another group of men and women approached, swaying as they danced. We quickly found our seats. One group continued dancing while another surrounded us and played music. The women's upper bodies were covered only with beaded necklaces that hung down to their chests. Around their waists they wore knotted fringes of fur, like skirts. 

The men had large leaves tied around their waists, bound together to form a kind of belt and wrapped tightly so they would not come loose. When they walked, the leaves moved and danced with them. To them, this clothing represented nature, identity, and culture.

In their society, such garments are worn with dignity. They are normal. They are tradition. The body here is not a source of shame but part of an unity with nature. Both men and women wore vibrant crowns of colourful bird feathers.

Greek mythology describes the Amazons as a race of female warriors who were skilled hunters and expert archers. Their physical strength, horsemanship, and martial prowess were legendary. As I watched, it felt as though I was witnessing those mythical Amazon women before my eyes — the same vigour, skill, and power expressed through their dance.

In Greek mythology, the Amazons existed without men. Men were not permitted in their domain, and their society excluded them almost entirely. They raised only their daughters, returning their sons to their fathers and keeping male children with them only during early childhood. Their contact with men was limited to what was necessary for procreation.

 In this Ticuna village within the Amazon rainforest, however, men were visibly present, living openly alongside the women. Here, mothers, fathers, sons, and daughters coexisted closely, side by side.

Gradually, some of the tourists joined the dancers. At the gesture from one of the Ticuna men, I stood up as well. He extended his hand towards me, inviting me into the rhythm. I moved closer and took it. Matching my movements to his, I tried to immerse myself in the rhythms and melodies of the Ticuna community. For a moment, I no longer felt part of the ordinary world. I had become one of those mythical women of the Amazon.

A gathering shaped by music, ritual, and tradition.

As I danced, I was reminded of Agantuk. In the film, Utpal Dutt finds himself drawn into a Santal tribal village. Here, it felt as though I had stumbled upon something similar. I have always carried a deep curiosity about indigenous cultures and a fascination with understanding how they live.

 Whenever I travel to a new place, I try to move beyond the boundaries of urban society and seek out more primal and fundamental ways of life. It is not always possible, but whenever the opportunity appears, why let it slip away?

The dance came to an end. Our group of tourists then wandered through the Ticuna village, exploring freely. Some visitors sat before indigenous artists and offered their cheeks as silent invitations to be painted with vibrant colours. Others rushed towards the base of a nearby two-hundred-year-old tree, eager to take photographs.

Not far away, two Ticuna boys stood with an anaconda draped around their necks. Its heavy body moved with a slow and unsettling grace. A sharp knot of fear tightened inside my chest. I could not move. It felt as though my feet had become rooted to the ground. Then I realised the boys were walking towards me. I began to tremble.