Hey y´all,
My nephew Avery has recently gotten his very own e-mail account and has been e-mailing throughout the week. He asked me to mention him on my blog, so this is his shout-out.
Love you, buddy! Please keep writing and sending my pictures.
<3
Aunt Robyn
Trip to the Amazon | Part Two
DAY FIVE
We're finally here! It's 9:30 p.m., and my eyelids refuse to stay open. It's been a long day.
We arrived at the reserve mid-morning and headed out in groups of 2 + one guide each canoe. It rained, and we spent most of the day pruney, wet and (in my case) cold. Within just a few hours, though, we saw blue and yellow macaws, spider monkeys and a sloth.
The sloth was spotted by Sarah and Jenny first, and they asked the guide if they could get closer to take a look. He paddled toward the tree, whipped out his machete, and chopped down the branch where the sloth had been sleeping.
Sid (yep, we named him) fell into the river, and Sarah and Jen had to pull him up by his arms. The guide said he was a young sloth, maybe equivalent to a teenager. He was small and wet with huge claws. Poor guy. We passed him around from person to person before taking him with us to the hut where we would stop for lunch.
It wasn't exactly immediately, but it didn't take long for us to see the enormous quantities of bugs crawling out from the sloth's fur. Without hand sanitizer or soap, we set the sloth on a pole and dug into our meal.
The guides made a makeshift bathroom for us ladies and on our way back, we saw an electric eel sliding through the water.
It rained a little more in the afternoon, and by the time we arrived to our base camp, we were soaked.
Where we're staying is an elevated cabin with beds and a wood-burning kitchen. There are even bathrooms. I feel a little spoiled.
We dried off and helped make dinner by peeling plantains and yuca, and cleaning fish.
I tried fishing for piranhas and came out with a catfish. Sarah literally took a stab at spear fishing and nabbed one on the second try. While we waited for dinner, we took the canoes out, and Jenny taught be how to paddle. The guides said they had never seen tourists take the canoes out and try to race in them before. To them, it was hilarious.
Klever, our main guide, has been serving us mint tea, and I love it. He grows the mint behind his house. He says it's for prevention of ailments, as we foreigners tend to get sick a lot. It seems to be working. We haven't had many problems.
After dinner we went on a night canoe ride, looking for crocodiles and snakes. Sarah made a very good point that searching for dangerous animals in the dark is a poor decision. But the stars were out, and the frogs were singing again.
The guides wore headlamps while we lay back in the boat. Every once in a while, they would point out a bird or a particular frog. We saw a crocodile eye or two, but no snakes. So far the ride has been my favorite part of the trip. I have never seen so many stars all at once. It's like how I imagine a black marble countertop would look after cooking with flour ... spotted with millions of white specks, almost too close together to seem real.
There are two other groups here, totaling 14 Peace Corps volunteers sleeping at this camp. We're told to get up at 4 a.m. to wake up in time to see the dolphins.
I don't know if i'll be able to sleep. The forest is so loud.
DAY SIX
Klever let us sleep in until 5, but were able to make it into the canoes in time to see the river dolphins. It's crazy. The river inside the reserve is only a few meters across, yet it's deep enough to be home to such a huge creature.
The trees here are incredible. Because soil depends on decomposing organic matter to become fertile, and the forest is two dense to allow this type of decomposition, trees can't rely on deeply-seeded roots to keep them standing. Instead, their roots are long and wide, just barely (if at all) below the surface.
Some trees hover, their trunks high above the ground while their roots sprout like legs beneath them.
We headed back to camp around 10 a.m. The guides went out to fish for us, and we ate fried piranhas for breakfast. I thought that could be a good band name.
Because of the rain, the current was strong. The guides paddled hard and didn't stop until 3 p.m. For lunch, we pulled over to a dry patch of land and chopped cabbage and tomatoes on one of our wooden paddles. We ate rice and boiled eggs under a tarp while it continued to pour.
We made it back to the entrance of the reserve cold, wet and smelly. My tennis shoes squeaked under my toes. Mud covered my jeans, and the yellow poncho Ryan lent me had a tear in the back.
I had never been so happy to see a shower. We cleaned up and sprawled on our hostel beds. Jenny and Tania sang along to Ryan's iPod while I washed my clothes in the sink.
Klever said there's no boat that leaves tonight. We'll have to wait to leave for Iquitos until tomorrow.
DAY SEVEN
The power went out in the middle of the night, and we slept without a fan. Our room is smelly and hot, but we woke energized.
Jenny, Sam, Sarah and I went to Klever's in the morning. Apparently, there's no boat leaving for Iquitos today either. If we wait until tomorrow we would barely make our flight back to Lima. We spent the morning walking around with him, looking for a way to get to the city.
The other two groups were in the same position, and so we decided to combine our efforts in our search for transportation.
We spent the morning frantic and slightly stressed out. Samantha, in her ever-present wisdom, turned to me and said in that calming voice she has, "Every great story has a conflict."
A guy came by to say that he could take us to a town 6 to 8 hours downriver for double the price of the regular boat. And from there we could take a car to Iquitos.
By noon we were at the docks waiting. There was a medium-sized roofed boat floating there. It was rotting, and there was only a hole cut out in the floor for a bathroom. We asked if we could hang our hammocks. They laughed. We didn't know why.
Another boat -- an open-air canoe pulled up alongside the shore in front of the larger boat. A small motor sat in back, and there were no benches to sit on.
That was our boat.
It looked like it couldn't hold more than 10 people, and we were 14 + our backpacks and the three guys in charge of the motor and searching for logs.
Before we boarded, they loaded two large barrels of gasoline on each end.
We motored off, waving back to a town watching us leave.
We spent the hours reading, laughing, singing, video logging, snacking and watching the stars. Dark clouds rolled in, and we huddled under the tarp to keep warm. We were all soaked from the spray coming off the side of the boat. Every part of our body was sore from being cramped and stagnant. Hardly any of us slept through the night.
DAY EIGHT
The next morning, we arrived early to the town of Nauta, where we could take a bus to Iquitos.
They tried to charge us 10 soles, when the ticket really cost 8. Sarah reamed them out and threatened to go to the police station to place charges.
We got to the hotel and took turns showering. Despite washing my clothes in the sink at our hostel in Lagunas, everything smelled terrible. The front desk told us we could wash our things at a lavandería around the corner. We dumped all of our smelliest things in a market bag and lugged it the three blocks to the laundry mat.
Our guide book said there was an American restaurant just a few blocks from our hotel. We sat down among Texas memorabilia and pictures of content customers from all around the world. We ordered chili cheese fries and onion rings and barbecue chicken sandwiches, and thought we might die of happiness.
The rest of the day, we wandered through an artisan market, and I bought a rain stick. The sun was shining. It was the first day of our trip that it hadn't rained.
We went down to the docks to see where the Amazon river rushes past Iquitos and ate grubs grilled over fire wood. They tasted a bit like sausage, and a little pieces of the grub head got stuck in my teeth.
Apparently, the guys from the bus who had overcharged us tracked down some of the other volunteers traveling with and gave us back the money. This city is just full of surprises.
I can't believe tomorrow will be our last day here.
DAY NINE
We woke early. Apparently, no longer used to the idea of sleeping through the night. Showered and clean, we hopped in mototaxis to see the market of Belén.
I needed flip-flops, sunglasses and brazil nuts, but I kept getting distracted by the crocodile tails, pig heads and turtle legs. It looked like every other market in Peru, yet every stall made me stop and stare.
"What's this?" I asked. And they'd let me taste it.
Most of the fruit was sour. Bitter. One called aguaje tasted like mashed potatoes.
There's a sector in Belén that is covered in water half of the year. All the houses are built on stilts, and people canoe to school instead of walking. We shuffled hesitantly into a small canoe -- so sick of boats already -- and paddled through the "streets" and in between houses.
Where do they put their trash? I asked the policemen accompanying us. Where do they go to the bathroom? Where do they get their water? They shrugged and pointed to the murky brown beneath our boat.
Even the health post, a massive building of light blue concrete, stood among the mild waves. Sheets of plastic or burlap hung from posts to make small outhouses. Wooden planks were side walks.
Kids swam alongside us as we slid through the water. I cringed at the fecal matter that must be covering their skin and splashing into their mouths, but I smiled at them as they smiled up at me, arching their backs to swim like dolphins.
When we reached land again, we wandered back through the stalls, stopping to point at some strip of bark or candle in the shape of a skull.
"What's this?" I asked. And they'd tell me.
I bought some essence of love from a vendor who told me it would work in a day.
"One day is all you need," he told me, sliding his essence of business back into his pants pocket.
Women told us about the indigenous god Apu and his children. They showed us bracelets beaded with red and black seeds, meant to keep away the evil eye. Fans made from straw. Powders. Masks. Paintings.
I didn't want to leave. It was the coolest thing I'd seen so far.
This afternoon, our last afternoon, we went to a zoo called Quistococha. There we saw animals that hid in the trees around the camp where we had slept. Animals we had glided passed without seeing. Toucans. Otters. Anacondas.
When we walked by the puma cage, I stopped and nearly gasped. There it was. The king of the jungle. The animal that tribes used to worship and fear. Man's greatest predator in the Amazon. There it was, pacing in a room, 3 meters long and 3 meters wide. No trees to climb. No grass on its floor. Just a giant litter box and some small scraps of meat.
I've been to dozens of zoos in my life, but I'd never before felt so much sadness for the animals. After seeing their natural habitat, the incredibly beautiful, lush world they are from – the cages seemed so cruel.
But not all the animals were as unsettling as the puma. The tapir, for example, was by far the most friendly. Way larger than I had anticipated -- about the size of a small donkey -- it walked over to where we stood and nuzzled its long nose against the gate. He seemed fascinated with us, and I dubbed him "Señor Tapir."
Leaf cutter ants marched under our feet, tiny black dots beneath large green circles. Macaws and green parrots perched on trees along the path, nibbling on pieces of bread. An old man sat on a bench with a small anaconda and called for us to hold the snake and perhaps, after, a tip.
The sun set as we stepped in one of the many wooden buses that jet around Iquitos. All around us, motorcycles and mototaxis zipped passed, weaving in and out of traffic. There were hardly any cars. A consequence of being a city only accessed by air or water.
A guy jumped up and stole my new sunglasses right off my head as we drove passed the market of Belén. It made me want to cry a little. The people from here have been among the kindest and most generous I've met in Peru. They deserve better than to have jerks like that in their city.
But whatever, I shrugged. They're just sunglasses.
Our last meal was at The Yellow Rose of Texas. We went around the table and recorded our favorite memories of the trip as a final video log.
I liked Sam's answer best. Hers was the bus ride to Chiclayo. Before any of this started.
"There were a million happy moments on this trip," she said. "But ... dreaming about what it would be like to see the Amazon for the first time and ... knowing that in that next week we were going to have all these amazing adventures. ... Just the anticipation of being with everyone and having those memories ... was my favorite part."
We took the long way back to the hostel and stopped to watch three guys perform hysterics in front of a crowd. One of them had been on our bus to the zoo that afternoon, selling candies.
The street lights shined against the heavy stone buildings built during the rubber boom. The river. That huge river that had been our captor and guide for the past week, disappeared into the darkness. And we wandered searching for music but not really caring where we ended up.
Tonight we're going to sleep in our comfy hotel room. With our air conditioning and clean sheets. And we're going to dream of the muddy water, the insects, the singing frogs, the damp bark, the humid air, the rain.
Tomorrow we're going back to our life on the coast. Back to our sites. Back to the dusty highways and endless meetings. But tonight ... Tonight, we sleep with the Amazon.
Me "eating" a piranha
On the canoe, with our guide, César
Blue and yellow macaws
Boat ride to Nauta
Touching an anaconda
Children swimming in the "streets" of Belén
Wooden buses of Iquitos
We're finally here! It's 9:30 p.m., and my eyelids refuse to stay open. It's been a long day.
We arrived at the reserve mid-morning and headed out in groups of 2 + one guide each canoe. It rained, and we spent most of the day pruney, wet and (in my case) cold. Within just a few hours, though, we saw blue and yellow macaws, spider monkeys and a sloth.
The sloth was spotted by Sarah and Jenny first, and they asked the guide if they could get closer to take a look. He paddled toward the tree, whipped out his machete, and chopped down the branch where the sloth had been sleeping.
Sid (yep, we named him) fell into the river, and Sarah and Jen had to pull him up by his arms. The guide said he was a young sloth, maybe equivalent to a teenager. He was small and wet with huge claws. Poor guy. We passed him around from person to person before taking him with us to the hut where we would stop for lunch.
It wasn't exactly immediately, but it didn't take long for us to see the enormous quantities of bugs crawling out from the sloth's fur. Without hand sanitizer or soap, we set the sloth on a pole and dug into our meal.
The guides made a makeshift bathroom for us ladies and on our way back, we saw an electric eel sliding through the water.
It rained a little more in the afternoon, and by the time we arrived to our base camp, we were soaked.
Where we're staying is an elevated cabin with beds and a wood-burning kitchen. There are even bathrooms. I feel a little spoiled.
We dried off and helped make dinner by peeling plantains and yuca, and cleaning fish.
I tried fishing for piranhas and came out with a catfish. Sarah literally took a stab at spear fishing and nabbed one on the second try. While we waited for dinner, we took the canoes out, and Jenny taught be how to paddle. The guides said they had never seen tourists take the canoes out and try to race in them before. To them, it was hilarious.
Klever, our main guide, has been serving us mint tea, and I love it. He grows the mint behind his house. He says it's for prevention of ailments, as we foreigners tend to get sick a lot. It seems to be working. We haven't had many problems.
After dinner we went on a night canoe ride, looking for crocodiles and snakes. Sarah made a very good point that searching for dangerous animals in the dark is a poor decision. But the stars were out, and the frogs were singing again.
The guides wore headlamps while we lay back in the boat. Every once in a while, they would point out a bird or a particular frog. We saw a crocodile eye or two, but no snakes. So far the ride has been my favorite part of the trip. I have never seen so many stars all at once. It's like how I imagine a black marble countertop would look after cooking with flour ... spotted with millions of white specks, almost too close together to seem real.
There are two other groups here, totaling 14 Peace Corps volunteers sleeping at this camp. We're told to get up at 4 a.m. to wake up in time to see the dolphins.
I don't know if i'll be able to sleep. The forest is so loud.
DAY SIX
Klever let us sleep in until 5, but were able to make it into the canoes in time to see the river dolphins. It's crazy. The river inside the reserve is only a few meters across, yet it's deep enough to be home to such a huge creature.
The trees here are incredible. Because soil depends on decomposing organic matter to become fertile, and the forest is two dense to allow this type of decomposition, trees can't rely on deeply-seeded roots to keep them standing. Instead, their roots are long and wide, just barely (if at all) below the surface.
Some trees hover, their trunks high above the ground while their roots sprout like legs beneath them.
We headed back to camp around 10 a.m. The guides went out to fish for us, and we ate fried piranhas for breakfast. I thought that could be a good band name.
Because of the rain, the current was strong. The guides paddled hard and didn't stop until 3 p.m. For lunch, we pulled over to a dry patch of land and chopped cabbage and tomatoes on one of our wooden paddles. We ate rice and boiled eggs under a tarp while it continued to pour.
We made it back to the entrance of the reserve cold, wet and smelly. My tennis shoes squeaked under my toes. Mud covered my jeans, and the yellow poncho Ryan lent me had a tear in the back.
I had never been so happy to see a shower. We cleaned up and sprawled on our hostel beds. Jenny and Tania sang along to Ryan's iPod while I washed my clothes in the sink.
Klever said there's no boat that leaves tonight. We'll have to wait to leave for Iquitos until tomorrow.
DAY SEVEN
The power went out in the middle of the night, and we slept without a fan. Our room is smelly and hot, but we woke energized.
Jenny, Sam, Sarah and I went to Klever's in the morning. Apparently, there's no boat leaving for Iquitos today either. If we wait until tomorrow we would barely make our flight back to Lima. We spent the morning walking around with him, looking for a way to get to the city.
The other two groups were in the same position, and so we decided to combine our efforts in our search for transportation.
We spent the morning frantic and slightly stressed out. Samantha, in her ever-present wisdom, turned to me and said in that calming voice she has, "Every great story has a conflict."
A guy came by to say that he could take us to a town 6 to 8 hours downriver for double the price of the regular boat. And from there we could take a car to Iquitos.
By noon we were at the docks waiting. There was a medium-sized roofed boat floating there. It was rotting, and there was only a hole cut out in the floor for a bathroom. We asked if we could hang our hammocks. They laughed. We didn't know why.
Another boat -- an open-air canoe pulled up alongside the shore in front of the larger boat. A small motor sat in back, and there were no benches to sit on.
That was our boat.
It looked like it couldn't hold more than 10 people, and we were 14 + our backpacks and the three guys in charge of the motor and searching for logs.
Before we boarded, they loaded two large barrels of gasoline on each end.
We motored off, waving back to a town watching us leave.
We spent the hours reading, laughing, singing, video logging, snacking and watching the stars. Dark clouds rolled in, and we huddled under the tarp to keep warm. We were all soaked from the spray coming off the side of the boat. Every part of our body was sore from being cramped and stagnant. Hardly any of us slept through the night.
DAY EIGHT
The next morning, we arrived early to the town of Nauta, where we could take a bus to Iquitos.
They tried to charge us 10 soles, when the ticket really cost 8. Sarah reamed them out and threatened to go to the police station to place charges.
We got to the hotel and took turns showering. Despite washing my clothes in the sink at our hostel in Lagunas, everything smelled terrible. The front desk told us we could wash our things at a lavandería around the corner. We dumped all of our smelliest things in a market bag and lugged it the three blocks to the laundry mat.
Our guide book said there was an American restaurant just a few blocks from our hotel. We sat down among Texas memorabilia and pictures of content customers from all around the world. We ordered chili cheese fries and onion rings and barbecue chicken sandwiches, and thought we might die of happiness.
The rest of the day, we wandered through an artisan market, and I bought a rain stick. The sun was shining. It was the first day of our trip that it hadn't rained.
We went down to the docks to see where the Amazon river rushes past Iquitos and ate grubs grilled over fire wood. They tasted a bit like sausage, and a little pieces of the grub head got stuck in my teeth.
Apparently, the guys from the bus who had overcharged us tracked down some of the other volunteers traveling with and gave us back the money. This city is just full of surprises.
I can't believe tomorrow will be our last day here.
DAY NINE
We woke early. Apparently, no longer used to the idea of sleeping through the night. Showered and clean, we hopped in mototaxis to see the market of Belén.
I needed flip-flops, sunglasses and brazil nuts, but I kept getting distracted by the crocodile tails, pig heads and turtle legs. It looked like every other market in Peru, yet every stall made me stop and stare.
"What's this?" I asked. And they'd let me taste it.
Most of the fruit was sour. Bitter. One called aguaje tasted like mashed potatoes.
There's a sector in Belén that is covered in water half of the year. All the houses are built on stilts, and people canoe to school instead of walking. We shuffled hesitantly into a small canoe -- so sick of boats already -- and paddled through the "streets" and in between houses.
Where do they put their trash? I asked the policemen accompanying us. Where do they go to the bathroom? Where do they get their water? They shrugged and pointed to the murky brown beneath our boat.
Even the health post, a massive building of light blue concrete, stood among the mild waves. Sheets of plastic or burlap hung from posts to make small outhouses. Wooden planks were side walks.
Kids swam alongside us as we slid through the water. I cringed at the fecal matter that must be covering their skin and splashing into their mouths, but I smiled at them as they smiled up at me, arching their backs to swim like dolphins.
When we reached land again, we wandered back through the stalls, stopping to point at some strip of bark or candle in the shape of a skull.
"What's this?" I asked. And they'd tell me.
I bought some essence of love from a vendor who told me it would work in a day.
"One day is all you need," he told me, sliding his essence of business back into his pants pocket.
Women told us about the indigenous god Apu and his children. They showed us bracelets beaded with red and black seeds, meant to keep away the evil eye. Fans made from straw. Powders. Masks. Paintings.
I didn't want to leave. It was the coolest thing I'd seen so far.
This afternoon, our last afternoon, we went to a zoo called Quistococha. There we saw animals that hid in the trees around the camp where we had slept. Animals we had glided passed without seeing. Toucans. Otters. Anacondas.
When we walked by the puma cage, I stopped and nearly gasped. There it was. The king of the jungle. The animal that tribes used to worship and fear. Man's greatest predator in the Amazon. There it was, pacing in a room, 3 meters long and 3 meters wide. No trees to climb. No grass on its floor. Just a giant litter box and some small scraps of meat.
I've been to dozens of zoos in my life, but I'd never before felt so much sadness for the animals. After seeing their natural habitat, the incredibly beautiful, lush world they are from – the cages seemed so cruel.
But not all the animals were as unsettling as the puma. The tapir, for example, was by far the most friendly. Way larger than I had anticipated -- about the size of a small donkey -- it walked over to where we stood and nuzzled its long nose against the gate. He seemed fascinated with us, and I dubbed him "Señor Tapir."
Leaf cutter ants marched under our feet, tiny black dots beneath large green circles. Macaws and green parrots perched on trees along the path, nibbling on pieces of bread. An old man sat on a bench with a small anaconda and called for us to hold the snake and perhaps, after, a tip.
The sun set as we stepped in one of the many wooden buses that jet around Iquitos. All around us, motorcycles and mototaxis zipped passed, weaving in and out of traffic. There were hardly any cars. A consequence of being a city only accessed by air or water.
A guy jumped up and stole my new sunglasses right off my head as we drove passed the market of Belén. It made me want to cry a little. The people from here have been among the kindest and most generous I've met in Peru. They deserve better than to have jerks like that in their city.
But whatever, I shrugged. They're just sunglasses.
Our last meal was at The Yellow Rose of Texas. We went around the table and recorded our favorite memories of the trip as a final video log.
I liked Sam's answer best. Hers was the bus ride to Chiclayo. Before any of this started.
"There were a million happy moments on this trip," she said. "But ... dreaming about what it would be like to see the Amazon for the first time and ... knowing that in that next week we were going to have all these amazing adventures. ... Just the anticipation of being with everyone and having those memories ... was my favorite part."
We took the long way back to the hostel and stopped to watch three guys perform hysterics in front of a crowd. One of them had been on our bus to the zoo that afternoon, selling candies.
The street lights shined against the heavy stone buildings built during the rubber boom. The river. That huge river that had been our captor and guide for the past week, disappeared into the darkness. And we wandered searching for music but not really caring where we ended up.
Tonight we're going to sleep in our comfy hotel room. With our air conditioning and clean sheets. And we're going to dream of the muddy water, the insects, the singing frogs, the damp bark, the humid air, the rain.
Tomorrow we're going back to our life on the coast. Back to our sites. Back to the dusty highways and endless meetings. But tonight ... Tonight, we sleep with the Amazon.
Me "eating" a piranha
On the canoe, with our guide, César
Blue and yellow macaws
Boat ride to Nauta
Touching an anaconda
Children swimming in the "streets" of Belén
Market of Belén
Wooden buses of Iquitos
Trip to the Amazon | Part One
DAY ONE
I've barely slept in days. Not because I'm freaking out excited about leaving for the jungle today, but because I've been trying to get everything work-wise set in motion before I drop off the planet for 10 days. Where we are going there is no cell phone reception. No text messaging. No e-mail. Nothing to keep me in contact with my site or work life.
It will just be the six of us and the Amazon.
DAY TWO
On the bus ride from Chiclayo to Tarrapoto they gave us barf bags. I wasn't sure whether to be frightened or not. It had been raining hard, and landslides were a definitely possibility.
We lucked out. In 18 hours we went from desert coast through the mountains and into the high jungle. Again, I hardly slept through the night. Sarah and I froze as we went through the highest passes, making it impossible to fall asleep. That and the movie they showed before lights out was I AM LEGEND, which terrifies the gajeebas out of me. I clung to Jenny's sleeve the whole ride.
But now we're here in Tarrapota, safe, in one piece, and barf bags unused (though the reason they gave them out super obvious). We got to the hotel and heard that another Peace Corps group left the day before we did and got caught in the aftermath of a landslide. They were stuck on the bus for 28 hours.
We were exhausted but decided to go to a waterfall that is apparently quite the tourist attraction. Someone (*coughRyanandJennycough*) decided it was a good idea to jump from a landing a few meters above the pool at its base. The water was FREEZING. But I jumped! Even though I was terrified. I want to start this trip off right.
DAY THREE
To get to a place called the Blue Lagoon, we had to cross a river. The whole ride takes two hours, even though it's really only about 30 minutes away. The reason is because there's no bridge. Cars and buses form a queue to get on a ferry that takes them across before they can continue on the road. Only three vehicles are allowed at a time with its passengers.
The "ferry" is nothing more than three large canoes tied together with boards on top and three motors propelling them. Three men man the motors, pushing forward as much as they can before the current can pull them back.
We saw a long cable stretching across the water.
"What's that?" We asked our driver.
"The ferry used to be connected to that line, but it flipped over and sank." He said. "There was too much weight."
"When was this?" We ask ... expecting anything but the answer we were given.
"Last week."
Our eyes darted the van full of beefed up soldiers in line in front of us.
As we crossed, we saw a line jut from the cable and into the water mid-stream, the weight from the sunken load pulling on the cord making it bow.
Thankfully, we made it across safely and to the lagoon, where we swam and ate boiled plantains with peanuts and cheese.
On our way back, we didn't have to wait as long.
Back at the hotel, we showered in ice-cold water. I tugged on long sleeves, and we headed to a restaurant to try local food like paiche and juanes.
We're beginning to feel like we don't speak Spanish anymore. All the words are different, and we can barely understand the menu. When in doubt, we assume it's the name of a fish.
We ordered a sampler platter and some juanes – a corn/rice mash-up cooked inside a banana leaf with chicken or pork. I've had it before in Lima. But this one was terrible. The sampler, on the hand, was amazing. Venison, ham, and something that tasted a lot like bacon. I'm beginning to feel very Peruvian. I barely noticed the lack of vegetables.
There was some confusion after we got back about whether there would be a boat the next day. I guess we'll have to see.
We've decided to make a video log of our adventure.
DAY FOUR
We left this morning at 4 a.m. The owner of the hostel where we were staying woke us up at 3:30 and asked why we weren't ready to go yet. She sounds like she's singing when she talks, and it works like a lullaby. I'm so tired.
We took a car to a town where we could catch a boat to the reserve. The daughter of our guide met us at the docks and fed us breakfast before grabbing our hammocks to hang up in the boat.
It's Easter Sunday, and the regular boat wasn't going downriver. Instead we were shuffled into a smaller one with the 120 other travelers leaving today.
We walked onto the boat and nearly were decapitated by hammocks. At least 40 hammocks were hanging in a room about 40ft x 20ft. Everywhere, people were tucked inside their hammocks and sitting along the walls. Luggage piled up below the series of sunken cloths, and we had to duck, crawl, and backbend to get into ours in the center of the space.
Jenny had the great idea of going head to toe so that we could fit. Anytime we had to go to the bathroom, we had to do the dance again. Ducking, sliding, shimmying our way to the back ledge.
There was a kitchen though. And they fed us rice and fried potatoes with a small piece of chicken. Our guide's wife traveled with us, and she made us jelly sandwiches.
We slept or read most of the day, stopping hourly to make a video log. Kids were climbing beneath us asking us questions. I don't think they've ever seen a gringo before. Or at least not so many. They liked playing hide and seek, despite not being able to move from our positions in the hammocks.
We discovered around hour 5 (of 10) that we could leave the main cabin and venture up to the roof of the boat to get some air. I nearly slipped trying to climb up and had to get help from some men who were laughing at me.
Tania hung her feet off the edge for a while, but a guy told her to stop.
"There are things in there that will bite your feet right off," he said.
She laughed. He didn't.
"No ... really."
It was a beautiful view of the river. We came close to the shore, and I could hear the frogs singing inside the forest.
We landed in a town called Lagunas that's near the reserve where we'll be canoeing and camping. Our guide met us at the docks and took us to a hotel where we're sleeping 3 to a double room. It doesn't matter much though because we leave early tomorrow for the reserve where we'll present our guides with a list we've made.
TO DO:
Waiting for the bus to leave Chiclayo.
Waterfall near Tarrapoto
Waiting for the ferry
Boiled sweet plantain with peanuts
Squished together in hammocks.
Hanging out on top of the boat
I've barely slept in days. Not because I'm freaking out excited about leaving for the jungle today, but because I've been trying to get everything work-wise set in motion before I drop off the planet for 10 days. Where we are going there is no cell phone reception. No text messaging. No e-mail. Nothing to keep me in contact with my site or work life.
It will just be the six of us and the Amazon.
DAY TWO
On the bus ride from Chiclayo to Tarrapoto they gave us barf bags. I wasn't sure whether to be frightened or not. It had been raining hard, and landslides were a definitely possibility.
We lucked out. In 18 hours we went from desert coast through the mountains and into the high jungle. Again, I hardly slept through the night. Sarah and I froze as we went through the highest passes, making it impossible to fall asleep. That and the movie they showed before lights out was I AM LEGEND, which terrifies the gajeebas out of me. I clung to Jenny's sleeve the whole ride.
But now we're here in Tarrapota, safe, in one piece, and barf bags unused (though the reason they gave them out super obvious). We got to the hotel and heard that another Peace Corps group left the day before we did and got caught in the aftermath of a landslide. They were stuck on the bus for 28 hours.
We were exhausted but decided to go to a waterfall that is apparently quite the tourist attraction. Someone (*coughRyanandJennycough*) decided it was a good idea to jump from a landing a few meters above the pool at its base. The water was FREEZING. But I jumped! Even though I was terrified. I want to start this trip off right.
DAY THREE
To get to a place called the Blue Lagoon, we had to cross a river. The whole ride takes two hours, even though it's really only about 30 minutes away. The reason is because there's no bridge. Cars and buses form a queue to get on a ferry that takes them across before they can continue on the road. Only three vehicles are allowed at a time with its passengers.
The "ferry" is nothing more than three large canoes tied together with boards on top and three motors propelling them. Three men man the motors, pushing forward as much as they can before the current can pull them back.
We saw a long cable stretching across the water.
"What's that?" We asked our driver.
"The ferry used to be connected to that line, but it flipped over and sank." He said. "There was too much weight."
"When was this?" We ask ... expecting anything but the answer we were given.
"Last week."
Our eyes darted the van full of beefed up soldiers in line in front of us.
As we crossed, we saw a line jut from the cable and into the water mid-stream, the weight from the sunken load pulling on the cord making it bow.
Thankfully, we made it across safely and to the lagoon, where we swam and ate boiled plantains with peanuts and cheese.
On our way back, we didn't have to wait as long.
Back at the hotel, we showered in ice-cold water. I tugged on long sleeves, and we headed to a restaurant to try local food like paiche and juanes.
We're beginning to feel like we don't speak Spanish anymore. All the words are different, and we can barely understand the menu. When in doubt, we assume it's the name of a fish.
We ordered a sampler platter and some juanes – a corn/rice mash-up cooked inside a banana leaf with chicken or pork. I've had it before in Lima. But this one was terrible. The sampler, on the hand, was amazing. Venison, ham, and something that tasted a lot like bacon. I'm beginning to feel very Peruvian. I barely noticed the lack of vegetables.
There was some confusion after we got back about whether there would be a boat the next day. I guess we'll have to see.
We've decided to make a video log of our adventure.
DAY FOUR
We left this morning at 4 a.m. The owner of the hostel where we were staying woke us up at 3:30 and asked why we weren't ready to go yet. She sounds like she's singing when she talks, and it works like a lullaby. I'm so tired.
We took a car to a town where we could catch a boat to the reserve. The daughter of our guide met us at the docks and fed us breakfast before grabbing our hammocks to hang up in the boat.
It's Easter Sunday, and the regular boat wasn't going downriver. Instead we were shuffled into a smaller one with the 120 other travelers leaving today.
We walked onto the boat and nearly were decapitated by hammocks. At least 40 hammocks were hanging in a room about 40ft x 20ft. Everywhere, people were tucked inside their hammocks and sitting along the walls. Luggage piled up below the series of sunken cloths, and we had to duck, crawl, and backbend to get into ours in the center of the space.
Jenny had the great idea of going head to toe so that we could fit. Anytime we had to go to the bathroom, we had to do the dance again. Ducking, sliding, shimmying our way to the back ledge.
There was a kitchen though. And they fed us rice and fried potatoes with a small piece of chicken. Our guide's wife traveled with us, and she made us jelly sandwiches.
We slept or read most of the day, stopping hourly to make a video log. Kids were climbing beneath us asking us questions. I don't think they've ever seen a gringo before. Or at least not so many. They liked playing hide and seek, despite not being able to move from our positions in the hammocks.
We discovered around hour 5 (of 10) that we could leave the main cabin and venture up to the roof of the boat to get some air. I nearly slipped trying to climb up and had to get help from some men who were laughing at me.
Tania hung her feet off the edge for a while, but a guy told her to stop.
"There are things in there that will bite your feet right off," he said.
She laughed. He didn't.
"No ... really."
It was a beautiful view of the river. We came close to the shore, and I could hear the frogs singing inside the forest.
We landed in a town called Lagunas that's near the reserve where we'll be canoeing and camping. Our guide met us at the docks and took us to a hotel where we're sleeping 3 to a double room. It doesn't matter much though because we leave early tomorrow for the reserve where we'll present our guides with a list we've made.
TO DO:
- Hold a sloth
- Swing from a vine
- Eat a piranha
- See a monkey
- " river dolphins
- " a tucan
- " an anaconda
Waiting for the bus to leave Chiclayo.
Waterfall near Tarrapoto
Waiting for the ferry
Boiled sweet plantain with peanuts
Squished together in hammocks.
Hanging out on top of the boat
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