Robyn in Peru: Trip to the Amazon

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.