2-14-02
Thurs - flight to Iquitos home to mosquitoes.
Time for the jungle outfit, long pants, long sleeves and much
insecticide. Too many of us covered with Deet and probably all the bugs will
die. Iquitos, down river, markets burst, humid, and dizzying, trapped on a
jungle isle.
Iquitos
Startling busy market, vital with commerce and colorful fruit, street of balloons as we are bused through the city to catch our boat to the river roadways of the Amazon.
25 miles to Explorama Lodge – the pet tapir wanders porches,
screeching macaws wearing yellows, reds and blue. 
It was very relaxing on the porches and in
the hammocks.
Our rooms are basic with two single beds boxed by mosquito netting. Just to make our friends think we suffered, there was no hot water, drink only the bottled, spit your tooth brushing foam out the open window. At night everything including the thatched walkways is lit
Explorama
by kerosene lanterns. The latrines leave something to be desired. Oh god, I hope not to get up in the middle of the night, dress and go toddling off - poor souls with diarrhea.
It is a short walk to village of the Yagua; the women and men are in native garb which means they are not wearing very much. In this heat, it looks like a fine idea. The people don’t appear to understand English; what our guide says in describing their village and the old ways feels condescending. I feel their boredom in this stifling afternoon – swinging in hammocks and grooming the hair. Do they feel on display – Roldan says they are proud of their old ways. We buy, of course we buy, necklaces of seeds and quill. Paul had to take photos of the women, each with the necklace she made. Blowgun demo – then many of us tried, despite cringing slightly about putting our mouths on the gun although we probably have more germs than the people do. I couldn’t make the dart leave the tube. When we were back in Lima, Paul was browsing a Spanish newspaper and noticed an article concerning demonstrations by people like the Yagua who felt the government was ignoring their problems.
After dinner night ride in the swamps. This feels like a bad movie when you wait for the monster to get the poor folks in the boat. We saw many sleeping beautiful birds in the branches, not even to be awakened by our lights in their faces. We, too, are early to bed.
2-15-02 Fri
This day we travel 100 miles from Iquitos on the Napo River, a tributary of the Amazon. We stop at a clinic run by a woman doctor from Wisconsin. She is impressive in her efforts to create a self-sufficient clinic that will work for the people even if she is not there. We also stop at a sugar cane rum factory for a tasting. Paul buys a bottle of 7 root flavored medicinal (hah) rum. It actually tastes pretty good, for medicine.
This lodge is basically the same as the first with a large common dining room and bar, thatched walkways and sleeping areas. There are no screens. In the afternoon, we go to a medicine garden, meet a shaman with a beautiful old face and learn about some of the native plants. Santa Maria is a large leaf that is folded and placed on the forehead for headache. I had been sleepy (after eating, it feels like a heavy hand pushing you down into sleep) and after using it felt curiously refreshed and alert. Shamans and shamans-in-training, even ten year olds, must smoke cigarettes as part of gaining wisdom. This doesn’t rest well with the group who know well the dangers of smoking.
2-16-02 Sat after breakfast, we make a trip to the canopy walkway 100 feet up in the treetops. It is made of cable-supported aluminum ladders covered with boards to create a narrow path – only two or three allowed on each segment. We did not see much except plant life and a small lizard.
Living in jungle lodges is much a tribal situation. At night, even though we are separated by thin walls, I can hear everyone breathing in the rooms on either side. It is no secret about who the snorers are. I have gotten past feelings of being trapped in the jungle, but it is true there are no roads except the river.
Canopy Walkway
2-17-02
We move to a lodge closer to Iquitos for better proximity to the airport. It’s a good thing we didn’t stop here first – it would have ruined us for the rest. Here there are private rooms with showers (and flushing toilets) and a swimming pool.
After lunch we take a trip to a nearby village. The homes, as ours, reflect different levels of cleanliness. It is a primitive way to live with shockingly little sleeping space and no real beds, but the children seem healthy and happy. As we walk the path along the riverbank, they bounce along with us, trying to communicate, the little boys showing off by climbing trees. There is a school, now closed for summer and the inevitable soccer field.
A trip to the black water for piranha fishing. There is so much life along the river. Pink dolphins, families getting drinking water, washing clothes and swimming. The boats that pass along provide entertainment for the children. Everyone is on the water’s edge. The river is their life.
2-18-02
Monday
A madcap ride from river to river on three-wheeled motor cabs – hold on for your life. This effectively cuts distance from our river trip to Iquitos. More boat and then the bus to the airport.
The
Amazon 10
Back to Lima in its summer warmth, its seductive breeze whispering through the bus windows. We are guideless as our guide Rodald remained in Iquitos. There are parasailors overhead on the cliffs of Miraflores. We are given day rooms in our original hotel.
We lunch at an outdoor restaurant and take one last shopping expedition on Larco, the main street in this district. My favorite people are all together; we return to pack and gear up for the return to our regular lives. The farewells are sad, some tearful as Paul and I leave after dinner for the airport. Only the two of us are flying through Miami, the others will leave later.
2-19-02 Just after midnight our plane leaves.
Oh Lima, farewell!
Farewell all you
boats in the port,
ships at anchor
I may never see your face again
Bless the streets
of Peru and her cities, too
The mountains and river,
many faces of her people
Karen
Keeney Feb 2002
