More from Peru

Iquitos ... 8 Aug.

We saw the Amazon River for the first time this morning. Two blocks from our hotel, there is a boardwalk with stone railing, benches and a grand sense to it. The boardwalk is on a bluff perhaps 50 feet above the flood plain for the river. It's the dry season, so the Amazon is a good distance from the city. Its banks are broad and covered in green grasses dotted with trees. To the south, the barrio of Belen, a floating villiage sometimes called the Venice of South America, is visible in the distance.

Altogether, the view seemed like something I've seen before -- some exotic, wild, pastoral and vivid scene that already existed in my brain. I don't recall every seeing a photo of this place, but the scene was so incredibly familiar that I must have seen something similar before. The flood plain was huge, the river off in the distance, dotted with large islands and all sorts of twists and tributaries.

Kate and I walked along the boardwalk for several blocks, then winded our way back toward the Plaza de Armas. On every street was a swarm of the mototaxis or tuk-tuks or whatever they're called -- the motorcycles with the passenger carts on back. Soemthing about the atmosphere -- these tuk-tuks racing up and down the streets without regard to the idea of lands -- made both of us feel a little giddy. It's hard to describe the feeling, but we were really enjoying ourselves.

It's hot and sticky and lout and a touch chaotic here, but I'd say we both like it a lot.

After a loop around the Plaza, we headed back to the waterfront to visit a "museum," which appears to be a functioning government building. We looked at some statues of native people from tribes here -- made of plaster casts of actual people -- and some photos of old Iquitos. We sat for a spell in the courtyard, and a policeman came up and started talking to us. He asked us where we were from and then proceeded to go on at great length about a variety of topics in Spanish that I could barely follow. As far as I could tell, he told us something about the white people needing shoes in the jungle where the tribal people don't need them, something about Columbia collapsing because of the drug trade, something about how the Indians hunt and something about the height of most Indians compared to the one tall statue of a chief in the courtyard.

Just as I did this morning when an African-American woman named Orchidy told us about prostelytizing tbe "word of god" to "untouched" peoples in the jungle, I acted like I understood what he was saying and was impressed by it. We gave him a postcard of Cape Foulweather to thank him for his exuberant sharing of information. We were just about to extract ourselves from the coversation and leave the building when a guide showed up and somehow swooped Kata and me and a man from Colorado into a "tour group" (only the three of us). So we ended up paying about $8 for the privilege of seeing the statues *again* -- this time with a *little* interpretation. But the upside was that we were ushered into a room where previously we had spied some kind of government meeting going on. It was empty in there, and the guide asked us to sit at the table -- apparently, it was the meeting room for the govenor of Lareto, *department* of Lareto. We sat in ornate mahogany chairs with plush velvet cushions and had photos taken -- a fun little diversion.

Later, after returning to the hotel to cool off for a few minutes, we went to luch at a great local Peruvian restaurant near the hotel. Yummy chicken and pork and ceviche and some kind of jungle fruit juice -- a whole pitcher of it.All it all, it cost us about 22 soles, $7 or $8. Very good food for that price.

We spend the hot afternoon in a bar drinking cyperingas (spell?), some kind of Brazilian drink Kate brought home aftera a business trip. The bartended jammed the class with limes and the liquor and ice, and we drank that nice refreshing beverage and wrote postcards. Afterward, we paid for tomorrow's trip to the lodge and met Carolina, whom I've been e-mailing at Muyuna.

We returned to the hotel for another *brief* sietsta, then headed out to the artisans market in San Juan. We bought a few trinkets, but the notable moment came when one woman shop owner pulled a baby sloth out of a piece of potter and showed it to us. Kate wanted to photograph it, and the woman was happy to oblige -- by handing the sloth to *me!* It was a small, furry thing with very sharp claws that had a good grip on my fingers. Kate popped off photos while I stood there squirming a bit like someone hoding a stinking baby covered in poop or something -- away from me and a bit scared looking, I guess. I wasn't scary, but it was hurting my finger a little bit. And I feared getting leshmaniasis from it, to tell the truth. Her photos will probably be funny if they have enough light in them -- it is an outdoor market, and it was dark by then.

We took a tuk-tuk to get to the market and back. It was about $1 each way. The rides were fun. It is one thing to look at the chaos of the tuk-tuk and motorcycle traffic from the sidewalk, but altogether different to be in the middle of it as a passenger. I'm not sure how they avoid wrecks, but the experience felt both safe and thrilling. I'm sure the thrilling part was the newness of this mode of transportation, but I felt much safer than I -- or most people I know -- would expect. Very fun. And nice to have a breeze, even if it came covered in gas fumes.

10 August ... Amazon Jungle

This is our second night in the Amazon. If I were a truly *dedicated* journalist, I would've written last night at length about our experiences in this amazing and vast wilderness.

But, as luck would have it, the jinx I seem to have with boating activities -- specifically, getting INTO the boat -- was plaguing me yesterday. Upon our departure from Iquitos to come up to Muyuna lodge here, I lost my balance trying to board the boat -- trying to take a step up something that was at about hip level. And in front of 8 other guests, the guides, driver and dozens of jungle boat crews down at the boat launch, I fell on my ass in the mud -- and almost took my head out on the bow of another boat to boot. I did not feel like writing yesterday, not only because I was in somewhat poor spirits from the experience but because my lower back was aching something fierce. I was in a good bit of pain all day, all night and into today. Sitting in a boat on a seat similar to the cheap bleachers in a stadium is no way to cure and aching lower back.

And the situation was only compounded by the machismo of the guides, who decided -- I guess -- to interpret my mishap as a sign that I am a clumsy, feeble tourist who is in over her head in this dense and hard jungle. One insisted on treating me like a grandmother and holding my hand and saying things like, "This way, madame" or "Step here, madame" even to walk up a hillside or up some stairs from the dock. The other -- Ucil -- the guide we've been assigned actually asked me if it was going to be a problem for me to canoe for two hours (downstream!) in a dugout in which four or five other people would be paddling. I felt like saying to him, Three weeks of paddling 8 to 10 hours a day in the mosquito-infested North Woods is not too much for me, sir. Why would you even *ask* me a question like that? But I simply said, My back is bothering me, it's true. But I really don't think it will be a problem. And I am a very good canoeist.

These kinds of humiliations and difficulties and pains aside, this has been an intriguing and other-worldly experience thus far. This jungle, this rain forest, is massive beyond comparison. Iquitos is hundreds of miles into it but is only at one "end" of it. We took a boat upstream 80 or 90 miles yesterday -- four hours of non-stop (nearly) motoring -- the last two in a smaller boat that can pass through the narrow mouth of the Yanuyacu River even when the waters are receeding here in the dry season. The Amazon itself is low -- you can see the channel it cuts during the high season, and it's dozens of feet below that level now. But, beyond that, the river floods the flat land on either side sometimes for miles and miles. You can see the water marks on the barks of trees that are partially submerged in the high water season. Although I hear the mosquitos are incredibly miserably at that time of year, especially April and May, I'd like to come back to the river in high water and see how different it is.

After our 4-hour journey, we ate lunch at the lodge and then went on another boat excursion to "look for anything that moves." Kate is keeping a list, and I will record the full list at the end of this trip. In brief, there were quite a few birds -- egrets, hawks, kingfishers of several sorts -- and a couple monkeys. We returned to the lodge to shower and clean up before dinner, then in the evening, we went out on a night excursion in the boat, where we saw several sloths and an Amazon boa constrictor way up in the treetops. I'm sure all this sitting in boads has only made the muscle injury from my fall all the worse.

This morning we took that paddle -- two hours down the Yanayacu to its connection with the Amazon. There is a village at the junction -- Ayachuco is the name, I think. While we were there waiting for our lunch to be cooked, we walked around the village and saw the manner in which people lived. It goes beyond calling it "rustic." They live in houses made of roughly hewn tree trucks (as stilts), atop which most have layered thin, straight branches to make a floor. These are covered with the thatched roofs of palm trees. They are similar to the construction we saw in Panama, but most of the houses in Panama were constructed of plank floros and had walls. These had no walls. Only open air, with the entire family sharing the space of one big platform.

Ucil made a point of noting that sex is not taboo. How could it be in these conditions? There is absolutely *no* privacy. In fact, as we stood outside the house talking, we might as well have been standing IN it -- so open was the architecture. Ucil gave us some insight into the marriage customs -- how local tribes get together for a big soccer match to let single people check out their options -- and some information about the schooling and the life cycle of the kids and families.

After lunch, we got into the boat and again went in the Amazon, looking for pink river dolphins. I had seen one the day before when we were boating up here, but no one else had seen it. We did see them -- and the gray dolphins -- today.

And then, much to Kate's delight, we all took a plunge into that great mythic river and swam in the Amazon. Of course, this is unforgettable in its own right. A memory to be shared among those exotic moments that may never find us again. The water, brown and silty, was the most refreshing temperature. Neither cold nor warm, but it was a great way to soothe the heat from our skin, as the sun on the water is very intense and we'd been in the boat for a couple hours today. But it is also just the thrill of being in a situation so ... well ... the funny thing is the urge to compare it to anything else. It is swimming in the Amazon River. It is being in the Amazon basin and being hot and tired and sweaty and covered with dirt from walking around the local village and applying so much sunscreen and bug spray that you're not sure where your skin is anymore -- then jumping over the side of a dugout peki-peki (a motorized dugout -- we had transferred to a slightly larger boat at the village so we could handle the currents). And it is closing your mouth so you don't swallow the silt, the bacteria, the parasites -- the exotic bugs -- and feeling that nice cool water envelope you. Then, it is having little fish come suck at you, curious if you are edible. And it is wondering just what was that thing which brushed up against you just then. It is finding salvation from the hot sun and the muggy air for a few minutes. *That* is swimming in the Amazon. It shouldn't be compared to anyting else by way of explaining what it is like to be in such a mythic body of water. This will probably be the "swimming flag" that Kate and I will be most thrilled to place on our travel map at home.

After our swim, we were heading back up river toward the mouth of the Yanuyacu when the motor on the peki-peki went out. Suddenly, there we all were -- me, Kate, two Dutch people named Jenin and Arnaud and an adventure travel guide writer named Nick, Ucil and the driver, Cleever -- adrift on the Amazon with only *one* paddle. The current in the river is strong, and I don't know that this one paddle could've even gotten us to shore. Fortunately, another group from the lodge had taken a similar trip -- no canoeing, no village -- to see the dolphins and were downstream of us. About half an hour later, they came along and one 15 HP little peki-peki motor towed our boats -- first as a flotilla, then as a direct tow -- back to the lodge. This was a difficult task, as the Yanuyacu's mouth is narrow and quite shallow in the dry season. We got stuck several times, and the swift current we were going against made the going *very slow.* It was three hours from the time they rescued us until we got back to the lodge, probably a journey of 45 minutes or an hour in a properly powered boat that isn't loaded with goods in addition to its passengers.

Darkness fell, the mosquitos came out, Cleever took a serious interest in my marital status (Thank god for the "boyfriends," Thor & Bob, who are "surfing in Mancora" while Kate and I visit the jungle), as well as wanting to know all about my plans for childbirth (soon, I told him). But Cleever also found something for me in the darkness. I asked, and he happily pointed out the Southern Cross. There it was. My first time to see the Southern Cross. And in the Amazon to boot.