31st of January – 9th of February
Lima
At the end of a long day of connecting flights and sitting around in airports grumbling to myself about the coffee, I arrive in Lima on the evening of the 31st of January. The Peruvian coast breaks onto a narrow strip of habitable land between the Pacific and the Andes, and it’s here that the country’s capital sits – wedged tightly between the two.
The sky is sand-coloured, as are the roads; and half-finished would be a generous assessment of most of the buildings. Lima is noticeably shabbier than the other two capitals I’ve visited on this trip. Humid too – I’m grateful for my buzz cut or I’d be fully bouffed up. But I’m glad to be rid of the winds of Patagonia, and the heat brings a welcome change.
Beyond the mountainous regions to the north east of the country is jungle – Amazonian jungle. This is another biggie for me – the Amazon. The actual Amazon! Lungs of the world; our greatest rainforest, whose stories are yet to be fully told, and whose existence hangs so delicately in the balance. And the river with no equal. Sure, the Nile can claim to be marginally longer, but by any other calculation the Amazon is unrivalled – its discharge[1] into the Atlantic is greater than the next seven longest rivers combined.
I’ve arranged to meet an old friend from New York – Jenna – in Lima and travel around Peru together. I was initially hesitant at the idea – I set out for this trip to be a personal journey – but, in the spirit of growth, the journey within is teaching me the importance of not trying to do everything by myself. Jenna likes a plan; I like to rock up and see what happens – let’s see how this goes. At the very least we’ll be able to take some pictures of one another for Instagram.
Peru – and Lima in particular – is known for its food culture, so we start day one with a celebration lunch at Kjolle. We have a lot to catch up on, having not hung out properly in almost five years, so an ideal setting to reacquaint. The restauranteur, Pía León, is married to Virgilio Martínez, who happens to be sitting at the table across from us – his restaurant, Central, is next door. Aside from the quality you’d expect from a restaurant of this calibre, it’s the variety of ingredients – and the olfactory experience – that set this apart: various barks, herbs and spices, and copal, burn throughout the restaurant – seemingly in time with each of the eight courses. The pour-over coffee at the end is a nice bonus, but it’s not as good as mine. We did have a reservation at Central, too, but I’ll have to come home and get a job earlier than planned if I keep this up.
Amongst other excellent eateries, we dine (twice) at Siete – a simpler menu and a more intimate setting, but by no means less enjoyable. The razor clams, and the chocolate tart (also twice), are highlights.
In between gorging myself, I manage to get an hour’s surfing in. I have limited success and exhaustion sets in quickly, but it’s a privilege to be able to surf in the shadow of the Lima cliffs and an exhilarating reminder of my need to get back to the beaches soon.
Are you sure the medium still fits?
We hatch a plan to hire a Hilux and drive through the mountains and on to the jungle, actually going as far as to rent the truck. I miss driving, and I’m excited to make a playlist and give it laldy on some of the hairpins (switchbacks) along the route. The following day, however, reality sets in when we realise there are no hotels along the route and are told by some bikers that many of the roads have collapsed. A helpful reminder that life is a little different over here.
The Amazon jungle
The flight to Tarapoto is short, and we arrive in noticeably more humid conditions. The accommodation is a tree house resort next to the Huallaga River: a rushing, fulsome tributary of the Amazon. Three days of largely relaxation are planned; and mercifully, with the river a constant torrent, no mosquitos. A chance to catch up on some of the sleep I missed out on in Patagonia.
On the first morning, we take a short hike up a mountain path, which brings us to a waterfall and natural bathing pool. We’re assured it’s safe to swim[2], so I’m down to my speedos and under the waterfall for Instagram in a heartbeat.
A man in Speedos and sandals – not a usual sight, judging by the look on the faces of the locals.
A trip into the town the following day involves a visit to Jane; the proprietor of which has curated beautiful art and crafts from Peruvian indigenous peoples. If I had enough space, both in my bag and in my home, I would have bought half the shop – it appears that Jenna does. All this browsing means there is no time for me to get my head shaved, which I’m desperate for in this jungle heat – we’ve got to get back to the hotel for massages, which after all the hiking, I have a greater desperation for. It turns out the masseuse is also the cleaning lady.
Another hour or so north east by plane takes us to Iquitos, the world’s largest city inaccessible by road[3]. This brings a first glimpse of the Amazon River, which even over 2,000 miles from its estuary appears so wide as to be easily mistaken for a lake.
Whilst waiting at the airport for our taxi, we are connected to a chap called Percy – a local businessman, who introduces himself as a guide, but also appears to be some kind of town fixer. Jenna’s planning mind sees to it that we have a full day’s activities organised by Percy, to come; I can’t shake my natural scepticism.
Accommodation is a floating river lodge down a backwater – the Rio Momon – which is as idyllic as it sounds. The place is run a by a family, who all live on the water – brothers, wives, girlfriends and a number of children. It’s home-cooked river fish (or alligator) with plantains for pretty much every meal; I give the reptile a miss, but it’s generally delicious food and a warm familial atmosphere to relax in.
Percy has set us up with his son, Jean, and a friend of his, for a day out. He’s also sold Jenna what he assures her are magic mushrooms[4]. The day starts with a trip to the Indigenous Culture Museum Amazonicas, where Jean opens our education with a tribe who used to cut off and ceremonially shrink the heads of their enemies – enemies, he enthusiastically points out, are anyone who strays into their territory. Noticing the look of horror on our faces, he adds that this practice has subsequently died out.
Take a wrong turning out of Iquitos and this could be you.
Following a walk through the local market, which offers a diverse variety of creatures in various stages between alive and cooked on a skewer, we take a boat out on the river. A handful of the endangered river dolphin shyly poke their pink proboscises out of the water, but sadly (apart from one of the guides) no manatees are to be seen. My survival instinct is making it very clear to me that I shouldn’t go in the Amazon River. Aside from alligators, piranhas, anacondas and those weird fish that can swim into streams of pee and then into your urethra[5], the current doesn’t look kind. Jean reassures us that none of these things are to be concerned with ‘it’s not good for alligators to swim out here in the current; they get too tired’. But what about me, Jean? Fuck it, I’m going in.
Proof that I swam in the Amazon. Frustratingly, I forgot my Speedos.
We finish the day with a quick visit to an animal sanctuary, which feels suspiciously like a zoo. Despite my cynicism at Percy’s sharpness, it was a hugely enjoyable day with some truly memorable moments. Thank you, Jenna, for forcing me out of my comfort zone.
When we return to the hotel, the children are swimming in the river by our jetty. One of them comes up to me ‘hey amigo’ and leads me by the hand to the edge of the water. Full of bravado after my Amazon swim, my previous reluctance to enter the murky water has lifted. Approximately 180 degrees into a confident leap, I realise that my ability to somersault from standing has noticeably waned since I last attempted it. The audible slap on the surface as I land ingloriously on my upper back, suggests the all-important final 90 degrees are perhaps now beyond me. The children roar with laughter as my gringo mass emerges from their river. A strong reminder to do more back-bends.
The final evening in the jungle draws to a close and I take some time on my own to sit and observe. The huge cumulonimbi that flanked us towards the end of the afternoon have retreated East, and into the night – an electrical storm flashes away in the distance. Directly above me the familiar constellations – yet inverted from my usual Northern Hemisphere perspective – radiate their ancient light down onto the river. Above the sound of exotic birds, bullfrogs and cicadas, there is the faint sound of drumming and chanting coming from within the jungle. A bright light illuminating his path, a fisherman – presumably late for his dinner – clips past playing Tutti Frutti.
This was my first trip to the jungle. It had an energy I didn’t recognise – mysterious and foreboding. But, despite the unquestionable poverty and challenges, it had a palpable joy emanating from it, too. A deep respect for, and connection with, the earth and its great river. Maybe if I’d encountered some head-shrinkers, I’d think differently, but stripped back by the harshness of ancient conditions, these people seem closer to the core being of humanity than most I have encountered.
[1] Quite possibly the worst word in the English language. A good test of the sense of humour at a dinner party is to declare this loudly when there is a lull in conversation.
[2] The last time I did anything like this was a pool at the end of a four-hour trek into the Californian mountains near Ojai. Whilst I was paddling about, a snake poked its head out of the water a few feet away from me. I have never exited a body of water at greater pace.
[3] After some of my dealings with the A11 over the years, and its proximity to the Fens, I can’t help but think of Norwich. (It’s nothing like Norwich).
[4] Ayahuasca is legal here. I’ve tried it before, but there’s something about the unfamiliarity of jungle conditions that keep me from pursuing this particular journey again, for now. I know where I stand with mushrooms – nice reassuring mushrooms.
[5] Surely just cryptozoology. Apparently, not.
Another Door In the Wall 