Lima, Peru

Greetings all,

The time has come to do a summary of activity so I can move on to the next run of terrain -- via the Amazon River to the Atlantic Ocean -- with a clear mind.

On January 1, 2006, upon my arrival in Lima, Peru at 11:30pm, after a 17 hour period of travel (no sleep since 9am on Dec 31), I stepped out of the airport terminal, looked at my surroundings and in a tired haze wondered if I was ever in Calgary. Was it just a dream? Am I not continuing my 2003/2004 travels from Mexico to Panama into South America uninterrupted …?

The first batch of travel pictures have the story told but for continuity I will recall my first full day on South American soil. Found a cheap hostel in central Lima, decided to go for one of my famous 30 minute strolls (becoming multiple hours). As usual I had nowhere particular in mind. Just around.

Eventually crossed a bridge into the suburb of Rimac, through the slums, up, up into the hills. Why? Because the poor people have the best city views. A large Christian cross towers over the city on Cerro San Christobal. I could see buses at the top circling so up I continued to climb, discreetly taking a couple pictures as I do.

It’s poor, sure, but no poorer than Acapulco hilltops, or Tegucigalpa, or Quetta, or Dehli, etc. The houses end. I didn’t think a trail would continue past a water tower on the hill. Just under the water tower I see three youths, note them, and continue past.

As I caught my breath (all the Canadian fat slowing me down) they split, one walking by me to descend into houses, two others circling around the water tower, out of view. I found a path up the hill and continued. The two youths and I met around the tower as they came off the rock side, jumped the railing and approached me.

Now I will say I have always given the locals the benefit of the doubt; if I did not I probably would never get to see half the world.

One youth passed me, the other remained in front of me. The youth that passed me made motion with his hands that he was interested in my camera. At this moment I glanced over to the second youth in front of me. I will never forget the expression on his face: the classic gang member look, wearing a bandana, head tilted back and to one side, looking down his nose at me. He is raising his shirt to expose two knives.

At this point it was pretty hard to give them the benefit of the doubt.

Brand new Olympus Stylus 800 digital camera, purchased ten days previous with two 1GB memory cards, two batteries and a remote control (for taking pictures of myself), $900 CAD total. In the flash of a second I made the decision to not passively accept the situation. Without looking I lept over the railing, dropped ten feet, landed flatfooted on the rocks below, bounded down a few extra steps, whirled around and looked back at the two youths.

Perhaps I stunned them with my action, perhaps they are thiefs simply due to laziness, because all they did was stare down at me. The one tried to talk to me which made me all the more unbelieving, knowing full well reason ends where a weapon begins. I scoffed, spun around and raced around the water tower, through piles of garbage, back to the path descending into the suburbs, back to central Lima.

Safe and sound, in the days to follow I was amused to hear an endless barrage of stories of how unsafe much of Lima city is. Many of the locals do not dare to enter the suburb of Rimac for fear of their lives, not just their possessions.

From here on in I began a more touristy agenda. Like browsing the supermarket and buying samples of the fruits I had never seen before. Tasting local cuisine. Visiting the surprisingly interesting National Museum, showcasing Peru’s puzzling diversity of ancient history -- so many peoples, so many periods of development -- all to be conquered by Inca Inc. (1300-1532AD), who in turn had their rumps kicked by the Spaniards.

Some great treasures were on display allowing me ample opportunity to begin testing the features of my new camera indoors. Hit the Larco museum with its ceramics, complete with porno pottery. You name it these potters sculpted it: childbirth, masturbation, corpse and skeleton sex, vulvas, penises, anal, fellatio, peculiar diseases, hermaphrodites, etc.

Hiked around the rich sector of Miraflores and its beaches for the day. The Zoo, with its amazing botanical gardens, kept me busy for two days. The Franciscan Monastery with its catacombs, yet another playground to test out my camera in low light. The best scene in the Monastery was a local painting of the Last Supper, with Jesus and apostles eating guinea pig and potatos.

Most popular musician in Peru as per the number of t-shirts? Avril Lavigne. I even met a chica who named her newly born kid Avril. And of course I rehydrated every evening in the main squares after a hard day’s walking, scoping out all the petite, sweet Inca dolls. Ah! The beauty of foreign tongues, the beautiful nonsense, for my brain doesn’t engage the conversation. My thoughts are mine again. The best play on words seen while in Lima? Machu Pizza.

Huarez

On January 9 I bailed from Lima, past giant sand dunes of the coastal desert, for the city of Huarez (3091 meters) and its environs. A climber’s and hiker’s paradise: 20 km wide, 180 km long, with more than 50 peaks of 5700 meters or higher, the highest being Huascaran at 6768 meters. The next day, on another ‘30 minute stroll,’ past yappy dogs and Inca tots, I hiked into picturesque hills till the sun fried my forearms -- the skin actually started bubbling.

Visited the underground ruins of Chauvin, Peru’s first ancient civilization (1300 to 400 BC). Also toured the cemetary of Yungay, a town that was buried in a 1970 earthquake-landslide combination, killing 18000 people. Lots of graves, wicked flowers and huge jumbo-bees.

Slapping $70 US on the table I joined the 4 day Santa Cruz trek, starting in Colcabamba and ending Cashapampa. Day one: part of a group of nine (2 Germans, 1 Swede, 3 English, 2 guides, 1 Canuck -- me), walked some 4 hours at 4000 meters to our first camp, past dirt poor families and snot-nosed kids. Sleep was awful; man I hate mummy sleeping bags; claustrophobia! Let me out of here!

Gratefully woke at 5:45am the next morning. An English girl dared me -- me being Canadian -- the night previous so I jumped into a nearby stream of freezing Andean mountain water to bath and prove my mettle. At 4000 meters that was probably the chilliest bath I have had in a while. (She did not believe I did it until I showed her the pictures.)

Day two: within an hour I had heard enough conversation and pushed ahead of the group. Freddie, a German fellow, later caught up. Lunched at 4300 meters, staring at the wall some 450 meters high that would take us to and over the Punta Union pass at 4750 meters. Deliberately pushing myself in exhilarating physical torture (to test my fitness for future climbs in Ecuador), legs melting, ready to toss my lunch, spitting up my lungs, Freddie and I were the first to reach the top of the pass, allowing views of nearby glaciers and peaks. Descended and setup camp at 4300 meters.

Day three: continued descending into a river valley, stopping at 3600 meters to camp. Day four: continued descent and returned to Huarez. Though enjoying the trek, hiking during the wet season was kind of lame. Quack! Quack! I would definitely recommend to do the hike but to time it during the dry, rainless summertime. The one benefit of a January trek is we had the whole trail to ourselves for the 4 days; come summertime it is supposedly packed with partying Israelis.

Back in Huarez I took to a local bar, La Encanto, about 1am. A slobbering drunk fellow waved me over; I went. From his spitting and sputtering I am introduced to his friends. Through his friends I meet two girls, Jessica and Marish. We all exchange emails uselessly and pour more drinks. I dance with multi-toothless wonder Jessica to cheezy latino songs I have no idea. Me dancing with hiking boots and rainjacket, how hot is that? Ah, unleashing the sexy beast within! Jessica is warming up to me just fine.

Then this drunk bruiser I call the Incredible Peruvian Bulk shows up, dances with Jessica and everything changes in tone. She doesn’t want to dance with him but does. Afterwards he is profusely shaking my hand upon the encouragement of two guys at the table but I can tell this is forced. He’s swearing into my ear every other handshake and this is fast becoming stupid.

I can tell within the hour, if I stay, my teeth are going to be strewn around the bar because this guy is huge. Not my scene. While he is at the bar I rise and graciously thank the original five at the table for their kindness, say goodbye, and make a quick but quiet exit. Ugh! My first chance at engaging thy Heavenly Spear in some toothless Peruvian lovin’ -- lost! The absolute inhumanity of it all.

Huallanca

From Huarez I made the call to head towards the Amazon rainforest, via the barren landscapes and mining villages of Peru’s central highlands, to the town of Huallanca. Upon my arrival two local chicas of the bus station escorted me to a hotel, giggling like hyenas the whole way. No, I am not married. Yes, I like it that way.

I then had supper and an intellectual conversation with an 11 year old kid, Manuel of the Mormon clan, whose eyes lit up on the discovery I was a foreigner. Next morning, with the bus touts screaming, breakfast at a street stall was a soup bowl of potato and half a sheep’s head. It tasted like death. I had sheep’s death on my breath until the bus stopped and I grabbed my toothbrush.

Huanuco

Jumped another bus to Huanuco, the scenery being much more interesting. Every turn was a new picture, unfolding beauty as the hills and valleys rolled by my window, 98% of it downhill. At one point, late in the ride, the bus hit a rock and pulled over. A dozen of us exited the bus.

One fellow asks me a few questions and advises “You’re alone? You shouldn’t be waving your camera around like that. You are likely to get robbed. If you are going into the Amazon you should be carrying one of these.” He pushes his jacket aside and pulls out a handgun. It was yet another sobering moment: had he wanted to he could have taken everything from me, with nobody, including myself, able to do a damned thing. I wondered how many others on the bus carried guns in Peru’s wild, wild east … ?

Come Huanuco, checked into Hotel Latino, noticing a peculiar sign stuck to the wall “No Al Turismo Sexual Infantil.” First time I have ever seen something like this, the message printed in sticker form, with a big red X drawn over a child.

Once again I tried hiking up the city’s surrounding hillsides, made it 95% to the top … three youths are lingering by the stairs. I stood for a moment quietly cursing, took a casual look around then reversed course. Almost back on flat ground I took an alternate route for the last bit, ran into more males, every one of them looking at me intently. Twenty stairs remaining, another pack of males, the ‘lead’ with a jug of drink before him. He starts shouting something repeatedly. I pass by half expecting a rock, a knife or bullet to hit my back. Nothing.

I am back in central. Am I to be confined within town/city centrals?! Sitting in a park I observed a fellow getting his shoes shined by a kid and a lightbulb went off. I went shopping. Bought a beige shirt and black cap. Tested out my new duds -- it worked wonderfully. Cut down the staring squads a good 75 to 80%, if not more. All of a sudden I could stand in the middle of the street, camera in hand, and hardly anyone noticed me.

Approaching the Rio Huallaga valley, Peru’s notorious coca farming area, it was amusing to see locals in the market with giant bags of coca leaves available for sale. (I bought a huge bag for each person on this mailing list, sent by courier yesterday as ‘Peruvian tea.’ Break out your chemical kits and baking soda, kids ...)

Tingo Maria

Caught a bus to the town of Tingo Maria. About one hour into the trip we entered a tunnel, caught sight of a sign reading “2700 meters.” On the other side of the tunnel we entered a cloudbank. Could see little at first. But almost immediately I noticed a change. The vegetation grew thicker, heavier, tall trees stretched up the cliff sides, a greater variety of plant life appeared, flowers, ferns, shrubs, fruits … it was like a line had been drawn between the Andes and the Amazon. I had entered the rainforest. Now I would get to see what life was like before the last ice age.

Did an afternoon walk around Tingo. At one point tried to cut through some tall grass; within 30 seconds I had two bootfulls of water and my left hand was thorned, bleeding. I backtracked and stuck to the pathways.

Hit the Tingo Maria Botanical gardens; absolutely amazing. The insects, rather than the plants, stole the show. For a lot of six hours in the garden I watched multiple supply lines of leaf cutter ants -- army ants -- stretching hundreds of meters on the ground, high into the trees. As I could not take pictures of them (too blurred), for the first time I used movie mode on my camera to capture their movements. I setup the tripod directly over supply lines and let the camera roll for minutes at a time.

The many supply lines eventually converged into a single hill, probably 25 feet long and 10 feet wide in size. Estimating the amount of foliage I saw in a couple hours, multiplying that by 24 hours and 365 days, that nest has to be as deep as it is long. Brilliant little creatures to watch. Tons of fun!

Pucallpa

To Pucallpa. By far the best comedy on the bus ride: picture a dinosaur bus lumbering through the Peruvian Amazon basin, decent dirt road, met by two kids aged 4 or 5 who hold a rope across the highway, demanding monetary compensation for the rope to be lowered. The bus driver slows, lets 1 sole (coin) fly from his fingertips, it tings on the ground, the rope drops while one of the boys scrambles after the fare. Ah, the wilds of the Amazon abound.

The road was paved for the first half, dirt for the second half, the latter lined with highway engineers and road construction crews. Transport trucks dominated the roads carrying cut lumber out, fuel going in.

In Pucallpa, by the ferry docks, I get my first upstream glimpse of what later becomes the Amazon River. Jumped onto a couple passenger boats to scout their facilities. As I was walking off the Don Segundo I hear this “Thud!” on the steel deck. I look around -- ?? -- then notice a large bug squirming on its back. I kicked it over and photographed it, having only seen an insect like this pinned to styrofoam boards in museums. What a beautiful monster!

For the next two days I visited the zoo -- astonished to find I could practically kiss the jaguars and pumas in their cages, as the five example pictures on my website reveal. I emptied four batteries taking hundreds of pictures of the cats (and other creatures). There was one gorgeous female jaguar, my favorite poser, had she promised she would not eat me I would have entered the cage and had sex with her. They are such incredibly beautiful creatures.

Amazon Ferry To Requena

On January 30 I purchased a hammock and boarded ferry Henry V, departing Pucallpa on the 31st, floating down the initial miles of the Amazon. Immediately noticed there was a lot of natural debris in the river, entire trees. Come 6:27am the next morning saw a glimpse of a pink dolphin (3 sightings that day; more in the days to follow). I ran the decks all day till fully exhausted. Found a wicked rhinocerous beetle, legs covered in spikes that jab underneath one’s skin.

Met two brothers, Thomas and Charlie, and chatted with them for some time. Due to an ongoing childrens’ festival, water balloon fights raged between the children on the ship and the children on shore (when we temporarily dock). Amazonian rain -- if you can’t beat it, join it. Stripped down to my bathing suit and sat on deck in the heavy pour for 1.5 hours. Found a dead baby tarantuala that must have been squished and fell out of some banana cargo.

Decided to jump ship in the brothers’ hometown, Requena. Thomas arranged with his uncle for me to go swimming with dolphins. I didn´t believe him at first. Yeah right, go swimming with pink dolphins! Pffft!

To my surprise he was true to his word. Feeding at the confluence of two rivers they were as pink as Barbie’s corvette. You could only catch glimpses of the dolphins as they surfaced for air, but it was still cool to be swimming in an Amazon basin river in the proximity of wild dolphins. Paying for boat fuel the day cost me $1.66 CAD.

It was with Thomas I was shocked to learn, being a resident of the Amazon basin all his life, he has never had malaria. Neither have any of his eight brothers and sisters; some 200 years of collective life, not a single instance of the sickness. When it comes to malaria I began to understand the doctors and media of the West pump us with a lot more bullshit than many of us initially recognize. Over the course of the next few weeks I came to understand only a few rivers in the Peruvian Amazon are infested with the disease.

Partied it up that night in Requena with the boys. Next day, on the ferry, barfed on the way to Iquitos. Ugh. In the novel Shogun it reads, “Only by living at the edge of death can you understand the indescribable joy of life.” I don’t think the author had barfing in mind.

Iquitos

Once rested in Iquitos (population 500,000; largest city in the world without road links) I took to the suburb of Belen -- a section of the city built over the water. Hired a kid and his canoe to paddle me around for 40 minutes. Cost: 4 soles, or $1.30 CAD. In the Belen market came across a small pet ‘store’ with some great creatures: two nifty looking parrots, a baby sloth, a baby caiman -- probably more, but the lady scolded me for taking pictures and chased me away. Wench.

On February 7 I met one of the street touts selling tour packages, Dany Angel. In the next couple days I met with reps of different companies but, giving credit to Dany, the first company -- Amazon Adventure Expeditions -- offered me a steal of a deal I could not pass on. Other companies could not come close to this offer. The deal extended to me was a 21 day tour for $700 US, making it roughly $33 US per day. Me and two guides. No one else. Perfecto.

Before departure I spent a few days in and around Iquitos, checking out the zoo, then the nightclubs and the chicas (Cindy being the most tantalizing; pictured on my website), whooping it up along the Malecon with Dany and friend Reuben.

One afternoon Reuben showed me pictures of his previous rainforest treks. Frog poison to get high?! Eating bee shit as an aphrodisiac?! When I hit the carved up monkey picture I was like “Whoa …!” It appeared to be a burned, gutted human. It caused a reaction in me like “I am not sure I want to go there …” Little did I know.

On February 9 I paid for the tour, did some preparing beforehand, then departed Iquitos by ferry on February 13, meeting guide and English translator Gary Moises, a 20 year old native.

February 14, day 1 (journal notes).

Pulled into Genaro Herrera in the morning, hiring a local to boat us further up a tributary (Rio Aucayuca) to the company’s main/initial campsite. Met the camp cook and four small children. It wasn’t five minutes into the ride that I -- along with others in the canoe -- was confronted with near death.

There were two partially fallen trees tilted over the initially small waterway, one of them being some five to six feet in diameter. Just as our motorized canoe was to go under the largest of the trees it started to give way with a thunderous crack and spray of dust / rot. Gary yelled out, the boat pilot turned the motor off. But this did not stop our momentum. We drifted right underneath the trunk!

I was looking up at the tree while Rasula the cook is screaming, the four children seated behind me. Gary is barking, the boatman is trying to reverse course to no avail. You can hear the tree shifting after its first significant drop, cracking.

I have drifted slightly past the huge trunk, the cook and children now sitting underneath it. A second smaller tree was within my reach. With Gary at the front of the canoe, the boatman at the back, I was in the best position to do something. Using the smaller tree trunk as leverage I stood up and began walking the length of the canoe, pushing it clear of the possible fall area, as the trunk continued to snap and crack.

Out of danger Gary thanked me for thinking quickly. All I could think was “Oh boy, please let that be the last thing that threatens Rasula’s children. If it happens again she may think I am ill-omened and poison my food.”

Later in the afternoon a brief stroll through the forest with Gary and second guide/hunter, Brian (Peter Sandrval, age 26), who is a local of the area and is more familiar with the terrain than Gary. Introduced me to many plants. A select chop with the machete and the tree pours ‘milk.’ Another chop is white paste of a rubber tree. Another chop, water drips and I drink.

Brian weaves together leaves to show me house roofing, also used for carrying animal bodies. Chop: a strong vine for rope and binding use. They pick up fruits, the rule of thumb being if an animal can eat the fruit so can you. If they don’t you don’t.

Armidillo trails. Forest rat trails. Foam on a termite nest. Huh? Frogs do it, catching bugs and returning to eat their captured prey. Chop a dead tree: giant grasshoppers leap out, then a giant spider, no idea the type, some 8 to 10 inches with legs. A real beauty!

Brian points to a hole in the ground then jabs it with the machete. Gary strongly cautions me to back up as giant black fire ants aggressively storm out of the hole to attack. Very cool. Back at camp a fellow had a pail of bee shit (aphrodisiac). You know I had to try some. As I expected no raging woodie resulted.

February 15, day 2 (journal notes).

Paddling upstream for a few hours, Brian and I exited the boat to go hunting in the forest while Gary continued on ahead with the canoe to make camp. I am not sure what to expect, or more to the point, won’t I be a hindrance to the hunt? Off we go.

It doesn’t take 10 minutes and Brian is intensely serious. He is saying something in Indian (“Huangana”) but it doesn’t register. All I can understand is that it is big (“grande”), another word he keeps repeating. To my surprise he strips down to his shorts and takes off his footwear to walk barefoot. At first I am unsure whether to share his enthusiasm -- is he for real? Or is this for show?

On he presses, putting his hand to his ear to get me to listen. I hear birds. Then, after multiple efforts to get me to listen, I hear it. A grunting, not too far off. I´m still not as excited as he is though. It’s like he is half out of his skull in excitement, anticipation.

Brian crosses a streamlet that is up to his shoulders. He insists I come with him. In I go ... two cameras and all extras held over my head. I walked a submerged log, maintained balance, successfully crossing without falling in. Repeat for two more streams. I am completely soaked.

Finally he stops, motions for me to stay put, ready my camera, and he slowly creeps forward. The grunts are louder now, more pronounced. I am squatting behind a tree, waiting. As he disappears into the foliage of the forest I look around at my surroundings. Uh, I hope he comes back because I have no idea the direction to the river or the camp.

CRACK! goes the gunshot. The noise of approaching trampling feet erupts and within seconds dozens of pigs are whizzing by. CRACK! shot number two as Brian races to pursue the pigs. Seconds later, CRACK! a third shot. Silence for a few seconds. A little lone piglet tramps past, oinking, trying to catch up to the group.

“Amigo?” comes out of the trees. “Si.” Brian emerges, big smile. He motions did I get the pigs on film. I show him and he grins wide. He motions me forward. Within ten meters he points to his first kill. This is a moment for the digital camera for sure.

He smears blood on his cheeks and chest for a proud, strong photograph. Then he motions to look for another. We search briefly and find it after five minutes. He shows me where the pigs were lounging in the mud -- the area is huge. I said I saw some 25 to 30 pigs; he corrects me with “No! 200!”

In fifteen minutes he has both pigs gutted. Both pigs were female carring two babies each. When he asked me to carry a pig I looked at my nice white shirt, shrugged, threw one over my shoulder, my right arm quickly soaked in blood.

Back the way we came. How he knew direction I could not tell. All I could think was “Okay, he’s proven he is a good hunter. I sure as hell hope he is as good with direction.” Sure enough we cross the streamlets in the same spots and find the exact place the canoe left us. I threw my pig down beside his. On he motioned to walk to camp. The canoe could later pick up the pigs.

Within 25 minutes we made camp. Brian motioned to say to Gary we captured nothing in the hunt as a joke so I played along. Then I whipped out the pictures and we laughed. It is wild pig tonight for supper!

February 16, day 3 (journal notes).

Earlier in the morning I tried my favorite sport, fishing. Ugh. What needless torture. Of course I did not catch anything. Brian, in two example tosses, caught a small fish. I was trying to fish for pirahna. I pulled the line in to put another piece of meat on the hook -- the hook was gone. Gary says a large pirahna ate the hook. Hmpf.

Back on shore I asked Gary if I could have one set of pig’s teeth as souvenir. He took the time to chip the teeth free from the bone. I now possess four wild pig teeth! Perfect souvenirs. Brian points out recent scarring on one of the pig’s skin; the only thing big enough to hunt this type of wild pig in the forest is a jaguar.

Going for a walk Gary and I spotted one type of Titi monkey (Tamarins). More armadillo holes. Forest rat trails. Many weird spider homes sticking up from the ground in conical mud tubes (6 to 18 inches high). A group of large wasps at foot level I never would have seen -- or avoided -- had Gary not pointed out. He caught a blue morph butterfly for me to photograph. A caterpillar with pink strands of fur. The calls of toucans, macaws and parrots are constantly heard, with the later two often seen flying overhead.

Returning to camp two fellows from Brian’s village were present having fish soup for lunch. They were returning after 4 days upstream. Brian sent 85% of the smoked / dried pig meat with them for his wife and child. No problem with me as it keeps us on the prowl. They took off.

We paddled upstream for a bit, tied the canoe to a tree in the center of the river and jumped in for a swim. Brian advises as long as we make the necessary noise then electric eels are not a problem. And pirhanas only decide to feed when sensing blood, otherwise they do not attack.

10:46pm. Returned from the night hunt! Awesome! First up, giant spiders hanging on to the undersides of tree branches. Next up, a small rat. Next a few birds sleeping in the branches overhanging the river. Brian reached up and grabbed the second bird out of the tree! Some frogs. A cool red spider.

Then we saw a large spider descending by web from a tree high above to the water surface -- an excellent visual by flashlight. And the highlight Brian spotted a large rat (Majas), followed it into the foliage and shot -- tomorrow’s food! Back at camp, under the brightness of moonlight, Brian points out a sleeping tiny green bird in its nest. Beautiful to see its colorful feathers expand and contract in peaceful sleep.

At one point Brian heard the monkey (Tocon) of this morning (I did not see it) and went into the trees with his shotgun. When Gary told me what he was doing I advised him to nix it. Not only did we have enough meat but monkeys are a hell of a lot rarer than pigs or rats. Earlier the boys said I have a positive energy and good luck to bring us so much meat in so little time. I can only hope our luck lasts another 18 days.

February 17, day 4 (journal notes).

Rat for breakfast. The meat was delicious, tender, unlike the tougher pig. In the two days at camp number two the water level of the river has dropped more than a meter. Brian’s fishing hooks, tied to overhanging tree branches last night, were dangling in the air this morning.

Saw a toucan up close, more titi monkeys. Then a solitaire monkey (Wapo Negro), mid-sized, darted across the river along a fallen tree (followed by another sighting of the same type of monkey).

Pulled into camp number three at 12:30pm, ate rat leftovers from breakfast. Brian and I went for a walk after camp was setup. We came across a 25 foot high tree smothered in webs. A tarantula home! It was wicked, even horrific looking.

Brian cleared away a lower rung looking for a spider. Sure enough he lands one at my feet. About 4 inches long. Snapped several excellent pictures of it. My first ever wild (alive) tarantula sighting. Brian confirmed the tree houses many, many spiders, not just the one. 25 feet high! Could easily be 50 to 100 spiders in there.

Back at camp I tried fishing for pirahna again. Not a damn thing; they ate all my rat fat in turn. Brian caught one medium sized fish on his branch hangs; he showed me -- due to the blood caused by the hook in its mouth the pirahnas had already eaten the fish’s tail as it thrashed in the water!

Then we paddled upstream and went for a refreshing, cool swim. It is strange to think I am swimming with pirahnas, but hey, so long as I don’t cut myself on a branch while swimming all is well. The alternative is not a pleasant thought so I don’t think about it.

February 18, day 5 (journal entries).

4:12pm. At this very moment I have a baby titi monkey sitting on top of my head, underneath my cap. Gary caught it at the end of our hike today. Telling us to go on ahead, he laid down on the ground until the tiny monkeys came within reach. He shook the tree until baby fell out, snatched it off the ground. He meant to return the baby to its mother after a few pictures by me but the mother and her group were nowhere to be found after 10 minutes.

Earlier in the day we hiked into a ‘colpa,’ a place consisting of mud pits, water holes and fruit trees. Put into human terms we go to the beach while the animals go to colpas. There were animal tracks everywhere. Pigs. Tapirs (forest cows). Deer. Armidillo. Rats. Many pools of water were muddied, clear evidence of recent habitation (as other pools were glassy clear).

They even pointed out recent tigrillo (ocelot) footprints, a very distinctive paw pattern, it having been by within the last day. Went around poking Armidillo holes. One vine Gary pointed out the locals use for abortive purposes. I tried a bit, licking it, very bitter tasting.

The parrot colpa was cool. A group of birds were 4 or 5 feet off the ground, on the side of a tree, appeared to be drinking a fluid from the tree. Came across two shed skins of pit vipers. One skin was in tatters. The other was intact, about 4 feet long. Small pit vipers can kill a man within a day. The larger vipers, due to more injectable poison, can kill a man within hours.

After catching the baby titi monkey, Gary explained he once owned five different types of monkey as pets, plus agouti, a rat, and 3 large parrots. Gary the jungle kid. He says our Titi monkey appreciates resting on the top of a person’s head because it simulates its mother’s fur and warmth, which calms him.

Back at camp Brian points out a group of pygmy marmosets (the smallest type of monkey) tree jumping, even a baby! It was extra tiny as it ran along a branch.

February 19, day 6 (journal notes).

We hiked for 7 hours through the rainforest today. Saw 3 types of monkey (Tamarin, Wapo Negro, Tocon). Frogs and spiders. Frightened a chicken. A large clump of phosphorescent vine. A distinctive looking white mushroom with a net around its stem as part of its growth. I carried baby Titi for the first four hours. He hung on to the underside of my pony tail. Then he got rowdy, annoying me, so I gave him to Gary to calm down.

One thing is for sure: I am becoming more confident in my body’s ability to handle the Amazon. At first I was cautious, wondering if just a little exertion might cause illness -- i.e., the heat, the wetness. Even the mosquitos do not bother me like they used to. Yes, my confidence is increasing as is my aggressiveness.

I can tell Gary is impatient over the issues of malaria and pirahnas, the two issues us rainforest-ignorant Westerners must constantly badger him with.

10:37pm. Returned from the colpa for some potential night viewing. It was excellent to be tramping through the forest in the blackness of night. The reduction of sight to limited range heightens anticipation. Brian picked a fallen tree to sit on. We sat for some two hours listening for animal sounds. Nada. Insects, frogs, peculiar bird calls, bats whizzing around our heads, falling trees (within earshot at least one giant tree falls per hour out here).

February 20, day 7 (journal notes).

The day began with Gary waking and handing me two baby caimans (cousins of the alligator). Snapped a couple dozen pictures of them.

Paddled upstream to camp number four. Only fifteen minutes into it we came across a group of 25 agouti (Achuni). Brian shot one for food. Saw three kingfishers, two owls, eagles, the ‘usual’ parrots, macaws, toucans.

Then we bumped into a camp of hunters. Brian cut up the agouti, carved out the penis and gave it to me as a souvenir! It is actually bone, not flesh. We continued paddling until 3pm, came to a large fallen tree and crossed over into no man’s land. Bye bye people!

The uncleared, untraveled river has become an obstacle course, fallen trees and branches everywhere. Many times we exit the canoe to pull it over trees. Naturally I was soaked upon camp arrival. Baby Titi, during an after dinner chat, buried himself deep into my hair. The boys had to surgicially remove him. Gary says he has never been up the river this far; he too is breaking new ground.

February 21, day 8 (journal notes).

After a double helping of agouti meat we stuffed our backpacks, secured the canoe, hid the extra gear in the leafy forest, and began our overland trek, leaving the Rio Aucayacu at 9:19am. The landscape for the duration was hill, valley, hill, valley, hill, valley, with logs as bridges over streams.

One bridge was very ify -- so rotted in the center that Brian initially gave it a thumbs down. With no other alternative Brian went over. Then I did. First attempt failed. Four steps in, the log’s surface slimy and slippery with wet growth, I lost my nerve, turned around. Me falling into the water was one issue. My equipment getting wet a second. Third was the branch debris underneath the bridge, log-jammed in the water. Potentially a very painful fall -- with possible pirahna action as an extra bonus. My second crossing attempt was successful. Then Gary.

By first break at 11:15am we were soaked in sweat. Spotted a larger type of Tamarin monkey -- some with extra small babies darting along the branches. Such exceptionally cute, timid and innocent creatures. If humans self-terminate I hope the Titis inherit the earth. Screw the Christians.

Come a 2:15pm break, drenched in sweat, again Gary suggested we stop. I scoffed. We were molested by hair-cutting bees. I kid you not; the worst type of bee imaginable. Bzzzt! Bzzzt! With Brian leading the way we pushed on. Brian understands I want to go deeper into the rainforest. Two chickens (Pucacunga) clucked and flapped; unfortunately too quick for Brian to shoot.

The boys pointed out jaguar claw markings on a tree where it shredded the bark as a house cat would furniture. Also, a small jaguar footprint about a day old. The cats are out there but our chances of ever seeing one is slim, Gary says, as they will run away. Heard some Diablo monkeys, sounded eerily excellent, like wraiths.

We hit Rio Matanza by 5:48pm. To my delight camp is a cluster of four, open-walled thatched roof houses on raised floors. Threw off sweat-soaked clothes, pulled out my bathing suit and jumped into the water. Heaven!

Brian commented to Gary as I ate some agouti yesterday (which Gary now tells me), “This guy is awesome. He eats all the meat and never complains.” Coming from a hunter a natural compliment. I can only laugh at what some of the guides have to deal with all the Euro-American vegetarians out here.

Becoming increasingly confident in the rainforest, yesterday while lifting and pushing the canoe over a tree I lept into the canoe “like a cat,” the boys said. As a result Brian now calls me a “little jaguar.”

February 22, day 9 (journal notes).

Off to hunt by 10am. Silence is key. The pace is satisfactory as I get to view my surroundings. Brian leads, Gary next, me last, photographing plants, bugs, etc. Rhino beetles infested with mites underneath their wings; colorful green shell. At about 12:10pm Brian goes ahead, the calls of chickens not too far ahead. BLAM! BLAM! He emerges with two birds. Very nice. Photos. Plucking.

Baby Titi watches all from his perch on Gary’s head (he has tamed a lot in four days). With Brian out of ammunition it is too dangerous to continue unprotected -- bushmaster and pit vipers the main concern. Back to camp we go. Baths all around. Relaxing. Rehydrating. Few mosquitos make this area of the forest.

We swap stories. Brian tells an interesting one. Once hunting in his home river area (Rios Mayuruna & Tiger, villages Jesus de Praga / 9th de Octobre), he came across a group of huangana (wild pigs) -- but something was peculiar. They were all looking up. He followed their gaze to spot a jaguar up in a tree, a tree the pigs had surrounded. The cat was hanging by its claws.

Brian waited and watched. It took some time before the jaguar could no longer maintain its position and began sliding down the tree trunk. The pigs continued to wait. With the jaguar in grasp they tore into it with their tusks (sideways thrusts). The huangana is the only foe a jaguar has that will fight back. As huangana travel in groups of hundreds the jaguar can be overwhelmed.

February 23, day 10 (journal notes).

On the hunt. Shot a toucan. Came to an armidillo hole. Brian is confident he hears one inside and over the course of the next two hours proceeds to expand then flood the hole (we have no matches to smoke it out). Nada. Returning to camp we come across a group of eight Indians. They are doing the Requena to Rio Galvez crossing for supplies. Brian pulled off the toucan beak for a souvenir. The meat of the bird itself was like chewing rubber.

February 24, day 11 (journal notes).

Woke this morning to find Brian had gone night hunting; he’s shot a rat. Great meat. Depart camp number five, walked 3 hours with the Indians through the forest and hit Rio Lobo for camp number six. Rio Lobo has some five or six thatched huts whereby four Indian families have made their winter home.

At first, because Gary has had negative experiences with the Indians in the past (theft; as well as historical armed conflicts with settlers), the two of us continue past the huts into the forest to pitch camp while Brian hangs back. Gary goes to talk with Brian. An hour or so later the boys return.

After bashing this particular type of Indian for the last 11 days I am surprised to find Gary doing a reversal of opinion. Back into the hut camp we go, me pleased to get the pack off my back (the pack has scraped a lot of skin off my back).

Gary says they have killed a different type of pig. Down to the river to see it in a canoe. He talks to one of the elders. The elderly fellow advises him of possible routes we can take, including a monkey colpa. We are permitted to shoot a caimen for food as well as a monkey. We also get permission to use one of their canoes.

Gary comes to me with a large slab of pig meat, surprised, saying “They are being very nice to us.” I agree. The elder had spoken “We never get tourists visiting here …” And the pieces click. He is aware of the poor reputation the natives have with the locals and is attempting to alter that perception.

As both Gary and Brian know very little of the Rio Lobo area, the land around it, the Indians have provided us with a wealth of information, activities and possible adventure to fill the next 4 to 5 days. The boys brought me a piece of the pig’s liver: delicious.

Then Brian grabbed me -- “Tarantula grande!” -- he says. Off the house platform I jumped, camera in pocket. This tarantula was a different type, living in the ground rather than a tree. It was of medium size, lighter in color (not black). Being on the open ground the visual was great. Gary lightly prodded it with a stick and it attacked the end -- raising both front legs, opening its pincers and biting.

February 25, day 12 (journal notes).

Three Indians led us to a nearby animal colpa -- mostly for monkeys. As it poured rain last night the forest was empty of animals. I laughed apathetically, “There is no one here except us!” Gary agrees and we turned around.

Five minutes later the forest grows ominously dark. In the distance it sounds like an approaching tidal wave is sweeping through the trees. Wave one hits -- strong winds hit the trees. Wave two hits -- again strong winds. Each time I see Brian looking up watching for falling branches. These wind waves continue for ten minutes. Then the rain comes, light at first, increasing in intensity. “We go quickly!” Gary translates and we pick up the pace, at times running.

Two hours later, completely drenched, including a shivering little monkey, we arrive at camp. Sure glad I constructed plastic waterproofed (taped) camera bags. Who knew my pork chop freezer bags from Calgary would become so valuable in the Amazon!

Gary trades a pair of old jeans for some meat and veggies. Titi eats pig meat! He is approximately 3 months old. Lives about ten years. A torch used by the Indians is filled with tree resin. Smaller version makes a candle. Stretched pig hides sell in Requena for 12 soles each (about $4 US). Six mangy mutts are present. They help the men hunt for pigs.

February 26, day 13 (journal notes).

With clothes still soaked from yesterday’s rain off we went for the hunt. Again, due to heavy rainfall yesterday, for the first two hours we saw nothing. The rainforest seemingly empty. Brian went to shoot a macaw. I wasn’t big on the idea but I guess we should eat something. Brian disappears into the foliage to follow the birds’ squawks. I wandered off to the 'toilet' to do my thing. Fifteen minutes later (hey, I was taking my time) I reapproach both Brian and Gary. Brian appears unsettled, upset.

Gary explains the second gunshot was not aimed at birds. While tromping through the forest floor -- off the main path -- Brian stumbled across a two meter big pit viper. Pit vipers being defensive of their home territory, it charged him, he shot, hit its tail / hind section, saw it coil in pain, he turned and ran, calling out to us for help. Both Gary and I heard nothing, not a peep.

In his hand was a macaw. I asked Gary if we could go check upon the viper (two meters!!) as my initial understanding was Brian killed it. Brian didn’t remember where it was (riiiight) and Gary clarified, advising me of the danger if it was still alive. There would probably be other vipers in the area. Off we go.

The Indians had earlier advised Brian “If you walk five hours in this direction you should come across spider monkeys.” We hit a group ten minutes later. Though I am divided on the reality of the situation I give the go-ahead to kill. We must eat. Plus, I swore to myself at the beginning of this tour, it being my last major one, that the kid-gloves would come off. If there is a shred of curiosity in me about something -- be it deemed good or evil by an irrelevant ‘other’ -- I will satisfy the desire.

Brian fires the first shot within seconds. The cartridge is jammed in his rifle. The monkey is injured but does not fall, remaining high in the trees. There are nine or ten other monkeys leaping to escape, shaking the branches, screeching. In goes a second cartridge. BLAM! Hits a second monkey. BLAM! Hits it again and it falls to the forest floor.

The main group has departed. The first injured monkey sits high in a tree. I say give it thirty minutes to fall. If it does not fall shoot it again. Gary and Brian agree. The second fallen monkey is a large male, quite heavy. Thirty minutes later, BLAM! Thud! This monkey is a female. Gary advises me the spider monkey is the largest type of monkey in the Amazon.

Brian grabs palm leaves, Gary collects vine. The animals are wrapped into backpacks. Gary carries the female. As guest I get to carry the heavy male. We are out of shotgun shells so can go no further. On go the backpacks and we make our way to camp.

Along the way Gary points out a small pit viper less than a foot long. I am in disbelief this little snake can end my life but both boys insist it is true. Found a huge beetle with giant pincers and antenna. Even Gary had never seen one like this before. Another beautiful monster.

By 3pm we hit camp. It was a long haul in the heat. A few pictures. Brian gave the monkeys to the head Indian woman. She first burned the fur away in the fire then hauled them to the riverside where she gutted both in the canoe, cutting the female into pieces for tonight’s meal.

One of the Indian hunters brought back an armidillo. Both the female monkey and armidillo were thrown into separate pots. The three of us went for a swim. After the last couple days of rain the water level of the river has been substantially raised. Strong current. Swimming in a river with caimans and pirhanas, who would have thunk it two months ago?!

The armidillo was tasty. As for our monkey the skin was tough. Cutting that away the meat was somewhat tough but chewable. It tasted more like beef than chicken. To our amusement the most enthusiastic eater of the spider monkey was Titi, the monkey tamarin! He looked crazy as he tore at the meat, like he hadn’t eaten in days. I dubbed him “Titi the Cannibal.” I joked to Gary this trek is like ‘The Restaurant Tour.’

While finishing my meal Gary yells out “They killed a sloth monkey!” Grabbed my camera. This was unlike any sloth I have ever seen. It had thick greenish fur, two claws on its upper hands, three claws to its lower. The claws were much smaller than that of the grey sloth. One of the women cut five claws away for souvenir.

Quite the day. With the sunshine, no rain, out came the creatures.

February 27, day 14 (journal notes).

I made the call to return to the monkey colpa -- it was a good call. Both spider monkeys and howler monkeys were present. We managed to sneak into the colpa while the howlers were in full noise production. Captured two sound files on them. Pictures, as usual, were hopeless (too much foliage, too high in the trees). But I did get to see a handful of them visually: red howler monkeys.

I would have loved to slosh around in the colpa and create a cool photo collection of Dagobah-like pictures. But once again the fear stories pour out about anacondas, electric eels, etc. Increasingly impatient over constantly hearing about what I cannot do, over their constant fear of snakes, particularly anacondas, I lash out “They’re not gods, Gary, they are animals. We have the shotgun.” But on the excuses go.

Brian then states he wants to kill a howler monkey. He has never seen one up close before, never shot one. We didn’t need the meat. We have 3 shells left for 7 days. I nixed the idea. Well that was it. Brian was useless after that, refusing to talk, refusing to continue to walk. Great.

Gary and I continued on without him, no shotgun. I could tell Gary was scared as hell, inching forward. We didn’t get far. The rain of previous days had completely flooded the trails. It would be a swim, not a trek. Back to the colpa where Brian sat sulking.

I re-entered the colpa by myself, slushing around in knee deep water. Within fifteen minutes Gary calls out to go back to camp on the call of coming rain. I threw up my hands in disgust, exited the colpa, and started back to camp by 12:45pm. Made camp by 2:15pm, then cut myself loose to look for insects for a couple hours in the surrounding trees. Finished out the day with a swim and more spider monkey for dinner.

February 28, day 15 (journal notes).

Gary tells me the gist of his conversation with Brian while I was in the colpa the previous day. “Nothing satisfies this guy!” Brian had said, “If we show another tourist these things they would be happy for a week! He wants to see EVERYTHING! We try to do everything we can and still it is not enough.”

We had a much needed discussion to clarify. I told them they are used to two to three week vacationers on their tours, the usual forest trek by a tourist being four or five days (at three weeks this was the longest tour either of them had done). I say many people in the ‘West’ feel they are lucky to get three, four or five weeks off a year for vacation. The vast majority of people do not have my experience of 4.5 years of travel.

Because of this I absorb and integrate new experiences rapidly, a process that is constantly pushing my ‘tolerance’ level for originality and/or excitement and/or thrill higher and higher. A certain thing or event to thrill another person no longer has the same ‘kick’ for me.

I want increased risk, I invite increased risk, not safety. If I wanted safety I would remain in Canada. I told Gary he being a company representative I understand he wants to emphasize safety first, but as a long-term traveller I choose a higher degree of risk. It may possibly lead to my death but that is my decision to make. Upon these words Gary finally started to see the light, and then -- upon translation -- Brian.

On that note we went hiking. Took one of the canoes, crossed Rio Lobo, paddled up Rio Matanza, found some dry land, tied the canoe and started hiking. At first we saw very little in terms of wildlife. A bird here. A swarm of ants there. A chicken heard in the distance. More jaguar claw scrapings on the bases of two trees; estimated one week old.

Then we stumbled upon a group of monkeys not yet seen by me: the choro. With only 2 shells remaining Brian asked if he could shoot one. I gave the thumbs up. BLAM! Nothing fell. BLAM! Nothing fell. Brian calls out. We approach. Missed twice.

To my surprise the monkeys do not run away. Instead they come closer to look at us! It allows me, in turn, an excellent look at them. Still high in the trees, they are large like the spider monkey, but brown in color and more stocky. Short and stocky like a body builder. I sound taped their calls to one other. Fascinating after two gunshots these animals did not run away.

I followed them through the trees for twenty minutes while Brian and Gary rested. This being the eighth type of wild monkey I have seen, one of the most difficult to see in the Amazon basin, we turned around and made our way back to the canoe, it pouring rain for half of the return.

I raised the topic of travelling down Rio Lobos, to Rios Galvez and Yavari (which are the Peru-Brazilian border), past multiple Indian communities, to the town of Angomos. I needed to know hard facts instead of speculation -- as the boys did not know. One of the Indian men provided information.

I made a list of pros and cons.

Pros:
-- get to float Rio Lobo for 2 days
-- get to see Rios Galvez and Yavari (the Brazilian border)
-- get to see main outpost Angamos
-- get to see new land, territory, not having to return the same route we came
-- get to see the Amazon by air for 45 minutes via the return flight from Angamos to Iquitos
-- get to see Indian villages

Cons:
-- between the three of us we have only 60 soles ($20 US)
-- there is no bank in Angamos
-- there is no boat from Angamos to Iquitos; it was cancelled due to lack of passengers. The only alternative is to fly 45 minutes, the airfare being $50 US each. I would have to pay for the three of us, the extra cost I find abrasive to my cheapskate self. To buy air tickets in Amgamos Gary would have to phone his company to pay for the tickets. I would later reimburse them upon arrival in Iquitos.
-- my focus here is the rainforest. While it is of small interest to see tribal villages the forest is of more value to me. That is, I paid to see the rainforest, not Indians. Rio Galvez is a huge river, by entering it I would little to nothing of the forest. According to my original mandate it would be days wasted.
-- Rio Galvez being a huge river, unlike the small river-streams we have been canoeing, the boys say they can build canoes out of palm trees to float us down both the Lobo and the Galvez. Brian insists the canoes will be sturdy, strong, safe. But I am hesitant.
-- both boys suspect Colombian drug traffickers operate along the Yavari and Galvez rivers. Though it is purely speculative at this point the idea could have merit. In Colombia itself the eastern rainforest is largely off limits to tourists due to high guerilla and drug producing activity, the western coastal and middle of the country being more tourist friendly. The drugs of Colombia have to exit the country someplace; ‘backdoors’ in the forest into surrounding countries would be the most likely situation. It could be a substantial risk to me in particular if true.

With these points made to myself I nixed the Lobo-Galvez-Yavari-Amgamos possibility. From this tour I have had a good preliminary run at the Amazon basin. Learned lots.

I went to sit with Gary and Brian for a while in one family house. They learned words and phrases in Indian language. I had little to ask.

Lastly, eating spider monkey may be a treat but burping up the taste of monkey and burnt fur for six hours on a day trek gets old quickly.

March 1, day 16 (no journal notes made).

March 2, day 17 (journal notes).

5:30pm: I am exhausted. My back is badly scraped by my pack. It is hot as %*Ç&. 31.5 hours ago, 10am on the 16th, we started our land trek back to Rio Aucayacu. We said goodbye to the Indian families, thanking them for their help and information.

After a brief canoe ride up Rio Matanza, the rain stopped, we started walking. Early on Brian decided to play a trick on Gary. We hid behind some trees. Gary flies on ahead and we don’t see him for the next 20 hours.

Two hours into the trek we come across a group of Choro monkeys. Having purchased a few shells from the Indians Brian blasts one out of the trees. I carry him. My pack is heavy enough, like I need the weight of a monkey too. By 1pm we make a former campsite, burn and gut the monkey, continuing on by 2pm. Strangely, by 4:45pm I am almost dead, barely standing. My back is rubbed raw. It is pouring rain. We decide to go one more hour.

During the course of the afternoon Brian points out four more types of monkeys: Mono blanca, Mono Negro, Frailer, and Ardilla. Saw my first squirrel too. Jungle tsiktsik. Coming to a thatched hut at 5:45pm we agreed to call it quits and resume in the morning.

This morning I wrapped a raincoat around my mid section to lesson the friction on my back. It worked. Within a half hour we find Gary’s camp, say hi, and carry on. No food for 24 hours was tiring but we were determined to reach the canoe as quickly as possible, it pouring rain again. The streams crossed went over our knees. Soaked. Wet. The skin on my legs is raw from the friction of wet (coarse) material on skin.

Finally at 9:04am we reached the canoe. The rain stopped. “I love you canoe!” Gary arrived 30 minutes later. We refloated the canoe (submerged by the rain), found our hidden equipment stashes and repacked the boat. Paddled downstream a bit. Stopped at 10:45am to eat at a good, dry camp. Oh, spaghetti! What a dream. I am sick of rice, sick of uca, sick of monkey, sick of banana. I again alcoholed my back, gritting my teeth. Departed about 1pm.

The river level is the highest I have seen it. Very easy paddling downstream, there being only a few large fallen trees to step over. I enjoyed the scenery as Gary and Brian steered, paddled. Snapped photos. At one point we grabbed fruit off a tree and ate; tasty.

We are at the initial colpa camp now, arrived 3:45pm. Checked my possessions, particularly the cameras, all okay. Tape and plastic did the job, thwarting the Amazon downpours. Strung up the hammock. Ate some Choro monkey and spaghetti.

1:36am. Can´t sleep. Summary. Before leaving Iquitos I had an idealized, intense experience in mind, one that involved a significant amount of trekking. … through first hand experience I gained an important introductory lesson on (a) my physical ability to successfully deal with a rainforest environment, and (b) what to expect from the rainforest. It has been a crash course in which my ignorance has collided head on with reality.

There was bound to be pressures, frictions, conflicts -- internally and externally -- in sweeping these ignorances aside. Now having basic experience on which I can build will, hopefully, aid me better in tailoring future tours to my liking. It being day 17 of the tour I have seen no logging presence, minimal human traffic (local hunters / fishermen), no other foreigners.

March 3, day 18 (journal notes).

7am rise. I walked out, solemnly sat down, ate my breakfast and said “Do not throw away that extra rice. We are staying one more night here. I want to walk the colpa.” Of course the excuses kicked in, the water levels will be too high, the snake and eel dangers, yaddha, yaddha. I sat stone faced.

I know they both expected me to change my mind once we canoed across the river. Why? Gary wore his sweater and Brian his thongs. At first it was only knee deep. Not bad. We hit a deeper section. “Do you remember this part?” Gary asks. No. I ask how deep it is. “About two meters …” Gary says unconfidently. “You are guessing.” I replied and walked in up to my chest. “It is five feet deep,” I called back and kept on walking once on the opposite bank.

Briefly leading the way I stumbled upon a sting ray! It was a small one, brown in color, spotted white. I never thought a sting ray would be found in an Amazon colpa. It is like any creature that swims can get anywhere with the high water levels. Brian stumbles into the area against my “Stop!” and the ray disappears into deeper waters.

Into the colpa we go. Most of the water level is knee to waist deep; at times going to the shoulder (and deeper). My primary purpose was to capture some of the Dagobah-like scenery of the colpa. I absolutely love it.

We came to another deep water vein. This time I swim across, cameras over my head. Brian dives headfirst into the water with his gun “commando-style.” Gary goes under. Titi, jumping off Gary’s head and swimming by himself, is drenched. The sight of Titi swimming was eye-opening. Brian is howling in laughter. Even I am cracking a smile looking at a soggy-fur Titi.

I tell the boys to sit for awhile and I will wander around by myself. For the next hour I did just that, finding a handful of pictures of trees, spikes and spiders. When I returned both boys had climbed high into a tree. They played Tarzan for awhile. Satisfied, I eased up a little and we made way to camp. Took a swim. Goddamned ants on a log chewed up my chest badly.

At the campfire I ask Gary “What is the meaning of life?” Gary shrugged his shoulders, saying he was too young to comment, translated the question to Brian and for the next hour we listened to Brian’s life philosophy of Guns & God.

At one point Brian says to me “Titi Commando!” and threw an object as hard as he could high up into a tree. I was stunned to see it really was Titi he threw, the little arms and legs spread out. Titi snagged a branch three-quarters up a tree and, over time, made his way down to Gary. I wanted to movie record a rerun of the incident, but by this time both batteries of my digital were drained.

March 4, day 19 (journal notes).

Started paddling downstream 7:30am or so. A beautiful, sunny day. I let the boys paddle as I enjoyed the scenery. A few birds and monkeys. And there it was. After days of heavy rain, sitting on a cluster of branches to the side of the river, sunning itself, some four feet in length … my first wild anaconda.

They turned the canoe around and I snapped some five pictures of it (on film). Not even five minutes later, taking a river shortcut, the front of the canoe gets tangled in some vines. A second anaconda is sunning itself in them! Brian thrashes like a maniac to free us from entanglement. In doing so the snake just plopped into the water and disappeared. Two!

And, you guessed it, an hour later Brian spots a third anaconda coiled up on more branches. Gary made an attempt to catch it. Nope. Plop! I see one pit viper in 19 days then 3 anacondas in 1 day. Unreal.

Made camp at about 11:30am or so. Unloaded our junk. Brian’s village is celebrating its 24th year of foundation. Starving we all elected to attend. Football matches, neighboring villages in attendance, even some familiar faces like Rasula the cook and the children. Brian jumped into one of the football (soccer) matches and sprained his ankle within 5 minutes. We hung around till 5:30pm or so, I slapped 40 soles into Brian’s hand, said thank you and goodbye.

March 5, day 20 (journal notes).

Departed camp about 3pm, hit the main river about 4:30pm. Gary had miscalculated the number of days on day 1, thus with the return arrangements we made with the boatman of Genaro Herrera, had to cut the tour one day short. We had planned to spend a night in Genaro Herrera to compensate. I took a look at the Don Jose ferry pulling into Genaro Herrera, said screw it, the tour is over, “Let’s go to Iquitos.” Just made the docks as the ferry was pulling away.

Another 8 hours and we will be back in the big city. Funny. When I first travelled this river route from Pucallpa to Iquitos I thought I was heading into the rainforest. Now I think I am heading towards civilization.

** End journal entries **

Iquitos To Yurimaguas

Returning to Iquitos on the morning of March 6 I changed into a pair of my own dress pants -- they nearly slid off my waistline! I was shocked to see how much weight I lost during the 20 day trek.

In retrospect the meals for some two weeks were largely wild meat, yuca (a vegetable), banana. While this is no doubt enough to survive my body obviously used up all extra fat for additional energy -- hence the ‘mysterious’ lack of energy on Day 17 (paragraph two).

I boarded the ferry Eduardo IV on March 10 bound for Yurimaguas, with stomach problems picked up in Iquitos that would pester me for the next 11 days. If I was feeling extremely skinny on March 6 I would be feeling more so by the end of the 11 days; the final three I ate not a thing to starve the little bacterial bastardos out of my guts.

The ferry Eduardo IV was a nicer boat than the others I’d been on. Three decks. The first is a dungeon filled with cargo, bananas and poorer folk. Second is a step up and packed tight with passengers. The third deck is for the more monied, more space, a nice dining / table area, larger bathrooms, 100 soles ($33 US) for 4 days of travel, 3 meals per day included.

Trujillo & Chiclayo

Arrived in Yurimagus on March 13, jumped buses to Moyobamba and then Trujillo, past vast garbage dumps randomly spread along the desert / coastal highway of northern Peru.

In Trujillo I scoped out a lame beach-surfer scene. Then the ancient site of Chan Chan, it once being the largest pre-Columbian city in the Americas and the largest mud-brick city in the world. Built around 1300 AD by the Chimu people it contained some 10000 structures. Then the Sun and Moon Temples, built around 600 AD by the Moche culture. The Sun pyramid being Peru’s largest pre-Columbian structure.

To Chiclayo for its tomb and museum of Sipan, a fellow buried hundreds of years ago with loads of treasure. Then to Piura and the Peruvian border. For the first time in my travelling life I had overstayed a visa by some 18 days. I made a deal with the customs’ guard, it being Sunday and the banks closed, that I would pay him $20 directly to allow a legitimate exit stamp in my passport. He bought it.

Loja, Cuenca & Alausi

Hello Ecuador!

Loja. Talk about a de-pressurization from Peru. Laaaid back, dude. A pretty little colonial town in a valley, the smell of pines as one walks, very relaxing. In an art shop found a fabulous painting by artist Acara Diaz (volcano with humming birds, see pictures page). Ordered a plate of guinea pig for $12.

Cuenca. Another colonial city, more intense in its historical preservation than Loja. I was here when the countries of Peru, Ecuador and Colombia announced their intention to sign a free trade agreement with the United States. Several provinces in Ecuador went into a state of emergency to quell protests. In Cuenca it was no different, with me stumbling into riots in the downtown core on March 23.

Police decked out in riot gear and sheilds, firing tear gas cannisters into masked student crowds, who in turn were throwing molotov cocktails and rocks, spray painting their dislike of the “TLC” negotiations onto walls. Catching whiffs of the tear gas was nasty. Continued on to the markets, where a live guinea pig costs $7 and the flower market is my favorite section.

Alausi, for the ‘famous’ train ride down into some Devil’s canyon. Ugh. Though it was fun to sit on the roof of the train while it descended into the valley, this certainly was not a precedent for me -- the buses and trains of Pakistan and India are a lot more fun on the roof. I did it. It’s done. I moved on. The weirdest thing was seeing so many tourists in one place. Probably more on one train ride than I had seen in all of northern Peru.

Banos & Volcan Tungurahua

Banos. I knew the bus ride to Banos was only an hour from Riobamba, so fifty-five minutes into transport I was wondering where Volcan Tungurahua was -- which cloud bank. At that moment I glanced out the window and saw the eruption of an ash cloud breaking through the (normal) clouds. Adrenaline surged through me as we pulled into Banos. Because central Banos is behind a hill, blocking out the perfect view of Tung, I backtracked the highway with my pack looking for the perfect hotel room -- and view.

Two kilometers from town I found it. Hostel Casa Nahuazo. $8 per night. I immediately began asking questions and gathering information about Tungurahua. Renting a simple helmet from the trekking shops was like pulling goddamned teeth (useless %*^Ǩs!) so I went into a hardware store and bought one for $5.

Picked up $30 worth of groceries -- including 1.2 kg of milk chocolate -- and six liters of water. Concerned the trekking shops would try to stop me I told only the hostel owner Ervin what I was going to do: attempt a hike to the crater of Tungurahua, an active volcano in a state of eruption since November 1999.

The first time I ever heard of Tungurahua -- a.k.a., The Black Giant -- was from a girl I met while in Central America in 2003. She had stayed with a local peasant for a week on an opposing mountain side, viewing erupting lava from Tung at night. That scenerio struck me as brilliant.

From my hotel room I noticed ash clouds constantly being thrown from the crater, varying from 5 to 10 to 20 minutes between each. I knew the risks and was prepared to accept the increased risk as I ascended the volcano, subject to revision as I saw fit.

Hiring a guide was unthinkable -- based on past experience with a couple volcano guides I usually found them more intolerable than helpful. Even though I did not know the way up I planned to make Tungurahua all mine.

As usual before an event like this I made a conscious contract with myself: there is a chance I could die. In light of this I have seen more diversity and had more adventure in this (potentially short) life than many individuals will see in their full lifetimes. Frankly, I think I am in overtime already. If I die then it has been a good life.

On the night of March 27 I packed my gear and supplies, put two bags of personal items into storage with Ervin. March 28, 5:45am, based on the weather I made the call to begin. Exited the hostel about 6:15am and started my ascent into the clouds.

The story of the climb to the crater, as taken from my journal notes, is here:

http://www.oocities.org/tsiktsikcr/tung.html

I returned to Banos by 7pm on March 30. Woke on April 2 to see the top of Tung white, covered in snow, melted by April 3. Some five weeks after my climb, the first half of May, Tungurahua began violently erupting:

From the below link comes the following text of a May 24, 2006 article:

“According to the National Geophysical Institute of Ecuador, an increase in the volcanic activity of the Tungurahua Volcano has been recorded since 10 May 2006. Since then, strong explosions and hundreds of tremors have been registered, with moderate and strong emissions of steam and gas, and very low ash fall. Loud roars and incandescent rocks coming from the volcano are reported daily. On May 16, the President of Ecuador declared a state of emergency in several villages in the affected provinces of Tungurahua and Chimborazo.”
http://www.reliefweb.int/rw/RWB.NSF/db900SID/EGUA-6Q4LRS?OpenDocument

… and ... “over 400 Ecuadoreans have been evacuated to temporary shelters.” (May 19, 2006)
http://www.sabcnews.com/world/south_america/0,2172,127743,00.html

… and ... “The volcano registered 133 explosions of vapor and gas between Wednesday and Friday, Ecuador's Geophysics Institute reported. … since May 10 we have had times in which there are 10 explosions per hour, booms so powerful that they broke some windows in sectors like Cusua … residents say the thunderous explosions have not been so loud since 1999.” (May 13, 2006) http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2006/05/13/AR2006051300225.html

… and … “The blasts can be heard within a radius of 20 kilometers (some 12 miles) of the volcano.” (May 15, 2006) http://www.dominicantoday.com/app/article.aspx?id=13453

Looks like I made a good call in climbing it when I did ! I tried taking it easy in Banos for a week, visiting the zoo on April 3. Brilliant!

The condors stole the show here. The zoo staff built a cage out of a small valley between hills, putting wire mesh over the valley as a roof to keep the condors inside. The beauty about the cage was, if one initiated a little rule-breaking, one could leave the main trail and sit overtop the wire mesh. There was one point a condor had its head through the mesh, mere inches away from me. Captured some priceless picture and movie footage of them.

Quito

On April 6, needing a change of scenery, needing to get away from the ever-menacing presence of Tungurahua -- every explosion and rumble put me on the edge, the edge of her crater. Three days on the side of Tungurahua, a week in Banos, had instilled a ‘seige mentality’ in me. I left for the capital city of Quito.

Ah, Quito! A few weeks ago I made a joke to Markus, a German metal-maniac and software programmer (yet another German genius) that gravity must be heavier here in Quito than the rest of the world. I just can’t get the energy to leave! He understood well, having spent a lot of time in Quito himself.

Concerned about becoming seriously sick in my still extra slender condition I swept away all diet/cost restrictions. The more calories a type of food or drink has the better (one German girl said in response “I wish!”). For the last two months I have been voraciously eating anything with sugar, particularly chocoate, in the effort to rebuild my weight. Beers also rank at the top of the list.

Quito, being modern with a moderate climate, user friendly, has thus become a much needed break from the rainforest before I inevitably return to the latter’s midst for more biological astonishment and self punishment.

Visiting the National Museum in Quito I quickly established La Tolita as my favorite ancient Ecuadorian culture (600 BC – 400 AD), with their excellent pottery and symbolisms. They were also the first culture in the world to master platinum, some 2000 years before Western cultures did.

One note about the Puruha peoples, 1200 to 1504 AD, is: “The tutelar gods of the Puruhua were the Chimborazo and Tungurahua volcanos. The coupling of the mountains -- the former masculine and the latter feminine -- generated the Puruhua peoples and the nature of their territory.” Sweet! I always knew Tungurahua was a lady.

Another part of legend states: “Taita Chimborazo and Mama Tungurahua were married, but Mama Tungurahua started to flirt with her dashing neighbour El Altar. Taita Chimborazo struck once angrily with his fist on El Altar, which thereby fell apart completely and since that time Mama Tungurahua, in rage over the humiliation of her lover, spits fire and smoke ...”

(A long time ago El Altar was the highest mountain of Ecuador. A huge eruption almost completely destroyed the cone, leaving 9 snow-capped summits in a horseshoe shape around an enormous crater lake.)

Other things in Quito: the botanical gardens being of interest, the old colonial town was lame (I prefer Guanajuato in Mexico), my favorite church being the gothic styled Cathedral where I sat up in the belfry for 4 hours, dangling my feet over Quito in delight. Also, Mitad del Mundo, the center of the world, at 0 degrees latitude, 0 degrees longitude.

Once in Quito (2800 meters), a week after the climb of Tungurahua, my knee began strangely acting up and the big toe on my right foot went curiously numb. With the knee I could barely walk on flat pavement. This grounded me from further climbing and freed me to drink as many beers in as many discos and bars as I could. As the Christians are fond of saying “The devil loves to fill empty hands.” Ah, may God bless Satan. Forever and ever. Amen.

Volcans Guagua Pichincha, Reventador & Cotopaxi

Testing out my knee, health and stamina since, there have been an additional three volcano climbs completed during my stay in Quito: Guagua Pinchincha (4794 meters), Reventador (3562 meters) and Cotopaxi (5897 meters).

The brief story of the Guagua Pichincha (The Baby) climb is here (April 15-16):

http://www.oocities.org/tsiktsikcs/guagua.html

The Reventador (The Exploder) climb, from journal notes, is here (April 20-24):

http://www.oocities.org/tsiktsikcs/reventador3.html

The Cotopaxi climb, from journal notes, is here (May 6-7):

http://www.oocities.org/tsiktsikcs/cotopaxi2.html

On June 13, for my birthday, I returned to Banos to view the intensified activity of Tungurahua. Hiked from 1800 to 2600 meters. True to pattern the clouds cleared by 4:30pm. Dozens of loud explosions thundered, easily heard from where I sat to view ash clouds.

As darkness approached I began descending to the town of Banos. Upon hearing another significant explosion I turned to look. In the half-light I could see three incandescent rocks -- flaming fireballs -- streaming down the volcano’s side in a spread of some 500 meters. Another explosion, another fireball seen fading in / out as it cascaded down the volcano’s flank. Then the clouds moved in and Tung disappeared.

As the north flank -- the path to the crater -- is the least active for seeing lava / fireballs / projectiles I can only imagine the action the charred west flank must see. Another volcanic first for me provided courtesy of Lady Tungurahua ! Returned to Quito on the 14th.

At this point I do not know when I will depart Quito. But this is nothing knew in the cycles of my travel. I have always pushed the road hard for three to five months, then rested one to three months before the next push. There is Istanbul, Rishikesh, Shanghai, Yogyakarta and more to attest to this pattern. Quito, Ecuador is no different.