Welcome to the Jungle (Part 1)

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With my chin in my right hand, and my elbow on the armrest, I lean out over the aisle and stare down the fuselage of the Airbus A318 - bored witless.

I look over to my left at Luis. He is gazing blankly at the back of the seat in front of him and pinching at his lower lip with his thumb and forefinger. He looks at me with an expression of mild concern.

"Will they have ceviche in Iquitos?"

I laugh. Thank God for the Spanish love of seafood. In my experience, Madrileños are usually pretty reluctant to try - much less adopt - aspects of other cultures. But if it's seafood, they will try it and generally love it.

We went to a restaurant last night in Lima and ordered a big platter of ceviche and a few Cusqueña beers. Beer is, in my opinion, an obligatory accompaniment to ceviche. It goes nicely with the subtle burn of the lime juice and ají powder.

Luis loved the ceviche - so we ordered another.

"I don't know," I say, responding to his question. "It's pretty far from the coast. Not sure what the local diet is like. There will be lots of river fish, count on that. But I've never tried ceviche with fresh-water fish. Might not work."
"Hmm," Luis goes back to studying his fold-out tray. "I hope they have it."

The hour and a half flight to Iquitos is excruciating. I'm more than accustomed to sitting on buses for five, ten, or twenty hours. But being stuck on a plane kills me. I think it is because it doesn't really feel like I am moving.

Eventually, the plane drops out of the sky and lands at the Iquitos airport.

As soon as we step out of the door and onto the mobile stairs, we are met with a wall of heat and humidity - a sharp contrast to the cool, dry air of Lima. It is well after dark, so tomorrow's sun should be an even greater shock.

Once down the stairs and onto the tarmac, Luis grins and croaks out a lyric in his best Axl Rose impression.

"Welcome to the jungle!"
"I've had that damn song stuck in my head since I woke up this morning," I chuckle.

Iquitos is the largest city in the world that cannot be reached by road. This is partly due to its location deep within the Amazon rain forest - making it financially difficult and unfruitful to connect it to the rest of the country with large highway projects. But the isolation of the city is sealed by the fact that it is surrounded on all sides by the Nanay, Itaya, and Amazon rivers.

One of the obvious consequences of this extreme isolation is that everything not produced in or around the city must come in by boat or plane. This makes vehicles such as cars and trucks an unthinkable expense. A few people have them, but the cost of sending a car up the river on a modestly-sized cargo boat is just too high.

What passes as road transportation is something known as a motocarro. This is a motorcycle retrofitted with a small carriage behind it with space for two people. Think of a motorcycle crossed with a rickshaw.
So when you walk out of the Iquitos airport, you don't see drop-off lanes filled with shuttle buses and taxi sedans. There is just a huge parking lot packed with dozens of motocarros and drivers standing around waiting for a fare.

When Luis and I leave the terminal, these drivers notice the newly arrived gringos and swarm. Within seconds, there are twenty or so drivers surrounding us - offering to take us to wherever we want to go.

Luis clutches tightly to his pack and looks around at them in terror - his eyes wide with surprise.

"What in the hell?"

I was expecting this mass assault of motocarristas. I read about it while I was in research mode. I should have warned Luis beforehand, but it didn't occur to me. Now I'm glad I didn't - the look on his face is priceless.

One of the less obnoxious drivers explains that if we don't have a hotel, he will take us to several in the city center and show them to us until we find one we like. Just 8 soles.

Good deal. But I think we pile our stuff onto the back of his moto out of appreciation for civility more than frugality.

We find a decent place a few blocks from the main square for $10 USD a night. Not bad considering we each get a private room with bathroom and cable TV. Furthermore, this is as about as cheap as it gets in Iquitos.

Starving, we head back out into the street and into the main square. On the corner is Ari's - a happening little restaurant with open walls exposed to the street. We take a seat at one of the few remaining tables.

Mounted to the ceiling at one side of the diner is a large television. It is showing non-stop coverage of the U.S. presidential election. Many of the east coast results are in - the tension is mounting. Despite the dull roar of conversation and loud ceiling fans, all eyes are glued to the screen.

A waitress comes to the table and hands us a few menus. We flip through them.

"Hey!" says Luis. "They have ceviche!"
"Excellent."
"But not tonight, I'm too hungry."
"Me too."
"This chicken sounds good. Minnesota just turned blue. Is that Obama or McCain?"
"Obama. Yeah, the chicken sounds good."

Before long, the plates come out and we scarf down the food. Then we sit at the table for a few more hours over several rounds of Cusqueña and watch history being made - dubbed in Spanish.

Indiana Jones and the Fountain of Disappointment

In the morning, we get an early start. We hit the same restaurant for breakfast (Luis is a creature of habit). Then we go straight to the nearest internet cafe.

There has been a miscommunication on time. When I told Luis that it would "take a while" to travel on the cargo boat up into Ecuador, he thought I meant three or four days. I meant it would potentially take a few weeks - not including however long the wait will be for the boat to actually arrive in Iquitos from its current trip.

This is a problem as Luis already has a flight from Guatemala to Austin in early December. So he needs to get moving faster than I am. I probably should too, but I am set on doing this the hard way.

Fortunately, the Napo River is not the only escape route from Iquitos. There are speed boats that travel downstream on the Amazon to Leticia in Southeastern Colombia. This only takes seven or eight hours. From there, Luis can explore a bit of Colombia before taking a flight to somewhere in Central America.

We spend an hour or so going over flight options to Panama and Costa Rica.

Anyway, it looks like I'll be doing the cargo boat on my own, after all.

Having found a reasonable solution to his jungle exile, Luis and I go to a few tourist agencies to inquire about a two or three day trip into the jungle. A few are outrageously expensive and involve little more than extended boat trips on the Amazon.

But we want the jungle.

Late in the morning, we walk into one agency in the main square. A middle-aged man dressed in khaki safari shorts and a white shirt takes us into his office and offers us a seat. He squeezes behind the large desk and collapses into his chair.

"Ok, so what are you guys interested in seeing?"
"Well," says Luis. "We were hoping to spend about three days in the jungle. You know, walking around, looking at animals, plants, stuff like that. And we're a little pressed for time, so we're hoping we could go tomorrow morning."

The man points to an enormous map of the region hanging on the wall to our right. He reaches down and pulls up a long stick - longer than a pool cue.

"Ok, so here we are in Iquitos."

To illustrate our position, he flicks the stick at high-speed against the map to point to Iquitos. Whack! Luis and I jump in our seats a little.

"Now what we can offer you," he goes on, "is a three day excursion into this part of the jungle north of the city."

He drags the tip of the stick up in a curving line to demonstrate the trajectory along one of the many river tributaries.

"At night, you will sleep in a cabin at our lodge here."

Whack!

"How much for the three days?" I ask.
"For the three days, it would be $155 each."
"Uf," Luis mutters under his breath.
"We also do a day tour which takes you to the birth of the Amazon."

Whack! He indicates a point southwest of the city.

Luis's eyes light up. "The birth of the Amazon?" He looks at me. "I can't go home and tell people I went to South America and didn't see the beginning of the Amazon!"
"If you only have three days," the guy goes on, "we can do the day tour tomorrow for $60 each, and change the jungle tour to two days for $125."
"What do you think?" asks Luis.
"Sounds good to me."

It's more than I want to spend, but I'm not too picky. I came here primarily for an atypical means of getting to Ecuador. A jungle expedition is something I can do anywhere between here and Colombia. Furthermore, "birth of the Amazon" is a very suspect phrase to me. In the past several years, there has been a lot of debate on where the Amazon truly begins. Every year I read about some expedition into unexplored parts of Perú to find the "real" birth of the river. These are usually led by teams from Brazil - a sometimes irritatingly proud country that wants to claim that the Nile is only the second-longest river in the world. Moreover, where the Amazon begins is trivial. How do you define the birth of a river? A mountain stream? A lake? Where two rivers meet and change characteristics?

How much brain energy does the human race waste on questions of arbitrary and irrelevant semantics?

But I digress. I'm up for whatever.

We thank the guy and tell him that we'll look at our options over lunch before deciding.

Our last stop is the agency just up the street from and recommended by our hotel. I was against this at first as it usually leads to an inflated price in order to pay a kickback to the referring party. But Luis points out that one of the girls working at the hotel told him that they are both owned by the same person.

"He isn't going to pay kickbacks to himself," he reasons.
"Good point."

We take a seat in the office of the agency. A young guy working there greets us and stands at another large map on the wall. We explain to him what we are looking for. Luis also asks if they do a day trip to the birth of the Amazon.

"Well, no," he responds. "We don't do trips to various places. We have a lodge in the jungle to the east where we base all of our stuff. So it's all around there."
"Oh," says Luis.
"Wait," says the guy. "Did you talk to another agency about doing that?"
"Yeah."
"How much were they charging?"
"$60 each."
The guy frowns. "Well, there's nothing magical about getting to the source of the Amazon. You can get there by yourselves and check it out. Take a colectivo to Nauta and find a guy to take you on his boat to Miguel Grau. Will cost you around $25 each."
"Really? Cool."
"Yeah, in fact," he looks at his watch and thinks for a moment. "Look, guys. Go do that now. This afternoon. Then you can do a three-day trip to the jungle on top of it."
"We'll have time today?" I ask.
"Yeah, you'll be back well after dark, but plenty of time."
"And where is your lodge?" I ask.

This is where the guy prepares to make his sale.

"Look," he says. "There are a lot of agencies here. And they're all good. You'll have a good experience with any of them. But what we offer is an isolated lodge away from all the others."

He points to a spot on the map east of Iquitos - much further away than the other agency. He goes on to explain all the features of the excursion, but he already has me sold. Based on my research, the tours that are done closer to the city aren't as good because the jungle has been impacted by too much development and plundering of resources. The further away from the city, the more pristine the jungle is. This guy's lodge is over two hours away by speed boat. Promising.

"Ok, so how much?" asks Luis.
"The three days - that's leaving tomorrow morning and coming back Saturday afternoon - is $200 each."

Ok, let's dance.

Luis and I immediately and instinctively lean in and start murmuring to each other in English. The other place was much cheaper.

The guy sits politely and waits for a few moments. He knows the dance, and he knows we're leading. This is low season and he needs our business.

"Tell you what. You're guests of our hotel. I can give you a discount. $165 each."

Still $10 more than the other place, but it's in a better location and he did help us out on the Amazon thing.

Deal.

I think for a moment that Anna would be proud of me. Then it occurs to me that she might actually be disgusted. She would have gotten an even lower price and a six-pack of Cusqueñna thrown in for good measure.

But then again, the poor thing wouldn't be able to drink it all, now would she?

The guy shakes our hands again and repeats the instructions on getting to Nauta. We scurry out of the office and hail a motocarro. Not a minute to waste.

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The smooth two-lane highway between Iquitos and Nauta causes you to second-guess the isolation of the area. In addition to the several colectivo taxis (actual cars!) buzzing back and forth, we see several large trucks hauling supplies and food.

So Iquitos can be reached by road - but only from Nauta. And vice versa.

After a few hours, we arrive in Nauta. This is a small, dingy town on the banks of the Amazon. If Iquitos causes a traveler to suspect the poverty of this region, Nauta gives a definite confirmation. Most buildings are little more than shacks, and trash is everywhere. Still, the people are friendly and seem happy.

We walk down to a small dock where there are several canoes fitted with outboard motors. We negotiate a price with the owner of one to take us to Miguel Grau about 45 minutes up the river.

When we reach the village of Grau, we climb out of the boat. The guy tethers to the dock and tells us he'll be waiting for us when we get back.

We walk down a small concrete path lined with tall, chigger-infested grass. In front of us, there is a 40-meter steel observation tower. This is where tourists come to see the river. A short man in a straw hat and a blue Hawaiian shirt leads us up the stairs to the top. From here, we can see the rest of the village of Grau - a line of houses that cuts off into the vast jungle. At the base of the tower, there are several young men of the village playing soccer in an open area.

The man takes us to the southern side of the circular tower and sweeps his arm to indicate the impossible spread of water before us. He points out the flow of the Ucayali River. Beyond it, we see the Marañon River which has traveled a thousand miles from the glaciers of the Nevado de Yarupa. Just in front of us, the two massive rivers merge to form the Amazon.

Initially, you might not even notice that there are rivers here. At first glance, it appears to just be an unthinkable amount of water. It has to be shown to you to be recognized. The slow, smooth elegance of the system is the stuff of spiral galaxies and pulsar gravitational fields - not of a fractal flow hacking its way through terrestrial jungle to find the path of least resistance.

In that sense, the scene is really quite dull. No rapids, no whirlpools. No cataclysmic clash of hydrodynamics. Just one fifth of the planet's fresh water supply lazily drifting by.

While I take photos of the sunset, the man shows Luis the various building projects going on in Grau. They are building cabins for tourists looking for a break from Iquitos without actually having to leave civilization altogether. It's a great idea - Iquitos can be a little overwhelming.

As soon as we get to the bottom of the tower and the man has completed his official tour guide duties for the day, he unbuttons the Hawaiian shirt and fans himself. The sun is gone, but the heat is still suffocating. He shakes our hands and wishes us a good trip. We thank him and promise to stop by someday when the cabins are completed.

Back on the boat, the sun has gone down and it is now completely dark. Only the faint silhouette of jungle on the horizon can be seen. The boatman is going slower than before, but appears to have no concern about the lack of light.

"That was cool," says Luis. "But not amazing. Not really what I expected."
"What were you expecting?"
"I don't know."

I chuckle. I think he was expecting a spectacular explosion of water over the edge of an Andean cliff into a pristine lagoon surrounded by jungle laced with parrots and monkeys.

Or maybe he imagined a natural spring erupting from the ground - cloaked in a halo of fine mist. A river sprung from the womb of Pachamama that gives eternal life to any brave explorers that bathe their brow in its placental pool.

Five hundred years on, and the Spanish Conquistadors haven't given up on the Fountain of Youth - tucked away somewhere in the sweaty lowlands of Cokaygne.

Maria T

It is after 10pm when we arrive back in Iquitos. Options for dinner are scarce, but this hardly matters when you travel with Luis.

"Ari's?" he asks.
"Sounds good."

Ari's is packed as always, so we take a free table at the front where the open wall affords a view of the main street of the plaza. The never-ending swarm of motocarros buzzes up and down the street - most of them occupied only by the driver.

"You know," says Luis. "I think they keep driving around because it's the best way to keep cool around here."
"Best job in town."

After wrestling with the menu for a bit, we decide to order a few steaks and a platter of ceviche to share.

The problem with two gringos sitting at the open end of Ari's is that everyone who walks by on the sidewalk will ask for money or try and sell you anything from t-shirts to weed. It's irritating.

But just outside the restaurant and on the other side of one of the supporting columns, a little girl stands with a small basket of candy to sell to passersby. Occasionally, she carefully peers around the column to look at us with her large brown eyes. When one of us catches her gaze, she shrinks back behind it to hide.

"She's so cute," says Luis. "And skinny. You think she's had dinner?"
"Don't know."
"What do you think?"

I look down at the fries still left on my plate and the pile of ceviche between us that we have no hope of finishing.

"Well," I reply. "We ordered too much, no sense in letting it go to waste."
"Ok," he leans back to catch the girl's eye again. "Are you hungry?"

The girl shyly nods her head up and down.

"Well here, take a seat. Help us finish this food."

The girl, dressed in an aging but clean white sundress, emerges from behind the column and sits in the chair closest to her. I move my plate of fries in front of her as Luis begins to spoon pieces of fish onto it.

"Do you like ceviche?" he asks.
"Of course!"
"What about crab?" I ask.
"Yeah."

I pick up a small crab from the ceviche platter and set it on the girl's plate. She immediately takes it and begins to pry the body open.

"Ok," I say. "You know there are certain parts inside that you shouldn't eat."
"Yeah, I know," she says and begins to expertly pick the crab apart.
"Oh good, 'cause I have no idea which parts are which." I say.
"What? You don't?" she asks incredulously.
"Nope," I don't quite know how to explain to her that the extent of my aquatic culinary childhood consisted of microwave fish sticks, and that I didn't know how to properly dismantle a whole boiled shrimp until the tender age of 29.
"You don't know how to eat a crab?" asks Luis.
"You shut up," I look back to the girl. "Want something to drink? Water? Inca Kola?"
"Inca Kola!"

Of course. I get the waitress's attention and ask for a bottle of Inca.

"What's your name?" asks Luis.
"Maria T," she replies.
"T? Why the T?"
"Because I like tea!" she snaps one of the crab claws open and sucks the meat out.
"Oh. And how old are you?"
"Eleven."
Luis looks at his watch. "Speaking of, It's past 11. Don't you have to be at school tomorrow?"
"Yeah."
"Well what time are you going to bed?"
"As soon as I sell all my candy. So maybe at 3am."

We look at the small basket of candies next to her on the table. There are at least thirty or forty pieces.

"How much do you sell them for?" I ask.
"Ten cents," she says.
"Really? That's cheap."
"Well there are sixty in a bag. And the bag costs 3 soles."

Our eyes automatically glaze over for a second while we do the math. 100%!m(MISSING)arkup. Good profit.

"Smart little business woman," Luis says in English.
"Yeah. Too bad she'll have to give it all to her parents. They probably sent her out here."
"Maria, do you live around here?" he asks.
"Yeah, in Belén with my mom."
"In one of the floating houses?"
"Yep!" She cracks open a muscle and forks the meat out.

Belén is essentially a shanty town built on the banks of the river several blocks from here. During most of the year, the high water level means the houses float and must be reached by canoe.

"And your dad?"
"He's gone. Mamá says he goes with lots of women, so she kicked him out. Do you guys like pictures of girls?"
"Huh?"
"I have CD's with pictures of pretty girls on them. A friend in Belén gave them to me to sell. Want them?"
"No," I say. "We don't. You shouldn't be walking around with those. You could...get in trouble."

She spends the next five minutes gossiping about the people in her neighborhood. Knife attacks. Robberies. Drug dealers and their unstable transvestite customers. To her, it all seems completely normal.

"Want to play a game?"
"It's very late," says Luis. "You should probably be getting home to get some rest. You have school tomorrow."

Maria pushes the empty plate away.

"Ok, It's called 'I Demand'. So I'll say something like 'I demand you touch a napkin holder'. So one of you has to touch the napkin holder." She reaches forward and taps the aluminum napkin dispenser with the tip of a finger. "Whichever of you is last loses. Got it?"
"I guess," says Luis.
"Ok. I demmaaannnnd that yooouuuuu touch my plate!"

We both sit in silence for a moment - still not sure of the point.

"Come on!" she giggles with a child's exasperation.
"Ok," says Luis and pokes at her plate with his index finger.
"Ok, you win," she says before looking at me. "And you're even slower than him."
"Actually, I'm just really stupid."
She laughs. "Ok well try again. I demand that you touuuucch," she pauses. "The salt shaker!"

Without thinking, my left arm jerks forward and knocks the salt shaker over - spilling superstitious bad luck onto the table.
"Oops."
"Ok good," says Maria. "I demand you tou-"
"Maria I demand you go home and get some rest," says Luis, massaging the bridge of his nose with a thumb and forefinger. "It is very late and you have school tomorrow. Ok?"
"Ok," she says and begins to gather up her candies and a plastic bag she has under the table - presumably containing CD's.

We each buy a handful of the candy from her with the change we have in our pockets and hope it is enough to send her home to bed. It probably isn't.

She thanks us for the food and walks off into the Iquitos night that is demolishing her childhood.

We ask for the check, sit back in our chairs, and wait in silence.

Behind me, the television is full of 11 o'clock news and Taliban resistance and failing Irish banks and rising food costs in Sri Lanka and political analysts outlining all the ways in which President-elect Obama will need to save the world from the self-inflicted gunshot wound that was the 20th century.

"You know what Belén means in English, right?" asks Luis.
"Yeah."

Bethlehem.

With the check paid, we walk up the dark street toward our hotel. At the corner, a short, plump woman approaches us.

"Hola chicos," she points up the street to the other end of the plaza. "I have a pretty niece, should I call her for you?"
"No, gracias," I say automatically in the monotone and disinterested way in which I have come to answer such questions.
"No!" says Luis more abruptly with disgust and impatience.

Thank God for the Spanish sense of Humanity. They hate this kind of shit even more than the rest of us.

I assume he is wondering the same thing I am. Does Maria T have an aunt like that? Waiting for her beautiful little niece to turn fifteen?

Fourteen?

"Ok, we've got an early start tomorrow," he says when we arrive at the hotel.
"Yep," I unlock the door to my room.
"Then off to the jungle!"
"I think we're already there."
"You said it. Good night."
"'Night."

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Comments

[Magaly]

Iquitos *******
Me gusta mucho tus historias. Espero que sigas publicandolas y no Olvides! detalles.