The Amazon Jungle, part one
I am alive. I have been bitten by every commonly known class of animal, and quite possibly some unknown. I have fed Piranas, I have handled caimans, I have floated next to pink dolphins, I have scared toucans, I have been 'hugged' by an anaconda, I have been humped by yellow squirrel monkeys, I have been slept on by brown howler monkeys.
I have been swooped, clawed and bitten by the most beautiful bird in the world, the Blue and Gold Macaw. I have played with a sweet-tempered ten-legged Tarantula. I have swung on a vine. I have canoed through a flooded jungle. I have seen a blue eagle. A Tapir obliged me to rub it's belly. A jaguar told me to back off. An anteater poked it's tonge at me. I got very rudely shocked by a giant iguana. I've killed innumerable mosquitoes. I've been sunburned, rain drenched, sweat soaked and animal soiled. My shirts stink, my jeans are dying, my shoes are muddied ruins. In short, I spent two weeks in the Amazon and loved every minute.
Our first trip out from the Peruvian town of Iquitos was an excursion to stilted lodge, inhabited by transient tourists of likewise masochistic wildlife fascinations and the jungle guides, a group of men either born and raised in the jungle or batshit crazy in terms of career selection, or both. Our guide's name was Ricky, and it is fair to say that in all important respects he is basicaly the Peruvian version of Rambo. I could wax verbose about Ricky (don't doubt me) but it is probably enough to say that he both opens milk and scratches his back with a combat knife he keeps strapped to his shin and his reaction to almost getting bitten by an Anaconda longer that he is tall was a weary "not again!", then his hand snapped around and caught it by the neck. Ricky would like to get us up an hour before dawn and go birdwatching at sunrise. We spend the first three days in this style, and indeed sighted more birds than I have the mental capacity to remember or the patience to list. Let's just call it all of them. The wildlife here is at sme critical capacity, in which every possible neice is filled to the brim and any more life of any form simply would not be feasable. The reasons for the outings were fairly irrelevant, we just needed to go and get amongst it all. We achieved this, and indeed most travel and outings in the surrealy flooded rain-forest, by use of (Peki-Peki) boat.
PARAGRAPH!
(A word on the Peki-Peki. A Peki-Peki is a long, low wooden craft which is fairly ubiquitious on the amazon. They are wide enough to seat two abreast in the middle, and often in worring repair. They achieve velocity via what can only be decribed as a lawnmower engine retrofitted to turn a several-meter-long driveshaft which inclines into the water at as shallow angle as possible and ending in a propeller, so the whole ungainly contraption acts as both motor, rudder and (when the thing (and I do mean when, not if) breaks down, floods, runs out of gas or has air intake trouble (due to the rain in the amazon, which is often strong enough to make the local atmosphere more like "well-airated water" than rain-filled air.) or otherwise stops functioning) an obscenely clumsy paddle. The method of directing this device is by metal pole welded to the front, making the steering of the boat as pleasant as having the constant vibration of a street jackhammer ceaselessly going in one hand but without the upshot of seeing pedestrian ashphault crack and splinter before you, all to the the sound of its 4 hoursepower gyraions giving it the onomatapea nickname of Peki-Peki. They do the job, and are ever so cheap to purchase.)
END PARAGRAPH!
Muh of our time was alternating between expedtions into the close, hushed jungle every bit as overgrown and rich in insect life as you imagine as a child, and going back and lazing in the hammocks with just enough time to eat and reapply various protective creams. We were generally out and about for 12 hours per day. A blow by blow would involve an alomsot endless list of species, suffice to say that in addition to the above, I have seen some serious jungle. Serious jungle.
By the fourth day we returned to Iquitos for a quick laundry, then out to a butterfly farm (which, whilst not Jungle per se, ispretty much a slice of jungle with a fence around it and a top net, to prevent the millions of horrid predatory things from getting the precious, jewel-like butterflies they are enclosing) where they grow and study the amazonian butterflies. They have about 43, meaning at least 2,000 species are still out there with nought but a name and a handdrawn picture in a biology archive, with little else being known. Did you know that it takes months to become a butterfly yet they only live for a few days? Why, nature? Why?
Next we solicited riverboat captains for passage to the Peru-Columbian Border. It's a simple trip, but the vague threat of robbery by either crew, other passengers or indeed the local guerillas who control the Columbian side of the bank is real enough that we decided to opt for a lockable cabin above the cargo deck. No more small, maze-like tributaries for us. We now cruised the main event: The Rio Amazonas. I'm a little sorry to report that such a river is dulled by it's own size, in some places downriver it opens up so large you can't see one bank from the other, and the prudent captain was content to cruize in the middle of the big yellow beast only coming close to the vegetated shore to drop off slabs of both coca-cola and beer, and the acompanying blocks of ice. A few day's cruise, and what better way to see a large amount of the famed river? We arrived in Santa Rosa at a time in the morning I can't recall, because the first thing we knew of it was the (Peruvian?) army was aboard and tossing our bags, and everyone else had left the ship completely. We had spent a good hour complaining about the length of this stop before realising and throwing our tossed bags (so to speak) in a water taxi. The border formalities here are basicaly: walk across a series of planks, past a few huts just above the river until you get to one specific hut, where a man in shorts can be convinced to give you an Exit stamp. This is the consulate outpost. Farewell peru, we barely knew thee. Then it's back in the taxi and across to a whole new jungle: Columbia! To be continued...
I have been swooped, clawed and bitten by the most beautiful bird in the world, the Blue and Gold Macaw. I have played with a sweet-tempered ten-legged Tarantula. I have swung on a vine. I have canoed through a flooded jungle. I have seen a blue eagle. A Tapir obliged me to rub it's belly. A jaguar told me to back off. An anteater poked it's tonge at me. I got very rudely shocked by a giant iguana. I've killed innumerable mosquitoes. I've been sunburned, rain drenched, sweat soaked and animal soiled. My shirts stink, my jeans are dying, my shoes are muddied ruins. In short, I spent two weeks in the Amazon and loved every minute.
Our first trip out from the Peruvian town of Iquitos was an excursion to stilted lodge, inhabited by transient tourists of likewise masochistic wildlife fascinations and the jungle guides, a group of men either born and raised in the jungle or batshit crazy in terms of career selection, or both. Our guide's name was Ricky, and it is fair to say that in all important respects he is basicaly the Peruvian version of Rambo. I could wax verbose about Ricky (don't doubt me) but it is probably enough to say that he both opens milk and scratches his back with a combat knife he keeps strapped to his shin and his reaction to almost getting bitten by an Anaconda longer that he is tall was a weary "not again!", then his hand snapped around and caught it by the neck. Ricky would like to get us up an hour before dawn and go birdwatching at sunrise. We spend the first three days in this style, and indeed sighted more birds than I have the mental capacity to remember or the patience to list. Let's just call it all of them. The wildlife here is at sme critical capacity, in which every possible neice is filled to the brim and any more life of any form simply would not be feasable. The reasons for the outings were fairly irrelevant, we just needed to go and get amongst it all. We achieved this, and indeed most travel and outings in the surrealy flooded rain-forest, by use of (Peki-Peki) boat.
PARAGRAPH!
(A word on the Peki-Peki. A Peki-Peki is a long, low wooden craft which is fairly ubiquitious on the amazon. They are wide enough to seat two abreast in the middle, and often in worring repair. They achieve velocity via what can only be decribed as a lawnmower engine retrofitted to turn a several-meter-long driveshaft which inclines into the water at as shallow angle as possible and ending in a propeller, so the whole ungainly contraption acts as both motor, rudder and (when the thing (and I do mean when, not if) breaks down, floods, runs out of gas or has air intake trouble (due to the rain in the amazon, which is often strong enough to make the local atmosphere more like "well-airated water" than rain-filled air.) or otherwise stops functioning) an obscenely clumsy paddle. The method of directing this device is by metal pole welded to the front, making the steering of the boat as pleasant as having the constant vibration of a street jackhammer ceaselessly going in one hand but without the upshot of seeing pedestrian ashphault crack and splinter before you, all to the the sound of its 4 hoursepower gyraions giving it the onomatapea nickname of Peki-Peki. They do the job, and are ever so cheap to purchase.)
END PARAGRAPH!
Muh of our time was alternating between expedtions into the close, hushed jungle every bit as overgrown and rich in insect life as you imagine as a child, and going back and lazing in the hammocks with just enough time to eat and reapply various protective creams. We were generally out and about for 12 hours per day. A blow by blow would involve an alomsot endless list of species, suffice to say that in addition to the above, I have seen some serious jungle. Serious jungle.
By the fourth day we returned to Iquitos for a quick laundry, then out to a butterfly farm (which, whilst not Jungle per se, ispretty much a slice of jungle with a fence around it and a top net, to prevent the millions of horrid predatory things from getting the precious, jewel-like butterflies they are enclosing) where they grow and study the amazonian butterflies. They have about 43, meaning at least 2,000 species are still out there with nought but a name and a handdrawn picture in a biology archive, with little else being known. Did you know that it takes months to become a butterfly yet they only live for a few days? Why, nature? Why?
Next we solicited riverboat captains for passage to the Peru-Columbian Border. It's a simple trip, but the vague threat of robbery by either crew, other passengers or indeed the local guerillas who control the Columbian side of the bank is real enough that we decided to opt for a lockable cabin above the cargo deck. No more small, maze-like tributaries for us. We now cruised the main event: The Rio Amazonas. I'm a little sorry to report that such a river is dulled by it's own size, in some places downriver it opens up so large you can't see one bank from the other, and the prudent captain was content to cruize in the middle of the big yellow beast only coming close to the vegetated shore to drop off slabs of both coca-cola and beer, and the acompanying blocks of ice. A few day's cruise, and what better way to see a large amount of the famed river? We arrived in Santa Rosa at a time in the morning I can't recall, because the first thing we knew of it was the (Peruvian?) army was aboard and tossing our bags, and everyone else had left the ship completely. We had spent a good hour complaining about the length of this stop before realising and throwing our tossed bags (so to speak) in a water taxi. The border formalities here are basicaly: walk across a series of planks, past a few huts just above the river until you get to one specific hut, where a man in shorts can be convinced to give you an Exit stamp. This is the consulate outpost. Farewell peru, we barely knew thee. Then it's back in the taxi and across to a whole new jungle: Columbia! To be continued...