At first the hostel seemed to locked up, but Daniel's persistent knocking and shouting eventually brought a young guy to the door, who agreed to give us a room for only S5 each. The register confirmed that they hadn't been taking in guests for about a month and it seemed that there was some repair work being finished upstairs, where an oldish guy was hammering. The hostel was also an agent for jungle tours and the young guy asked us whether we wanted to go on one, and a guide soon turned up to speak to us. We agreed to a five-day tour at S80 per day plus S20 park fees per day, which was a bit dearer than Daniel had led me to expect, but still much cheaper than Ecuador apparently would have been. It was also a bit more time than I had been planning to spend but the guide insisted that we wouldn't get deep enough into the jungle to see good stuff in anything less than five days. Then, when the guide discovered we had no hammocks, asked us to meet him in an hour at the market to buy one each, telling us it was essential for the boat trip.

We were to leave the following day at midday, rather than catching the first boat at 9am, which I felt would have deprived us of the long sleep we needed after the overnight bus journey. Preparation complete, we went upstairs to sit on the balcony and join the older workman for a few beers. It turned out that the "workman", Carlos, was actually a journalist and news reader, who had recently returned to Yurimaguas from Lima for his father's funeral, and now seemed to be doing a bit of everything there, including working at the local radio station. He was quite a character and he hardly stopped talked for the remainder of the day, constantly jumping up and all over the balcony to act out and illustrate certain important points. I barely understood one quarter of what he said and Daniel, whose Spanish is pretty much fluent, said he probably only got a little over half.

Carlos and me

Daniel and Carlos

Only a few minutes after we started speaking to him, when he was telling us about his job at the local radio station, he put the radio on, called up the producer and, under half an hour after arriving in town, we were being interviewed on local radio. Carlos introduced himself then told the listeners that he was sitting at this hostel with two foreiners, one from Scotland and one from Switzerland, who were visiting the town as tourists. Then he said something to Daniel I didn't catch and handed the phone to him. Daniel waffled on proficiently for a few minutes and it was my turn. Again I didn't catch what Carlos said, so when he passed the phone to me I just said "umm..." and froze. I couldn't think of anything to say, panicked by the fact I had no idea what he had said to me. Quickly seeing the problem, though, Carlos took over again and said "My friend Michael doesn't speak as much Spanish as Daniel", then prompted Daniel to continue talking, which he did for a bit. When it was time to hang up I managed to get out that it was lovely here, I was sorry I didn't speak much Spanish, and goodbye. All a bit of a failure, really, but he might have prepped us better than arranging an interview without warning within five minutes of sitting down! It was all a bit of a shock, but Carlos seemed satisfied, and continued ranting on about his work until we had to leave and buy hammocks.

There weren't really any other gringos around town: we had perhaps seen only one, so I suppose it was a bit of a story for Carlos to interview us. I was very pleased to get off the beaten path, after having spent most of the time in South America going from large town to major tourist attraction. Huanchaco had been a step in the right direction, but now I had made it to a place than only deserved a few lines in the Lonely Planet. The town wasn't much to look at, but it was nice just to see people going about their normal lives instead of everything appearing to revolve around the tourist, as it had seemed almost since we arrived in Peru. Until Peru, South America hadn't been too bad at all for tourist hassle, but in Peru it had seemed to arrive with a massive improvement in the locals' knowledge of English, apparently in direct proportion to the number of American tourists, as well as the cynicism and eagerness in the locals to rip the tourists off. Having said that, we still got the impression that guide took us to a stall run by his friend and that we paid over the odds, but Daniel managed to save us a bit of money by explaining that we only needed two cords to tie them up. I didn't know anything about hammocks, but Daniel seemed to know what he was talking about.

Back at the hostel, Carlos continued ranting on and jumping about. He asked us if we had heard of ayahuasca and asked if we wanted to try it. The Lonely Planet mentions that there is a lot of ayahuasca tourism further down river at Iquitos, where, it tells you, a tourist can expect to pay at least $60 for one session of spiritual guidance and healing with an experienced shaman, but warns that the rituals are taken very seriously by the locals, so "gawkers and sceptics are not welcome". I said that it sounded interesting but I wasn't sure, because the guide book emphasised the importance of finding a shaman you can trust, if you want to experience the ritual. Carlos then told us that we would have to be very careful, and not to trust any of these shamans, because they are crooks. As soon as we left to get the hammocks, he continued, a shaman, living several miles away, had turned up at the door of the hostel and proposed that he and Carlos invite us to take part in the ayahuasca ritual then, when we are "dreaming" they should rob us and split the proceeds. It seemed Carlos had turned him down and he told us that, instead, if we wanted to experience ayahuasca, he could get us a big bottle of it for S50 for us to try it on our own, instead of paying a shaman much more money for only a little cup, probably only getting robbed in reward. This did not seem in keeping with the sincere and spiritual ritual it is supposed to be about, so we declined, however I was now also quite scared at the idea of the ritual.

My Riberena shirt

Wearing the shirt at the karaoke

Carlos continued ranting for the remainder of the day, much of what he said being quite philosophical and all about morality, much of which he had been writing over the last few days. He kept disappearing into his room to bring out quite poetically written notes and show us the very recent dates at the tops of the pages, frequently implying that there was something fated in our arriving during this period. It seemed quite clear that he was totally manic and I guessed the fevered note-taking had been in the middle of the night when his hyperactivity prevented him from sleeping. If he was a manic-depressive, I certainly wouldn't want to see him at his depressive pole if it is anything like as extreme as the manic one. He admitted to being hyper-active, but did not mention bipolar disorder. Later he insisted that, as his new friends, we should give him something to remember us by, and asked me if he could cut a piece of hair. Although I thought it a bit weird, I said OK, and held a little end of a dreadlock out for him. Instead he took it from me and cut a much larger chunk than I expected. In return, he gave me a t-shirt from his radio station, La Ribereña, and insisted I wear it while we both accompany him out for chicken at his favourite karaoke bar. The chicken was good, but the karaoke place was awful and completely empty apart from us. which didn't stop Carlos from belting out several songs.

Chicken

Andean toad

The next morning the guide told us that the boat was delayed until 1pm, so we hung around a bit longer at the hostel, where the young guy at reception asked us if we were going to do the ayahuasca ritual, pointing out a painting on the wall which he said was inspired by it. Remembering Carlos's warnings, I said no. When the guide arrived to take us to the boat, he also asked us if we wanted to, and said that the tour company owner, Manuel, would be able to recommend a good shaman when we arrived in Lagunas. Ayahuasca seems to be everywhere in the jungle!

Weird statue thing the hostel was named after

It's a spirit or something

But I can't remember its name

Ayahuasca inspired painting

When we left the hostel, a group of children standing outside all shouted together Hola, Gringos and waved at us. The boat was already packed when we got there, but the guide found us a small space and tied up our hammocks for us. It wasn't exactly comfortable and I was virtually on top of the guy next to me, while the hammock on the other side of Daniel seemed to have loads of space, making me wonder why the guides put both our hammocks in the same place. It was only later I realised that it was because of Daniel's cost-cutting exercise of only buying two cords: he already had one long piece of cord, which was used to tie one end of each hammock up, meaning they had to be together. I'm not sure squashing in like that was worth the one Sol each he saved us!

The boat

The boat

Another boat next to ours

The boat didn't leave until about 4pm, though we did see some dolphins playing in the port before we left. Just before we set off, Daniel jumped back ashore to buy us six beers, leaving me to prevent the crew from unroping the boat from the harbour until he returned. After we set off, a sheet of paper was handed around, for us to write our names, identity document number, and "reason for travel". When Daniel handed it to me, I saw that he had written terorismo as his reason for travel, rather than the more conventional tourismo, which the young guy next to me said was not something you joke about in Peru, because in that area they still have problems with the Sendero Luminoso Sure enough, when we handed the sheet back to the crew member in charge, he was not amused. He told Daniel that it was very serious, that it goes to the captain, and that we would have to write that sheet out again, destroying the original. Nobody seems to have a sense of humour about terrorism anymore.

Mi amigo right next to me

Our smugness in the face of the other tourists' jealousy, when collecting our nice cold beers from the galley fridge, soon evaporated when a bell went and everyone else on the boat without exception brought out plates and started to queue at the kitchen. How could the guide have neglected to tell us about this? He ensured we had hammocks, but forgot about our dinner! Even all of the other tourists had plates; it was only the two of us who were without. After everyone else had been served we went up and asked what to do. Luckily they did actually have a couple of plates, so we were able to eat our included meal after all.

The river

Jungle village

Jungle clouds

Jungle clouds

We sat at the only table on our deck, drank our beers, and played some cards with a young Argentinian guy, two older Spanish women he was travelling with, and a couple of locals. After a bit I got tired trying, mostly unsuccessfully, to follow everyone's Spanish and went to the front of the boat to watch the scenery, and a man, with a plank of wood, hitting the cows which filled the lower deck every time one of them got a bit agitated at the tiny space they had to stand in. I met an Israeli couple, whose Spanish was even worse than mine, and spoke English with them until it was time for bed. It wasn't the most comfortable night's sleep, but I did get a little bit of rest.

The cow hitter

Poor moos

Jungle clouds

written by  The Happy Couple on December 5, 2009 from Yurimaguas, Peru
from the travel blog: Michael's Lonely post-Honeymoon
Send a Compliment

---

comment on this...

After the success of our beers on the ferry, Daniel and I decided that we should get some for the tour as well. We calculated thirty beers would be enough for two each per day, plus one for each guide each day. Quite modest, really, but everyone else made fun of the huge bag of bottles we had to get loaded onto the mototaxi which would take us to the reserve entrance. When we got to the park entrance and paid our fees, Daniel did not look impressed with the operation; the canoes were shit, he said. I thought they looked a bit scary and low in the water, especially after they loaded them up with all of our stuff. The Spanish girls and Argentine had already gone; apparently the girls' tour was only two days, so they needed to get going, but also waiting when we arrived was a group of three French people, an older couple and their son, Christophe, a bit younger than me.

Next to the ticket office

Dodgy canoes

While we were waiting for pay our park fees, Christophe's mother was leafing through a flora and fauna book in the ticket office. I was standing beside her, and at one page she pointed to a vine and said to me "have you heard of this plant?". It was ayahuasca. I told her yes, but I didn't know much about it. She told me that it was a very special and spiritual plant, and that the three of them had been working with ayahuasca for the last three weeks. Apparently they had all come to Peru specifically to go on an ayahuasca course, which they all insisted in describing as working with a shaman. They had each paid €2100 to do this ayahuasca ritual fifteen times in three weeks with a French shaman. The woman told me she had been going to the same shaman for every year for the last eight years, and she said she found it very cleansing, healing, and good for her spirit, and that it was even better than meditation for gaining peace and being able to see things clearly and sort out problems with yourself. It's a bit like therapy, she said. The couple, especially, looked like hippies, and now the way she was talking absolutely confirmed it. Later on Daniel discovered that she was some sort of executive of Unilever, so I suppose she must build up a lot of bad karma throughout the year, which the shaman has to help her purge.

Tourist's eye view of the jungle

It was time to set off. We discovered that we weren't getting one guide each as we had been told, but would be sharing one canoe and one guide. I had mixed feeling about this: one the one hand Daniel would be able to translate whatever Esteban, our guide, said that I couldn't understand; on the other hand, I was really worried that the canoe would not be able to take the three of us. It wasn't the high quality canoes Daniel was used to on his expensive Ecuadorian jungle trips, but it certainly seemed very authentic: it was a simple dugout tree. Then we set off without sinking and Daniel had another reason to be unimpressed: there was only one paddle, so we would have nothing to do and the guide would have to do all the work, making the trip much slower than it might have been. Then Esteban didn't seem to know the real names for anything in the jungle, or only the local names, which aren't very informative; Daniel was not impressed: the monos rojos were actually howler monkeys, he told me; the papagallos were actually macaws, and so on. Daniel knew all this from working the Ecuadorian jungle, which is really all a continuation of the same ecosystem.

A bird

A macaw (says Daniel)

Butterfly on Esteban's arm

I thought it was all quite pleasant being paddled down the river and, though we didn't have much to do, we had beers and I had my book if I got bored of the scenery. At one point the subject of injuries and I asked if they had a first aid kit: bandages and painkillers at least, to which the response was no. Daniel asked what the guide would do if something happened and he told him that nothing had happened in fourteen years of him guiding, but if it did there were plenty of medicinal plants in the forest. Daniel was not impressed, and I was a bit apprehensive about this too.

French hippies

When we stopped for a snack at a clearing with a wooden shelter, Daniel told Christophe about the first aid kit, and he responded that, yes, there are plants everywhere. Clearly Daniel was not impressed with this either: I could tell he was thinking "bloody hippies!". They gave us watermelon, which actually wasn't very nice. A feature I have come to recognise about jungle fruit, from Cambodia and the Laos, seems to be true in Peru as well, and probably everywhere: it does't taste as nice as the commercial varieties and it's full of seeds almost to the point of inedibility. In Asia it was tasteless bananas full of seeds, and here it was tasteless watermelon with more seeds that I would have thought possible, but also far bigger than to which I am accostomed. I asked Esteban if the fruit came from the selva and he said yes. Christophe's mother was now telling the Israeli couple about her working with the ayahuasca. The girl asked her, "so it's like a drug?" and the French woman replied "no, no, no, it's not a drug it's a plant". Soon after the break, we passed a little laguna where there were dolphins playing. I joked to Daniel that the French hippies were probably beside themselves, having a spiritual connection with the dolphins, which the New Age seems to hold up as special transcendental creatures. Well, at least they read Douglas Adams!

Jungle

Death awaits ye all

Hanging nests

We carried on, passing lots of birds, and a couple of three-toed sloths, or pelisosos in Spanish and pelejo in the local dialect. Daniel seemed to be enjoying himself a bit more and kept asking Esteban to remind him what the local word for sloth was, finally settling on the mnemonic pendejo to remind him, which Esteban thought was very funny, repeating pelejo es pendejo and laughing. At one point a small fish jumped into the boat and Esteban warned me not to touch it. I think it was a catfish, which he said can give a nasty bite. Daniel continued his banter with Esteban, constantly exclaiming sucsio! when anything annoying happened, like getting splashed. At first both Esteban and I thought he was saying sucio albeit a bit strangely, until he insisted, no, it wasn't sucio but some word everyone says in Ecuador, but has no meaning other than itself. Soon Esteban was saying it too: Sucsio! Pelejo es pendejo and then chuckling.

Best shot of the pelejo I could get, pendejo!

When we arrived at the accommodation for the night it was a nice surprise: a large jungle hut with a "proper" porcelain toilet, though it had no flush and had to be emptied with a bucket of water it was still far nicer than the one at the agency, and there were even showers and taps with running water. Then came the shock: the tea, bread, and jam we had been served when we arrived was not a snack before dinner; it was dinner. Daniel with his obsession with three proper meals a day, returned to his former unimpressed mood and we went to bed about 8:30pm.

The dining room-kitchen

Main entrance

The toilet out the back

I woke before 5:30am by which time the Spanish girls and Argentine has already set off, the girls back to Lagunas and the Argentine on for another half day, since his full tour was three days. I discovered that a few extra beers were missing from our hoard, as well as all of the few that the early risers had bought. Some people had stayed up after we went to bed; was it one of hte guides who had taken without asking? We had brought beers for our guides, but Esteban didn't want any and we only had one guide between us, so we did have a few extras for ourselves and would have been happy to give some away if asked, but for someone to steal our beer like that, we were pissed off!

We had an absolutely enormous breakfast of fried, very fresh fish, fried chips, and fried plantain. The previous day I was surprised to learn that it is allowed to fish in the reserve, when we saw several people letting out large nets and some other gutting fish on the river bank. Apparently the reserve only applies to things that are not fish. Odd, since you would think that lots of other things depend on the fish, but there did seem to be an awful lot of them: when we swam in river, little fish nibbled us all over, and any time some food waste was thrown in the river, not very ecological behaviour either I thought, fish would thrash around just below the surface to devour it.

Christophe

Woodpecker

When we set off and got into the run, I realised that I had burned my parting the previous day. Without Joanne to rub factor 50 into the gaps between my dreadlocks, how could this be avoided? I certainly wasn't going to ask Daniel to do it, a fact I'm sure he would have been glad to learn, so I had to improvise: I had been carrying my krama since receiving the Cambodian scarf for my birthday from Joanne, and decided it would make a reasonable bandana. I looked silly, but it did a good job protecting my head. We started on the beers early, worried what would happen to the rest if we didn't use them all up. The tour was more of the same: lots of birds, though this time we also saw some giant spider webs and at one point I was more than a bit shocked when Esteban stopped next to what he said were nests of lobos del rio, which I guessed were river otters, and started hacking at them with the oar, because there are babies at the moment, he explained. I suppose he wanted to rouse them into coming out, but what an appalling way to treat the wildlife in a reserve!

Cool, eh?

Oh yeah!

Big web

How big is the spider?

Lunch time

Papagallos

Another bird

And another bird

Just before lunch we crossed paths with the Argentinian coming the other direction. Esteban suggested that we swap boats with him because the one we were in was unstable. It had been rocking from side to side unnervingly but we hadn't taken in any water. When we set off in the new boat, we discovered an empty bottle left behind by the Argentine. Now we knew which bastard stole our beer! The new boat was more stable, but much lower in the water, we started taking in water frequently and Esteban had to constantly bail out to prevent the leaks from accelerating. When we stopped for lunch at only 11am I couldn't eat anything because I was still stuffed from the huge breakfast. I just hung up my hammock and read some more of On the Road. Luckily Daniel had complained about the absence of dinner and we got a decent sized meal that night, by which time I was starving. After dinner, Esteban took us out in the boat in the dark, hunting for caimans, not to kill as they are protected. We didn't find any, but we did see a fair bit of nocturnal wildlife. In the absence of caimans, Daniel was offered Esteban's spear to fish with, but did not have any success, only injuring a few. No breakfast for you, I teased, but didn't bother to have a go myself. I've fished with a spear before and know that it isn't as easy as Esteban made it look. I don't really like fishing.

Andean toad

Mystery bird

Esteban shows Daniel how it's done

Another mystery bird

Big toilet spider

Boo!

In the morning a little caiman was tied up by the boats and the hippies were soon out and began tormenting it. I wasn't very happy to see the poor thing like that, but I didn't really think they should have been hunting them at all. That day our itinerary was a walk in the jungle supposedly to see wildlife. I was quite excited. We were given boots and headed off behind the lodge we had slept in. Near the start was quite a big tree, which was nice because I had been disappointed and surprised how small most of the trees were. Yes, there was a lot of thick forest, but it wasn't really any different to forest I have seen elsewhere, even the few patches of primary forest still existing in Scotland are similar. I expecting absolutely gigantic trees everywhere, but that's not how it was.

Esteban with poor caiman

Terrified caiman

So called hippies tormenting caiman

Aguajes, which come from a palm and taste a bit like olives

Second night's accommodation

"Mono negro"

Goodbye to the Israeli couple!

It was now only Daniel, me, and Christophe, because the Israeli couple and the french couple were both staying for longer and were heading further downstream; only the three of us were turning around the next day. I soon discovered that the older couple weren't actually Christophe's parents, which really surprised me because the woman in particular had seemed very close to him, like she was looking after him. The working with ayahuasca together had made them very close, he explained. He had also found it very beneficial, he said, and he now felt much better physically and phychologically; their shaman had insisted that they become vegetarians during the course and Christophe has decided he was going to continue now that the course was over: the three of them had been eating vegetables with spirulina, which is just cyanabacteria for goodness' sake, sprinkled over it, which they told me contains "all the proteins your body needs", while we sat down to our delicious, juicy fresh fish. Whatever, I had thought. He went on to say that, although it is widely believed that you must be sick when you take ayahuasca, this is only because of all the impurities and toxins that most people have in their body, but with their shamans dietry method, his disciples have very little vomiting and he was sick only three times out of fifteen. However he had not received the "visions" that the oher two had, which he put down to the fact he did not yet meditate. Maybe the shaman didn't give him enough of the ayahuasca, I suggested. No, no, Christophe explained, the amount you take has no bearing whatever on the effect: it's up to the shaman and the spirit of the ayahuasca whether you have visions. He's a nice guy, but this just sounded like more hippie nonsense to me! Actually they were all nice, and they all did seem to have a calm and peaceful air about them.

Big spider in the jungle

Big tree

Big tree

We pressed on a bit further and Daniel had a great time hacking away at any undergrowth he could with the machete he had brought all the way from Ecuador. Esteban pointd out various jungle fruits and medicinal trees, all of which Christophe was keen to try, presumably because they are natural, whereas I really wasn't that interested after the jungle watermelon. One vine was for getting water when you were lost in the jungle, so he hacked some chunks off and let us drink. I had a quick taste and it was OK, but Christophe seemed keen to drink as much of the stuff as possible. Why? We each had bottles of water with us.

Macho Daniel

Esteban prepares "monkey fruit"

The monkey fruit

The easy bit

Walking tree

They move around for water apparently

Then it turned bad. We were walking through deep mud, which was horrible ot walk through. On both sides of the "path" were trees covered in spinas which frequently jagged into my hangs when I put my hands out to stop from slipping in the mud. It went on for ages, just squidging through deep mud in the hot sticky jungle, with mosquitoes buzzing around. It felt completely pointless and I hoped it was going to be worth it: maybe we would be climbing a hill for a superb view over the jungle, or perhaps going to a clearing we might catch a glimpse of a puma, of which there are some in this part of jungle, we were told. In fact, after at least an hour of this torture, we ended up at a stagnant bit of water, where there were even more mosquitoes and Esteban told us we were going to fish. Great! All this horrible effort just to do something I hate. Christophe's guide appeared with some berries and Esteban caught a fish, explaining that this was just carnada, a word I didn't know, but soon understood when he hacked at it with his machete (without first killing it) and put a piece on the hook. Soon he had caught a piranha. He tried again, but dropped the next, though a pipe fish had bitten onto the line and was brought up without need for carnada. This he tried to feed to the piranha, but it seemed more worried about the fact it couldn't breathe than eating the other fish. Esteban insisted that I give it a go and I also caught a piranha quite quickly, but Esteban wasn't quick enough to collect it where I dropped it, maybe too close to the water, and it managed to wriggle back in again. Then I kept trying again. Yup, I still hate fishing: it's really boring. And pointless if you don't need to do it to eat. If I were actually living in the jungle I'm sure I would fish quite happily, and it really seems very easy there. I think this indicates how much extra unnecessary work we all do in modern life: in archaic times people would only have to catch a few fish a day, which I think would take about ten minutes max if you knew what you were doing. OK, every so often you would have to work hard for a few days to build a house or harvest a crop, but nothing, usually, like the ridiculous eight hours a day that is standard now. We need to get over our Puritan work ethic!

Poor fish

On the way back I was miserable. A whole day of this: mud fishing mud. I wondered whether this was the worst thing I have ever done and decided that it might be, but it's definitely the worst thing I've ever paid for. I decided that two days in the jungle would have been enough; three days at the most.

The next day we headed back upstream. And I felt a little burned all over, though nothing like as bad as my head had been the first day, and it seemed like Estaban was actually paddling to avoid the shadows of the trees. Even not considering the sunburn, I was absolutely sweltering. The jungle is hot! Finally I had escaped the cold that seemed to grip most of the rest of South America, even in early summer. Luckily in the afternoon, as most days in the jungle it seems, it clouded over and pissed down, forcing us to shelter under blue tarpaulin, causing me to remember the bus journey of hell in Nepal. We had finished our beers the day before, and we weren't going to see much more as Esteban had to focus on the paddling to get us upstream in time, so I spent much of the day reading and finished On the Road. It was very disappointing, considering how much people rave about it, and how many people seem to claim it is their favourite book. It was only when I got to the last two parts and they left the US for Mexico that I got any real enjoyment from the book. The message of the book seems to be that travelling around the US is pointless because it's awful wherever you end up, and painful to get there, with an underlying theme of homosexual infatuation between the two main characters. Not at all what I was expecting. Really dull.

Heavy, dark, and pendulous

The final day, I started a Paolo Coelho book that Lucy had lent me in Huanchaco. I hadn't read any of his work before, but at some point I had developed the impression that his is something I would like to read. I'm not sure if someone recommended him, if I read a positive review, or if it was just the constant presence at the front of Borders that made me curious. I read this simplistic piece of rubbish in less than four hours; probably the worst book I have ever read in my life, and one I certainly would not have read more than the first few pages of if I had another book to change to. If you ever have the opportunity to read The Valkyries or any others of his books, I assume, burn it instead of even opening it!

Every afternoon this happened

Finally we arrived back at the park entrance, and we were back on the agency's mototaxi through the jungle back to town. Esteban indicated that several cleared bits of forest used to be illegal airports used for cocaine trafficking. Apparently this area was until quite recently a major cocaine hub, which I suppose is also why the Sendero Luminso were so prominent there.

written by  The Happy Couple on December 9, 2009 from Reserva Nacional Pacaya-Samiria, Peru
from the travel blog: Michael's Lonely post-Honeymoon
Send a Compliment

---

comment on this...

I left to cross over the road to the hotel and check in, where I found Daniel sitting, drinking his beer with a French Swiss couple. I sat down to join them and noticed that I had "canoe tan", where the insides of my legs were tanned, but the outsides weren't, from sitting cross-legged in the sun for four days. At least it made my surfing tan from Huanchaco look a bit less silly: brown from the neck up, the wrists and hands, as well as the "sock tan" fixing brown ankles and feet. It was a year to the day since I had left Scotland, so I told them that we all had to celebrate my one year of travelling and we duly got drunk. The Swiss couple, Luis and Maude had returned from their jungle tour two days previously and were due to start a two week ayahuasca course the next day; they were going to stay at a shaman's house (for free) and take part in the ceremony there every second day. I said that it sounding interesting, but I was a bit apprehensive about the whole thing, particularly in the light of what crazy Carlos had told me. I asked if they thought I would be allowed to "sit in" to make my mind up about it, and I agreed to go with them the next day to speak to Manuel about it, with whom they had arranged their course.

Andean toad

The next morning I asked Manuel and he said he didn't see any harm in it as long as I made a small contribution for the accommodation, which he warned was basic, if I wasn't going to be paying for the ayahuasca. Then when I said to the couple that I thought they were very brave signing up for a two week course when they don't know yet what it would be like, they told Manuel that they had changed their mind and only paid for one week. Then I bade Daniel goodbye, as he was going to leave that day to push on further into the jungle and Iquitos, and a mototaxi whisked us away to the shaman's house, which was on the outskirts of town, on the way to the reserve.

Shaman's house

The shaman's house was certainly basic, but quite rustically peaceful and beautiful. The buildings were just roughly made wooden shacks with palm fronds for roofs and no flooring, just the dirt ground that was there before; there was no running water, just a well from which we would have to fill a basin to wash in; and there was no toilet at all: it was a short walk into the jungle. There were a dozen or so domestic birds wandering around the grounds, including one large and very ugly turkey, some ducks and some chickens. We immediately started to hitch up our hammocks between the trees so that we could relax. It was then that I realised I had a problem: Daniel's clever one Sol saving idea now meant that I had only one cord to tie up my hammock, and now no share of his second extra long cord. After trying various combinations of hammocks and trees, I had to resort to nicking a cord from a hammock hanging in the large room of the building we were to sleep in. We had a day before the rituals were to begin because, the shaman had told Maude and Luis, Thursday is not an auspicious day to begin, but Friday is ideal, so we practised getting as comfy as possible in the hammocks. That's when the mosquitoes started attacking. There were loads of them and no matter how much repellent we applied they still kept coming.

Maude and Luis by the hammocks

Aurora

Then the rain came and we retired to the kitchen to prepare some food, where we discovered the two parrots that lived on the roof of the kitchen. At about 5pm one of the parrots burst into song and kept it up for at least an hour, chattering away then singing in as voice that sounded like a child. We gather from the frequency of repetition that the bird was called Aurora. Maude and Luis had bought some food but preparing it wasn't so easy: the kitchen wasn't exactly well equipped and the only way to cook was by building a wood fire. Cooking on a wooden fire is no way to live! By the end of the first day I was already missing modern conveniences quite badly. Even in town the electricity was only on from 6pm to midnight every day, so when the lights came on I left to investigate, with no great hope, what the town's internet was like. It was a nightmare: it took me thirty minutes, slipping around in mud, to get into town, then another fifteen, wandering around town, unable to get my bearings because the buildings all look so similar, with their wooden fronts and palm frond roofs. Eventually I found the tour agency and someone took me to the internet place, where I had to wait one hour for the one PC to become free; all so that I could go online at the blistering speed on 16.8 kbps. In one hour I was able to send two emails.

Path up to shaman's house

Ugly bird

I slipped all the way home and discovered that I was sharing my bedroom with a funny little old guy, who was completely incomprehensible. I think he had been left to look after the fowl and was acting as caretaker. The other two had a double mattress on the floor of the main room of the building which I suppose was the living room, which was about half-open to the elements. There was still no sign of the shaman and when I asked the others about it, they said they weren't sure but they thought this was a different shaman's house, because someone had mentioned that we were going to a Dutch shaman's house, and the shaman they had made the arrangement with was definitely a local; the Dutch shaman was out of town. During the night I discovered that my single bed was small enough that my skin spent the whole night pressed against the mosquito net, giving the beasties easy access to my skin. And for the third time in a row, my phone ran down completely overnight, convincing me that it was badly malfunctioning, probably, I guessed, because of the heat and extreme humidity.

Alfonso the caretaker

The following day I tried washing in the tub. Not that easy, especially with the mosquitoes, but better than nothing. I like modern life. Luis and Maude had been instructed that on the day of the ayahuasca ceremony, they should drink no beer, eat nothing sweet, and eat no salty food, so we ate unsalted rice and vegetables that day. The shamans all seem to have different ideas about what you can consume; Christophe's French shaman had them eating no meat for a month before they started and no alcohol at all during the course, and I had heard of others that ask you to fast completely on the day of the ceremony.

Mosquito bites on my leg

At about 5pm again, the parrot burst into loud song and kept it up for at least an hour. It was really funny, and we kept dissolving in laughter every time it began a new refrain. About 9:30pm Manuel arrived with some other tourists, who were only going to take part in one ceremony, not do a course, then not long after arrived the shaman with some other Peruvians. The shaman wasn't exactly what I was expecting: there were no animal skins, bones, or feathers in evidence, just a little old guy in tracksuit bottoms, a t-shirt, and a baseball cap. OK, I suppose we were living in a small town, not an isolated village deep in the jungle but still - where was his sense of theatre? The others were Manuel's wife, the shaman's wife, the shaman's son, and another trainee shaman.

All the paraphernalia

They laid out sheets, mattresses, and benches on the floor, so that everyone had somewhere to sit and they started preparing various paraphernalia: two plastic bottles full of murky brown liquid, which I guessed was the ayahuasca; some things that looked like large fans, made of leaves; some cups of various sizes; two plastic bottles full of clear liquid; a pile of cigarettes made of very dark tobacco; and several basins. The clear liquid, the shaman explained, was aguardiente for getting rid of the taste of the ayahuasca, which I thought was a bit odd, since beer was forbidden, however aguardiente is OK apparently. The cigarettes were made of special black tobacco from the jungle and were for cleansing and purifying because, he explained, the tobacco spirit and ayahuasca spirit are connected, so they must always be contacted together. The basins are incase you need to be sick, he said, and if you need to go to the toilet it is vital that you ask him first, so that he can carry out the necessary rituals to ensure that there are no evil spirits waiting for you outside. The leafy things remained unexplained.

The shaman's wife blesses Manuel's wife's hands with smoke

First, he said, everything needs to be purified with tobacco, and several of them each lit up a cigarro de la selva and went around the room blowing smoke over everything, including all over everyone's body, in their hair, and over their hands, which they asked us to clasp. Then he asked us each to smoke some, to purify us inside. A couple of the tourists asked if they had to inhale, because they didn't smoke, and they were told it was OK just to take it into their mouths, so I did the same when it was my turn. The tobacco was much more like a cigar than a cigarette, and certainly much less poisonous- and acrid-smelling than the processed American chemical cigarettes most people seem to smoke in South America.

Then it was time to begin. The shaman offered one last piece of advice: if you see any snakes, don't worry it's just a vision; if you see the spirit of the ayahuasca queen (I think that's what he said), don't worry, it's just a vision; and if it's going too fast and it's too much for you, just ask the shaman and he'll slow the spirits down. If you want to see someone in your family just concentrate and think about them, in fact if you want to see anything at all, just concentrate on it, he finished. And then his son went around everyone giving them their dose of ayahuasca and the bottle of aguardiente to chase it down with. All the tourists were given a shot glass full, and most of the Peruvians took a large cup full, while the shaman took two large cups full. Manuel's wife was the only Peruvian who abstained; Manuel explained that he always joins in when any tourists arrange through him to take part in the ceremony. Meanwhile the shaman had begun mumbling to himself and blowing on a handful of cigarettes. He seemed to be gearing himself up, repeating some mantra under his breath, then he went silent, and soon after Manuel turned the lights off. On the edge of the jungle where we were, it was pitch black. And there was a very serious atmosphere, with hardly a sound being made in the dark.

Luis, Elvis, shaman's wife, shaman, Manuel and his wife

After about ten minutes of sitting still in the dark, the shaman began singing, quietly at first, then louder and louder until some other voices joined him along with rythmic swooshing noises; so that's what the leaf fans were for! They weren't the best singers in the world, but the tunes made a great atmosphere along with the leaf percussion accompanying them like a steam train. After the first song, Manuel switched the light on again and asked everyone if they were feeling anything, and whether they wanted anymore; ''¿mareado'?' was the question he asked, which I later found out means something like "dizzy?" A Czech guy, Pedro, who had already reported feeling a bit strange before the lights went off, said no way, he'd had enough, but the rest of the tourists all took a second shot glass.

Luis prepares himself for the second cup

Nice?

Then the lights were off again for more of the lovely hypnotic singing. Shortly afterwards, this was rudely interrupted by the sound of very violent vomiting. It sounded like some wild animal had come into the building and was making horrible inhuman gurgling and growling noises. After every bout finished the shaman and his helpers made funny whooshing noises, as if blowing away bad spirits, I thought. At one point, the shaman staggered to his feet and he threw up copiously outside. I thought this was strange as he would be used to it, but he did take rather a lot. In turn each of the other Peruvians puked as well, proving that experience makes no difference to the likelihood of vomiting, but after each convulsion had finished they would follow it with some more deliberate animal noises, which they eventually coelesced into atmospheric jungle noises in between the songs, including caiman gulping noises, slurping noises that I took to be an impersonation of toads catching insects, and bubbling noises, which just sounded like swampy ground. It was all really vivid and in the dark, it was easy to forget we weren't in the middle of the jungle with the animals.

Next round, only three people accepted the third shot glass: Maude, Luis, and Tomas, the French friend of the now staring into space Pedro. Next time only Luis and Tomas asked for more; this time they were given one of the big cups. By this time someone was moaning and whining in the dark, along with the periodic rounds of puking. I couldn't tell who it was, but later discovered it was Czech Pedro, who came to his senses before the rest of them and told me it had been a horrible experience that he would never recommend to anyone. He said that two minutes after the first shot he had already begun feeling very strange and was seeing images flashing in front of his shut eyes then, later, for about half an hour, the visions and the "dreaming" became so strong that he forgot where he was, and wasn't really aware of his own body or the room. At first he "dreamed" he was in the reserve, flying over the river, following it downstream, but then he was lost in a void with only a light at the end of a tunnel. At that point, he said, he had become very scared, because he thought this was the light that leads to the other side and he was facing death. This was probably when he started moaning, and apparently he had begun to shake violently as well, so to help him through it, the shaman and his helpers began singing over him, blowing tobacco in his face to purify him, and also "washing" him by shaking the leaves in his hair; all of which were supposed to make him feel better, but he said had made him feel much worse! At one point he had felt like he was going to fall asleep because it had all made him feel so tired, and they told him that it was dangerous to fall asleep and he had to fight it, just like he should have fought the shaking instead of allowing it to take over. Finally, he had made it to a mattress to lie down, where he had started to feel better. All very strange since he had only had one little shot glass, whereas the others had far more and still did not appear to be in anything like the same state. By that time, after three hours or so, the singing appeared to have stopped, and after lots of whooshing and blowing tobacco around the room, the shaman told us we could go outside if we wanted, and it was then that I spoke to Pedro, who said he now felt absoutely normal. Outside, the skies were completely clear and the stars were the most incredible stars I've ever seen. There must have been ten times more visible than you can normally see, even in the Highlands of Scotand.

Publicity shot?

Back inside I continued chatting to Pedro, and his friend, Tomas, finally started to experience some of the stronger effect he was apparenly after. Now it was his turn to get the private singing, tobacco smoke, and leaves waved in his hair. Maude had also been through a difficult time at one point, trying the shaman's suggestion of asking him to slow it down because it was too much for her, but the shaman at that point had been sprawled on the floor, totally incapacitated himself, while the others were contnuing with the singing; instead Manuel's wife sat next to her and spoke to her, stroking her back, which I thought had been quite nice. The following day, Maude told me that she had not been at all happy with the situation: the shaman was meant to be her spiritual guide and lead her through any difficulties, but instead he had been out of it, leaving Manuel's wife, who isn't even a shaman, to deal with her because, Maude reckoned, she was the only one of them who hadn't taken any ayahuasca.

Posing

I thought the ceremony had been very evocative, and it had seemed very serious to the shaman. At times, the singing stopped and he started rambling away, sometimes in quite excitable tones, at other times it seemed that he was speaking in a young girl's voice, and at other times speaking in a deep growl that I thought was supposed to be the voice of a demon. It seemed to me that he believed he was arguing or fighting with various spirits in the other world. I wondered if the little girl might be Manuel's baby grand-daughter, who we learned was in very poor health. After all, the function of the shaman is supposed to be to heal, so maybe he was contacting the girl's spirit and trying to purify it. The shaman had asked Maude and Luis if they had any problems that they wanted to have healed, but they had said no, which I think may be why the shaman suggested that they focus on family.

The Peruvians also emphasised the importance of becoming limpio. Of course the ayahuasca is known for being a purgative, which they appear to see as a good thing and any time anyone was sick, someone would be saying limpiar as if in encouragement in the dark. Christophe had mentioned this "cleansing" side of his course as well, suggesting that it would cure any digestive problem, for example worms, one may have picked up while travelling. They all apparently experienced the effects of being limpio at both ends, because later in the evening everyone had to take their turn to run outside.

The next day, when I woke up, I heard that the parrot had decided to treat us to a rendition of everyone vomiting violently from the previous night, instead of its usual 5pm bout of singing. Lovely. Luis had enjoyed his experience, and although he had vomited a lot, didn't seem to think it felt as bad as it sounded. He had also found himself imagining flying over the reserve and spent some time in reveries about his family. Maude was quite angry, though, and felt that the shaman had let them down, whereas Luis seemed to have much lower expectations and thought that there was really only so much the guy could do. But Maude wanted to leave. They had travelled down through Mexico and Central America, and now that they were in Peru, felt a really big change in the people: they felt that the Peruvians lie and cheat, as well as not being as friendly, and all they were interested in tourists for was money. I hadn't thought they were that bad, but it is definitely the only country in South America where I got the impression that tourism was spoiling it; in the rest of them it was only the desire to be like the US that was spoiling the country. They decided to move back to the hotel to get a bit more comfort, and arranged a meeting with the shaman to discuss a refund for their remaining days. The shaman said no refunds, and entered into a long argument with Maude, during which he revealed that the ayahuasca had actually been bought from another shaman, rather than made up himself as he had previously claimed. Various other contradictions in what he said enraged Maude even more and by the end of it, she had decided that she wanted to leave Peru and their lies as soon as possible. Given the lack of refund, though, they had decided to stay a bit longer and take a much smaller dose the next time. We met Tomas at the hotel, who said that he had also enjoyed it, at one point seeing snakes just as the shaman had predicted: he said he too had been flying over the river, totally surrounded by snakes, which filled the river. Strange how everybody seemed to see themselves in the reserve.

The next day, was more of the same, and this time it was only going to be Maude and Luis taking ayahuasca in the ceremony apart from the Peruvians, and I was slightly surprised when Esteban turned up. He kept on saying he was going to come and earlier that day I had sat and drunk several large aguardientes flavoured with jungle fruits. He had been quite drunk, but said it was only beer that was a problem, not aguardiente. He had taken part once before, as it seemed everyone in that town had at least once, but he didn't have any visions, so he was keen to try again, and took two large cups to make sure. I had decided that it didn't look like much fun after all of the horrible vomiting and Pedro's scary description. This time the trainee shaman wasn't there, but all the other Peruvians turned up again. The shaman took less this time, perhaps because Maude had chastisted him for being incapacitated when she needed help. This time they didn't seem to be making as much effort and the singing didn't seem as good, but there was a more informal friendly atmosphere and lots of chatting and banter between the songs. It was all a bit of a waste of time really, because Luis and Maude didn't take enough and had no effect at all.

The centre of town

The next day I was thinking of going because I had nearly run out of money and there were no money facilities in town, but instead Maude and Luis leant me money and we sat, drinking all day at the harbour. They were going to do the ayahuasca ceremony one more time, and the shaman had also suggested than they had a cleansing herb bath. That meant they would only be losing money on their last ceremony. As we got drunk, we started trying to remember and sing some of the songs, but we couldn't remember them much; most of them don't have any lyrics and the rest are in the local dialect, I think, so they aren't easy to recall. Instead we ended up impersonating all of the whoosing noises, and animal sounds; and giggling. We were joined for a bit by a tour guide, who had a few beers then left to catch the boat to Yurimaguas, where he is based. I'm not sure if the other two knew him from before or if he just invited himself to sit down, but he didn't pay anything for his drinks.

Lagunas dock

The next day, I was also offered a herb bath, which I accepted. Slightly unexpectedly, they expected us all to get naked so that they could sponge the water full of herbs all over us. Maude asked me to go away until she was done and we all took turns. I just thought of it like a visit to the doctor. But afterwards I did feel quite nice and invigorated, and cleaner than I had since arriving in the jungle; I dare say some of the herbs with in their for their soapy qualities, rather than their spiritual ones. After the bath they asked me for money for it, but the other two successfully argued that, since they weren't going to use their last ayahuasca ceremonies, they surely had S50 each credit, which they could use to pay for my bath.

Shaman and wife preparing herb bath

Herb bath being prepared

Shaman and herbs

Then we all left and went back into town, where we ate an aguaje ice pole, which I thought was an odd thing to do with a fruit that tastes so savoury, but it was quite nice. Usually it is sold as juice, which is also really sweetened, wheras I think it would be best in a salad. Then we had lunch, which was full of salty things, and followed it with a beer, meaning that the two of them had broken every dietry rule the shaman had given them, albeit only a little of each.

Main road in Lagunas

Maude had decided that she didn't want to do it this last time, as she didn't trust the shaman enough. So this time it was just Luis. This time he took quite a lot again and the atmosphere was even more relaxed. This time the shaman's son, Elvis, took took huge cups and he was really leading the ceremony. The shaman said his son was going to be a really good shaman beacuse he could sing so well. Elvis told us that he first took ayahuasca in the ceremony with his parents when he was twelve years old. This time it seemed relexed enough for me to take some photos, and after the first few they all encouraged me to take more, ensuring that I took down Elvis's email address so that I could email them copies. It was this night that all the ceremony photos were taken. After a few posed shots they got down to business and it was all the same again, though I still don't think there was as much effort in the singing as the first time. I also remembered to record a few of the songs on my mp3 player, though I wished I had thought to do so on the first occasion when the singing was better.

The next morning I woke up to discover a rat had chewed my camera case and decided it was definitely time to leave. The other two were leaving as well, so we sat and drank at the dock until the boat turned up, predictably four hours late, at 10pm. This time I was prepared: I had bought a fork and a tupperware container to use as a plate for the meal on the boat.

written by  The Happy Couple on December 16, 2009 from Lagunas, Peru
from the travel blog: Michael's Lonely post-Honeymoon
Send a Compliment

---

1 comment...

In the morning I was ready with my tupperware to collect whatever breakfast would be. It was watery, sweetened rice, the only saving grace being that it was flavoured with a bit of cinnamon. I could have quite happily done without - or just collected it in my cup; I hadn't needed to buy my fork and tub. We were expecting to arrive rather late since the boat had left four hours late, but they really managed to excel in their tardiness: the boat pulled into Yurimaguas a full five hours late, on top of the four hours late in leaving. So instead of our originally scheduled arrival time of 4am, we arrived in town at 1pm after a fifteen hour journey. The boats really don't run on time!

After our pitiful breakfast I was dreaming of the chicken place Daniel and I had gone with Carlos last time we were in town, and I thought I could probably get us there. Instead, the guide who had taken a few drinks with us in Lagunas port a few days ago, was waiting at the port when we got off and offered to take us to a chicken place. First we had to refuse the taxi he had flagged for us, who wanted to charge four times the going rate, and negotiate our own, then the place he took us to was one of those standard menu del dia places of which I was thoroughly sick: a huge bowl of soup, a huge pile of rice, a huge pile of yuca or some other potato, and a teeny piece of low quality fried chicken. It just wasn't what I had been dreaming of after days of the same of worse in the jungle. To make matter worse he didn't even offer me any money when the other two paid me their share, after the waitress had mistakenly believed I intended to pay for everything. It wasn't much money, so I let it go and we said goodbye to him. When I told Maude she was furious: "these people - they only offer to help you so that they can get something out it for themselves!" She really didn't like Peruvians. On the other hand their disbelief at how the locals behaved here really made me look forward to Central America and Mexico.

A couple of hours in a taxi and we were in Tarapoto. We were only in Tarapoto to get buses out of there, so we asked the taxi driver to drop us at a hotel near the bus terminal. I had hoped for a little bit of luxury after slumming it in the jungle for so long, but this hotel was a real dump: no running water, no fan in the room, no internet of course: nothing! However, all was not lost: I still wanted the chicken of my dreams, so we asked about whether their was a polloria and found a place exactly like I had wanted. They rotisserie pollo a la brasa, sold as entero, medio, quarto, and even octavio. A big guy sitting at the next table gave us a "thumbs up" and pointed at his quarto, so I decided it must be enough for me too and very restrainedly ordered a quarter chicken. It was incredible.

The next morning I found out that the midday bus I had been planning to take to Piura was sold out but, they told me, there was another one leaving at 3pm although it wasn't up on their board. I was relieved because it was a long way to Cartagena where I was planning to meet Lucy, Zdenek, and the two girls for Christmas, and I didn't want to lose any more days. Oddly, and slightly suspiciously I thought at the time, the 3pm bus was due to arrive in Piura the same time as the midday bus had been due. I confirmed twice at the desk: ¿directo? and got the same response both times: ¡si, directo!. Now that Luis and especially Maude had pointed out what a bunch of liars and cheats the Peruvians are, it seemed to have got much worse for me: when I came to load my bag on the bus, the driver put a sticker for Chiclayo on it. There was a bus leaving for Chiclayo at 3pm on the board. ¿Necesito cambiar para Piura? I asked. ¡Claro! came the response.

I said goodbye to Maude and Luis, who were heading towards Bolivia as fast as they could, and got on the bus, thinking about what cheats and liars Peruvians are and how I, too, would be glad to leave the country as soon as possible. It was a shame to be leaving the Swiss couple, though, because I thought we had got on very well; but we had promised Scotland-Switzerland exchange trips when we return to Europe.

written by  The Happy Couple on December 18, 2009 from Tarapoto, Peru
from the travel blog: Michael's Lonely post-Honeymoon
Send a Compliment

---

comment on this...