Jungle Cruise

Early in the morning we woke up and wrapped all of our bags in plastic to prepare for the boat ride into the jungle. We piled into Toyota Celica wagons with our baggage in the back, and drove down a long dusty dirt road toward the river. We were stopped several times for construction, as the road is being paved for the first time. Most of the people in my group heeded instructions to bring hats and bandanas for the dusty ride, but I figured that being a desert camping veteran I would be fine without either. After 30 minutes I wished that I had both.

We pulled into a tiny little town on the river and got out of the cabs. After a few minutes to load all the bags onto one long canoe, we all piled into a second boat for passengers only. The boat was barely wide enough for two passengers to sit side by side on the hard plank seats, but long enough that it could have held 20 people. Fortunately, our guides could afford a nice quiet and fast Suzuki outboard motor, which is a real luxury on these rivers. Most of the natives either use noisy "peque-peque" (pron. peckey peckey, like the sound they make) motors with long extensions that hold the tiny propeller several feet behind the boat, or they just row by hand.

We sped along the water at a surprisingly brisk pace, considering that we were going against the slow current. Dense green foliage grew on either side of the muddy river, which was about 30 yards wide in most parts. Some of the trees were partially submerged, or over hung from the banks over the edge of the river. It had been raining recently, so the water was high for June, which is one of the drier months. Every now and then we passed moorings with long canoes tied to small piers or trees. Paths led up the muddy banks to houses and, in some cases, small towns. Eagles soared over our heads, small birds skimmed the surface of the water, and every now and then long-necked large river birds would watch us as we passed or take flight as we neared. Fishermen waved at us as we passed, and laughed at the rare sight of a boat full of gringos.

As we continued up the river, the weather alternated between sun and rain, slowly filling the bottom of the boat with several inches of water. At some point I realized that the Jungle Cruise ride at Disneyland was surprisingly accurate, and I felt like any moment the driver would discharge his pistol to scare off a large hippo. Of course, there aren't any hippos in the Amazon, but you get the point.

Finally, we made it to our destination tributary, and the rains had raised the water high enough that we could proceed to our camp without hiking through the mud. As we slowly made our way up the narrow and shallow tributary (little more than a creek in these dry months), the resemblance to the Disney ride only increased. The trees closed in over our heads, and large vines swooped over our heads and kissed the water in places. Due to the rains, the water was the color of coffee with cream, and it was impossible to see that it was actually rather shallow. The trees were covered with mud giving away a high water mark 15 feet above our heads.

We were able to pull right up to the camp kitchen, where the cooks were just finishing our soup lunch. We ate hungrily, and those of us that eat meat made the most of some tough pieces of jungle chicken. For the next 10 days, we would be eating a sparse traditional diet with little meat, so I appreciated the protein even though it was the least appetizing chicken I have ever eaten. We also had balls of plantain mixed with onions and potatoes, which were dry but tasty when broken up and mixed into the soup.

After lunch, we were shown our little tambos (traditional wooden huts). These little huts with mosquito net covered beds, hammocks, and little writing desks would be our homes. They are similar to the tambos that the natives of the jungle would traditionally live in, but the foam beds were a compromise for the comfort of the gringos, and instead of thatched roofs we had tin roofs, in order that we would be safe from falling branches from the tall trees which form a thick canopy over everything except the river.

I secured my mosquito netting around the bed, and settled into my hammock. Soon I drifted off to sleep for several hours, and by the time I woke up it was almost dinner time and night had fallen. The jungle around me was pitch black, except for the luminescent green bugs all around. I was completely disoriented by the darkness, and even though the moon was full it provided little light through the clouds and the dense canopy of the trees.

I put on my rubber boots, turned on my flashlight, and made my way to the kitchen for dinner. Those who had spent time in the jungle before felt immediately at home, but I was wide-eyed in the darkness and wondrous at the sound of the crickets and the frogs and the river. After dinner, I returned to my tambo and spent several minutes chasing out all the flying insects which were inside my mosquito net. I slept beautifully.

Welcome to the Jungle

In my last entry, I thought I would have no more opportunities to send updates, but surprisingly I have an opportunity in Pucallpa to send one last high-speed update before heading beyond the reach of the Internet.

Pucallpa looks pretty much like what you would expect a jungle town to look like. If one doesn't look at the faces of the people, it could be in Thailand or Brazil or Vietnam or Malaysia. Huge and alien green plants grow everywhere where they haven't already been chopped down. Three-wheeled motorized rickshaws with motorcycle front ends and benches in the rear are the main form of transportation, except for the motorcycles with whole families crammed on to them.

When we flew into the airport, the weather was stifling, and people were ripping off their clothes before we even exited the plane. The temperature is only 85 degrees, but with the everpresent humidity it feels oppressively hot. I have been sweating ever since I got off the plane.

Our Pucallpa hosts met us at the airport with taxis and took us back to the house where we will be spending the night. We had a meal of chicken, rice and vegetables, and then most of us split into small groups and headed into town or to the market.

The market sells most staples one would expect, but also there are stands with merchandise that is hard to imagine many people want. There are stands that specialize in plastic flower leis, for instance. I found a pair of tall rubber boots for snake protection, and some rope to tie up my belongings to dry or to keep my bags away from the ants that will inevitably invade my tombo.

The noise of the mototaxis and the cacauphony of music and yelling create a feeling of tension. The smoke from the vehicles and restaurants combine with the dust to create a haze that the sun filters through in amber hues. The streets are bordered by gutters several feet deep in places, giving an idea how much rain must fall here during the rainy season. Many of the houses are built on four foot stilts for the same reason.

The people in this part of the country look different from the denizens of Lima and Cusco. Their features are less pronounced and sharp, and their cheeks fuller. Despite the abject poverty, the people here smile a lot, and the older people have smile lines carved deep into their dark faces.

Tomorrow we will get up early to head into the jungle, where I certainly won't have Internet.

Cutting it Short

A lot has happened in the last 9 days. I returned to Peru via a crowded Bolivian mini-bus. I had a harrowing (and freezing) overnight ride on a malfunctioning Peruvian bus. I rested in beautiful Pisac. I returned to the ruins of Cusco with another Quechua-speaking native, and learned about a prophecy contained on the Temple of the Moon. I went to Machu Picchu and took over 200 photographs and climbed the surrounding peaks, which was one of the more physically intensive things I have ever done. I ate more wonderful food, shopped for gifts and souvenirs, and finally made it back to Lima, where I met up with the group I will be traveling to the jungle with.

Unfortunately, I don't have time to turn all these experiences into blog entries before I go to sleep, and tomorrow I have an early flight to Pucallpa, followed by a 2 hour drive, a 2 hour boat ride up the river, and a hike into the jungle where I will be living for two weeks.

My group had a nice conversation about what we are going to face in the jungle. We discussed various methods for going to the bathroom without getting one's tender bits devoured by ants. We discussed all the wildlife that we may encounter up-close, from pumas to deadly snakes to stingrays to tarantulas bigger than your hand, and a few non-dangerous animals as well, like frogs the size of basketballs and strange luminescent insects. Biting fish are to expected, but hopefully not the kind that crawl up your urethra and have to be surgically removed.

I don't mean to make any of this sound any more dangerous than it really is. Don't get me wrong, I would feel safer spending weeks in this jungle than wandering around South Central LA for one night, but it's good to consider the possibilities before one is faced with them unexpectedly.

Of course, even though there is Internet access in almost every desert on earth, on the highest peaks of the Himalayas, and at the South Pole, there is no Internet access in this part of the Amazon jungle. Satelites cannot be reached through the dense foliage, and the nearest cell towers will be far too distant for a signal. There is no electricity, few gasoline motors, and completely unpredictable weather. I will be completely incommunicado for the next two weeks.

So, to my friends and family, farewell for now, and I'll talk to you when I emerge. Think good thoughts, do not worry about me, and be glad that I'm not wandering around Compton.

Thoughts on Tiahuanaco

Tiahuanaco is like the Bolivian equivalent of Machu Picchu. Its structures were not as extensive, but they were beautiful and grand. The site itself is located square in the middle of a large valley. There was no thought given to defensive posture, as it is open on all sides to attack. This should give an idea as to the security and confidence that the culture had in their own superiority. The Tiahuanacos ruled a massive area of South America for around 3,000 years before being folded into the Inca culture. Soon after, the Spanish completely decimated their power, but the influence on the ways and culture of the people in Bolivia is still very much felt today.

The Tihuanaco culture were master agriculturists. They had over 300 species of potatoes alone, and a vast distribution network that shared resources over all of Bolivia, southern Peru, and beyond. They had a strict system of caste specialization, and their lives were ruled by religious structures. The Tiahuanaco ruins were the religious center of the entire culture. The most significant and largest statues unearthed at ths site were the Pachamama, or mother earth statues. In one hand, Pachamama holds a staff of power, in the other a cup with serpents coming out. The eyes are huge, and the statues are covered with motifs representing serpents, pumas, and condors. There are also condor-men, which might represent spirits or enlightened figures or medicine men, I'm not certain.

Many of the religious symbolism that is commondly associated with the Incans actually began with the Tiahuanacos. The three animal avatars representing the underworld (serpent), realm of man (puma), and spirit world or heaven (condor) began here. The Incan cross, with three stepped sides on each diagonal was also around long before the Incans rose to power.

The imagery and style of the art is very similar to native art from all over the Americas, including North American natives. Much of the art could be mistaken for Incan, Mayan, or even Canadian native art, suggesting a widely shared language of artistic imagery, even though there was no shared spoken or written language.

Truly, this was a highlight of my trip, and a completely unexpected one. One more reason to travel without a set plan.

Traveling to Tiahuanaco

Early in the morning, before the sun had risen, we awoke to find a light rain just beginning. We grabbed our bags and hit the streets to try to find a taxi that would take us across the mountains to Tiahuanaco, several hours away. The taxi drivers seemed to salivate at the prospect of foreign tourists, and tried to rip us off royally. Eventually, we settled on a bus destined for La Paz, where we could easily get a cheap taxi or a minivan to take us the rest of the way.

Unfortunately, bus service in Bolivia is notoriously bad, and after a while it became clear that our bus would not go much faster than 30kph (about 20mph) up and over the mountains. The rain poured down heavily, but for some reason the driver chose not to use his windshield wipers. All the windows of the bus fogged over as the temperature dropped, including the windshield. Every few minutes the driver's assistant would smear a dirty rag across the windows, creating a little patch of relative visibility on the opaque window. As we gained altitude, little flakes of snow mixed with the rain, as the bus wound its way over the winding road with hundreds of feet of canyon below.

At some point, we had to exit the bus and take a boat across a river. From the far bank, as we watched the boat slowly make its way across the river perched precariously on a barge, we decided that this bus was not going to get us there in a reasonable timeframe. We found a minivan who's driver was willing to take us the rest of the way to Tiahuanaco for around $15 each, which was acceptable for a 2 1/2 hour drive. The minivan belched thick black smoke as we left the bus and its passengers behind at the docks. These minivans, known as "combis", are common in Peru and Bolivia, and although they have 15 narrow seats stuffed inside, they will often carry over twenty passengers. Luggage is stacked on the roof sometimes 6 feet high. You can flag them down on the highway if they have room, and you pay based on how far you are going, often negotiating a price rather than paying a fixed tariff.

All along the road were apartment buildings, offices, garages, and gas stations. As many were abandoned as inhabited, and very few had ever been painted. Almost all of the buildings were made of cheap, brick-colored cinder blocks, held together with grey mortar. Fields that had once grown crops were overgrown with weeds, and everywhere there were walls that no longer served any purpose, whatever they once deliniated now long returned to the wild.

We came within site of La Paz, a bowl stretching as far as the eye can see, filled with trash, pollution, and many more abandoned buildings. Smoke rose from the low buildings and settled over the low city, with no fresh air currents to clear it out. A tiny adobe shack with a tin roof carried a sign: "Computers For Sale". A compound that looked like a small abandoned prison had a logo for a Bolivian pharmeceutical manufacturer, and a shifty-eyed guard with a rifle guarded the front gate. Desperately ill dogs stumbled into traffic, half-blind with food and water poisoning. Naked children ran after the dogs, laughing. Fortunately, our turn off soon led us perpendicular to the road into La Paz, and soon we were once again traveling through beautiful mountain fields, farms, and open highway.

We made it to Tiahuanaco right on schedule.