¡Hola a todos!

(My second blog of the day).

I rose early upon the morning of my trip into the Amazonian rainforest, leaving my warm, cosy bed a little after five o’clock. There followed the typical protracted wait wherever Peruvians are involved: vehicles, predominantly taxis, came and went as I waited patiently in the bitter early morning cold outside the ‘Aldea Yanapay’ hostel. The occasional larger automobile passed by, temporarily raising my hopes that this time, the vehicle in sight was coming for me. After having these hopes dashed a number of times, my transportation finally arrived, a full forty-five minutes late, with not a word of apology: welcome to time-keeping, Peruvian style. Thankfully the morning was not especially cold and I had thought to wrap up warmly: the wait therefore merely stoked my crescendoing excitement for the journey and experience that lay before me. I jumped aboard and waved a fond farewell to the hostel, my rewarding home for the past week, through a window that gleamed in the morning chill.

Refocusing my attention within the minibus that was to take me into the jungle, I became acquainted with two other passengers, Emma and Reuben, a young English couple from Bristol. I discovered that Emma is originally from close to Leominster, near the south Shropshire border (and therefore not at all far from my own home) and had recently completed a course in Cusco aimed at training teachers of English as a foreign language. I was very interested in her thoughts regarding this experience, as I had researched the same area as a possible means of immersing myself more fully within South American culture before I began my adventure, eventually deciding that the timing and other details were not quite compatible with my desired itinerary. As far as Emma was concerned, the experience was a fabulous one and had given her much for which to be thankful. Reuben had during this time remained working in the UK, at the O2 Arena in Bristol, where he is the stage manager (yes, I was rather excited upon discovering this information) and had now journeyed out to Peru for an extended holiday with Emma before he returned to England to work and Emma began the arduous task of job-finding here in or around Cusco.

We continued to chat amicably as we toured around Cusco, picking up the remaining members of our tour group. This took some time, as our guide and driver were clearly not the most efficient of organizers, nor in fact did they seem particularly au fait with the various pick-up locations within the city. We picked up three friendly Danes from the bus terminal, recently arrived – three hours late due to yet another strike – from Puno. We added Nina and Damian, a couple from Austria and Canada respectively, who had met while volunteering in the Dominican Republic, before finally collecting Magda and Isa, Polish twins from Warsaw, a full hour and forty-five minutes after the pre-determined pick-up time of 6 o’clock, a time incidentally that we had all been given, despite our disparate pick-up locations: Peru, sigh. We settled down for the long journey, with ample time within which to become better acquainted with one another. I particularly liked questioning the Poles about there homeland, reminded for a second time that morning of my aunt Lesley, who had once taught English as a foreign language in a city to the west of the Polish capital and who I had once visited there with my family. Needless to say, Magda and Isa were rather amazed at this piece of information but, glad that I had enjoyed such a happy stay in their country. I also had the pleasure of a long and good-humoured chat with Andres, the Dane sat beside me, on a short, three-week holiday with his two friends. The Danes had recently visited Lake Titicaca and were rather haunted by how cold it had been there, particularly at night. This led me to reminisce over my own, idyllic stay around the shores and upon the islands of this wonderful inland sea.

The day lengthened and the distance to our destination shortened accordingly. We were to spend our first night at the fiorst of two lodges owned and run by our tour company in the ‘cultural zone’ of the Manu Biosphere to which we were journeying. Manu has an enviable reputation as one of the premier locations within which to explore a part of the Amazonian rainforest. A vast size, much of the reserve is strictly off limits to the general public, quaintly referred to as the ‘intangible zone’ on maps. This area is set aside for a huge variety of flora and fauna, as well as native tribes, many of which have had no contact with the outside world besides the occasional park warden or researcher, nor do they apparently want any. The southern strip of the reserve is the cultural zone, visited by huge numbers of tourists every year: it is here that local friendlier tribes can be visited and a number of adventure activities, besides the customary trekking and camping, are able to be undertaken. To the east of this area is a select portion of the reserve, set aside for those travellers with a little more time and money. This area is devoid of permanent human occupancy and is the best location within the reserve to seek out elusive jaguars, caimans, anacondas and various other wild animals the mere sight of which is enough to set the pulse racing. Alas, as I mentioned above, my tour was destined solely for the cheaper cultural zone, where animal sightings such as those listed above are always at something of a premium. Unfortunately, I did not catch even the merest whiff of a jaguar or any other such beast during my stay but, nonetheless, the excitement that accompanied simply being physically present in such a magical, awe-inspiring location was ample compensation. I am fortunate enough to have seen some of nature’s greatest wild creatures while on safari with my family in South Africa some years ago and so I was quite content on this trip to sit back, relax and soak up the unique surroundings of the Amazonian jungle.

The sights, sounds and smells were incomparable to anything I have experienced previously: howler monkeys hollared from the tree-tops, setting off distant, similar responses, mixed with the sounds of wild birds, including parrots and macaws. Strange wild languages mingled, punctuated by the unique cry of a bird inhabiting the trees surrounding our second lodge, a booming noise, akin to the call of a cuckoo but, on a much louder, grander scale. As day turned to dusk, the noise was maintained but, its composition altered, subtly, until the cries of the feathered fliers had been replaced by the chirruping of crickets and assorted other bugs and creepy-crawlies. Fire-flies flickered through the gathering gloom and the occasional, random, louder sound travelled forth out of the undergrowth. During our stay in the forest, the moon was nearly full and so each night was bathed in an ethereal, luminous glow, providing light enough to sit up and stare out into the surrounds, hoping for a glimpse of something truly memorable. In the end, the orchestral display proved enough: indeed, the jungle is never quiet, never still.

Some nights, we sat up as a group, camped out in the tower placed dominantly in the centre of the second lodge’s grounds. From here we enjoyed marvellous views over the rest of the camp and out across the river running swiftly down the side of our base and the sole means by which entry and exit to the lodge can be attempted. Here we would break out a deck, or two, of cards and teach each other the best games that we had to offer, invariably parading names that would make any self-respecting traveller blush (is this not always the case with card games these days?). Such games were equally invariably accompanied by alcohol – beer and wine, courtesy of the lodge’s small shop-supply, and rum, courtesy of Nina and Damain – and abundant laughter: of all the tour groups I have been lucky enough to comprise a part of, this group have been the funniest, the warmest, the best so far.

One such night broke this usual pattern: we followed our guide out into the surrounding undergrowth to partake of a night-time stroll. This walk tested everyone’s mettle, that much is certain. We commenced along a small stream and had soon strumbled across a rather large spider with a grinning jawful of gnashers that had even the boys maintaining a healthy distance. We later admired this animal’s dentistry in a photograph taken by Jan, the second Danish chap, upon a digital camera with an enviously strong zoom. Feeling a little skittish, we continued, climbing a steep, muddy bank to emerge upon a path one-person wide, wending off into the bushes. Torches and courage at the ready, we proceeded along our way. We did not have long to wait before being put to the test once more. Happening upon a large tree, our guide called a halt to point out some ludicrously large ants scuttling along the tree’s trunk. These ants, roughly the length of my middle finger (four or five inches perhaps), are known as bullet ants and our guide quite cheerfully informed us that a single bite from such an ant would cause excruciating pain for twenty-four hours or so: everyone took a step (or two) backwards. Women – and the occasional man – had been known to weep on account of the pain and in the unfortunate case of a particularly vehement reaction, or multiple bites, victims had been known to lose sense of feeling in localized areas surrounding the bite(s). Wonderful information that I am sure made us all feel quite empowered and filled with awe.

We were soon filled with emotions of a different kind: having walked perhaps ten paces from this site, Magda quite calmly informed me that I had a bullet ant wandering up my leg. Equally calmly, I strained around in time to be greeted by the sight of an enormous black ant scuttling dangerously close to my open midrift (always one to parade the cool styles, I was wandering through this dangerous jungle with my shirt untucked). It was perhaps at this point that panic set in, annihilating any compassionate feelings I might have harboured towards this harbinger of pain: I set about trying to shake the unfortunate wretch from my leg, kicking Magda in the process. The ant apparently flung, apologies to Magda issued, we continued. I had walked a further ten paces or so when Pete, an Australian traveller who had joined our group for the night-walk, calmly informed me that the ant had returned and was this time engaged in trying to crawl down the inside of my wellington boot. RIGHT: get it, please! I do NOT want twenty-four hours of pain, I am NOT an indigenous tribesman engaged in some bizarre manhood initiation rite. Pete hastily obliged, taking a giant swipe at the poor creature: I am not sure whether or not he killed it but, happily for me it did not bite me, nor did it reappear throughout the rest of the trek. By this point everyone was a little nervous: next a giant moth, the size of my palm, landed upon Damian’s chest. I scrambled for a closer look; Damian panicked and launched his fist towards the poor flying giant. The moth flew, I took a sweeping right to the cheek and for a change it was someone apologizing to me, as I rubbed gingerly at my throbbing cheek-bone.

We returned to camp, emerging clumsily, rapidly from the tangle underfoot without further mishap, everyone silently – or vocally in one or two cases – relieved to be back inside our little fortress. We settled down to a delicious cooked meal before whiling away the remaining time before “lights out”. The lodge ran upon a generator and this generator was switched off every evening at roughly nine o’clock. As the generator’s hum slowly died, so too – much more suddenly – did the residual power, including all the lights. It was similar to watching a prison scene on television: the first instance of this occurring, I was safely tucked up in my bed, ready. Thereafter, we simply ensured that we carried a torch in preparation for making our way back to our rooms from the card-playing area. The meals, as related above, were of an excellent quality – the standard never dipped. On one occasion at lunch we even enjoyed a buffet, complete with vegetables wrapped in chicken strips, avocado and olives, mixed bean salad, Spanish tortillas (similar to an English omelette), rice mixed with raisins and baked haricot beans with bacon. It was simply scrumptuous and emblematic of the care taken by all the staff upon the trip, helping to make my time in the jungle such an unforgettably brilliant experience. Unfortunately, despite this care, three of our party of ten still came down with virulent food poisoning and general sickness: Emma and Nina spent time in bed and Damian even collapsed on his way out of the dining hut one evening. Fortunately, all made full, speedy recoveries and to their credit did not let these experiences dampen their abundant enthusiasm.

Another, daily, occurence that failed to dampen our spirits at least was the rainfall, at times deafeningly loud as it crashed upon the tin roofs on some of the camp’s edifices. The rainforest (I suppose the clue is in the name) was humid and damp. I wore long-sleeved clothing to counter against the biting insects and yet I sweltered in this gear. The rain provided no relief whatsoever, although I was grateful for it, as the aromas released upon such occasions were dizzingly powerful, even for myself, with next to no sense of smell (I could relate a charming tale of a university dig’s kitchen, a gas stove and a highly alarmed housemate but, perhaps now is not the time). Sitting in the lengthening dark, upon a wooden veranda, sipping a cool beer, listening to the abundant sounds, inhaling the plentiful aromas and chatting happily with my wonderful tour-mates, I enjoyed a truly wonderful time, a definite highlight among the wholesome highlights of this trip. Assuredly, I shall return to this place one day, if the opportunity presents itself; hopefully with a little more money, a little more time and a little more courage, to explore the deeper interior and, with it, the more numerous, more rewarding chances and experiences so tantalizingly near on this occasion.

The trip was brilliant. Despite the lack of wildlife sightings during the five-day excursion, I nonetheless enjoyed a pleasant rafting experience down a grade II river before we reached our second lodge and two trips into the towering trees of the rainforest’s upper canopy to zip-line between stations, taking in the wondrous tree-top views afforded by such travel. I revelled in such delightful company as present and laughed shamelessly, long and loud, at the antics of my travel companions. I was even allowed the time to wander, quite leisurely, down a rocky road within a cloud forest, clinging tenaciously to the side of the mountain slopes, trailing down into the lowlands of the jungle. Here I viewed some more marvellous examples of wild orchids, savoured some of my best bird-spotting moments on the entire excursion and even had chance to view two � c*** on the Rock’ (ladies, please), the national bird of Peru: both were males, the loud, vibrantly coloured sex (purely to gain the much desired attention of a female of course).

I returned to Cusco light-headed and light of heart. I was reminded, yet again, of the brilliant, beautiful luck that I enjoy in being able to take in such sights, sounds, smells; to be able to revel in such rich experiences. Safely installed in Cusco and my beloved Yanapay hostel once more, I hurried to soak up all the delights of my final, final few days before finally bidding this paradoxical city and its wonderful inhabitants (both permanent and temporary) a fond, fond farewell. I took multiple final trips to ‘The Real McCoy’, where I had devoured so many tasty baked potatoes, loaded with bacon, cheese, guacamole and baked beans and viewed two fantastic Formula One grand prixes. I crawled breathlessly up the steep, winding backstreets into the ever-popular San Blas quarter to partake of delicious food at the ‘Granja Heidi’ (Heidi’s farm) restaurant and nibble on fabulous coca-infused chocolate brownies at ‘The Coca Cafe’, run by its virtuously, contagiously happy coca chef. I bid adieu to the Yanapay restaurant, to my lovely friends, to the old stonework, that seemed so often to speak to those passing by. I stored up the memories, those happy, healthy memories, packed my bags and bought a ticket to Lima, just in time to visit the cinema and see ‘ yes, of course, the latest Harry Potter film. Every cloud, then, has a silver lining.

¡Saludos a todos!

David xxx