Our plane touched down in Leticia, a small town in the south-eastern part of Colombia that bordered Peru and Brazil. Our plan was to take a boat along the Amazon River to the city of Iquitos, Peru- with only five days to catch our connecting flight, and on a backpacker’s allowance; our journey began.
We found a decent flat only five minutes from the river, but spent more than twenty trying to talk the price down. I love a good bargain brawl- you know the one that leaves your conscious unsettled to the point it might have jeopardized the safety of you stay. Finally coming to an agreement that we were overpaying- we hit the streets in search of a ticket for the boat going out the next day to Iquitos. There were two companies in town and you can guess it- they were both sold out. So we threw on our dishevelled faces and pleaded with them that we desperately needed to be on that boat. Pulling us aside, he slyly whispered to us “meet me at the dock at four; I’ll see what I can do”. What he did was give us give other river dwellers seats- as we crept onto the boat, we left a dock full of landlocked unfortunates.
The boat was not exactly what I expected. I had in mind a quiet open-seated riverboat that gracefully waltzed down the chocolaty river- instead it was a deafeningly, claustrophobic speedboat that motored past all the beauty. As we stopped to board new passengers- we were eventually kicked out of our seats and placed in the engine room at the back of the boat. This actually turned out to be the highlight of the ride, as we transferred to the bright and breezy back- we soon made beds out of all the travellers’ luggage and took in the rest of the ride.
The boat docked and we grabbed a tuk-tuk, a three-wheeled taxi, to a recommended hostel “Hobo’s Hideout”. Love the moniker, don’t you? We paid for a room and headed into town for a bite to eat when it all began- swarms of colourful taxis, reckless tuk tuk’s, cars and jalopies sped down our side street in a blaze of glory, furiously waving flags and mashing on their horns as if the end of the world were coming- it turned out to be over a soccer match. To my very eyes it appeared that they were celebrating a victory- I later heard it was a tie. But as all of this was going on in front of me- I had no time to think, so I did what any adventurer would have done. I lunged myself onto one of the passing tuk-tuk’s and joined a gang of cheery youth, shouting and hollering- to me it seemed like innocent fun. I soon learned a lesson about misjudgement as my caravan drove further away from the city core. This wasn’t the part that threw me for a loop; it was when we entered their rival’s part of town and had to duck when a hail of rocks began showering our taxi. I was hit in the chest, and a nameless passenger was also hit- both of us walking away unharmed, though the gang with a little more hostility than I.
Parking their tuk-tuk on the edge of town, we got out and discussion of retaliation ensued. I just replied “No me gusta. I don’t like”- it’s all I really knew how to say, to explain my lack of interest. So this is where we parted ways and I rode safely back to the town square in yet another tuk-tuk ending my little adventure.
The next morning we met Walter at our bus, and bribed the driver to let us sit on top of the bus with the luggage- two dollars later we had the best seat in the house (figuratively speaking). Arriving in Lautus, we stocked up on goods and boarded our multi-coloured, river boat to our unknown destination in the midst the Amazon jungle. As our boat departed- a smile crept upon my face in amazement at the true beauty of my surroundings- my dream was now reality.
Two hours into the ride we came across an intersecting tributary which boasted an array of pink, silver and black river dolphins. I giddily jumped rocking the boat, enthusiastically snapping pictures, only ever managing to capture a tail or fin as they frolicked in and out of the murky water.
We eventually arrived at Puerto Miguel, a long narrow sandbank that was lined with makeshift houses on stilts- keeping tides and unwanted gators away from little kiddies. The village was without electricity except for one gas generator that was hooked up to a booming stereo. We sat down to eat some dinner and later played catch with a hardened fruit with some of the local kids. We talked Walter into taking the canoe out in search of alligators, so the three of us loaded into the canoe and paddled off just as the sun was going down.
The dip of the paddle, the swinging vines of a playful monkey, the baritone of the lonely toad and the powerful gusts of the heron’s wings that straddled the rivers thickness; replaced those of cars, telephones and the hustle of everyday life- as the stars began freckling through the sky. Though we never did see a gator, it didn’t take an ounce away from the sheer presence of beauty.
The next morning we went for a quick dip in the river before departure and were introduced to a couple of nipping piranhas. We both hastily jumped out of the water after I was bitten on my finger and Ryan reached second base with his nipple biting friend. After dressing we said our farewells over warm beers and rock and roll blaring from the boom-box. We got back to our hostel in the evening after sharing a rooftop ride with a heap of vibrant bananas and waving to every soul that we passed.
It was our last full day in Iquitos and we decided to take a tour of the slums of Belin. From above, the homes were littered with sheet metal roofs, tarps and wooden flats, while the streets were ridden with waste. I’m not going to paint it beautifully, because it wasn’t- what was beautiful, was the people. The bright smiles and life that radiated from this port was phenomenal. Children flying homemade kites, teens losing soccer balls to the river and fighting at who had to retrieve it, canoes passing floating houses sending regards in waves and whistles, toothless grandmothers smiling over babies- and as I took in all this beauty I found myself turning in circles trying to capture everything standing at the edge of a soccer field, when I heard a voice shout “Hello”. I turned around and made my way to a young man I would grow to know as Teddy. He had a beautiful wife and child and invited me into his home. We talked about life and sports and the similarities in our cultures, as well as differences- and over a short period of time a crowd of people had gathered intrigued at Teddy’s English or perhaps that a couple of foreigners were perusing their neighbourhood. We exchanged emails as we departed and returned to city square.
The town had an important agenda this evening as Peruvians from all corners gathered in the town centre- signs in hand growing with anger as the masses continued to multiply. We walked back to our hostel as the scene got more violent. Now locked behind the hostel entrance we killed the lights as protestors marched up our streets rattling gates, smashing bottles and chanting- all I could make out was the word ‘muerte’, meaning death in Spanish- I had no clue what I was in for. All I was thinking is that I have a plane to catch tomorrow and I want to get out of here alive. The night carried on with streaks occasionally making their way past our hostel and the noise of violence echoing through the streets. While sitting in the back courtyard sounds of footsteps banged on rooftops above ours heads- we had no clue what was in store, I don’t even know how I fell asleep, but eventually I did, fortunately rising to yet another sunrise.
The day was dead, nothing was open and we frantically called the airport. They told us that the airport was closed, but was opening in the evening. With our flight being at seven we had managed to luck out. Apparently the strike was over rising prices in the economy and the people were taking it to the streets- you should have seen the police running away from the citizens- it was a very powerful moment. We hopped on a tuk-tuk and I left Peru with three dollars to my name- but was left with so much more.
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