DAY 9-- RESERVA NACIONAL PACAYA-SAMIRIA TO LAGUNAS TO RIO HUALLAGA

Go on, you can say! Does this shirt make me look fat?

Sunset on Rio Huallaga

I awake about 5:30 a.m. There is the barest tinge of light. The Peruvians are murmuring sleepily among themselves; by 6 a.m. they are out of their beds and actively preparing for the day.

I slept well, but took no chances. An Ambien helped me get beyond the heat and humidity and into a good sleep. Mosquitoes posed no problem under the net. In fact, during the entire day and evening yesterday, there were only minimal insect problems, and those were after dark.

Esteban returns from fishing at 6:30 with a variety of species. He has a piranha, a couple of larger fish, and an electric eel that appears to be three feet (one meter) in length.

There is a separate raised platform, somewhat smaller than the one we’re on, about 50 feet (16 m) from our structure. You can see a large water container on top for a shower (ducha) as well as enclosed toilets (banos). These are not yet functional, but are supposed to be within a month or two.

Meals are prepared. We must be considered two separate groups, the French threesome and me, though we did share the same jungle camp last night. They are served plates of well-fried eggs (huevos) and packets of saltine crackers; my desayuno (breakfast) will not be quite so mundane.

Breakfast scene at Area de Campamento Poza Gloria in Reserva Nacional Pacaya-Samiria

A large pot, perhaps 6 quarts (6 liters) in size, containing an otherworldly looking soup (sopa) is offered for my breakfast. The broth is thinner than pea soup, but about the same color. The container is filled with pieces of fish that were almost certainly caught by Esteban this morning. Only a fish head will do for me, their guest. I know that they would serve me only what they considered to be the best portion of the fish (pescado). I work my fork around the head a bit, searching for an edible portion. Finally, eyeing a fleshy portion of fish in Zorela’s bowl, I ask for just a bit of it. There is yucca cooked in the soup, and virtually tasteless cooked bananas (platanos) are served on the side. I have hot tea and some bread to complement this most unique breakfast (desayuno).


The oldest of the group of three French travelers, a 40-ish man, could be the father, or perhaps mentor, of the young man and woman with him. He is on the staff of a zoo in France and is the only one of the three to speak English. He helps me with identification of some of the birds and animals that I saw yesterday. This morning we watch as flycatchers, kingfishers, and a black-crowned night heron work the waters near our camp called Area de Campamento Poza Gloria.

A fairly large bird has built its nest in a cavity in a snag standing 50 feet (16 m) from our platform. Two chicks plead for food. We wait for the return of the parent almost as impatiently as the chicks. The Frenchman thinks it may be some kind of creeper; Zorela says it is a carpintero.

Some type of carpintero (woodpecker)?

There is something about my name that makes my hosts want to speak it, whether talking to me or amongst themselves. “Te gusta Peru, Senor Meek?” “Donde vive, Senor Meek?” “Que hora es, Senor Meek?”

We depart the camp at 9 a.m. Preparing to leave, Esteban reminds me not to forget my amigo…I had Rodolfo posed on a sign at the camp and would have forgotten him. Then he tells me to be sure to bring my journal—my second-most valued possession after the disk of photos inside my camera—which I would have left on the table where I ate. Now we’re off!

We’ll basically re-trace our yesterday’s route back to Santa Rosa. Esteban will have to paddle against the slight but persistent current. He knows and takes many short-cuts, sometimes only a little wider than our canoe, through the flooded jungle. Only once in perhaps 40 deviations from the main channel do we ever have to retreat because we are unable to get through. The dry season is just at its beginning in mid-May; later, there will be land surface revealed and the short-cuts will no longer be viable, but not yet.

Once we enter a riverine passageway narrower than the canoe. We have to grab branches and pull ourselves along a short distance. I ask Esteban if it ever gets dry here? Yes, from June to September the waters recede back into a more defined rivercourse. Then, too, the land animals return in numbers from higher ground, making the dry season much better for viewing wildlife.

Below are listed some of the animals we saw this morning. Spelling errors likely approach 100% as I merely attempted to spell phonetically, in a second language, names that were provided by my non-English-speaking guia.

>> Garca senita—lighter in color but similar in size and construction to the Great blue heron
>> Pescano—small eagle or hawk that feeds on small monos (monkeys)
>> Polcarijo—brilliant black-and-yellow bird about the size of a robin
>> Colebra—something stirring in the shoreline reeds…a snake? eel? caiman?
>> Carpintero—either a Pileated woodpecker or a very close cousin. This word, ‘carpintero,’ was applied earlier today to an altogether different bird. This is when it occurs to me that ‘carpintero’ is not the name of a specific bird; rather, it is a generic term used for any woodpecker.

(Left) A snake (serpiente), 5 feet (1.5 m) long but harmless to humans; (right) a monkey (mono) in the trees--a frele?

Esteban works hard for three-and-a-half hours to get us back to yesterday’s lunch site. I tell him that I certainly do not need lunch. After a short stop, we’re on our way again.

Esteban senses my interest in seeing and photographing, if possible, any of the fauna that we encounter. He stops and waits patiently when there is a photo opportunity. He has been a great guia (guide) in every way. I’m not sure how the money thing is going to play out when we get back to Lagunas. There is no bank and, even more certainly, there is no ATM. I have no idea if I even have money for the rapido boat to Iquitos. Esteban has earned a nice propina (tip) and I will have to figure some way to provide one--at the end of the trip or, perhaps, even later via correo (mail).

The thought occurs to me that I have no earthly status that merits being powered upstream 10 miles or more by dint of Esteban’s labor. And his station in life is not to be pitied. I think. I believe he enjoys taking tourists into the park, being on the river. He lives a royal life compared to the poor souls I saw loading the Eduardo III prior to its departure from Yurimaguas two days ago. In the Western Hemisphere, perhaps only some Bolivian mine workers could be said to endure such a dire existence as those human beasts of burden bearing unconscionable loads on their backs.

I suppose the fare I paid to ride the Eduardo III passes quickly into the pockets of the same men or company exploiting the laborers. I can’t seem to forget about it.

Esteban leaves the Rio Salmillia, which we’ve been on all day, and paddles up Rio di Billo a short way to Santa Rosa. (A disclaimer: river names are phonetic interpretations of my guide’s conversation in Spanish. Greater accuracy may follow discovery of more detailed maps and the time to research them.) We arrive back at what you would call a ranger station for this entry point into Reserva Nacional Pacaya-Samiria at 2:30 p.m.

My exit from the park is logged, but not before I return an inexpensive ballpoint pen I had borrowed yesterday. The government official closes his office, and he and a young park employee join me, Esteban, and our driver (chofer)—five of us and our gear loaded onto one of the little 3-wheeled motocars—for the ride back to Lagunas. The dirt lane is rutted and muddy. Except for the driver, we all get out a half-dozen times so that the vehicle can be urged through particularly bad stretches of road.

I saw the first angry person (but not the last, as intrepid readers of tomorrow’s narrative will see) I have seen in ten days in Peru. A man pushing a cart took exception to our motocar using the paved sidewalk rather than the parallel rutted road, essentially forcing him off the sidewalk so that we could pass by him. The man was angry but not threatening, and the four young Peruvians driving and riding with me were soon joking loudly about the incident.

I worry my way back to Manuel’s ESTYPEL office in Lagunas. How will I provide a proper tip for Esteban? How will I pay for the rapido to Iquitos? I explain my dilemma to Manuel when we get to town, seeking first to determine what amount would be a proper propina for Esteban? This question evokes good-natured laughter from everyone in the little office/home, including from Esteban himself. A propina of 30 soles ($10 USD) was considered generous without being egregious.

Now, about the trip to Iquitos. That was supposed to be the linchpin of my return to the U.S. I was told about a fast boat, a rapido, that would get me to Iquitos in eight hours or so, plenty of time to get back home for work Friday night as scheduled. What I wasn’t told is that a savvy shopper could purchase one-way airfare from Lima to Auckland for approximately the same amount of money. I was quoted a cost of 1,000 soles (more than $300 USD) to go one-way from Lagunas to Iquitos on the rapido. I don’t think so…

I checked into my options. A boat from the Eduardo line was in Lagunas right now, but it was going to Yurimaguas, the opposite direction from Iquitos and a place I’d left Monday night. The Eduardo boat going downstream to Iquitos would not arrive till after midnight (another 10 hours), and would not arrive in Iquitos till sometime Friday (two days from now). I’m supposed to return to work Friday night, so that option didn’t sound too promising.

I toyed with various scenarios in my head, wondering if a return to Yurimaguas could possibly get me back home on schedule? There are no flights out of Yurimaguas, but LAN Peru and Star Peru do have flights out of Tarapoto. Of course, that would mean getting from Yurimaguas back to Tarapoto over that incredible road I traveled on Sunday. The Eduardo now in port here at Lagunas would get me to Yurimaguas early tomorrow (Thursday) morning. I should be able to get to Tarapoto by noon and the flights to Lima are in the afternoon or evening. This could work…

There is no time to waste. I tell Manuel that I’ve changed my mind: I want to go back to Yurimaguas on the Eduardo boat rather than going to Iquitos via the rapido or the Eduardo. His entire household rallied to my aid. If you read Day 7’s narrative, you may remember that the Eduardo III made its departure from Yurimaguas seven hours later than its posted time.

At Lagunas, for the Eduardo IV going upstream, it was a different story. I’m told by travelers on the boat that it was tied up at the port of Lagunas for only about 15 minutes. I made it up the gangplank and onto the boat perhaps five minutes before it backed out of port and proceeded upstream on Rio Huallaga.. One of the young lads from Manuel’s household had procured a motocar to get us from the office to the waterfront. He followed me onto the boat with my larger bag, carrying it up to the top deck and ensuring that everything was all right.

I still had the hammock that I’d bought for the ride downstream, but didn’t know it; it had been packed deep in my bag by one of the young French travelers as they hurried to get me off the Eduardo III. I rented a hammock for 10 soles ($3.30 USD) and, like a marriage—for better or for worse, I set off on an unknowable course.

I soon meet a young American couple from Hawaii, Wendy and Kristian. Wendy is cute, petite, tan, her pretty face dappled with freckles. Little do I know just now that a feisty, steely pit bull resides inside that Valley-girl persona. Her husband, Kristian, is rail thin. His curly hair tops an intense face and piercing eyes. He has the look of genius about him. I will share many experiences with them over the next couple of days.

Wendy and Kristian have been traveling South America for months, including an extended time living in the Mendoza region of Argentina. They will return to Colorado, Kristian’s home, hoping to find (horrors!) work and a more moderate cost of living than Hawaii’s.

They are going to travel the same route I’ve already done between Yurimaguas and Chachapoyas, so I can give them a bit of information that could prove helpful. We agree to share a taxi from Yurimaguas to Tarapoto since it takes one-half the time of a kombi or bus. Two Aussies—Alan and Guy—may join us as well if we can find a vehicle able to carry the five of us plus our bags.

I take a blessed shower even though I don’t have a towel and have precious few clean clothes. Afterwards I put on my swimming suit that hasn’t been worn yet. I wash my dirty clothes in a sink even though there’s virtually no chance of them drying on this overnight trip. Even so, I fashion some lines from bungee cords and hang the clothes out in the humid air.

Dinner is served to us up on the top deck. Tonight’s fare is very decent deep fried chicken (pollo) and french fries (papas fritas). One of the Aussies shares a bottle of red wine (vino tinto). Kristian and I talk a bit about my experiences at Kuelap and the route from Chachapoyas and Tarapoto.

I need some bottled water in order to brush my teeth. I venture onto the lower deck in search of a bodega (wine room) rumored to be down there, a place I should be able to buy the water. While we may have eight hammocks hanging on the upper deck, there could easily be 100 strung up down here. As you’d expect, the air hangs just a bit more heavily on the lower deck. I hear some travelers speaking fluent English, the sound of it in this location as unexpected to me as bumping into Richard Nixon in Heaven—a possibility, but unlikely. I find the small shop, more like a tienda than a bodega, and am able to purchase a bottle of water with the last two soles (67 cents) that I possess, though I do have a small amount of U.S. currency remaining.

I have a conversation with Alan, one of the Aussies, mostly about travel to Cuba. An earnest looking young student approaches, looking for the chance to practice some of his very limited English.

It is another beautiful night on the river. The sky is cloudless, overflowing with myriad celestial bodies that cannot be observed in other locations overcome with lights and/or pollution. Lightning winks on the horizon in every direction. There is the steady hum of the boat’s engines pushing us upstream at about eight mph (12 kmh).

I prepare for bed and am in my hammock before 10 p.m.

Evening scenes from Eduardo IV,

Rio Huallaga, Peru