Have Itch, Will Travel

On the other side of Iquitos was the district of Nanay , a place with its own little mercado , outdoor kitchens selling delicious meals and a floating restaurant on the river. Paddleboats could be rented for an hour of diversion, but instead, we sought out a launch to take us to visit the Boras tribe. The short tour, if arranged with an agent could cost some s/80 each, hyperinflated for foreigners, but at the Nanay dock, we found a launch to take us for half that, including the s/.20 donation to the tribe. It was a disappointing visit, unfortunately far from the real experience I was looking for. Instead of visiting an actual village, we were taken to a spot where a performance hut was built specifically for tourism. Inside were the drums used to communicate between villages, a long plank of wood with the head of an anaconda for ceremonial dancing, and artesan crafts for sale. We were greeted by the Apu (chief) in his traditional dress, and after a brief talk about his tribe, we watche

We arrived in Iquitos at 7pm and made our way up the muddy and littered slope of the river bank dock. For a city dependent on barges bringing in cargo and passengers, the port was devoid of any kind of ramp or structure to allow easy foot access to the boats in the water. The first two nights there, I fell sick with the flu, confined to bed with a fever increasingly uncomfortable in the oppressive humidity of the jungle. But on the third day I had my energy back, and the flu had simmered down to a runny nose and annoying cough. So Joel and I explored Iquitos, visiting the large and dirty mercado of the Belen district. Muddy water lined with river silt crept between my toes and flicked up my legs. No matter how careful I was to tip toe around the puddles, there was always someone nearby who didn't care to splash in them and onto me. The mercado had a bit of everything; from breakfast juice bars where you could get your fill for s/1.50 to hot foot stalls that served barbeque and

For s/.60, we bought our tickets about the Eduardo I , a blue barge that services Yurimaguas to Iquitos on a three day trip. Mounds of produce and products were loaded on the lower deck, along with chickens in boxes, emaciated cows in tiny pens and pigs dragged aboard kicking and squealing. The upper decks were reserved for passengers and their belongings, with a few more secure cabins and bunks for a whopping s/.150. We had enquired a shipmate about departure time the day before, and though he told us it was to be 8pm, when we arrived at the main port of La Boca to buy our tickets in the morning, we found that departure was set for noon. Hurriedly buying a few essentials like toilet paper, lunch boxes and water, we made a dash to pack our belongings and claim a space to string up our hammocks. We boarded at around 0930, secured our bags around a post and hung up our hammocks. By 11, most people had done the same and the decks became a tangle of colorful hammocks hanging so close to

Joel and I took a bus to Yurimaguas , where there are no more roads further into the jungle. We intended to take a barge down the river to Iquitos but hung around for a few days, even bumping into the relatives he grew up with when he was a child. In a nearby plaza, there was a community party happening, thrown by the local government to celebrate twenty years in power. A live Latin band had half the town dancing before fireworks were launched from the children's playground... with children happily playing in it. The next day, we visited the river playa , a shallow bit of stream with a low current, where the young people of the town come for a swim and hang out. Music blasted from large speakers powered by a car battery while a few small stalls were set up selling snacks and drinks. By the time we left in the afternoon, it was a party, but Joel wanted somewhere to dance. We dried off and changed in the middle of the trees before taking a mototaxi to Oasis . Oasis is a party resort

A few times, Joel and I went fishing off the pier at Máncora . Most times were fruitless attempts though once in a while we caught a couple of small catfish. I had left my handline behind in Huanchaco so we bought another from a small ferretería . After breakfast, we would ask for chicken or fish guts from someone at the mercado before making our way to the pier. On our last day, we got snagged real good and all attempts failed miserably to release our tackle. But a fellow fisherman helped us out by cutting our line and donating a bit of lead and a hook. Our bait was chicken which Joel theorized would be better than fish since he reckoned the fish would want something different to eating other fish all the time. As we waited for the smallest nibble to keep our hopes up, we watched the fishermen haul in scores of buckets full of fish by hand and rope from a dinghy to the waiting trolley on the pier. The sea birds hovered close, waiting for the odd fish to slip from the bucket. I notice

One night in Máncora , Joel and I had just finished eating at Señor Chino's and decided to go for a walk to work off the food. We heard some music from across the street and saw people gathered around the entrance of the small hall there, and decided to find out what was going on. Working our way towards the door, we saw a party happening inside; people wearing formal dresses and suits, a decorated table and a live Latin band. As we enjoyed watching people dance and listened to the music, the doors were closed behind us. A man offered us some chairs along the side of the dance floor which we decided to take, shrugging, and then suddenly, another man who looked like the bride's father offered Joel a glass of beer. Without wanting to offend, Joel took it and we continued to watch the party quietly. It wasn't long after that yet another man approached with a large bottle of beer and some glasses for us. We got through nearly half the bottle when we were caught out and shown th

I was spending between s/.12 and s/.30 on each meal, so Joel showed me where to go for lunches and dinners under s/.5, including a soup entrada and a drink... the mercado . Every town has at least a couple, a market that sells everything cheap. Smelly, noisy and wet, but they usually have an area to eat. La Señora In Máncora, Joel and I usually ended up eating at a small kitchen near the mercado , run by a lady we referred to as La Señora. Blue plastic table cloths over wobbly tables and the cacophony of chickens hidden just from view, it was an easy place to spot. Sometimes there would be a dreadful ruckus from the chook pen, and we knew what was on the menu for the next meal. Scruffy dogs circled the tables, looking at us imploringly, and cats sat at the space between our feet, mewing their most pathetic meows. But meals cost s/.4 or under, were decent, filling, and best of all, the fish was always fresh. Señor Chino And The Royals Because La Señora didn't serve dinner, we would

Huanchaco was a lovely and chilled out beach town, but half the time the sky was overcast , so Joel and I headed to the far north coast of Peru to Máncora . The weather was perfect; hot, humid and sun all day , everyday, browning us within an hour or two. We spent many days just walking along the beach towards the south pier where fishing vessels sat quietly on the water. Sometimes there was a señora there who sold great cebiche and we would enjoy that while watching the scores of sea birds scramble for lost fish as the fishermen brought in loads of catch. Generally the waves were small, which was not good news for surfers, but fine for kitesurfers. Some days they reached standard Aussie proportions, but rarely. Lying on the beach was a great way to kill a couple of hours, though during high tide, the beach was swallowed up by the water, driving back restaurants' plastic tables and chairs to drier sands. A few times, Joel and I would get caught out by the high tide, nearly cut of