Amazonian Time

March 1, 2006- Sick Time
(photos:Villagers with boom box & electric clock,
David pressing sugar cane,
School children,
Shamans,
Ready for night hike)

We had a wake-up knock on our door at 6AM to get ready for a skiff ride into the jungle to see early morning activity. Unfortunately, it was raining and animals and birds have more sense than we do and take shelter. We postponed the activity for another day.

We’ve stopped locking our cabin door. If anything is missing we have a limited number of culprits. Besides, the steward is in and out of the room all the time. We do keep the desk drawer where we store the computer and documents locked and that key stays with us.

Since our schedule is so flexible some of us decided to list an alternative schedule next to the one that Eric put up. We included a parasite check with a notation to bring a stool sample; we planned a key exchange after the Mute Band concert; and skinny-dipping after dinner.

Two of the three couples joining us in Lima are now sick. Dolores who is traveling with a female friend is suffering from both ends. If nothing else there’s a good supply of Pepto, Imodium, lomotil, and Cipro on this boat. Supposedly the water on the boat for drinking and ice-cubes is purified. We’re all taking malaria meds and that can cause slight diarrhea but not what has been going around. David is convinced that the food and drink on the boat are safe. I think the source of contamination is somewhere in the kitchen.

Visiting Time

We moved up our village visit to fill the morning and boarded our skiff to float approximately twenty feet to shore. I guess the river was too shallow to get the big boat closer. We walked up newly cut mud steps into La Palma, a close-knit communal gathering of fifty people. The government owns the land but the village leaders parcel it out for the use of the inhabitants. Overseas Adventure Travel, the company that organized our tour, doesn’t pay a fee for each visit. Instead, they built a school. The government provides the teacher and the supplies needed to teach. Students have to provide their own supplies. That’s why we collected money last night and one of the crew went into Nauta to stock up. We left two bagsful of crayon, pencils, etc. People in our group who have traveled with OAT before brought gifts from home.

The palm thatch roofed houses were spread over a large area with a well-maintained soccer field as a centerpiece. They keep the grass cut by using machetes. Machetes are also the basic kitchen tools. We watched women nimbly peeling manioc without a thought to losing a digit. The same machetes are used to cut down the manioc tree so we knew it was sharp. The first open-walled stilt-house we stopped at was a handicraft workshop. It tickled me that they had a boom box and working clock on a shelf. That goes along with the teen-aged girl wearing low-slung hip-hugging jeans. There was a little disconnect for me there.

They salt the excess meat and fish for the future and several people tasted BBQ cayman meat and the many fruits and drinks prepared for us. David thinks that OAT knows what it’s doing but I will watch to see who gets sick. Eric said the food is high in carbs but low in vitamins, protein, and calcium. Villagers don’t have good teeth at all, but the carbs provide the energy they need for all the physical labor they perform. They showed us a nail file/buffer made from the scales of the arapaima fish. It was attractive and worked very well.

Some of us took turns shooting a bow and arrow at a papaya. The papaya gets to live another day. No one, including the villager who demonstrated for us, hit it. By comparison the cane press we saw yesterday at the still is light-years head of what they had in the village today. They used an ironwood press to manually squeeze every ounce of juice out of the cane. The sweetness is appreciated there. Native fruits are mostly sour due to the soil. Eric explained that several are used as medicine. Papaya seeds are a purge and the juice can be sprayed as a fungicide. Yellow tomatoes are used to treat diabetes. It is a barter economy. Cash is only needed for what they cannot grow like sugar and salt.

We walked across the field to the school and were seated at desks. The building is elevated as is everything and has a metal roof. Small dried animals hung from the beams; three blackboards were scattered around the large space; and maps, posters, and childrens’ drawings hung on the walls. The little girls were especially cute and had a noticeable Asian look. Since they’re on break now and the teacher is gone, Eric took over. He knew the drill having grown up in a similar village. The children lined up and spaced themselves by putting their hands on the shoulders of the one in front. Then we introduced ourselves. After each of us said our name the children repeated it back. Then they said the name again as they clapped out to the number of syllables in the name. They sang a song that required us to join in and then it was our turn. French was our leader since he was a teacher. He chose “Head, Shoulders, Knees, and Toes” as our song. We all stood up and sang using the motions. It was a perfect choice since the next thing the kids did was to teach us body parts in Spanish. We presented our gifts and the president of the mother’s club stepped forward to thank us. She will be the one to distribute them. The children all came to say good-bye to us and to shake hands. Freddy, Eric’s assistant, is a tour-guide-wannabee. He stood by with wet towels for us to clean up. As with all “touristic” experiences there was a stop at the gift shop. Some shopped. I went to jail. The two narrow cells hold one person each. They were barely wider than my shoulders. Most of the prisoners are there as the result of family feuds and abusive behavior.

When we got back on the boat we were glad we’d bought rubber Totes boots to use over our shoes. We left them outside the door as instructed and they were cleaned and returned to us within half an hour.

Shaman Time

In the afternoon, after a 2-hour siesta, we visited a village shaman. We walked along a path fashioned from tree stumps to a large round open-air building with a conical palm frond roof. The first thing I noticed were mannequins of how the tribe’s people dressed before the missionaries made them put on clothes. It was a bit too much Disney for my taste. This is a tribe that takes heads as war trophies. The most recent were from Ecuadorian natives. The enemy heads are shrunken as a way to absorb the strength and knowledge of their foes.

Smoke wafted from an aromatic fire to ward off mosquitoes and we settled in and tried to breath the heavy air. We sat on tall stumps and were introduced to the head shaman, his assistant, and his apprentice. As Eric introduced the shamans he told us that he’d been an apprentice and had taken hallucinogens called aya huasca while studying. Behind the seated shamans was what looked like a bar with bottles of liquor lined up. Over the bar hung a cross. The head shaman started studying at age sixteen. He became a full-fledged shaman at twenty-one. He is now sixty-seven years old, has one wife, and nine children. He takes hallucinogens three times a week in order to contact the spirits. That compound of plants contains atropine and scopolamine among other goodies. It’s important to learn to control the drug-induced visions in order to help his patients. Sometimes the patients are given aya huasca as well. It means dead vine and is considered to be a way into the spirit world. It induces a ceremonial death where no one dies. It cannot be taken by anyone with high blood pressure. Since there is no blood-pressure cuff available the shaman feels the pulse and can tell if it’s safe. His assistant came from one month away by river to study with the other shaman and decided to stay. He ‘s fifty-four years old, has one wife and nine children. There was a twenty-three year old woman apprentice who had one child. Female shamans take the hallucinogen while pregnant. It makes the baby stronger. It ‘s thought that women make the best shamans. They’re stronger physically and spiritually. The head shaman said that they’re dedicated to finding new plants and cures.

Shamans don’t work with animal spirits and will pray to God when the meds don’t work. They believe that God works through them and the medication and doesn’t perform miracles. Since the Spanish arrived they only believe in one God. The cross over the bar protects their bodies and spirits through Jesus Christ who gives God’s blessing. They assist in childbirth and try to cure the problems caused by black magic done by witch doctors who practice the evil arts. They’re paid in food and other goods. Shamans are born not made. When a baby cries before it is born and still in the mother it’s a sign it will become a shaman. Shamans don’t do surgery but refer to modern medical professionals. There aren’t many shamans now. The Spanish brought diseases shamans couldn’t heal; their people were disillusioned and cast the holy men out or killed them.

What looked like liquor bottles at a bar were liquor bottles filled with potions. Rum is used to marinate tree bark in some instances. They passed around samples for us to smell or taste depending on our courage. We smelled. The aya huasca smelled like a Bloody Mary. Eric said it tasted like chicken. The dragon blood concoction was used to heal wounds. It stops bleeding and regenerates cells. Many rubbed it on their mosquito bites. Cats claw has been proven by science to improve the immune system. A German company is making it into pills to help with cancer. It’s also used to treat AIDS. It smells like rum. Then there was STWS. It’s to help with impotence and is what the locals call Seven Times Without Stopping. It’s good for men and women. In the 1970’s botanists began to study Amazonian plants and their medicinal qualities in earnest. Most have been found to be efficacious.

They started a ceremony to bring us good fortune. They knelt and chanted and made the sign of the cross over their own foreheads. We were all given dried berries (beads) to hold in our cupped hands. One by one the shaman blew smoke from a large cigarette that smelled like a cigar into our hands. His assistant followed around the circle with a fan and waved it over our hands. The next step was for each of us to have smoke blown onto the back of our heads and into our hair. We are now a great smelling group but bug-proof. The woman shaman then did the same for the head shaman as he knelt before her. Her chanting was different and the assistant shaman accompanied her with rain sticks.

I realized that it was Ash Wednesday and we had Catholics in our midst. They said they’d remember it as the most unique Ash Wednesday they’d ever spent. I found it very moving. It spoke to me more than the ritual to which I am accustomed. Perhaps it was the unfamiliar and primitive that I was caught up in. Maybe it was the utter belief and sincerity with which they shared their tradition. Through it all I identified with their struggle against oppression to save this precious part of their history, culture, and identity.

At the end of the ceremony the mood broke when we were invited outside for a photo op. We posed, shook hands, and hauled out our Purell. They must think that foreigners practice an odd hand-shaking ritual.

We walked down a path to a man-made lake and got to canoe in catamarans. They used to use single canoes but too many tourists went overboard. The lake was formed for the study of dolphins and a few breached as we paddled by. We were able to see scarlet macaws, capybaras, and otters. River lettuce was being grown hydroponicly in log-rimmed enclosures. I became really excited when I spotted what looked like a long “something” swimming under water. I thought it might be a snake, a dolphin, or the Loch Ness Monster, but it was John’s fishing lure. Once again he came up empty.

Night Time

Meals have been pleasant socially. People mix it up with different dinner partners at every meal. The pre-dinner concert tonight was Nick and Louise singing original songs and accompanying themselves on guitars. They’re quite creative and talented. They’re working on a CD. You heard it here first.

We debated whether or not to go on the night walk and decided we didn’t want to miss anything. We were told to outfit ourselves in the gaiters and to wear long sleeves and long pants. Longs and longs have been standard for most daytime treks as well. We put our Totes over our shoes and wore fly nets over our hats. We were supposed to wear hats in case anything fell from the trees. That wasn’t heartening. In this heat and humidity we became walking human saunas. We stepped gingerly navigating by flashlight along the path made of sunken tree rounds and I noticed they had wire mesh nailed to the surface to prevent slipping. Everything in the jungle is wet, slimy, and waiting for a misstep. We had Eric up front and Freddy at our rear. Along the sides of the path we were escorted by four native youths also wearing gaiters. I guess they take the snakes seriously. Halfway through the walk I realized that no self-respecting snake would venture onto the path with sixteen tourists clomping along. I did realize my goal of not seeing a single snake along our route. We saw spiders, a scorpion, a sloth, a beetle, a kinkajou, and monkeys. The beetle was as big as my palm. It got me to wondering why bugs are huge in the rain forest and people are so small. At the midpoint of the hike we came to a clearing and were asked to sit down on benches. We were told to turn our flashlights off and be quiet. The darkness was complete. There was no difference in my vision whether my eyes were open or not. The dense canopy kept out any ambient light from stars and we stood in silence for a good five minutes. The squeaks, chirps, and howls were intensified and our isolation was magnified.

Tomorrow we get to do it all in the daytime. It will probably look much the same. My focus was on where I was stepping. We asked one of the waiters what we would see in the trees at night. He said that we would see leaves. He was basically right.

Toby

Amazon

Feb. 28, 2006- Tips
(Photos:Me holding sloth,
Piranha fishing,
Villagers)

Our alarm clock was Judi Cope who knocked on our common wall this morning. One of our alarms has a dead battery and our back up is not loud enough.

I hung the laundry bag outside our cabin on the designated hook. Immediately after I shut our cabin door Edgar, our steward, picked it up. I think he was lurking. Of course he’s working for tips. He pointed out that when he made up our room he folded the towels into the shape of a dog as if we wouldn’t notice.

One of the tips for survival on this trip was that our cameras and binoculars should be stored in the bathroom with the door closed. If they’re in the air-conditioning the lenses will fog up and stay foggy for about half an hour when they hit the humid outside air.

Up Close

This morning our skiff went up a small tributary in search of piranha fishing sites. John, one of our group, wouldn’t wait. He’d schlepped his fishing gear from the States and began trolling immediately. He caught as many fish as I did without a pole: none. Vegetation blocked the way so we turned around and settled for villagers in dugouts hawking handicrafts and offers to let us pose with their pet sloth, capybara, and red-tailed boa. Before we knew it they’d boarded our skiff and we were mingling, haggling, and stroking the fauna. I held the sloth although I thought it was a stuffed toy until I felt its rapid heartbeat. It was totally motionless. Several held the boa while I viewed them from what I considered a safe distance. Even though they’re not poisonous, boas do bite. There were no mishaps and we managed to untangle ourselves from the villagers and they from us with all parties waving and smiling and no ugly international incidents to report.

Flying along in our skiff threading through the tall reeds I was reminded of the many trips we’ve taken in the Everglades. But this river has one deterrent the Everglades does not. If men urinate underwater here there’s a needle-nose fish that follows the stream of urine and works its way up the urethra. Once in place it puffs up. Ouch!

Aside from numerous birds the first sighting in the wild today was mine until I realized I’d found a family of domesticated pigs. An odor David called “eau de swamp” wafted up and became oppressive whenever we slowed. To paraphrase, there’s nothing like the smell of methane gas from decomposing vegetation early in the morning. To me it smelled like diarrhea.

While we skimmed over to see the lily pads Louise gave us a lesson in reed blowing. Many became proficient and we plan to challenge the mute band to a play-off tonight. The lily flowers are another of many transsexual plants we’ve seen in our travels. The white flower blooms at night and is attractive to beetles that crawl inside the petals. The petals enfold the beetle for 24-hours as it eats the pollen. At that time the flower turns pink, becomes male, and opens to release the beetle to spread the pollen.

We pulled up to a settlement and climbed ashore to visit with a family and see how they prepared toasted farina over an open fire. To heck with the farina: one woman let us hold a two-week old saddleback tamarind monkey. At another spot we docked to watch the production of sugarcane rum made at a family still. They call it Buffalo Breath Moonshine and I think that’s being kind. We didn’t taste it. The smell alone closed my throat and set me to gauging the distance to the nearest bush. The production of the rum is legal and it’s sold by the barrel-full to bottlers who dilute the 120-proof rotgut with water. Jesuits introduced firewater to the villages and the Portuguese furthered the addiction when they used it for trading. There’s a very high alcoholism rate in the Amazon.

David took a turn at the press feeding stalks of sugarcane into a mangle where the juice was squeezed into a vat. The resulting liquid looked like cow cud after the fourth chewing. The kids dexterously handle the generator and are technically proficient at the entire process. How over-protective are we of our children?

Afternoon Delights

We set out at 3:30PM hoping to change our luck and find some piranha. As we tooled along the surface of the water I wondered what was going on underneath. We found out shortly when a fresh-water gray dolphin breached the surface. Due to a high concentration of tannic acid and silt in the river there is zero visibility and they have evolved away their vision. No sooner did the gray disappear than a pink dolphin emerged. They’re unique to the Amazon and also cannot see. As we observed the small dolphins at play two orange butterflies began to circle our boat. It was really still and we could hear the rustle of the reeds. Something was there but we couldn’t see it. The movie Anaconda came to mind. Our group is a riot and someone started singing anaconda to the tune of Anatevka from Fiddler on the Roof.

We pulled into a cove and wended our way through the reeds. One of the crew took out a machete and I had a flash of Hotel Rawanda. But he was only going to cut down small trees that were preventing the boat from entering piranha territory. As he hacked we realized that the bark was covered with ants (not fire ants) and they were fleeing his lops into our boat. The people on that side stood as a unit and I thought we were about to do a Columbian coffee commercial and capsize. They whacked away with their hats and we joined in the stomping until we were satisfied we’d vanquished the invaders.

If we had to survive as piranha fishermen (and women) we’d starve. Ron was the only person to catch a tiny one. I had one on my line two times but it got loose. They mostly nibbled the bait. It looked nothing like the ones in B-movies that devour whole cows. This one was small and silver with a red stripe on its belly.

Things are more active in the animal world as it cools off. On our way back to the boat at 6 P.M. we spotted flocks of parrots and red howler monkeys. Several North American birds were seen and we introduced Eric to the term “snow birds” and explained how we applied it to people. Squirrel monkeys showed off their aerial prowess as they cavorted high above us. At one point they all dove down into the heavily leafed refuge of a nearby tree. We wondered what had set this behavior off. It’s what they do when there’s danger. Could it be us?

Our “experience” before dinner was a lesson in concocting Pisco sours. Even if I loved them I wasn’t going to drink another one. It’s made with raw egg white. We joked that they tasted just like chicken. That’s been a running tag line with our guide, Eric. That’s his answer whenever we ask how something tastes. When we asked him how chicken tasted he said it was much like guinea pig.

Good Night

We’re tied up across from Nauta, a town of 30,000. It’s at the end of the 97.2 km long and only road from Iquitos. Tomorrow we’ll visit a village and bring gifts for the children. Amazonians are very aware of potentially creating a beggar culture and don’t take kindly to giving money to the kids. They even cautioned us about not paying to take a photo, which is common in other areas.

The sun was setting and the clouds seemed to be latching on to each fading ray. They glowed, shimmered, and reflected the orange, red, and yellow even as an evening storm approached. That’s when I had an epiphany. I decided to give up all hope of being cured of the crud by way of a miracle and started taking Cipro.

Toby

Iquitos

Feb. 27, 2006- Edge of Civilization
(Photos:Floating house,
Eric,
The Aquamarina)

I adore the REI sunscreen shirt that Wendy got for me. It has zipper pockets all over and is lightweight. Air vents allow the shirt and my body to breathe while I look ever so stylish.

As I’m writing to you I’m at a desk in our “stateroom” watching the rainforest slide by as we wend our way along the Amazon. It’s surreal. We arrived at Iquitos at 6:55AM. A mist was rising from the jungle as we skirted thatched rooftops of shacks. We landed next to plane hulks rotting near to the tarmac like decaying husks. I expected Bogey and Bacall to walk out of the terminal at any moment. It wasn’t Africa but it had that wild primitive aura. The whole area smelled loamy green until we hit the petrol fumes.

We went directly to the VIP lounge. They use VIP loosely here. There were nibbles and beverages and a décor out of a 1950’s rec room. Where are gay decorators when they’re needed? The chairs were white molded plastic with orange fabric pillows. Need I tell you about the paneling?

We refreshed and got onto yet another bus for our city tour. Iquitos has 500,000 souls and a low crime rate. Where could a criminal run? The place is only accessible by air and boat. It has three borders: Ecuador, Columbia, and Brazil. The main industries are growing hearts of palm, tourism, lumber, and petroleum. Malaria has almost been eradicated but what new cases there are can be treated with new drugs. The fact that they have 30% childhood mortality is because the outlying areas don’t have anti-venom and snakebite deaths are common. We are 350 feet above sea level in a lowland rain forest that has high jungle and flat forest area. Scientists agree that it was all once under the ocean. There are an average 250 days of rain a year. Nine-months after the rainy season the birthrate goes up. Seventy per cent of the area is water.

Our guide, Eric warned us before we stopped at the Indian market not to buy anything made from endangered species. I don’t think anyone in this group would but it would be confiscated by customs anyway. Wouldn’t you know it; we had just left perfectly acceptable facilities (which I used) but another woman, Nina, and I had emergency calls in the midst of this conglomeration of mud and garbage. Eric, doubting I would use it, led me to the “public” toilet. He doesn’t know with whom he is dealing. The only reason I didn’t use it was because it needed to be flushed by pouring water into the bowl and the bucket was empty. We got upgraded to the office bathroom. We followed him over trashy ditches, wet sand, and around barbed wire threatening to nip us. The bathrooms were very clean but somehow I got the toilet without the seat. Nina fared better.

Carnivale is celebrated here by decorating the very top of a tall palm tree whose branches have been removed. Gifts are hung up high and people dance around the base. Someone with an ax chops until they are able to pull the tree down. Then everyone scrambles for presents. While that’s going on bystanders toss water and urine on the merrymakers. Except for the urine part, it’s a combination Xmas tree and Maypole.

The town center reflects the rubber boom days. Even Eiffel of tower fame built a metal building among the Portuguese tile facades. Lest you think the town is lovely, let me correct you. It’s dirty, dusty, and congested with tuk-tuks spewing exhaust. The thirteen-block long shopping strip was particularly crowded with people who needed to renew their Ids so they could vote in the upcoming mandatory elections. Some people who don’t need ID renewals make extra money by selling their place in line. Mud-dappled children in threadbare clothes weave between the legs of marks in hopes of a quick sale. One of our group, Nick, keeps telling them to go see John, another of our group, and that he’s looking for what they have. This has become quite a game for us all.

Our major find of the day was when Barbara and Jack told us that they buy meds when they’re overseas. We only brought enough Cipro for one of us (I don’t know why) and since we both have tummy “issues” we bought enough for a full course of treatment for $1.00.

Cruise Line It’s Not

Our bus delivered us literally over a bridge, down a ramp, and to the door of our boat. The Aquamarina is a 31- year old ferry that was refurbished ten-years ago. Time, humidity, and dry rot have taken its toll. It’s an aged African Queen with outside walkways and rooms opening onto the river. The main deck is sheltered from the sun under a canopy while the rear deck is exposed. Molded plastic lounges, chairs and tables round out the furnishings. There are hints of glory days in the carved woodworking on doors and parquet floors, but it’s a lady in need of a major face-lift, some dermabrasion, and a bit of botox. It’s clean in the way something old is clean.

We’re on the first deck and the door of our room is a foot and a half from the water. Our room had a problem and there was no spare cabin so Eric and the engineer went to work. There’s a hole in our floor to access plumbing, and fumes were entering our room. Even though we didn’t smell them once we were inside for a while, it was nothing I wanted to sleep with. A wood cover had been placed over the hole. It sticks up from the floor ½ inch and I know we’ll both trip over it. The engineer sealed it with silicon caulking and it may do the trick. At least we might not get high on those fumes. We will become great friends of the engineer. After dinner the bathroom light burned out. We told Edgar who called the engineer. We also had a lighting issue. They tried four fluorescent bulbs and all blew. They told us they’d return in the morning to try again but David pointed out that it was pitch black in the bathroom. They stayed until they figured out it was the ballast.

It took me a while to settle into my new environment and its quirks. Behind the door in the bathroom hung two ratty but (I’m sure) clean terry robes. I had David remove them and hide them. There’s a desk with a lockable drawer where the computer will live during the cruise and of course there is air conditioning in the cabin as well as in the communal dining room. We have hot water in the shower only and must activate it before the hot water flows. We’re thrilled with the number of outlets and lights that seem to be well placed. We’re permitted to flush toilet paper, which is an unexpected luxury. But one item supplied to us doesn’t make me happy. There are leather gaiters to wear on night walks in the jungle in case of snakes. Since the water is so high now the trails are submerged and our walks may be limited. We’ll be doing lots of float-trips down tributaries. Our “valet, ” Edgar, straightens up our room three times a day and daily laundry service is free. Our captain seemed reluctant when he addressed us through a translator. He’s from Iquitos and is a true Mark Twain of the Amazon. The piece de resistance is the picture window that we can look out as we sit in bed.

Hitting the Water

After lunch we took a skiff to tour a floating village of 5,000 before the boat left the dock. The houses are tethered to the land but actually float to accommodate the ebb and flow of the river and the seasonal changes of water level. During rainy season the deepest part of the Amazon can be 200 feet. During the dry season it can fall by 45 feet. The residents of the shantytown take advantage of the natural phenomenon and plant crops in the fertile river soil. Most inhabitants are from remote villages and come to the city to seek employment. It reminded us of Thailand. People in the deplorable shacks used the filthy river water for everything. They claim that the sewage settles into the silt and its effects are somewhat mitigated. I’m not going to find out. We saw one woman fetching river water right next to the outhouse that dumped directly into the river. Some stilt houses have jury-rigged electricity and fire is always a threat. It’s among the worst squalor we’ve seen. A central loudspeaker system plays music incessantly and is the source of news and announcements. It’s common to hear that one person would like to meet another person at a certain time and place. Prostitution is a problem. The women ply their trade in dugouts while a man paddles them through the fetid canals looking for “johns.” They must really have a good sense of balance. AIDS is an issue with 2,000 reported cases. Medication is available.

Being south of the equator the river flows south to north. We floated south (upstream) past banana plantations. Pineapple and tapioca are other large crops here. Villages we saw had electricity, schools, floating gas stations, and floating groceries. Most of the trip will be in the five million acre Pacaya-Samiria Natural Reserve. As for fauna sightings we saw hawks, iguanas, and a sloth. Not too impressive, but the sunset was. As we returned to the mother ship the setting sun illuminated it to a burnished gold. The two dragonheads on our prow seemed more welcoming than threatening as we paced ourselves to match speeds and docked.

I asked our guide Eric to tell us the story of his journey. He was born in the jungle to a thirteen-year old mother. She was the third wife of his father. When Eric was a few months old she left for Iquitos where she was able to find employment writing official documents for the city because of her beautiful handwriting. When Eric was ten-years old she sent for him. He had gone to elementary school, which was usually provided by missionaries, but she wanted to give him more opportunity. He completed high school, five years of college, and two years post-graduate studies to become a licensed naturalist. His half brothers and sisters are still in the jungle plying trades.

On Board the Aquamarina

Pre-dinner entertainment on our boat was the Mute Band. It wasn’t so mute. Comprised of the crew, it was a lively, raucous, and festive prelude to an evening of good company. It gave me a chance to learn more about one of the men in our group. He has a partial finger on his right hand. He was always a pacifist and during the Viet-Nam War he sought out jobs that would give him a deferment. When the jobs ran out and his lottery number came up he asked the Quakers for help becoming a conscientious objector. When that failed he took a drastic measure. He cut his finger off at the first knuckle with a table saw. I told him how Jewish parents in Russia bound their sons’ fingers until they atrophied since conscription there was a life sentence.

A decent dinner of recycled food reminded Judi and me of our days at Newcomb College of Tulane University. What we didn’t eat for dinner appeared at lunch. It was the opposite here. What was left from lunch was reborn at dinner. The spinach became a delicious potato and spinach kugel, the chicken was chicken salad, and the fish was stir-fried. Our boat doesn’t sail at night. There’s too much debris in the river due to severe erosion. Whole trees have floated by. We literally tie up to a tree and become one with the jungle. We can touch the cattails along the shore and smell the richness of the earth.

Tomorrow we start at a decent hour. Breakfast is at 7:30AM. We’re going piranha fishing. They recommended we wear closed toe shoes. There’s been a lot of joking about whether we should catch and release them.

Toby

Nasca Lines

Feb. 26, 2006- Bad Beginning
(Photos:Ready for take-off,
Huachina dog,
Note plane's tail-hook)


We opened our eyes at 5AM. It was Daniels birthday so I sang Happy Birthday and David followed with “Skip Around the Room.”

On the way to the airport David noticed that the stop signs say, “pare,” which means something less (pause?) than the “alto” we are more used to seeing. They know that hot-blooded Latinos won’t obey stop signs so they made it more of a suggestion.

There were only four of us going to see the Nasca lines. Ellen, the 86-year old was one of us. My friend Judi Cope was the other. The fact that eighteen of the group chose not to go should have clued us in. We decided to pack one day’s worth of meds in our backpack in case the unreliable air service lived up to its reputation and we were stranded there.

Our flight was supposed to leave at 7:30AM but when we got to the airport Eric learned it had been delayed two hours. The other six passengers on the single-engine twelve-passenger Cessna 208B were notified of the delay by their travel agents the night before and were able to sleep two extra hours. It may cost Eric his tip for that one day.

We’ve flown in smaller planes but we cracked up when the bus taking us out to the plane was three times bigger than the plane. We literally squatted and waddled to our seats in the low-slung cabin. Shoulder harnesses along with lap belts led us to believe that Aero Condor had a modicum of interest in our well-being. At least they were safety conscious. Information about the plane that was in the seat pocket said that in case of loss of pressure the pilot will pass oxygen masks back to the passengers. We were to plug them into a receptacle above our seats if we could figure it out. Paper seat numbers were scotch-taped to seat backs. We settled in to enjoy another adventure.

Not So Great Middle

The take-off was a kick as we skated on air currents until we settled into the groove of our flight path. We took off towards the south along the Pacific coastline and continued smoothly for an hour. We flew at about 8,000 feet. Even if the cabin hadn’t been pressurized it would have been a piece of cake for us after 13,000 feet above sea level in Bolivia.

We skirted the Andean foothills. I think it’s Aero Condor that keeps flying into those mountains. The desert became startlingly white and glared up at us in the bright midday sun. We flew over random patches of farms irrigated from underground water sources and the mirage-like shadows of clouds teased us into thinking there were ponds along the way.

We were surprised to de-plane at a place called Ica. We dragged ourselves through the 95- degree heat to have our return tickets taken, pay a departure tax, and get back on the same plane. The only reason they don’t do a flight-seeing excursion from Lima without that stop is to collect that tax. Peru sees fit to demand departure taxes for internal as well as international flights. While we were on the ground the plane and crew had transformed themselves from a commercial to a tourist flight. A sign indicating that tips would be appreciated had been taped up and the crew (the same two pilots) had changed hats.

The fact that the airline employed a nurse at the airport complete with stethoscope should have warned us about things to come, but we were too excited to put two and two together. The plane lumbered along the runway and launched into the air to see a mysterious set of pre-Incan drawings done by the Nasca people. The true meaning has not been agreed upon. Were they markings for extraterrestrial navigation or indications of where underground water could be found? Our pilot certainly did not enlighten us. The desert sand changed from white to taupe to a greenish gray as we started our hour and a half long search. I saw what appeared to be long lines of silly string pumped from an aerosol can trailing along the ground. They weren’t the real “lines.”

Horrid Flight

The Nasca people removed stones from the surface of the desert and placed them next to the lighter soil below to make the lines. Excitement grew as the first set of line drawings appeared. It was the trapezoid. The pilot yelled, “Trapezoid under the right wing!” then banked so those on the right could see it. He then turned and banked again and yelled, “Trapezoid under the left wing!” That was the last I knew. David thinks that whoever named the figures had a good imagination. He only clearly made out four of the dozen undefined line patterns. I was busy trying not to throw up. Judi wasn’t in great shape but was having a somewhat better time of it. It was appropriate that I was the sickest since Judi and David insist it was my idea to take the flight. David did fine as did 86-year old Ellen. I’ve never gotten airsick. I knew there were others on the plane who were queasy and that if I let go they would too.

The pilot passed back a cotton ball and Judi said it was to help with nausea. I thought I was supposed to smell it, but when I did I realized it was impregnated with alcohol and I should use it to blot my neck and face to cool down. By then I was in a cold sweat and the odor of the alcohol set my stomach roiling. I didn’t know what to worry more about, the return of the Revenge or spewing. The dear woman behind me handed up a wet towelette. That too had an odor and the battle began once again. I grabbed for my clear plastic barf bag and tried to do shallow La Maze breathing used by women in labor. The deep belly breathing of Tai Chi wasn’t going to co-operate with trying to keep my innards in their respective domains. I’m proud to say I walked off the plane with my barf bag empty. I’m putting it in my album as a memento to remind me of what I already knew. Some things are better seen on TV.

Lame Ending

The instant we landed the nausea went away although the Revenge didn’t. I’d packed cheese sandwiches and water so I re-filled and started to feel less like a rag doll. Part of our “excursion” was a visit to the Dunes Resort for a lunch buffet. I almost lost it again when I smelled the BBQ. I decided that until otherwise notified my stomach would only receive white food with no sauce: rice, pasta, etc.

The gracious desk clerk at the resort helped us understand the phone card we’d bought so we could call Daniel and wish him well. We found Vikki and Daniel on their way back from Columbus after a celebratory weekend. The connection was better than some local calls we’ve made in Akron.

Nasca only gets one-inch of rain a year. With 293,000 residents, it’s quite a challenge. Mausoleums dot the roadside. They couldn’t bury underground due to many springs and it was less expensive to bury up. When economics and engineering changed, traditions did not. Mining of copper, iron, gold, and silver keep people employed as does running the Huachina Oasis. That’s ye old watering hole surrounded by dunes towering to 100 feet. It’s possible to slide down the dunes on boards in the closest approximation the locals will get to sledding. The beach around the “lake” was a minefield of dog droppings and at one point along the promenade there was a definite essence of eau de septic.

Miguel, our fearless if lazy guide for the afternoon, dodged water balloons with us and took us to a small but nicely done museum of archaeology where by this time any one of the four of us could have given a tour of the surgically altered skulls, weavings (most of which had been stolen and replaced by photos), and crockery. The most interesting thing there was a hairless huachina dog. It’s born with hair and losses it all but a crest on its head. It resembles a hairless Chihuahua on steroids.

At last we returned to the “airport” to watch as the plane we’d flown in on was pushed into place by five men. One stayed at the rear holding onto a tail-hook for dear life to prevent the plane from fleeing as we boarded. Without a security check and with no tower we took off. Our view was of sculpted sand walls rising in repeating patterns leading us back to Lima.

Set To Sail

We spent some time after dinner trying to repack what we needed for the Amazon into one duffel. We succeeded and checked our other bag with the hotel. We return there after our six-day “cruise.” We have a wake-up call for 2AM. The flights into Iquitos where we get the boat have to be early enough to beat the circling vultures. I guess the birds are claiming previous ownership of the airspace.

Toby

Lima

Feb. 25, 2006- Landing
(Photos:Love Park & Gaudi bench,
Plaza Mayor,
Rio Rimac)

Hurray! We can now blow our noses without bloody mucus! You know the joke about getting cheap theater tickets and having to sit so high in the balcony you get a bloody nose. It’s not a joke at 13,000 feet.

We flew Lan Peru to Lima and I think I prefer it to American. They fly airbuses and there was more legroom. We fly Lan Peru back to Miami. We’re at Hotel El Condado, which is listed as a four-star hotel but is nicer than the five-star in La Paz. It looks like it was moved here as one piece from Spain. It’s charming and loaded with dark furniture, deep colored carpeting, and heavy window coverings.

We were still a bit bonkers when we met with Eric, our new tour director, at 10 AM to organize the trip. Six people were new to the group since they didn’t take the pre-trip to Bolivia. The base trip is eleven days including only Lima and the Amazon. Nick and Louise who were old-timers and knew better were late to the meeting. June, a hoot, put two chairs in the middle of the circle and they had to sit there until we let them into the fold. To calm us down Eric passed out Pisco sours. Remember it was 10 AM. Pisco is a brandy and it’s mixed with stuff to make it into something resembling a whiskey sour. We tried Pisco by itself and it’s reminiscent of Slivovitz (prune brandy), a Polish abomination.

Levels

We met our city guide, Yvonne, who filled us in on this nine million-person metropolis of deeply stratified living. It appears to be a first world country but there are seven sectors each with separate names that are ranked from A-F by affluence. It’s a true melting pot with the largest communities being Chinese and Japanese. The Chinese came in the 1800’s when slavery was abolished and farm labor was needed. Well, how backward can this place be? The favorite for the next presidential election is a woman and voting is mandatory.

At first we thought the parks were so much cleaner and better maintained than Puno but we soon realized that they reflected the wealth of whatever sector they were in. Water is an issue here and an expense. Weather doesn’t co-operate at all. There’s no sun for nine-months of the year. The Humboldt Current brings fog and little else. They only get 4-6 inches of rain a year. The park we stopped at is a must for tourists. The Park of Love was opened on Valentine’s Day and its main draw is the super-sized statue of lovers kissing. The imitation Gaudi benches ala Barcelona are stunning as they frame the Pacific. The park is a photo destination for brides and grooms and we saw many there.

We zigged and zagged through the one-way streets gawking at the ugly new buildings and appreciating the dramatically graceful colonial ones. The Spaniards left a legacy of color, balconies, and flowing contours. Colorful buildings were thought to brighten the dreary foggy days.

The archeological museum was a colonial mansion and I found the structure to be more interesting than its contents. Lots of it was repetitive to the original crew of sixteen who’d been in Bolivia. But Yvonne brought some new explanations. We had heard of the droughts that drove civilizations to ruin but she clarified it as occurrences of Mega-Ninos. They experienced ten-year cycles of drought followed by ten years of too much rain. Sounds biblical. The popularity of fertility temples was more agricultural although they were used to promote human fertility as well. If the people were not well fed they wouldn’t be healthy and couldn’t reproduce.

Unlike their highland neighbors, those living in arid areas buried their dead wrapped in textiles. They also cut the ligaments at the knees and elbows so the body could be folded into the fetal position. One mummy had his hands on his head and looked so stressed. David thought his look of concern was appropriate considering he was dead. We went on to see some intricate metal work (here metal means gold or silver) and collections of ceramics.

We continued our drive through the city and Yvonne explained that some of the squatters in the “F” sectors had been there since before the government began protecting historic sites. There’s nothing they can do now. One-third of the population lives in shantytowns.

Pollution is generally bad. I cannot imagine what it would be like if more people could afford cars and if gas was not $4/gallon. Peru buys gas from Venezuela but Amazonians produce it locally and it’s cheaper in the jungle.

When we got to Plaza Major I was surprised that it was where Pissaro and the Spanish first settled. It wasn’t near the sea. Evidently the Spanish ousted the Incas and took their spot. It was on the Rio Rimac and ideally situated. Unfortunately the river is now a sluggish cesspool. The old city had been walled from the 1800-1900’s. When they tore the wall down they built roundabouts where the gates had been. The street urchins and vendors here are quite polite. A “no gracias” was enough to send them on to another prospect.

Tomorrow we go to see the Nasca Lines. We have to be up at 5AM. We didn’t realize that we were flying to Nasca to get our flight-seeing plane. We may be stuck in Nasca until 5PM depending on weather. It will be a longer day than we thought it would be with potentially lots of down time at the airport. I hope I remember to bring a book.

Toby

To Lima, Peru

Feb. 24, 2006-Puno to Lima
(Photos:Fertility temple,
Burial towers,
Ornery alpaca)

Charo filled us in on the history of how the reed islands came to be. The Incas became master architects by learning from civilizations that came before them. They didn’t destroy the people they conquered but improved on their culture. The Uros were a small group of nomadic people who settled down and became farmers. When the Incas took over the territory and demanded taxes the Uros who had built reed islands for fishing and who were too poor to pay taxes moved to the islands permanently. The Incas decided to ignore them thinking they’d never survive. The Ayamara people tried to escape the rule of the Incas as well and sought shelter with the Uros. Today the reed islanders are mostly Ayamara.

Fertility to Necropilis

As we left our hotel we noticed they were still roofing it. Most buildings are partially built to save on taxes. We were quite the conglomeration of walking wounded. We set up sickbay in the back of the bus for Ron who had the worst of the tourista. David managed to sleep the night without incident and it had run its course. The altitude was getting to us all and only half the group went on the walk to see the Temple of Fertility. It was next door to the Catholic Church. The Church has made peace with the mixing of the Indian and Catholic religions but Evangelicals and Mormons will not put up with it. I wasn’t among the walkers. If I woke up in the middle of the night and went to the bathroom I became aware of rapid breathing and had to slow it down. Tai Chi belly breathing was the key. That said, I found it hard to fall back asleep. Fortunately, I can sleep anywhere so I power-napped on the bus. . Do not panic. David went so we have several pictures of phalluses.

We went from phalluses to a necropolis in the blink of an eye. Sillustani is a hilltop (of course) array of funeral towers. It’s remote, surrounded on three sides by water, embraced by green hills, and so quiet that the only sound is the wind. By a hilltop I mean 13,120 feet elevation. We walked up slowly, sat on walls while Charo lectured, slogged along again, sucked air, and on and on.

The Burial Temple began in 400 BCE when the dead were beheaded. Their heads were buried in the temple and their bodies buried separately. In 600 CE the Tiwanaku people absorbed the territory. In 1100 CE a fateful drought weakened and divided the previously united nations. The Colla people appeared on the scene and were even better architects than the Incas. Incas later took over, appropriated Colla engineers, and used them to build in Cusco. Collas believed that a person could become a god. Sound like any other religions? When one dies the spirit goes to live in an afterlife. They also didn’t cremate nor did they bury underground. They built honeycomb funeral mounds that eventually evolved into the burial towers.

When the Incas arrived they morphed the shape of the tower so it resembled the chalice depicted on the monoliths I’ve described. They were narrower on the bottom than the top. Towers were bigger than their houses since the afterlife was considered to be more important than the here and now. Only rich Incas were buried in the towers while the Collas were more democratic. But being a wealthy Incan matron or servant was no great honor. They begged to join the master in the afterlife and were obliged. Their mouths were stuffed with coca powder of the cocaine-making variety, someone held their nose, someone else held their arms, and when in desperation they took a breath, their lungs filled with the powder and they suffocated.

Waca-waca-do

A Waca is a large vertical stone marking the site where human offerings were made. Collas offered handicapped girls who they thought would get to live as perfect specimens in the afterlife. Incas chose perfect female children and isolated them in convent-like facilities where they were trained and brainwashed. Between ages 9-16 they were “chosen.” The three days preceding their sacrifice they fasted; they walked the mile to the temple where they were given beer and cocaine. The priest hit them to see if they were stoned enough and then he hit their head or neck with a hard stone to create an aneurysm. When they were dead their blood was drained into the soil at the foot of the Waca. Hope you’re not getting ready for dinner now.

Round towers indicated people who worked around animals and square ones were for those who worked the land. Spiral ramps were used to lift the stones to the top as the tower grew. The building blocks were of differing sizes and offset to prevent collapse in case of an earthquake. The bodies of the deceased man, family, and servants encircled the structure and were hoisted into the opening on top by ropes. Provisions were secured and the capstone was set. A small hole was left at the base and after several weeks the bodies were removed and put outside to mummify. When the Spanish came they destroyed the burial towers.

Locals

When we returned to the bus there was a baby alpaca waiting for us to have our photo taken with it. Its mother had rejected it and villagers were hand-raising it. After a few encounters of the spitting kind we all sided with mama.

We shuffled onto the bus past the obligatory stands of handicrafts and were relieved that our next stop was with a local family. No pressure there. They were very welcoming and I managed to dance around them and avoid shaking hands this time. The most interesting item was their version of a playpen. When they work in the fields they cannot keep an eye on a baby so they dig a large wide hole in the ground depending on the size of the child, put a toy in it, surround it by rocks, and voila, a playpen.

One of the oldest sons in the family had just finished high school, which was quite an achievement. He wants to be a tour guide and that entails five-years of college. We figured that it would cost $2000 for tuition, room, and board for all five years. That worked out to $125/person in our group. We would never miss it. One man is thinking of trying to find a way to pay the whole thing himself. He’s not naïve and has tried this before in other countries without success. He needs to find a way to legally transfer funds through a legitimate organization. Handing the man the money may be against the law.

We departed for Lima from the airport in Juliaca. The city is a real dump and the airport is not much better. I sat at the airport near a man from Colorado who had lived in Bolivia and Peru eleven years. His last job was working for a Danish organization building bathrooms for indigenous people. He plans to go to Colorado for a visit and then to Argentina. He said that the people in South America ask him how Americans have so much money. He tells them that we work hard, save, and plan for the future. Our guides both told us that the people here don’t work long hours and would rather have fun than save.

We landed briefly at Ariquipa, the White City, and an arid desolate looking town. It was a good thing we were running early. The man who sat next to me on the plane explained what was going on as security officers came and went. One man was questioned because he had taken a picture of the plane when they told him not to. Another man had a parcel thrown down to him from a balcony after he cleared security. They both satisfied the agents and we actually took off on time.


Oxygen High

Eric, our new guide, met us at the airport in Lima, the City of the Gods. He was born in the jungle and will be our guide here as well as our naturalist in the Amazon. To be a naturalist requires two-years post grad education. He barely had a chance to explain that Lima hardly ever gets rain and that all the flowers in the Miraflores district where our hotel is are watered with water from the rivers. We were giddy and high on the oxygen we were inhaling by the lungful. We were amazed at how we could carry our small bags up and down steps with ease. We cracked up when they loaded our luggage onto the mini-bus through a window. We giggled and joked around like teen-agers. He finally gave up and joined in when we demonstrated how Charo had trained us to count off in Spanish for our head-count.

We marked the day by celebrating the end of taking diamox for altitude and the start of malarone for malaria protection.

Toby

Puno, Peru

Feb. 23, 2006-Low O
(Photos:Reed island,
Baby Anita,
Reed boat,
Wet landing)

I read this email to David and he said that it was not up to my usual standard. My brain just needs more oxygen. This is the edited version. Such a critic! Maybe it was because he was one of three in our group who had a night of Montezuma’s revenge. Most of us also feel as if we’ve been run over by a truck. We would have to be here a lot longer to be comfortable with the thin air. I learned that blood gets thicker after two weeks due to the production of more red cells. We’ve all decided we’ll never visit Nepal or Tibet. I’ll never climb Mt. Everest. Some have had incessant dreams, not nightmares, but just constant dreaming. I don’t know how athletes adjust in a week. Oh yes, they’re young and incredibly fit. Everyone in the group exercises but, alas, we’re old. We’re all over fifty-five. I think the meds help with dizziness and headaches, but breathing is a chore. I pity those with emphysema.

Predictions for a cold and rainy day were wrong. We put away our ponchos, umbrellas, and winter coats and slathered on sunscreen. This is a very congenial group even though there are only two couples out of sixteen people who are on their first marriages. We have two honeymooners, two doctors, a nurse, and a PhD in psychopharmacology.

Charo, our guide, joked that a llama can carry 80 lbs. If any more is loaded on their feelings get hurt. They spit, lay down, and tears pour from their eyes. They won’t eat and can starve to death from the insult. Peruvian women can carry 130 lbs. Men say they’d rather have two wives than four llamas.

Military service was compulsory for men and women until 2000. Their military is shrinking now that it’s voluntary while Chile keeps buying more armor and planes. Chile is a force to be reckoned with and has taken land from its neighbors in the past. The Andean Community is getting off the ground ala the European Union. It now includes Venezuela, Ecuador, Bolivia, Columbia, and Peru. Argentina wants to join too.

Reed Culture

Before we went to the reed islands in Lake Titicaca, we made some stops to see how totora reeds were used. They eat them, feed them to animals, dry them and build houses, make mattresses, use them for fuel, and build islands with them. We saw three generations of a family making mattresses. The men cut and haul the reeds from the water. Families own an area of reeds and replant them but don’t own that part of the lake. Women weave the reeds between strings made from straw. They’re easy to keep clean and bugs don’t like the smell. The children rolled around in the dry cuttings while we snapped photos. We’ve noticed that the Indians have perfect teeth and don’t need braces. Even the older ones have their teeth. They chew coca leaves that are rich in calcium. There are 200 kinds of coca leaves. Only three varieties yield cocaine.

Lake Titicaca is 3,340 square miles and 35 miles at its widest point. Jacques Cousteau measured the deepest point at 900-feet. The lake is warmer than the land. At night heat rises from the water and is trapped by the mountains making it possible to survive the severe winters. Since the mountains start almost immediately at the lakeshore there are few houses on the mountainside of the road and fewer on the shore. The houses that exist have bright blue outhouses and grow several varieties of potatoes. One gift that Peru gave to the world was the potato. They grow 7,000 kinds. The next gift is quinua. It has 20% more protein and vitamins than any other grain.

When we arrived in downtown Puno we took cholo taxis to the dock. They’re rickshaws propelled by tricycles at the rear. We raced each other in and out of traffic and our driver won. As we walked the rest of the way to our boat we passed boats with animal-shaped heads. They’re for hire for fun rides but when it’s slow they’re used to collect algae that grows so thick on the lake that birds walk on it. The algae are used for fodder and are considered healthy for humans too. Akron could have changed its algae-in-the-water- system from a problem into an industry.

Our 25-minute cruise was on a nice boat with an upper open deck and partially enclosed lower one. Life jackets were only required for the upper deck. It must be some form of natural selection. Landing and debarking was a kick! As I jumped off the deck onto the manmade reed island it felt like when I was a kid jumping on a mattress. There was definite give as we walked. One of our fellow travelers is an orthopedic surgeon and said it’s great for the back. We’d arrived on La Isla Uros Santa Maria. Uros are an indigenous tribe.

The island foundations are clumps of reed roots imbedded in the mud. Metal bars are inserted in them and they’re roped together. Anchors of stones are dropped to stabilize them and prevent too much drift in a storm. All is covered with green reeds. Since the reeds absorb the water, they rot and have to be added to every fifteen days. Wood framed houses are built on high reed foundations that last two months. It takes six men to lift the house when the foundation needs to be replaced. If you stand in one place too long your feet can get wet. One tourist lost a backpack after setting it down and walking away. We asked about children sinking into the reeds or drowning over the side of the island. They just nodded sadly and said it happens but parents are vigilant.

These are the friendliest, happiest, most gracious people. Their skin is naturally dark but it takes on a ruddy appearance, as they get older. That’s due to windburn and frostbite. The children are adorable even though my sunglasses terrified a nine-month old, Anita. She was too adorable. She wore a red knit hat with a brim. Even though they’re not prone to skin cancer they do cover up. Her little green jacket was embroidered with red and yellow flowers, and below her red pouf of a skirt were pink booties. Delicious! They’re very unlike the Bolivians we saw who never smiled.

Nine families (forty-five people ) live on the island. Food is communal and families take turns with chores. Children go to elementary school on another island but have to pay for education beyond that in the city. They go to other islands for mates. Dating starts when a group goes to another island for a volleyball game. Volleyball is popular and one way to attract a girl is to toss a volleyball at her. Small reed boats are used for trysts in the reeds where the couple can’t be seen. When it’s serious the boy will come after the girl’s parents are asleep. Because weddings are two-day affairs and very expensive couples live together several years during which time they may have children. When they have enough saved they go ashore to be married at the Catholic church. The bride wears an elaborate white shawl, red skirt, and a fancy bowler hat. There has never been a divorce on that island.

Burials are on shore. They have a section of the cemetery to use. Funerals are expensive and some of the poorest people wrap the bodies in blankets and leave them in the mountains. Cremation isn’t an option. They believe that the soul burns with the body and won’t be reincarnated.

They treated us to fry bread just like the Navajos make and shared some of their medical knowledge. Flamingo soup is eaten by pregnant women two weeks before they’re due and during labor. It eases discomfort and relaxes the cervix for easier dilation. A drink of fruit juice and frog prepared in a blender is their version of Viagra. Clay rich in magnesium is used for indigestion. They have to travel five-minutes by boat to the latrine so they better have a good cure for the runs. They need a good diuretic since many women suffer from heart disease, edema, and kidney problems. They live a sedentary life and drink the slightly salty lake water.

The villagers were so wonderful to us we wanted to buy some of their wares, but I couldn’t find a tapestry I liked. One woman even rowed to another island where she had something she thought would work. It didn’t. As we were leaving I spotted a Quechuan hat and bought it right off the lady’s head. It’s very colorful and will look great hanging on a wall.

I now have a mysterious non-itching rash on the back of my hand. I think it came from shaking hands with the people on the reed island. One little girl was fascinated with my skin and freckles and kept stroking my hand.

Nick and Louise in our group brought Halloween false teeth and entertained the kids. They also distributed balloons and candy with permission of the parents. They did this in a marketplace as well and we felt like Pied Pipers. The kids knew what to do with the balloons. It’s carnival. They filled them with water and threw them at each other. We sailed off in a large reed gondola powered by four men and went to the next island, which was much like the first. We had three native children aboard and during the fifteen-minute ride they sang us a song, which gave me the idea to ask if they knew some of our songs. They chimed in with the Spanish version of Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star and Old McDonald. They knew Frer Jacques in French then I got them all on their feet and we did the Hokey Pokey.

Happy Landings

When we went back to town the bus took us to a lookout point for a photo op. There was a statue of Manco Kapac the male founder of Incan civilization. Where Mama Ojillo his partner in creation was I don’t know. There was a huge stone curving slide that some of us couldn’t resist. Charo warned us that the turn was nasty so we practiced on the smaller one. Two of us tackled the larger slide & I turned at the curve and came down sideways. I landed at the bottom on the stones and in a puddle. No ground up tires to cushion landings here. I had a scratch on my wrist and walked around with wet pants the rest of the day. David was really angry that I tried it.

The coca museum was next. It turned out to be a video on the tribal costumes for carnival. There was a group that put on blackface to represent the slaves from Africa. It was explained that slavery was abolished in 1854. Spaniards thought the blacks had a black soul, whites had a white soul, and Indians who were neither had no soul and weren’t human. There was only a tiny exhibit on the history of coca. Blessedly we couldn’t get into the church on the square. There was a political rally and the streets were blocked.

As far as our group is doing altitude-wise, two requested oxygen last night. It was brought to the room and they breathed it until their heart rate slowed. Then the hotel clerk took it back to the desk. The 86-year-old woman with us who has managed to keep up just fine was not one who needed oxygen. Most of us didn’t sleep well and when we had to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night we were short of breath when we got back in bed. I took deep slow breaths until my heart rate slowed but it was definitely unpleasant. Most are reporting that when they blow their noses it’s slightly bloody. That’s probably from the dryness as well. Lima is at sea level so there’s hope. Since this is getting to be too much information I’ll end. We need to pack for our flight to Lima tomorrow. They’re strict about weight. We may have to give all the water we bought away.

Toby