A day out
After three hours of shivering, it was still raining, we were still deeply cold, and Inahuya was still no where in sight. A Peruvian held a dim flashlight in the front of the boat to illuminate the grassy banks and floating islands of lush plants. The night was stormy and dark.
I was incredulous--we're navigating the mighty Ucayali by flashlight? We're going to die! I was not thinking positively. It was a dismal end to what had been a fun and adventurous day.
We had left Inahuya at 8:30 in the morning, and it had only taken about an hour to get to Canchamaya by chalupa, a dinghy sort of paint-peeling metal boat. (I like chalupas, and I like saying their name even more).
Canchamaya is this incredible little village of about 500 people that have their own exclusive language. Many of the villagers knew some Spanish, as well. There is no motor traffic in their town, only feet, paws, hooves. The people there have no official occupations. They fish, grow little gardens, harvest bountiful supplies of fruit from the jungle, and trade with their neighbors.
From Canchamaya we hiked about an hour through dense, muddy, and stunning jungle, green, and full of mossy vines, to the oddest river I think I've ever known. It was hot. The whole river was hot, not just a part or area, and it was so hot that we couldn't even immerse our feet in it, they got burned. We actually hiked a little farther upstream where it was a little cooler, like the hottest hot tub you've ever been in.
There were stunning waterfalls, and the steam hung heavily in the air. I was on my guard, it looked like anaconda heaven to me. Or maybe water viper territory. One of our companions, Julio, told us that the water was way too hot for fish or snakes. Still, I was looking for them.
We returned to Canchamaya in the early afternoon, ready to get back to Inahuaya for a quiet evening in our home base.
The chalupa hadn't been disturbed since we left it, but the motor wouldn't start. Julio and the boat driver, Gunter, tinkered away with it. Nothing.
It started to rain. Nothing. An hour passed. No motor function. It poured. We five gringos sat helplessly on the porch of one of the houses up on stilts, shielded by a grass roof. A kind villager lady brought us hot platanos she had baked in her fire. We devoured their warmth.
After several hours, it was decided that a peki peki would take us back to Inahuya. We were going to be traveling against the current, and peki pekis might even be slower than they sound.
It was the beginning of many hours of great wet, and great cold.
I was incredulous--we're navigating the mighty Ucayali by flashlight? We're going to die! I was not thinking positively. It was a dismal end to what had been a fun and adventurous day.
We had left Inahuya at 8:30 in the morning, and it had only taken about an hour to get to Canchamaya by chalupa, a dinghy sort of paint-peeling metal boat. (I like chalupas, and I like saying their name even more).
Canchamaya is this incredible little village of about 500 people that have their own exclusive language. Many of the villagers knew some Spanish, as well. There is no motor traffic in their town, only feet, paws, hooves. The people there have no official occupations. They fish, grow little gardens, harvest bountiful supplies of fruit from the jungle, and trade with their neighbors.
From Canchamaya we hiked about an hour through dense, muddy, and stunning jungle, green, and full of mossy vines, to the oddest river I think I've ever known. It was hot. The whole river was hot, not just a part or area, and it was so hot that we couldn't even immerse our feet in it, they got burned. We actually hiked a little farther upstream where it was a little cooler, like the hottest hot tub you've ever been in.
There were stunning waterfalls, and the steam hung heavily in the air. I was on my guard, it looked like anaconda heaven to me. Or maybe water viper territory. One of our companions, Julio, told us that the water was way too hot for fish or snakes. Still, I was looking for them.
We returned to Canchamaya in the early afternoon, ready to get back to Inahuaya for a quiet evening in our home base.
The chalupa hadn't been disturbed since we left it, but the motor wouldn't start. Julio and the boat driver, Gunter, tinkered away with it. Nothing.
It started to rain. Nothing. An hour passed. No motor function. It poured. We five gringos sat helplessly on the porch of one of the houses up on stilts, shielded by a grass roof. A kind villager lady brought us hot platanos she had baked in her fire. We devoured their warmth.
After several hours, it was decided that a peki peki would take us back to Inahuya. We were going to be traveling against the current, and peki pekis might even be slower than they sound.
It was the beginning of many hours of great wet, and great cold.
posted by Ansley at 1:34 PM
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