Canada to Patagonia at a Worrying Age

Slightly bitter, this is going to look, I’m afraid.

Up late to ring home (I really was knackered after two 3.30am starts in three nights). Lovely to talk to you all on that terrible line. Promise I’m all right despite what comes next.

Went out for a bite to eat at a place run by a Texan. He was very affable and all that, but it quickly became clear that this place is the centre of an expat community that centres around cheap property, an unspoken form of racism and (much) younger Peruvian wives. Also striking is a big mural in the main square rejecting the use of children by tourists for sexual abuse. I’ve seen this in other countries and it always indicates a sinister aspect to a place.

After lunch I went on a walk to Belen, famous as part of the background to Fitzcarraldo, a fantastic film by Herzog. The book describes the area as ‘an authentic slum town of the last century’ and ‘dirty but beautiful’. I’m afraid I can’t agree. It’s certainly an authentic 20th (19th?) century dirty slum. And that’s where it ends. It’s a steaming, miserable, disease-ridden pit, the sort that attracts paedophiles, religious fundamentalists and charity-workers in equal numbers. Of course some members of these three groups will be one and the same or generally interchangeable. The existence of a group called The Federation of Iquitos Drunks, westerners who do ‘good’ works for the children of the area, only served to worry me more. They may be a fantastic group of well-meaning types wishing to put something back into the community (probably are), but the name and publicity-conscious pronouncements set off something in me.

The other main gringo group here are the eco-hippies, who avert their eyes when they see a westerner such as me. Maybe they know more about the other groups of expats than I do, and as such their ignorance is understandable if they see me as part of that. However, I can’t help but be annoyed at the construct of hierarchical travelling that depends on your own particular level of discrimination starting from you (hippy, charity worker, religious nutter, wife marrier) and goes down in layers from there.

It’s not all bad. The locals are friendly, the town appears safe and it’s a good starting point for jungle journeys. However, I’ll have to see how tonight goes before I commit to anything. Assuming they don’t have Boxing Day here, I think I’ll get a flight to Lima sorted tomorrow. I think New Year will be best spent elsewhere…

Today’s song is Wonderboy by the Kinks. Dark, I know, but I feel this place calls for such a tune.

The Night

As I said, it’s not all bad. I was invited to Christmas Dinner by Jimmy, the hostel owner and got chatting to a Swedish guy about shamans and the like. He claimed to have seen the future (although he was scant on detail, when pushed) and reckoned that you need out of body experiences to find the real you. Disabled parrots crawled by.

Out for a pint at another gringo bar this evening, only to discover the people I’d been at dinner with, but they didn’t acknowledge me as I went to sit at the bar. More Peruvian women were hanging out with the white guys. A lad who’d tried to sell me a jungle tour the night before came to try again. Having failed he asked if I wanted any girls or drugs. I said I didn’t buy people and then he offered himself! I didn’t offer to top up his glass.

After he left, the owner of the bar came up to talk. Another old Texan who explained he was here for the pretty girls. As I sat there the minskirted bar girls would touch my arm or thigh or bum each time they passed. There were Peruvian owned bars not far away, but the gringos in those looked predatory at the least (to my now extremely prejudiced mind). I couldn’t face being identified as such, so I went home.

Boxing Day

Up early to see if I could get a flight. There was one in the afternoon or tomorrow morning. I decided to consider my options and went for breakfast at the first Texan bar (decent fruit salad and all that). Conversation among the expats on a neighbouring table turned to some bloke or another.

“Have you seen him today?”

“Saw him coming out of his apartment this morning with a Peruvian boy. I’ll say no more.”

“You don’t need to.”

So that made up my mind. I went to the airline office and bought a ticket to Lima for today. Perhaps I’m being unfair, but even the uncontroversial bits add up to something murky. As a final clincher on such matters, it should be noted that it’s not possible to reach Iquitos by road. I’m off.

This morning’s song is Jimmy Jazz by The Clash (alternative – We Gotta Get Out of This Place – The Animals). Next alternative – This Town, Elvis Costello, probably the most accurate one.

The rest of the day…

Paid my bill after the hostel woman had tried to overcharge me by 60%, oh how we laughed at her simple mistake. Picked up a mototaxi to get me to the airport. It was a white-knuckle ride and loads of fun. As the driver didn’t rip me off I tipped him 50% and felt good.

I checked in and all was right with the world as I’d gone for the expensive national carrier with no check-in queue. I’m acting the rich gringo at this point and very happy with myself. I had an hour to kill before going through, with another hour after that. Had a coffee and a sandwich and was politely pestered by a lad wanting to shine my jungle-dirty boots. I’d said no about four times, but he was so polite I eventually gave in for the ridiculous price of 15 pence.

He made a brilliant job of them, far better than the desultory effort in Bogota, and tried his best to understand my mangled Spanish throughout. He looked about 15 (could’ve been older) and had an apprentice in tow who got the simpler jobs and watched the master at work.

I was so impressed by this shiny and welcome aspect of Iquitos life that I gave him triple what he’d asked for, not caring about the next foreigner in my wake. It was the best tip I have ever given, and here’s why.

I went to go through, slightly late on account of the time and care he’d taken, but still fine for time. The guy at security wouldn’t let me through, however, as I hadn’t paid my departure tax – a detail the check in clerk had failed to mention. I went to where they’d indicated I needed to go to see a queue reminiscent of that for tickets when Chester hosted Supermac and the rest of the Newcastle team in the League Cup run. It went outside of the departure hall and much further beyond. I tried to get the LanPeru people to help me, but apart from agreeing it was ‘terrible’ they made it plain there was nothing they could do.

I got in the queue, sweating profusely in the sunshine and hoped. I got out my book to stem feelings of anxiety, but was haunted by the fact that I might have to stay in Iquitos another night. As I stood there, the shoe-shine boy appeared apparently indicating there might be a short cut, but it was plain there wasn’t. I indicated no intiendo and he disappeared off.

As I entered the departure hall again in the shuffling queue I could see another problem. The queue at security was now impossibly long and growing. If I was lucky I might get my departure tax stamp, but would not get through security anywhere near in time. My heart sank as the one woman at the tax counter answered the phone and dithered with change for the people ahead of me.

I looked forlornly at the security queue only to see the shoe-shine boy waving at me from the midst of it! This Angel of The Lord had been trying to tell me he had anticipated the problem and was standing in line for me! His apprentice was with me as I paid the stupid tax (why not include it the fare?) and raced with me to the other queue, which the Angel had timed to perfection. I cut in front of a group of gringos who no doubt thought I was in the habit of paying people to queue for me as I stuffed a few more soles into his hand. He skipped away happy, but I never got the picture I intended.

As I got through, they were waiting for me (I’d heard and couldn’t understand the announcements) and I was rushed onto the lovely first world plane.

I have gone into so much detail as I don’t want to leave myself or you with the impression that Iquitos was all bad. Good tipping and the kindness of strangers (ooh, I’ve come over all Blanche) got me where I am now. In an hotel of absolute faded grandeur (The Gran Hotel Bolivar) at the suggestion of my non-rip-off Lima cab driver, sitting on the balcony having had my complementary Pisco Sour and typing this, my lovely waiter having just announced that he is from Iquitos himself.

It’s great to be back in a big city with the need for a jacket and no mosquitoes. There’s hot water and a bath. I am now going to avail myself of these facilities. And United won 3-0. I love South America.

Up ridiculously early for flight which was the usual mixture of small rip-offs at either end with a 2 hour wait in the cold city of Bogota, where I took the opportunity to get my boots cleaned. Cheeky chappy pointed out that they were a ‘liitle dirty’. So would yours be mate, if they’d been where I’ve been.

Landed in the jungle town of Leticia – bloke next to me said a rosary as we descended (with a great view of the Amazon) and shook my hand with relief when we stopped. Aah!

Arrivals at Leticia are greeted by an Amazonian Indian in a loincloth beating a drum. 10 minutes later he was back in his jeans and shirt.

Once through I was met by Daniel “I’m in Lonely Planet, you know”. We negotiated a price for what I knew in advance could be a complicated day and I got my exit stamp from Colombia, even though I don’t know when I’m leaving.

Daniel’s car was not the 4-wheeled drive he’d airily waved his arms at, but a Beetle with many years service behind it. Still, we checked into the hotel I’d selected (£8 a night inc breakfast) and headed out for the boat office. This is in Brazil. However, the boat leaves from Peru, obviously. No boat tomorrow, but there is one on Christmas Eve. One seat left. Phew. Of course, it will be Xmas Eve price (40% more) but there you go.

While waiting to complete some formalities Daniel and I tried to get me over to Peru in a boat to get my passport stamped. Rain began to fall and he went to close the windows on his car. When I suggested we should perhaps find some cover, he said that it ‘wasn’t real rain’ so we could stay and stare at the river. Fair enough – the unreal rain, by the way, turned the banks of the Amazon into Glastonbury conditions in 10 minutes flat.

The day’s delay meant I ‘had a problem’ in Daniel’s words as I would technically be over 24 hours without being assigned a country to stay in and this is not allowed. We couldn’t get from Brazil (Tabatinga) to Peru at the time I needed, so went back to Colombia so Daniel could go and find another Gringo having first exacted a premium for dubious extra services such as waiting. (Like the whole of the continent doesn’t have waiting as its major pastime.)

I managed to get on a ‘boat’ to Peru (Santa Rosa) and shared it with a German woman who advised me that all Peruvian officials were crooks. They might be, but they weren’t open to stamp my passport. As the boat headed across the Amazon, some lads were attempting to refloat the one which had left earlier. I managed to stay dry.

I then wanted to return to Colombia so hailed a boast to Leticia, however, he needed to call into Brazil first – hence three countries in 20 minutes, with no legal right to stay in any of them!

Early to bed after pleasant wanderings around the Colombian side, which is relaxed and pleasant. The Brazilian side is as anarchic as you’d expect and the Peruvian side is a muddy village.

Next day, Daniel turned up to ’help’, which is fine as it means less hassle for me.

I got my passport stamped under my own steam while Daniel arranged a Brazilian side hotel, as ferries don’t go from Colombia to Peru at 3.30am. On the way back from Peru to pick up my stuff from Colombia to move to Brazil (keeping up?) I hailed the fluvial equivalent of an unlicensed minicab. Much mayhem ensued, but it got me where I was going.

So now in Brazil with a 3am wake up call arranged for a (minimum) 14-hour boat ride to Iquitos with a bruised coccyx! See you after Xmas…

Today’s Song – Wade in the Water, Ramsey Lewis

Xmas Eve

Up at 3am for a 3.30 river crossing. The Amazon was beautiful, star and moonlit. Sort of thing you never forget.

We set off early at 4.30am for Iquitos with a couple of stops for running repairs and immigration stamps. The journey then passed uneventfully until about 12 hours into the journey when the engine cut out. I was slightly alarmed to see the boatmen get out the paddles. Then we all had to stand at one end of the boat while the engineer attempted to get it restarted from the other end. I presume there were safety reasons for this – but never quite found out for sure. After half an hour with much joking about spending Xmas on the Amazon, we got going and arrived in Iquitos (to the sound of Bomb the Bass) at about 7pm.

The quayside was chaotic with mototaxi drivers attempting to be my amigo. There was genuine danger of falling in the river at this point, such was the scuffle for reclaiming bags and doing business. As the only gringo, I was a fairly lucrative prize as ‘Jhon’ held onto me for all his worth.

After I’d asked him for the eighth time the price of his service he announced $10. I went to grab my bags off his tuk-tuk and he reduced it to $3. Still too much, but less than Abbey home from Angels in the ‘80s, so fine by me. Interesting to imagine what response ‘Anybody light, over the water?’ would bring, when it’s the Amazon in question…

(Why is it, by the way, that cab drivers the world over are robbers’ dogs. Is there some sort of global rehabilitation programme that encourages thieves to go straight by learning The Knowledge and getting themselves a dodgy vehicle of whatever hue? I don’t mind really, being a rich gringo, but for years now I’ve accepted that my arrival in any new town will be hailed by some sort of overpriced transport arrangement.)

Got to my extremely quiet hotel and was given the spiel on a trip into the jungle. The dread words ‘6-hour trek’ were mentioned. I shall have to see. The evening was a bit of a washout, I’m afraid (literally so when an almighty storm unleashed it’s rain). I had a nice meal and some wine and was immediately knackered. I was in bed for 10.30pm while Peru celebrated Xmas Eve at midnight. Strange parallel with Bali 20 years ago this week when I slept through New Year’s Eve in extremely similar circumstances. Xmas day was to produce more striking similarities with Kuta that I’ve only just realised as I write this. More later.

Today’s Song – Proud Mary, Ike and Tina unless you can get the Brazilian version I heard at dinner last night in a very friendly restaurant…

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