Thursday, July 18, 2013

Quatro Meses Mas desde Seis Meses, Parte III

QUATRO MESES M S



MARZO, ABRIL, MAYO & JUNIO




Parte III del originalSeis Meses- Regresamos a Per , para ir Ecuador.



Leaving Arequipa is easy, a city that loses most of its charm the second time you visit, the bus ride to Ica is not quite so easy, but the coastal landscape outside is very comforting. The Pacific Ocean, almost forgot about how much I used to identify with it as a child. Ica is dry, hot and gray. Huacachina is a nearbyoasiswhere all the backpackers and Peruvians on holiday spend time. It s a lagoon surrounded by unexplained sand dunes, I honestly don t have high expectations.



Huacachina pleasantly turns out to be much quieter than I had heard described by other backpackers, the party scene seems to be dying out, but for this I am very grateful. It s also just as underwhelming as I would have liked, still very run down Peru rather than Machu Picchu land Aguas Calientes or bustling, busy Arequipa. I am pretty okay with the state of Huacachina.



The sand dunes are beautiful but also collecting a lot of garbage from tourism. Looking at the hills of sand as the sun goes down feels like being in a cheesy movie. Watching people cruise up and down the dunes in 4x4s with roller cages is entertaining but the urge to participate is lost for me. I m not on the kind of trip that includes roller coaster rides.



The lagoon in the middle of the oasis is cute; it is usually occupied with younger Latin lovers on paddle boats or a whole family on a canoe. Though it is not quite big enough where taking a boat across is actually faster than walking to the other side. I wasn t in the mood to stick around here, we ditched the wine tour, accidently ditched Cams shoes which were quickly picked up by the staff and eventually even ditching each other, we head to Lima.



It feels good to be back in Lima, for our third time and probably actually our last. The familiarities of Lima have given us a homey feeling after having a not so welcoming return to Peru. We had bad luck with the border, as well as in Ica and now wanted the comfort of anywhere we knew well, anywhere we could kind of consider home while abroad. We didn t know how much time we would be spending here, we were now waiting on a couple of packages from the U.S., including the best Christmas present we received this year, a home! Cams wonderful mother Terra gifted us a two person tent and sent it to Lima, we now had a place to live while in the jungle and later when we possibly run out of money. And it seems as easy as that, receive the tent, Cams new shoes and we would be off to the jungle! A Peruvian couple in Puerto Bermudez, agreed to house us while we work on their farm for three weeks in the high jungle (through WWOOF), but we did need a tent to house ourselves in during this time.



Lima inspired us to have a good time, be positive and think of the adventures we have ahead of us, (little do we know, this isn t quite the future holds for us). It s about to be a long month back in Peru, not much easier than the first couple of days.



Strange coincidences are common in our lives while traveling, so much so that they're not coincidences anymore just the way your life goes. We used to run into our Peruvian friend Chris every time we'd enter the city of Cusco whilst living in Huambutio. We assumed he lived in Cusco with his girlfriend Stephanie. But one day in Lima, on literally the busiest walking street in the center, we run straight into them! It has been many months, and we didn't even realize they actually lived here and were just staying in Cusco with Stephanies brother for a while.



We hang out with them on the last night of the dry election weekend. When Lima (not sure about all Peru) has elections for the major, or a vote on whether to keep them in or out, they refuse the sale of alcohol to anyone for three days. This includes extranjeros and citizens alike, but of course we find a tienda to sell us three beers. Stephanie must vote the next day and tells us she will be given a breathalyzer test to prove she hasn't drank. Chris paid something ridiculous to not vote, to avoid the whole situation. We spend a fun night with them in their brightly colored, charming, ramshackle apartment. We discuss crazy politics and even do a little salsa dancing.



After receiving the tent we still have to wait for Cams shoes (he insisted on ordering new ones rather than buying some in Lima). So we decide to take the new tent for a spin and save money, (because board in Lima is steep) climbing up to Marcahuasi, a nearby mountain town and archeological site.



We bus early morning to the mountain town of San Pedro...something-something (lots of things named after Saint Peter here, including my favorite cactus). The usual skinny, dirt road barely clinging to the side of a cliff (which is littered in crosses from auto accident deaths) takes us to where we need to be. The town is quaint and very pleasant, scaling the side of a cliff as well, but in a gorgeous way, looking out from town you are face to face with the side of the neighboring mountain range. Also freezing cold, the locals warn us Marcahuasi will be very cold as well but sooo bonita. And somehow the first time in six months...I find myself struck with altitude sickness! It comes in waves and I manage to tough it out, but it feels like being hung over and quickly becoming unconscious seems easy.



The morning we leave for the ascent to Marcahuasi I am comforted by watching the clouds rise. The brisk mountain air though short brings more air to my lungs with each breath. I watch the town people and their donkeys and am humbled to be in the mountains again. To reiterate, the mountain town is in a spot nothing less than majestic.



Stocked up on water, food, blankets and a bit of rum the locals say will keep us warm, we head up. We are quickly surprised by how steep the trail is and suspect we have a more strenuous journey ahead of us than anticipated. Hiking keeps us warm for the three hours it takes us, and also distracts us from the fact we are slowly becoming very moist from the mystical, but constant, misty rain. Pounds on our backs, only one pair of proper hiking shoes, and the higher we go the wetter it gets. Upon arrival it is beautiful, but it is cold and wet.



We set up camp as fast as possible in order to get as many clothes on as fast as possible and in sleeping bags and blankets as fast as possible. Forget the rum, I want to hibernate. The rock valley itself seems very breath taking, but we realize, staying here might be a bad idea. The fog rain turns into real rain and there doesn t seem to be any chance of us being warm enough to explore, unless we feel like becoming completely soaked and getting hypothermia while sleeping. Huddled together, still shivering, it becomes very clear, (and wet), this is a really bad idea.



We force ourselves up, pack up and head back down, seriously. This is one of those moments in your lives you are really dreading doing something, it seems like the worse thing to have to do at that moment, but then you have to do it and it turns out to be very easy, and yeah most of us are just babies. The end of the hike though becomes ridiculous with meters of soppy mud and no light. Luckily my altitude sickness was very mild the whole time, only came in short waves. Until we reached a place to stay the night... where it burst out of me, or felt more like it punched me in the face. We go to bed (but in an actually bed!), very defeated, (though with no sheets) and still very cold.



Half-heartedly we venture back to Lima on the bouncy, centimeters from death bus, disappointed but keeping our heads up. Once reaching Lima we hope to pick up Cams shoes and run to hide in the jungle from our bad luck, as fast as we can. Moving from the Bohemian Barranco district of Lima we stay in the center near the post office. A place in which we thought would be a couple days stay, turned into a very strange temporary home.



Hotel Espana (but it's a hostel, Latin Americans aren t usually very specific) is overflowing with colonial, Incan, Greek and just plain strange paintings, artifacts, and sculptures. The roof is where our room is, mostly closed off but the door is half only overgrown vines. The hostel is also home to a peacock family, tortious family and parrot family. We have a great view of the city, my favorite little square and church San Francisco and pets!



The next week continues to dish out more disheartening surprises. Cams package is stuck in customs or aduanas as we are now more familiar with (at least they got the name right on it I guess) and we can t convince DHL to try and move it faster through for pick up, they tell us day after day just wait just wait. Our budget is flying out the window faster than we can keep track, lodging in Lima is some of the most expensive we ve paid on our whole trip. Since Marcahuasi my hiking shoes, worth quite a bit of money, refused to dry and I had no choice but to leave them outside, (right outside our door mind you), ironically, and painfully, they disappeared. This time it was not the staff refusing to hand them over, they all told me they had saw them the night before, but now they were nowhere to be found. I just don t even want to believe the irony of my shoes being stolen while we are waiting to receive Cams replacement for stolen shoes. Hopefully at least this hostel won't give us our change in counterfeit as the hostel in Ica had.



The days are frustrating, and making me not as fond of Lima as much as I was before. I am comforted though by a really old tortoise who likes to live under my bed. I feed him mangos and tomatoes and take him outside so he doesn t pee in the room, and he always finds his way (painfully it seems) back into our room over the extremely efficient tortious repelling board over the foot of the door. I love him; he brings my spirits up, doesn't bite and is really cute.



Semana Santa begins and we really cannot afford, nor care to wait any longer for those god-for-saken hiking shoes. We ditch the package, lost in the abyss of Peruvian postal system and pick up cheap made to look like hiking shoes from the local Bata. Due to Semana Santa (or is it the cloud of doom hanging over our heads) the trip to the jungle costs twice as much as we were warned it would. If anything could make an overnight bus which was followed by four hour ride in a 4WD worse was the fact the prices are high, even in dollars, a lot higher than we were told and expected.



El Puerto is very sleepy, and hot. Arriving at the house though made me feel instantly better, curiously, because it also left me feeling very confused. The house was incredible, but not the kind of incredible that usually is used to describe a house. It was more of a giant hut, made of bamboo. The walls were half walls of bamboo, leaving it open to the surrounding jungle and the roof, high and big above the hut, was made of sheet metal. Miguel and Lucia, the older Peruvian couple seemed a bit confused when we arrived, and from the looks of it, I had a feeling this isn t a legitimate farm as we may have thought, and a feeling this might go over differently than planned. But I was a bit overwhelmed by the sheer greatness of finally being there. I loved the house, I loved the jungle and I loved Miguel and Lucia. The floor was made cleverly from sewn together burlap sacks; there was a makeshift kitchen with a faucet, a big rock in the center incorporated into the center of the house as Nenas (the pet German shepherd) bed, birds with cages and outside of cages everywhere, and a platform for our tent. The half walls were completed by mostly fish net so the chickens wouldn't get in but so you could still enjoy the beautiful colorful plants, lagoons right next to the house and jungle sounds.



We quickly find out that we had been corresponding with Miguel and Lucias son, who lives in Canada and works in Mexico, because there was obviously no internet or phone or even regular mail service here. They were very sweet people though we could tell they weren't expecting us. Miguel loved to tell stories and was a very animated person. Lucia was an excellent cook and put a lot of kind effort into providing. They were both very grateful for what they had, though clearly poor, they were happy and enjoyed their lives. They both expressed deep sorrow for the state of the world and they wished that people would think more and work less. Miguel had asked us almost right away upon arrival if we were religious, we said no, honestly but kindly. He responded,Not us either really.A couple hours later we find out...this isn't completely true.



Their favorite thing was God and to talk about God. They would discuss their religion and God with us every night at dinner. Miguel told us of his revelations from El Senor himself. He would wake up in the middle of the night to early morning (which we got to experience) and start writing, furiously writing because of God. And he claimed to never know what he was writing while it was happening, but then later would reflect and read, and think oh wonderful, wonderful! Even when Miguel did not want to get up or was too tired, God would tell him get up get up! So, he would drink coffee, and write, no matter what. These revelations he described to us made a lot of decisions in their lives for them, and told them about the world. He showed us four very thick self-bound books. While reading them I felt I was reading a pamphlet about church camp or an advertisement for the bible, it was all the generic basic bible God loving babble, I wouldn t be shocked if the exact words existed somewhere in another country in English.



We learned through them that God wants everyone to come to South America, because when WWIII happens, South America will be the only save place left. He described the world as becoming very dangerous and we should all go somewhere else or to God, always somewhere else but with God. Though I didn't agree with these things he said, I don't believe in God, I found it very interesting. Miguel said God told them to go live in the jungle to harvest platanos and yucca (it wasn't the fact they lost their house to a bad loan and their kids had moved out) and that it was better for them now. They were happy poorer and greed would persuade people for more greed, money perpetuated bad behavior and thoughts and bad people. I respected this very much and found it honorable they had taken this from religion as well as evidence free faith.



They never asked for much work from us either. They liked to rest frequently on days we did work. We would "clean" orlimpiaras they called it with machetes around the yucca and banana trees most days. Harvest yucca roots, cut down a banana tree, it was all pretty straight forward and not too strenuous. The only hard part was the intense heat and deep machete hand blisters. But we liked the work, clearing vines from trees, using machetes to make trails it was very nice to be physically working rather than mentally, as it always was with the kids. Working in the jungle was almost like a break from the rest of the stress that is in the modern world, we would clear plants off trees we hoped to harvest, hack our way into canopies, it felt very natural. Days went by fast even if we had nothing to do. Feeding the fish, chickens, dogs, and birds could keep you busy for quite a while. Washing oneself or simply using the bathroom was also quite longer of an event when you have neither a toilet nor shower. Everything was quite much more of a production, including evening dinners, and conversations, you really earn your meal or time here.



At night the conversations always seemed to lead back to God, or religion. The frequency of such a thing would usually get on my nerves, but it was all in Spanish, it was good and simple practice for me, though I could never voice my true opinions of religion. They would seem offended enough when I retaliated to Miguel telling me how much coffee we drank was unhealthy with the fact that we never added sugar or milk so I didn't believe it was as unhealthy as the way they drank coffee. At first when we would have these discussions I felt like I was just practicing and really appreciated the practice for my Spanish skills. The fact it was in Spanish also made it easier for me to ignore the things I strongly opposed that they would claim or the fallacies they would try to insist are true, at first it didn't quite feel real since in a different language.



But the conversations became too easy, which I think is a good sign for my Spanish speaking, and began to make me uncomfortable. There would be no process time for my brain anymore, I would just understand it immediately and find myself awkwardly trying to think of what to say or awkwardly sitting there having nothing to say, just like in the States talking to a devout Christian. I would chime in occasionally with the points I found most important about their beliefs. "You're right people need to think more about their decisions, the future and effects on people." or "People need to care less about money and more about their mind." But I've never known how to respond to someone when they tell me God is there, listening and he loves me.



Sometimes when I would have people tell me God loves me, (not necessarily in this situation) I would really want to respond with "Actually I'm gay, so I'm not completely convinced he cares." to see what a Christians response to this would hypothetically be, But that would just be cruel in the situation I was in now, I wouldn't want tomesswith someone providing me shelter and work. I found it better not to try and explain or share my opinion on God to these sweet old people, which is that he doesn't exist except within yourself. Solely within your mind is there a specific God and whatever name or religion God takes on earth on a grand scale has been very destructive to humanity.



Yet I can't help to be more attracted to the way people do religion in Peru and Bolivia, this isn't necessarily apply to Miguel and Lucia, they were quite much like born again Christians. But the Catholic families I have interacted with in Peru and Bolivia show me its importance to them as a tradition. I am never excusing religions presence, because I personally feel very strongly about its harmful effects on humanity and probably even more so on SCIENCE. But, I do enjoy seeing the families spending time together over something, the festivals that everyone enjoys not only because they are religious but because they get to rest, go outside and enjoy each other. Religious celebrations are not only well put together and entertaining they are a good reason to be with family, a time when family is more important that work, which I think is really what's sacred to them. I've also never had a Latin Catholic person try and make me feel like less of a person because I didn't believe in God, or that I should, or that something is wrong with me because I don't. Religion hardly ever comes up when talking to a local, when it has the conversation will go something like this.Do you believe in that?,No, I don't, do you? ,Yes but, you know, of course I do.Never awkward, just standard cultural differences that don't need to get in the way of getting along. Subjects that arise much more often are children, marriage, jobs and politics.



For Miguel and Lucia it was clear to me that they had more of a Christian stand point on religion, very similar to those in the US. They would often talk about how their belief in God made then better than the native indigenous people living nearby, and that God saved them from their lives and provided all the answers. This is actually pretty unusual to hear from a Catholic Latin person. The locals, they believe, and they'll talk about it and what they think will happen in the future, but they rarely, if ever, talk about it like Miguel and Lucia. Yet it has made this humble Peruvian couple, extremely grateful for what they have, and given them purpose in a life where I suspect they feel lost without their children or a part of a community as they told me they used to be in. They also now have become very greedless, they don't want to make money, they value rest and meditation more than profit and this is something we haven't figured out in most places. The interactions as a whole were quite interesting, and a good experience for us. Miguel would read us his passages or letters from God sometimes. Their resemblance to things I've heard or read the US on Christian pamphlets was each time astonishing. It seemed as if what Miguel wrote was a manifestation of so many Bible verses and Christian thoughts floating around...maybe not something very specific from God...



Days went on and things began to get strange, we began to realize how different we were. A very strange thing we have experienced in older Peruvians (usually ones we work for which is quite frustrating) is they almost feel guilty sometimes for making you work (depending on the Peruvian) and sometimes will do it for you when trying to show you, or start doing it and refuse help just to be polite. They would start work around the house and recline our offers to help on multiple occasions, send very mixed signals of what they wanted out of us in terms of work. When I would try to do things, like dig a hole, or push a wheelbarrow, they would insist that is it mans work not meant for women, so I would have to sit or sweep leaves. This was incredibly frustrating as I felt unhelpful and had to watch things I knew I was completely capable of doing, and wanted to do.



We got another volunteer one day while we were in town for food, which obviously was just as much of a surprise as we were. Lucia asks Olive (after telling him he had a girls name) "Do you know God?". He's French and though France might me slightly more Catholic that most other European countries, I'm going to assume no. Clearly very uncomfortable Olive replies with a simple no. Lucia says "Well he's up there and he thinks you're a wonderful child". I feel like I can read Olives mind though we have barely spoken to each other, watching his face, he's a smart guy; he seems to be thinking it's a shame she feels that way. I shouldn't go into assumptions though. That is always the part of the religious spiel I disliked the most, the part that God loves me. I believe in a God that enables you to love yourself, that means yourself, I believe in myself with all its potential and God like capabilities in myself and you have it in yourself too. It's all based on you, God is not responsible, you are and you have the power to love, hate, and control, yourself. Usually.



After only a week of staying here, when we agreed on three, Miguel asked me one morning at breakfast. "How long do you plan on staying?" This took me aback a second because I must have told him twice on our first day here that we had proposed three weeks, and his son (who we thought was him at the time) confirmed electronically that this was okay. Though on the first day Miguel and warned us it was the rainy season, and there wasn't much work, we even had our suspicions that we wouldn't be able to stay, but nothing of this was ever actually mentioned or brought up earlier, which I would have gladly accepted and appreciated. He tells us that him and Lucia are going into town for other work and will be gone over the weekend, and that it is better for us to continue our journey. I am clearly naive and confused as first, protesting that all the volunteers can work and take care of things at the house with the animals while they're gone. I clearly don't get it as a sham excuse to get us out, but Miguel will not look in my eyes while telling me these things. I don't know why I am surprised; I try to figure out what he's implying though it is obvious.



I discuss what had just been said with Cam as I wash my face in a bucket while sitting in the dirt by the outside grill and chicken coop. He is not as surprised as me, I have many mixed feelings at this point and they only become more stirred as the last day unravels. The only work for us today is to weed the pond, sounds odd, take out the pond plants. As usual though I asked Lucia twice when to start she starts without notifying me. And as usual she won't let me do anything, tells me I am too skinny, though I am clearly having no problem lifting the giant, weird gooey plants. I try to protest but she doesn't listen, she is old and I understand stuck in her ways. But it hurts, to know I am capable of lifting ten times the weight of the wheelbarrow, knowing I can handle pallets on pallet jacks, stock heavy boxes of produce from the floor to the ceiling, handle a lot more work that I look like.



The day goes on awkwardly; I don't really know what to make of the situation. Cam and I discuss the possibility of a revelation from God being the deciding factor on our fate, maybe why it seems so abrupt, while I sweep the dirt floor of the house. Or maybe it's how different we are, we think differently, or maybe they just never needed us at all and we were awkwardly a big burden on them this whole time. There had been difficulties in our work as well. Cam had developed quite a resistance to Lucias aggressive way of communicating. She would often bark orders and yell quite a lot. But I think older Peruvian women are kind of just like that, I don't know if they know another way of communicating sometimes. She would often be yelling things like "Get away from the falling tree" or "Watch out for those ants", very motherly things looking out for you, but in a very aggressive and startling manner. Again, just a culture difference, though it upset me too sometimes, I understood that I was just learning how to interact with someone with different ways, different cultural upbringing, etc. Though the mentality was something that went both ways as well in the household, Miguel considered Lucia to be the one taking care of him. "First she was my girlfriend, then my woman, now she's my mommy." or "She can't get sick, if she gets sick, I can't cook and then, we don't eat. I don't know how to wash, I need her." The gender roles were probably the hardest thing for me to deal with. I tried to follow them as well as I could, but I don't think I did a very good job.



At dinner that night, I felt as if someone pulled a rug from beneath my feet. Lucia says to Olive, "Eres muy campesino." She is saying he's very much a farmer (or literally peasant but she meant more of a farmer) implying he is more capable that Cam and I, cause we're from the city. But Olive doesn't get it. Lucia and Miguel try to explain by comparing him to us. "They eat only fillet of fish, they had never eaten something with a spine still in it" Miguel says, acting as if I cannot understand him (and what he saying wasn't true). Olive still doesn't get it, obviously. Lucia looks at me and asks very mockingly "Have you ever eaten meat with a bone in it?" I just answer "Of course I have.", too shocked to really say much else. I now say to Olive, "You're from the country side; you grew up on a farm, no? We're from the city, we're different, they're saying we're not as good as workers as you." Now the table gets quiet an awkward. Did they think I couldn't understand them or that I just didn't get what they were implying? Well, I think at least Olive got it now.



I am now kind of upset and I feel judged. At the same time, I understand why they wouldn't want us here because we are different, it doesn't work unless you know how to train someone efficiently on how to farm when they don't know. I still can't help though but feel like I was being judged by everything I said, by what I wore, by everything that we did from the moment we stepped into this house. We didn't think this would be something that was happening, we didn't feel the need to put on a persona differently than the people we were, but we were wrong, I think. They legitimately don't need our work here, there isn't enough but harvesting platanos and yucca, but they could have said that, and this is not what was said that night they proposed we leave. I feel like I have now been nothing but a burden that they were secretly judging me as a privileged gringa. I was trying to be polite by not telling them what my life was like in the US to get here, to earn traveling for a year. Sure I haven't lived in the jungle, but I've worked really hard for everything I have. When I told them I worked at a supermarket, they were picturing me as a grocery clerk, nothing more. I didn't find it necessary to tell them I would ride my bike nine miles to work every day or wake up at 4am unloading trucks, breaking down pallets and stocking the back room full of heavy produce until I would go to school, and then be at school till six at night some days. I think my former lifestyle in the US has built my tolerance up quite a bit for physical strain. Why would I say this though? I didn't find it necessary.



Our time here I though was good, I liked it there. Even without proper facilities to do any regular activity in life, I enjoyed the experience. It was freeing to bath yourself outside with a bucket on a wooden plank, naked in the jungle. It felt quite natural to dig a hole in the forest whenever you needed to use the bathroom. We worked hard in the chakra clearing plants. This work would always make me reminiscent of the summer I spent at my grandmothers, where I made it a mission to tackle the ivy that had taken over here whole backyard. You really learn about the will to live when trying to eradicate an invasive species.



Nevertheless we were not meant to be here, and I learned a great lesson that will continue to grow in the rest of our trip. I found myself reflecting very much and really realizing all you are worth to the world is what you can provide to other people. If you have nothing of worth to offer or are not offering a beneficial service, there is nothing for you to do. We honestly never should have been told to come here. The learning experience was a lot for me, and a part of what I had been looking for on this journey. I held my tongue on a lot of occasions to be polite, not only a cultural difference but a strange unwritten rule of dealing with religion or conservative ways of thinking. There is a heavily guarded gate around religion and objecting to it too openly for fear of offending someone's beliefs that came from a ridiculous time of thought were obviously we had no answers. This is not quite the subject at hand though and is entirely different discussion.



We felt we were also judged for being young. We would listen politely to their advice when we did agree, or on health, which we already knew, and be kind, because they're older and just want to feel like they're educating us. I would get upset when Lucia would tell me I didn't know how to wash clothes by hand (but I do) or fry an egg (but I do), but I would never object because it was polite. We just had different ways of doing things, which I understood. I also didn't prefer only cooking or cleaning to the on the field work, again, cultural difference, but they didn't like that much. You know, men can very easily help with cooking and cleaning as well...



Yet I can't let these types of things get to me as much as they would if they were to happen in the US. This is what I came here for, to learn about another culture, learn how to live in it as best I could, accept it and learn mostly how to communicate. I'm still learning how to communicate efficiently obviously, as it is hard to confront people on differences. Some of their behavior would normally be extremely uncalled for to me, but I came here, to be with them. They housed me, fed me, and really did a great job at first of making me feel welcome. I asked for this and now the repercussions have surprised me and done exactly what I wanted, taught me. I can't go into someone elses country and house and be offended by them acting the way they normally act. I can't object to their mentalities and tell them why my way is progressive or more politically correct. They are not trying to offend me to begin with, they are being themselves and I am reacting to it in a certain way.



I now find myself confronted with a person moral dilemma. I wonder if I was offending them and didn't realize, I wonder if I made them unhappy. Yet, I still have my own values and morals to believe in, defend and fight for. Where is the line between acceptance of a different view and fight for what you believe is true? Is it appropriate for me to express actively my personal beliefs to these people? It feels wrong in the house of others, who are feeding you, but at the same time if they agree to have me, doesn't that mean all of me? They shouldn't be tolerant of lazy or greedy people of course, but people with all different kinds of mentalities and opinions. Yet they are quite a bit older, and have been living remotely in the jungle, which I have come to, it doesn't feel right to at their expense preach my strong progressive ideas. But I am allowed to resist and tell them I am capable of things they don't understand, right? Does this even mean the same thing anymore when crossing cultures?



Things I think need to change in a society, country or anything is not up to me unless I am in it personally, then it is my obligation to fight for what I believe is right. Being religious doesn't automatically make you a good person, gender roles are no longer appropriate, but as I also understand these problems are not always individual problems but problems on a societal scale, I don't find it right for me to breach on individual beliefs. I think it is fair to say everyone deserves opportunities of health, food and education, and that the struggle we as humans have had in figuring out how to provide this on a global scale has great impacts on people. The problems I want to fix are not here with an old couple in the jungle, they are the way the world understands, sees and choose to deal with poverty. It would be a pointless, self-righteous battle for me to fight here against people whose side I am on.



This is an obligation for humanity, to set things straight, as well as in developed countries. We have responsibilities to each other as a community and state to state as well. Especially in places such as Peru and Bolivia, which are rich in natural environmental resources which the rest of the world wants. Not to mention the highly desirable and cheap tourism these countries provide. These places deserve a better distribution of wealthy within the rich and the poor. The countries owning mines in other places such as South America, extracting minerals or using cheap labor, should be responsible to see they get enough money to support a struggling community and that the money they put in is not corrupt and is not dominating an already crippled country. It is a hard truth for some to admit, but the reason we are so comfortable and have so many luxuries in Western countries is at the expense of poor people in rich environments. We live lavishly because most don't. That is the truth. We benefit greatly from material extracted from impoverished countries (and dumping the pollution or garbage from production of these materials back in impoverished countries) and monopolize their systems, because we can. So for me to come to this country and judge the things people do and the way they behave, feels kind of counterproductive and very hypocritical.



The next morning at breakfast I experience one of my weaknesses, facing disappointing someone that cares about me. Feels like failure, though I know it isn't always the case. We were discussing how to get to Pucallpa and ultimately Iquitos when Miguel and Lucia feel compelled to...I don't really know how to explain it...express their true feelings. It felt like a parent telling you they knew you can do better for yourself. They tell me that it's better this way, better for me, better for Cam, that this lifestyle is not what were meant to be in, we are from the city and we should go back to teaching English. They say they're sure I make a great English teacher and they encourage me that's what I should do. It's not worth it for us to try and work out here. Miguel says he will always remember us with fond memories. Lucia says she loves me. I immediately start to tear up; I am very bad at dealing with this kind of thing. Lucia says, I know you want to work and the effort is there but it's not right and I know what is better for you... I don't know what to say, I am again, very surprised and emotionally feeling a lot. They were telling me because they cared about me. I hate feeling like I let someone down, or being conflicted with trying to change but wanting to be myself. This is all very hard for me react to at this time.



I have now experienced many things unusual, and usual, the occurrences that happen in anyones life, but here and in a different culture language. I feel a bit blessed while these things happen, for I am getting to experience so much. But it's time to move on from the strangeness that was us living in the high jungle, and take a cargo boat into the deep, low jungle. We say our goodbye in the town to the cute Peruvian couple. Miguel quickly and playfully throws the money we previously gave them for food into my shirt and tells us we must take it for our travels. Strange does not sufficiently begin to explain this whole situation... Anyway, we're off and reach Pucallpa on some more 4x4 bumpy long rides.



The next day is all heckling at the grimy docks. The docks are greasy, smelly, and full of vultures and drunken bloody men without shoes. A pirates paradise I guess it would be. Departure rumors are not reliable as we can't seem to find anyone who actually works on the boats or the captains, just hammock salesmen and moto taxists trying to rip us off. We take a canoe through black waters filled with garbage out of the cargo dock filled with hard working men; we take this canoe to the shittiest boat we've seen which is rumored to leave that night. We jump from the canoe aboard, no one seems to care and the friendly crewmen lead us to where the captain is working on the engine, he confirms that the boat will be leaving, the price and estimates the time, and we finally have a reliable answer.



Next is to pick up a hammock for me, which was clearly an old rug made into a hammock and collect our things. We hop from plank to plank, boat to boat with our backpacks amongst the cargo men carrying tons upon their back to reach our vessel.



There are a few other travelers who have strung hammocks up amongst the Peruvian families running about. We meet Hallum, a fellow also from the US, ironically after having a discussion in a bumpy jungle convi about how we hadn't met anyone from the US in quite a while since Cusco. He's even from the South! South Carolina where ever that is... don't ask me...or was it North Carolina? Whatver, sorry...love ya Hal! Now it's time to wait until the boat leaves, rumored to be that night but speculation says maybe not till the next day. During this time we discover the beloved hammock taken with us all the way from Cusco, gifted by our favorite couple, will not be able to hold the weight of the journey. We also discover that neither will the replacement for such hammock that we bought for Cam .but now the boat has actually left.



The boat leaves at a beautiful rosy sunset and I watch the lights of the Pucallpa dock fade away, it doesn't take long.



We're on the top level, right next to the kitchen, the second level has the bathrooms, showers and a bit of the cargo load. This level also contains more Peruvian families than I have ever seen in one room, lots of screaming kids and piles of people. The very bottom floor is only accessible by the outside front of the boat, where all the cargo is, confusing looking ship I would say. The cargo consists of crates, tarps, mototaxis, chickens and collects more things as the passage goes on.



Nothing much happens the first night rather that we experience for the first time jungle beetles. They zoom into the boat at a very high speed confused from the light on the river, crash into something then either lie disabled on the floor trashing about or continue to fly, though very injured their flight becomes very erratic and they often smash into our faces. They are huge and black, and by night there are so many they just wriggle on the floor till they die or a baby smashes them with the flip flop, the light flicks off very suddenly at different time each night and by morning by morning it is not a pleasant thing to wake up to.



The beetles reminded us of the strange giant cicadas, which would always fly and interrupt dinner in Puerto Bermudez. Strikingly loud we would hear them enter and peril by the dog. There screeches though are the classic jungle bug night noise that you would hear in probably any tropical place. The loud bugs you fall asleep to at first very upset by their strength and eventually soothed to sleep by their kind humming patterns.



Mornings on the boat start at five in the morning along with the sun rising. Breakfast bell is right next to our heads will ring at 6 am. The morning arroz con leche and stale bread is my favorite meal on the boat each day. Then the day goes by rather slow I don't know if I can tell them apart or not. The boat goes even slower along the river, not even creating a wake. Through the jungle we occasionally pass other cargo boats, but the boat itself is quite active compared to the mellow river. We take stops as ports, villages to pick up tons of bananas, a herd of cattle and god knows what else. Throughout the journey the crew cruises in a speed boat from land picking and dropping off passengers, as well as buying things, bring people to sell things, whatever needs to be done. The numbers of hammocks fluctuates through the days; yet the number of children stays strong throughout. Constantly there are two or three running about unattended, like anywhere else in Peru for that matter.



The number of kids here I knew would be high before coming. But what I didn't realize is how obvious it would be well...anywhere and everywhere. It will often be who is serving you your cheap meal or ringing up your beers, showing you a hostel room or mopping the floor. The age seven to thirteen is very strong here. Babies everywhere as well toddlers watching the babies and girls as young as me or younger are pregnant. The children are more like adults usually, with a job in a collectivo, or asking very straight forward questions kids don't usually have. They can usually take care of themselves and their younger sibling, yet they're never reliable for directions, surprise surprise. Of course the Peruvians don't find it unusual but I can't stop thinking about it. A lot of people will have kids because they need the family for work, money and support. The lack of birth control as well does not discourage (of course) anyone from participating in the natural act of intercourse.



Rarely do I think people have babies with ideas of romantic virtues in their heads. I also do not know how often they even want the children or if that is what is forced to happen. And it happens too fast, so easy, so normally, just like high school. Children just happen to you here its accepted as what will happen and I don't think there is much choice involved. Birth control is not discussed in schools or supported by communities considering almost everyone is Catholic, but sometimes you see it for sale. Condoms are sort of expensive, especially to kids and people in rural areas, not widely available and almost never ever free. Thus, children everywhere at no sign of slowing. I can't help but wonder if fewer children would mean more options and happiness. Or at least, a chance at doing something else with the rest of your life than what your family does or what you are doing right now. Almost every Peruvian I've met my age asks me if I have a kid, is surprised when I say no and tell me about their young son or daughter. And having babies does not stop until your body does, which I also realized on this cargo Amazon boat trip. Women have babies here till they literally can't anymore. This to me seems awful. I can't imagine the hardships of raising children my entire life, as well as past the age of my grandmother.



Well we're still on this boat. There isn't much to do other than read, sleep, and smoke with our new friend Hallum. I play ukuleles to the cows during the day and watch the water for hovering bats by sunset, after that the shooting stars. The crewmen on the boat are very nice, and some adorably gay, the cook will be in shorts, flip flops, apron and a belly shirt at all times. The meals aren't great but really aren't too bad either considered made on a cargo boat from river water. But now I never want a boiled green banana or fish head soup ever again.



From one of the villages on the second day we pick up a man or possibly a woman, who appears to be very old but could also be a younger, middle aged person. He was very sick, and it seemed like he appeared there on the floor under a mosquito net out of nowhere. His body was all bones and shrunken in a weird position which he never moved from. I don't think he could move without the help of his family, a couple in their early thirties who attended to him, fed him, worried over him. While laying his head was bent back looking at the room upside down and his mouth was stuck in a gasping position. Every time we would go down to use the bathroom it was hard not to make eye contact with him. His eyes would look straight into yours. I have never seen someone so ill and in need of so much medical attention before I came here.



Before this man I had a brief encounter with a mamita in Oruro, Bolivia. We were getting food and under the cart sat this woman, very old, and with what appeared to be cancer taking over one of her eyes. I felt it was cancer because I had seen a picture of a woman in Bali with cancer on her face, who had been locked in a closet for seven years (this was in the poorest part of the island in a clinic). But here in Bolivia I was making eye contact with her while she raised her hand for any spare change.



This isn't a pleasant subject but it's an important one for me. Seeing poverty is one thing, but seeing the true raw aspect of poverty, such as disease and unnecessary death are rare. It may sound like I am making assumptions about people's circumstances or genetics. But only so far as I am assuming most people in developed nations will not have to lay on the floor of a cargo boat for three days while waiting for medical attention, potentially dying or will not be locked in a closet for seven years because their family thinks cancer is a demon, or do not live on the streets huddled under chorizo booths while there is clearly something very wrong and severely endangering their health.



This is the part of poverty that is most unjust. The part that takes away life expectancy, well-being and physically disables so many people who have nothing in life but to work for support. Many circumstances of poverty do this to a nation whether it be war, rich environmental materials the nation naturally has, lack of education, or simply major lack of infrastructure. Seeing and experiencing these facts change people. And in all types of ways. Suffering people are all around and we all know it. But actually seeing extreme poverty, being educated at what extent it exists and knowing exactly why it even exists, is what has made people arise such as Ernesto Che Guevara and Paul Farmer, to try and change the world.

When we would meet eyes with the couple that took care of the man on the boat, there was a connection beyond eyes of strangers meeting. There was no thought of gringo, Peruvian, rich, poor or any kind ofdiscrimination. It was a look of sorrow and hope. We would look at each other but both be feeling the wordless feeling, the same feeling for him. A feeling without pity, not much hope but of compassion and raw human understanding of death. It was the look of, we must realize this is happening, we must look at these situations, this cannot be ignored and it is not always fair.



The boat ride was a great experience for me because of the things I saw, and the people on the boat. The real Peruvian people that I loved so much in the Sacred Valley or in Huarmey. The last day I sat outside in front of the captains cabin with Alex, a Peruvian, and Mateo from France. We watched as the Ucayali River joined with the other river coming from Yurimaguas which created the beginning of the Amazon River. From Peru it will go through Brasil and eventually reach the Atlantic Ocean. The river doubles in size as we watch, but you can still hear the jungle screeches on either side. That was the beginning of the day we would reach Iquitos. By the end of the boat ride, Cam, Hallum and I sat on the outside front amongst the cargo, watching bats and stars and sharing spliffs. The city light of Iquitos get closer as we smoked, it came up as quick and before we knew it we were surrounded by the big magnificent port of Iquitos. We stayed outside to watch the boat dock between others, in a space that would hardly have it, all navigated by spotlight in the warm jungle air. Then realizing where we are, we rush to the hammocks and find ours are the only ones left still swinging back and forth slightly.



I need to come clean with something to continue the story. Iquitos is not only a destination because it is the worlds largest city unreachable by road or because it is deep in the Amazon. It is also the Ayahuasca capital of the world. And not unlike many tourists Cam and I have also come here to experience the medicine of the jungle. Ayahuasca vine is an MOA inhibiter, whatever that really means and combined with a leaf of DMT provides deep dream like state of hallucinogenic experiences. This is what we in the US may call a drug, but this was discovered by the native people of the jungle and used as a purging and healing experience. Indigenous tribes figured out how to do this without modern science, people say the plants tell them everything and provide all the information on the human body. Shamans now will offer ceremonies with curious gringos in their local ceremonys (along with plenty of tour agencies and institutes). We want to experience what shamans have to share, and knowledge.



Ayahuasca will be a different experience than anything I have ever felt before. I have my doubts to the "life changing" experience I have heard so many others claim it is. I am not looking for a substance to change my life, I am looking for me to change my life but anything new is a part of that manifestation within myself as a whole. Anyway, all else aside, we have arrived in Iquitos. This city is wonderful. With Hallums help we find a great place to stay for how much time we don't know. They charge roughly ten soles which is four USD a night for a bed, and five soles which is around two fifty USD for hammock space. This place also has a large, not well equipped kitchen, internet, TV common room, free water and, something unheard of in Peruvian hostels, you're even allowed to wash your laundry there. This hostel turns out to be more of a commune, but one of my favorite places I have ever stayed.



We find Mateo in Iquitos who we hadn't gotten to spend time with since Suyai Wari and had only seen in passing in La Paz and Isla Del Sol. Mateo has been here for a while at an institute sitting every week with Shamans and Ayahuasca. Mateo was actually supposed to have started doing this when he had arrived in Puerto Maldonado, the jungle on the other side of Peru. But at this institute someone had recently died while left alone on Ayahuasca, possibly under the influence of other drugs such as pain killers could have been the reason. But the owners panicked and didn't know what to do; they very irresponsibly buried him in the jungle on the border of Brasil and told authorities he had wandered into the jungle alone. His death was probably not their fault, but instead of handling in professionally they handled it more like Peruvians, and now its shut down.



Mateo shared with us a lot of very helpful information regarding finding a legit shaman. He had a lot of connections and insight to share. Mateo kind of always gave me the shaman vibe. He told us how to get to different parts of the jungle where we could inquire about different shamans.



Cam Hallum and I take a cheap boat across the Nanay River to Padre Coche, a small village, in search of a man named Don Lucho. About a thirty minute walk into the forest jungle we find several well sized huts, a hammock of course and our shaman working in a newly burnt field with his fellow young volunteers. Once we asked him about our interest and the ceremony he began to talk about the plant. He didn't immediately tell us a price, when and where to go or any of the fine details, but began excitedly sharing his thoughts and knowledge about the traditional use of Ayahuasca with us. He told us what the plant does to you, or at least what the natives believe is happening, he explained how all different people have varying reactions, he mentioned that afterwards you may be able to see the whole universe on a grain of sand. He described the experience as being in a dreamlike state, while also being the closest todeadyou will ever experience while being alive and aware. What I liked most though about his description of the experience was his definition of Ayahuasca not being necessarily good or bad, but just natural. Because that's the thing about good and bad, they are made up words, and which is happening is determined by us, we give it those names and descriptions, the actually feelings and process is just natural, just is.



The Ayahuasca ceremony turns out to be reasonably priced from what we've heard the prices can get to in Iquitos. We get to experience it in the actual jungle, in a hut and with an actual shaman. We are all pretty convinced and enjoy the small boat ride back to Iquitos. The next week we are on the Ayahuasca diet, a strict diet of no sugar, oil, fats, meats, salt, or mostly anything with flavor. We spend most of our time at Belen, a grimy poor neighborhood too dangerous to be in at night but with famed markets on water and on land.



Half of Belen is the coast merging into the river on stilts, which reaches so far everything is just floating, to access this area you must navigate a maze of boards on stilt above the oily, and garbage filled water that surprisingly has plants growing on top as well as tons of fish. We were lucky to be there during the rainy season because in the dry season it is a dangerous, unhealthy site of oil mounds and garbage.



The non-floating part of Belen is probably not any less disgusting, but has much charm. The streets are filled with venders, garbage, animal guts, vultures, and children playing barefoot. The market sells all kinds of exotic foods, some of which you probably shouldn't feel right eating, such as monkey, turtle, snails, alligator, alive and fried maggots, I'm sure some of these are endangered but I'd bet at least the monkey and turtle. They have an impressive and lovely scented witches market full of potions, pills, petrified things and all kinds of animals in jars of formaldehyde.



Markets are by far one of my favorite parts of South America and traveling in general. The cheapest food and drinks with an incredible amount of insight. Belen is probably the best one I have ben to, apart from the insanely perfect market in La Paz. Belen includes some of the roughest street dogs I will ever see, scavenging the piles of garbage and dead things with the vultures is quite a sight. Seeing most of the people walk about in flip flops is also kind of shocking, but everyone is friendly and offering good products. Venders will make good deals with you on sacred jungle tobacco or wooden jungle pipes. A lot of plants and jungle critters are indistinguishable, you don't know what it is but you might as well try it.



We mainly buy fish here and the necessities of yucca and lime, banana leaves and such. Our diet luckily includes fish. Later while learning how to gut and descale a fish with Hallum I became wary of where the fish we had just purchased came from, for the gutting process smelt just as dirty grimy and oily as the docks themselves.



They tasted good all the same, especially with mashed sweet potatoes and lime. The week was a delicious dieta of yucca, beets, potatoes, salad, and platanos. Varies jungle herbs are also an accepted part of the diet, also variously good and bad.



One night while the hostel was overflowing with people we were sitting on the patio by candlelight with the stars, discussing anything. A couple of fellow backpackers come back from the legendary floating discoth que that becomes so full with people begins to sink after letting in too many, by the end of the night everyone is dancing in a couple feet of water. Assuming that everyone is very drunk by this point, people think it's really cool. I think it might be an easy way to get a parasite, but hey we evolved with parasites and there's no reason we should avoid them...I guess.



The two backpackers arrive confirming very loudly they were very drunk, stumbling up the not so stable stairs above the basically construction site that is our home. They continued to confirm this further by trying and open a bottle of a wine with a shoe, which usually works (something that comes up often only in my life in South America) but didn't in this instance since our balcony room is made of plywood. Then the Irish broad whips out what looks like a huge blunt with a pirate-like grin on her face. Looking closer it actually looks like a bunch of sage leaves wrapped in a big banana leaf, a big jungle cigar, and we all really know what it is, being in the Belen market enough times. She says in a very raspy, slurred thick Irish accent "Anyone want to smoke some to ?" Technically there is no accent over theein the Spanish spelling of this word, but hopefully this helps you be able to pronounce it right, cause it's not toe, is toe-EH.



Angles trumpet or some stupid name is what most people know it outside of Peru as. I honestly still don't really know what it is or what it is supposed to do or actually how people take it. Apparently though it doesn't do much at all if you just smoke the leaves, people usually eat the seeds and hallucinate or some shit. The drunken amigos try to explain to us that it's really strong, that the ladies in the market say to puff it twice and go to bed, blah blah blah. It goes around the circle and I decline, one of the drunken amigos holds it up and exclaims "Are you guys really doing this? Are we really gonna smoke this, DO YOU KNOW WHAT THIS SHIT IS?" while hitting it for a good long three times. I keep passing my turn in the circle until Claire the Irish broad mentions that it only cost a sole, which is forty cents. Remembering that we are in Peru where absolutely nothing is how it seems I join in. It smokes very nicely as smoking a cross between lavender and sage leaves, taste good like some kind of exotic smooth tobacco. There are absolutely no effects of course, but it is an interesting trait of the jungle.



I've already decided I love the jungle even with the mosquitoes and the heat. We learned that shamans become shamans by going into the jungle for months in solitude. They only eat yucca, maybe green bananas, smoke the jungle tobacco and drink whatever plant they are trying to learn ab
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