A Propensity for Partying

As I write this blog post, I am finding it difficult to lift my fingers high enough to type. This little gringa is exhausted! Last month San Miguel’s annual festival came blowing through town like a hurricane and nearly took me out in the process. Seventeen days of no work and all play can be seriously strenuous. This marked my second, and last, San Miguel festival, so I was determined to live it up… I also have more friends than I did last year, so they forced me to stick to that vow.

What resulted was a string of nights where we danced til 5 am, then started dancing again at 6 am, breaking only to drink some soup for breakfast. The events were essentially the same as last year (parades, towers of fireworks and marching bands galore), so I’ll spare you the redundancy. What the festival made me realize, however, is that I haven’t fully explained the party process in all of its sordid details. Trust me, after a year of living with this particular family in this particular town, I’ve got it down to a science.

It really is a fascinating thing to behold, in that every celebratory party, whether it is a birthday party, wedding reception or even a funeral, follows the same precise pattern. I know I would be doing you all an injustice if you find yourself in the middle of a Peruvian fete and you didn’t know which way to pass the glass. So here goes, I offer you the instruction manual that I have pieced together during my many months of partying:

1. Do not show up on time. Trust me, I’ve learned this the hard way, showing up to somebody’s house and having the hostess usher me inside to sit by myself for two hours while she washes her hair. Under close study, I have formulated a general guideline. For weddings, show up 30 minutes after the advertised time, one hour for funerals and baptisms, and two hours for a birthday party. The only two events that start on time here are Mass and Bullfights.

2. Once you arrive, greet every person in the room (with a kiss on the cheek for ladies and a hand-shake between men), then sit down, do not talk and stare off into space without making eye contact with anyone. Usually the chairs are arranged in a circle, so it can prove difficult not to catch a stray eye here or there. It takes practice, so do not expect to master it at your first few parties. This first stage of the party usually only lasts for about half an hour, and you’ll know it has ended when the host and his/her minions begin to pass out napkins and plastic utensils.

3. Next comes Meal #1. Typically it involves a questionable piece of meat, rice, potatoes and a vegetable (vegetable = one piece of lettuce). Just a smaller version of your lunch, so nothing exciting there. What makes it fun is trying to cut the mystery meat with a plastic spoon, while balancing the small Styrofoam plate on your lap. Add to that a Dixie cup of Inka Cola and you can just picture the awkwardness that ensues. An important note: don’t forget to bring a few little plastic bags in your pocket for leftovers. Say it’s for your dog.

Every party requires a small staff to prepare the food

The man above demonstrates an excellent balance-your-plate-on-your-lap technique.

4. Speaking of awkwardness, the next phase is without a doubt my favorite. Awkward Speeches!! Beginning with the host and moving around to many of the attendees, each person spends a good five minutes thanking one another for attending or throwing the soiree. The longer your speech, the better. Bonus points if you specifically name and thank 90% of the people in the room. And don’t think that I don’t share in the fun. I have my standard speech, requiring slight tailoring based on the situation that I have given more than a dozen times.

It doesn’t really matter what you say. At Host-Mom’s birthday, I watched as three people who had just roamed in off the street (we always keep the door open on party nights, no matter how cold it gets) and barely knew her gave heart-felt toasts. I really don’t want to Peru-bash and/or stereotype here, but this is a genuine observation that I have made over the last year. Peruvians are really horrible public speakers. And yet they continue, celebration after celebration, to stand up and say their peace. You’ve gotta respect that.

Host-Mom is a master at the speech...

... and so am I, apparently. Check out the applause I garnered!

5. Once the speeches have concluded, everybody gets to down their thimble-sized cup of wine… the sweeter the wine, the better. This serves as a sign that the drinking portion has begun, and those who do not want to partake should go ahead and leave. I’ve never actually seen anybody leave, though. Breast-feeding mothers, five year-old children, Priests, Nuns, the elderly, the disabled. They all stay for at least a round or two (and often many more) of the drinking circle.

The drinking circle is perhaps the thing that most differentiates a Peruvian party from its North American counterpart. The host brings out one bottle (of beer or canazo) and one glass. He pours an appropriate amount into the glass and passes the bottle on to the person at his immediate left – this is VERY important, the bottle must be passed on before drinking. This is his way of saying “Cheers” to everyone. He then drinks the entire contents of the glass as quickly as possible (others are waiting for their turn, after all), occasionally accompanied by a nod of the head and tip of the glass to his neighbor out of politeness and camaraderie. Then, before passing the glass on to his neighbor, he dumps the remaining contents of the glass (foam and/or leftover drops of the beverage) into a communal bowl strategically set in the middle of the drinking circle… or if no bowl is handy, onto the floor. This act serves two functions. First, on a practical level, it clears out the nasty backwash issue that arises when dozens of people are sharing one cup. Second, it symbolically gives a drink to “Pacha Mama,” which is quechua for Mother Earth.

This process continues around and around the circle for the remainder of the night. Simple enough, but a few factors can complicate it. If a man is standing next to a woman, he will often serve her first. If a man is standing next to five women, he’ll go down the line and serve all of them before taking his own turn. Then it can become confusing when dancing begins, as the perfect circle becomes a little discombobulated. But by that point, most are too tipsy to notice or care.

Here's a visual for you:

Lady with the hat passes bottle to boy on her left (let's just ignore the fact that he is clearly not drinking age, shall we?)

Boy pours himself a little...

After passing the bottle along, he drinks...

After dumping contents on the floor, he passes along the cup. Continue ad nauseum.

6. Although the music comes on as soon as the speeches wrap up, dancing does not begin until the drinking circle has gone around a few times. They may be Latin in more ways than one, and the opposite of timid when it comes to asking personal questions and professing their love for you, but Peruvians can be shy to dance until they have the proper incentive.

Enjoy this time, though, because once the dancing begins, do not expect to get much of a rest for another six hours or so. Everybody seems to agree at the same time that it is time to dance, but women have to wait for a man to ask her to dance. You don’t really see groups of girls dancing together, as in the United States. No, no, it must be a one-guy-to-one-girl affair. Also it is considered rude for a woman to turn down a dance request from any man. It reminds me of a 1950’s High School dance, except for the booze, of course.

7. As aforementioned, dancing ensues and dominates the scene for the remainder of the party. It is only interrupted for a series of small meals, depending on how long the party goes on. Meal #2 is usually (in San Miguel, at least) a cup of pre-sweetened coffee and a small plate piled high with cheese, bread and cake. Note: here is another great opportunity to use those little baggies you brought along. This cake is not to be confused with the “Fill-in-the-event Cake,” which will come out later. When the official cake is served, you usually have another round of speeches and shots of sweet-wine. These speeches, I’m sure you can imagine, are a lot more fun to witness.

They seem to be really enjoying their cake and jello, right?

8. Drinking continues and dancing gets more intense. You often find whoever is controlling the stereo will begin playing the same three or four songs over and over again… the real crowd-pleasers. At this point (most) guests with small children begin to filter out first, followed by older people and people who can’t dance (unless they’re directly related to the host). Then there’s a three hour gap where nobody leaves. This is the real party time. Usually the host will fish out a few old Coke bottles filled with unidentifiable liquor and add them into the drinking circle. Several beer runs inevitably take place. LOTS of posed photographs are requested and taken. As a rule of thumb, the party doesn’t die until: A.) The alcohol (and money to buy more alcohol) runs out, or B.) The sun comes up. I’ve seen plenty of both endings.

Posed-Photo time!

Often you think the party is about to end... then somebody rolls in last minute to save the day.

5:30 a.m. and the party is still rolling on!

So there you have it, in a nutshell. I’ve come to really enjoy the Peruvian party and its quirky nuances. Nothing has taught me more about the culture of this community and how greatly they esteem communal bonds, created through sharing a meal, a dance and a cup.

A few more visuals for you:

No bottle-opener? No problem! I've learned to open a bottle using the lid of another bottle.

(I'm currently at 65% accuracy, but hoping to have it down pat before returning to the States.)

I'm also learning how to open a wine bottle by slamming it against the wall. Seriously.

Sometimes Host-Mom and I break tradition and dance together.

Don't forget that babies like to party too!

From Peru to You... CHEERS!

Down and Out Down Here

I have just completed a true rite of passage for Peace Corps Volunteers, which is the inevitable period of drawn-out and dilapidating illness. Most, at least in Peru, deal with stomach issues for months without end. I have had my minor issues here and there (the word “minor” changes drastically between first-world and third-world countries), but I have fortunately avoided the diarrhea-fate of many of my friends thus far. Instead, I paid my dues in the form of a minor cold, which escalated to a flu and then bronchitis. If you knew me in the U.S., then you know that I am NEVER sick. On the incredibly rare occasion when it did occur once a decade or so, you also know that it would pass in a matter of days and I generally wanted to be left alone. I don’t like to be babied; I just like to sleep it off in peace and quiet… sort of like a dog will just disappear when it is ill and reappear a few days later as if nothing had happened. No muss, no fuss. I guess I expected things to be exactly the same for this little cold when it developed, but boy was I wrong, as I have been about so many things here in Peru. This episode went on for weeks, and I am just now coming out of the dark tunnel onto the other side. And although I was able to spend a few relaxing weeks in Lima by myself, my time in San Miguel was far from peaceful. I should have expected the outpouring of pestering, considering how darn nosy the people of my lovely town are known to be. What I call “nosy,” they consider being concerned about the general welfare of every individual. It is their duty then, to care for those in need, especially the only outsider living within their ranks. And judging by the fact that I did crazy things like drink cold water (the number one cause for disease and number two cause for death, just after “catching some bad air,” in San Miguel) and prance around town in just one pair of pants (not even fleece pants for the love of Pete!!), I was clearly not competent enough to handle myself, in sickness or in health. So Host-Mom took control of my get-well regimen at home, and I could barely make it out the front door before helpful advice came flying at me from every well-intentioned direction. The experience showed me just how superstitious the people of Peru remain, especially those in the rural Andean region where I live. Just as the Haitians created and still cling to Voodoo practices, superstitions arise and survive more prominently in regions that suffer from poverty and/or lack of proper medical care. Once I remembered this, I was able to take the advice in stride, without wanting to pull out too much of my hair. The poor and uneducated have to blame illness on something, and there has to be an equal cure available in some form. To illustrate, here are a few examples of beliefs that are still widely believed here in Peru:

As I’ve already mentioned, The Bad Air is a well-known and widely-feared cause for illness and even death in rural areas. The Bad Air can be caught any time and anyhow, and I have found that it is typically blamed for just about everything when people do not know the real cause or when the real cause is too scandalous to imagine. I’ve heard stories of a man who was hit by a car and when he died, it was blamed on catching the Bad Air just before being hit by a car.

The Evil Eye: This is a big one, and I know that many cultures around the world have something similar. The Evil Eye is transferred from another person, often unintentionally, who is jealous of you or dislikes you for an unmerited reason. You can go years with an evil upon you, and it brings you bad luck and possibly even illness. To diagnose, somebody (preferably a reputable shaman… naturally) will hold an uncooked egg an inch or two above you and move it along the entire perimeter of your body. It is then cracked in a glass, and if a round “eye” separates from the yoke and rises to the top of the glass, then you my friend have been given the Evil Eye. In that case, you must flush the egg down the toilet without looking at it. Just like that, problem solved! I actually had this little ritual performed on me last year during training, after accidentally volunteering myself to my language professor, who just so happens to moonlight in shamanism from time to time. I was told I did have it, and I flushed her down as told… but I’m seeking a second opinion once I find a shaman who is backed by the American Medical Association. As if this wasn’t weird enough, just guess how this custom is varied here in the mountains. That’s right, instead of an egg, they use a live cuy. Of course they do! I couldn’t make this stuff up if I tried.

Two friends who live in on the coast relayed to me that there is a belief that any sickness can be cured by grabbing chunks of a person’s hair and yanking it as hard as possible until you hear a popping noise. This act is repeated all over the head, and my friends casually mentioned that their host families had performed this act on them several times. I think I’ll take the mountains and our hovering guinea pigs.

With all of these colorful diagnosis and treatment options, I was somewhat surprised by host family’s ultimate conclusion. They ran the numbers and determined that I was sick, simply enough, because I am too skinny. The cure for this dreaded disease was also a straightforward one: more potatoes. That, and I really really have to stop drinking cold water.

So, sorry for the lack of pictures in this blog. I did quite a bit of google-searching for a picture of a shaman or any one of these treatment options, but I came up empty. Guess Peru’s medical practices are not widely known. Well now the three of you know… lucky bunch!

Land of the Free and Home of the Seven-Layer Burrito

I must apologize to those 2 or 3 of you who regularly keep up with my blog, as Cuy For Me has been out of commission for quite awhile. Sorry folks, but this has been quite a month for me. First of all, I went to visit THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. It was weird… but wonderful. I’ll get to that in a bit. Anyhow, upon my return, I celebrated two major milestones within one week. The former arrived on June 6th, and it marked one-year of living in Peru. The latter, a much more common occurrence, was June 9th, and it was my birthday. It is only notable because it was the second birthday I have spent here in Peru. The first came around (obviously) within my first few days of arrival to the country last year. It was surrounded by a haze of confusion and apprehension. Just days before, I had been thrown into a group of total strangers, shipped off to a foreign country, and poked and prodded with every injection known to man. This year could not have been more different. I am now comfortably settled into this country… I have friends, family, co-workers and students, all of whom could not WAIT to celebrate my birthday. Peruvians just love to celebrate birthdays – shocker! Upon meeting a new Peruvian, the question, “When is your birthday?” will undoubtedly occur within the first five minutes of conversation, just between “Are you married?” and “How much do you weigh?” They also seem to harbor some internal clock which automatically banks all of this information. You may try to tiptoe around the whole birthday thing, hoping that maybe people have forgotten, but no such luck.

My cake was so pretty that I didn't even mind the misspelling on my name!

The big day will arrive and out of nowhere the entire town descends upon you with birthday wishes, parties and (best of all) lots of food! Now this all sounds well and good, so why would anyone try to hide from it? The answer is a four-word phrase that has been daunting me for months: torta en la cara. This means ‘cake in the face,’ and describes the custom for birthday celebrations in my town. The lucky lad or lassie has to “taste” the cake before eating, and is inevitably shoved so that the cake is smeared all over his/her face. There have also been cited incidents where extra icing is requested from town-cake-lady and comes flying in from all directions, landing on your clothes, in your hair and in just about every other uncovered flesh. No hot water and 30 degree temperatures make night-time bathing impossible, so add “sleeping in icing” to the element of fun.

Despite the eight-month build-up, my torta en la cara celebration was actually not that bad. In fact, it was pretty fun. I turned the tables on my friends and spread the cake on them. It resulted in quite the evening, and it is definitely going to remain high on my list of memorable birthdays. So I must give a great big “thank you” to all of San Miguel, for without this loving little town, birthdays, and Peru in general, would not be nearly as enjoyable.

Now, reaching these milestones brought about the need for reflection; people in their “late 20’s” have a tendency to do this, or so I hear. Not only have I officially spent one year in Peru, but I am still processing my recent trip to the U.S. How do I even begin to describe my beloved country? It’s chock full of so many things: big people, big cars and even bigger food portions. But if I had to sum it all up in a word, it would be ‘freedom.’ It may be cliché, but this is without a doubt the one word I would use to describe the United States of America. Not that I am necessarily an expert on this subject anymore, but my recent visit home afforded me quite the fresh perspective. It was just a hair shy of one year without seeing my homeland when this little gringa arrived on U.S. soil. Overwhelmed with feelings of nostalgia and fatigue, I sobbed my way through the customs and baggage-claim process. It was so strange to hear English being spoken everywhere, to pay with American bills and to realize that not every single person was starting at my whiteness. Leaving the airport was when the real fun began. I was reminded just how easy everything is: hop into your own car, drive out on paved roads and go wherever you want. There is no waiting hours for 7-8 other paying passengers, no strangers sitting on top of you with their breast-feeding babies or sacks of cuy and (most amazingly!) no hopping out of the car to help push it through especially muddy parts of the road. While taking in the ease of transportation, I was also reminded of the vast food choices that exist out there in the real world… and just how easy it is to access them. My eyes bulged and my stomach growled as we passed convenient stores, drive-thru joints and ethnic restaurants galore. Taco Bell, Arby’s and Bojangles… oh my! And I’m not even going to START on the joys that are Publix and Costco. It was not until I lived without such luxuries that I truly came to appreciate them. I try to picture what life might be like in San Miguel if everybody had a car. I cannot imagine such a sight, as they really wouldn’t have anywhere to go. It’s a 3+ hour trek to the city, and there are no shopping malls, restaurants or grocery stores between here and there. In a way, however, it is kind of nice. Any place you need to go, anything you need to buy, any person you want to see is within a 5-minute walk. Granted we don’t have Big Macs or 1,000-count boxes of Splenda, but we have a stronger sense of community than anywhere I have ever seen… not to mention some really great party traditions. So although it was hard to board that return flight in Hartsfield-Jackson and say goodbye to all the freedom and delights of America, including that one last bagel with flavored cream-cheese that I scarfed down all the way through the jetway, I know that Peru has her own special treats in store for me.

Just one more year to take it all in!

Jungle Fever

They say there is a first for everything, and I have experienced my fair share of “firsts” this month. Just a few of these include handling a live anaconda, going for a night-time crocodile hunt and boating up the Amazon River in a canoe. The last on this list ended up being the worst, albeit most memorable, experience of my life. But I’ll get to that in a bit. Let’s begin from the beginning, shall we? For those of you not living in Peru, it might have slipped past you that the first week of April was Semana Santa, or Holy Week to my non-Spanish-speaking friends. The Peace Corps was gracious enough to give us hard-working Volunteers a few days off, so we took advantage of the rare opportunity and ventured out to see the Peruvian jungle. Here’s an interesting statistic taken directly from my Lonely Planet for your educational pleasure: roughly 50% of this country is covered by jungle, yet only about 5% of its population lives there. After this trip, I’m surprised it can manage to hold onto such a high percentage. Don’t get me wrong, it was everything I imagined and more… it’s just that jungle life is intense. Getting around this region makes transportation in the rest of the country look more efficient than a German train system. Example of a "taxi" we took numerous times... and got stuck in the mud several times:

I guess it doesn’t help that we chose the city of Iquitos for our final destination on this trip. Iquitos is famous for being the largest city in the world that you cannot reach by land. The result was a whole lotta boat travel. Our planned itinerary went something like this:

• Bus from sites to meeting point in the city of Chiclayo (5.5 hours for me)
• Bus from Chiclayo to city of Tarapoto (16 hours, over ROUGH terrain: several moments I found myself airborne)
• Car from Tarapoto to town of Yurimaguas (3 hours, lots of hairpin curves)
• Boat from Yurimaguas to town of Lagunas (10 hours)
• Three-day canoe trip from Lagunas through a natural preserve, returning to Lagunas
• Boat from Lagunas to Iquitos (32 hours)
• Fly from Iquitos to Lima (1.5 hours… this was hard to believe after the week it took to actually arrive in Iquitos)
• Bus from Lima to sites (16 hours for me)

Sounds like a good chunk of travel, no? Well, just hold on to your britches, because it gets better. The 32-hour boat ride to Iquitos was supposed to be on a large vessel, where we could hang up our hammocks, walk around, use the bathroom, etc. Not too bad. Unfortunately for us, this particular boat couldn’t leave due to “excess rains.” Apparently the mighty Amazon River couldn’t handle a little excess water. Seriously. So we were all stuck in the town of Lagunas an extra night, which was one night too many. The only decent hostel in town was full, so we ended up in the most horrid place I have ever seen. Trust me, that is saying a lot for a Peace Corps Volunteer and former backpacker. After being eaten alive by mosquitoes and other less-expected creatures in our room, we awoke to the news that the boat would not be leaving again the following day. It is difficult for me to explain how little the town of Lagunas has to offer, but let me just say that the extent of its “entertainment” that we found was eating canned-cheese and stale crackers in a hardware store. I could just envision myself being stuck in that remote and insignificant jungle town, being adopted by natives and eating grubs for the rest of my life. Any alternative was better than spending another night there. Alas, the list of alternatives was limited to one option: we could hire a couple of locals to take us in a smaller boat. It would cost us some serious soles, but it would only take 8 hours. Or so they said. When we arrived at the dock, we saw a small boat that seemed barely large enough to contain all of us (14 Volunteers in total and 3 locals). There was no bathroom. They didn’t answer when we asked if we could hang up all of our hammocks on this boat. In hind-site, this question must have seemed rather hilarious to our local drivers. We could not understand why they chuckled until a canoe, roughly 1/10 the size of that boat pulled up. Each of us watched incredulously as the men took the motor off of the small boat and attached it to the back of the much-smaller canoe. Clearly they don’t plan on piling all of us in that thing for eight hours, right? Oh Peru, you never fail to shock me.

Lovely town of Lagunas... it was hard to leave her behind!

The boat we thought we'd be taking... and the tiny canoe to the right of it

As the town of Lagunas waved from the shore, our little troupe of 17 took off to tackle the vast Amazon… in our canoe. All was going well until about the 5-hour mark. Somebody asked the driver how much further we had to go. The response was, “in an hour, we will be 8 hours away.” Excuse me? I thought we were 8 hours away 5 hours ago?? Yes, there was a “slight miscalculation.” Well there’s an understatement for you. So this meant that our 8 miserable hours on the canoe would turn into 14 miserable hours. We might have actually reached that goal, if not for the fact that our driver got lost somewhere in the middle of nowhere for about 4 hours. You do the math. 18 hours, 17 people, 1 canoe. Now add to the equation heavy rain with only a mildewed tarp for protection, a temperature drop of 30 degrees from day to night (and no way get to any extra clothes in our bags) and no padding between the hard planks and our battered bodies. Tons-o-fun! Needless to say, we all reached our breaking points… several times over. Each time I thought I had reached the depths of misery, a new factor would be presented to make me yearn for the comforts I had previously enjoyed. For example, I complained of the blistering heat during hours 1-4. Oh how I longed for some warmth just a few hours later as I sat in soaking wet clothing and spooning with Steph under a dirty hammock for the body heat. We finally arrived in Iquitos just after dawn, more than a little worse for the wear. The expression, “rode hard and put up wet” comes to mind every time I picture us clambering out of that canoe and stretching our legs to full capacity for the first time in an eternity. Beginning to understand why I called it miserable but memorable? I do have to say, we made some memories.

All 17 of us snuggled into our mighty canoe

Here we are at dusk, approximately 5 hours in... still smiling! But that was before the bad news hit

Truth be told, the rest of the trip more than made up for that little bubble of gloom. Because I spent so much time and energy describing the canoe trip, I’ll have to resort to bullet points to highlight the rest of our trip.

• The town of Tarapoto, called the “eyebrow of the jungle,” was quite lovely with its mix between tropical jungle and mountainous terrain. We went to see a huge waterfall and were able to jump from behind the waterfall into a pool below. The water was freezing, but totally worth it for the photo-ops:

• On the boat-ride to Lagunas, everybody brings a hammock and hangs it in the boat. The result is a crazy maze of ropes and bodies, and is truly an experience. Nothing beats relaxing in a hammock and staring out over the Amazon River, as an endless line of tropical trees and thatched-roof villages passes by. The best part about this leg of the trip was its authenticity. The locals in this region really do travel in this mode; it is certainly not put on just to entertain tourists. In fact, we were the only “tourists” on the boat. Even the live chickens in the kitchen had their purpose for being there:

• The 3-day canoe trip through the Pacaya-Samiria Nature Reserve was a paramount experience that I will not soon forget. It was just our group of Peace Corps Volunteers, our local guides and the jungle… no other signs of life, except for the millions of animal eyes watching us as we glided up the river. We slept outside (with nothing but mosquito nets and a thin sheet for protection), ate what our guides cooked for us over open flames and got to hold wildlife that I had never even seen before.
  
  

Moment of embarkation with our fabulous guides, Felix and Arri

Felix could always get us out of a tight spot

I got to look at these lovely heads for many an hour!

Even a little (or a lot of) rain didn't dampen our spirits at that point

Night-time crocodile hunting: why not?

Problem: How does one use the bathroom when on a canoe?

Solution: Felix takes you off in the canoe alone and turns around as you squat off of a log.

Our guides cooked all of our meals for us (seen above washing the veggies in river water)

But don't forget the main course!

Night 1 Sleeping quarters: this was before we had a hatred for hard planks

Night 2 Sleeping Quarters was the lap of luxury compared to the night before!

Bath time!

Enjoying a little nap in our wall-less hut

• This Reserve is famous for being home to pink dolphins, monkeys, anacondas, iguanas, caimans (small crocodiles), piranhas, tarantulas, sloths, tree-dwelling guinea pigs, macaws, river-wolves and more. Thanks to the amazing perception of our guides, our group was able to see all of them in their natural habitat. My favorite animal was hands-down the sloth. They have a definite “so ugly they are cute” quality… kind of like trolls. Our guides found a mama sloth with her baby in a tree and brought them to us to play with. Surprisingly, sloths are not all that difficult to catch. Also, one would think the mama would be upset when we took her baby away from her for awhile. Oh contraire. She was so apathetic about the whole situation that she actually tried to go back to napping within seconds of capture. I love her attitude! On the far end of the “fun animal” scale is the river-wolf, as I discovered after we ran into a pack of them and several swam right under our tiny canoe.

• Again, our guides truly wanted us to be one with the jungle, and thus took it as their duty to bring us up-close and personal with the animal kingdom. A few examples of us messing with nature:

They spotted an iguana sunning in this tree. Do we leave her alone? Heavens no! Let's try to knock her off and play with her!

Oops, she fell into the water instead...

Playing with piranhas

Catching anacondas with our bare hands

Cudding with Mama Sloth (we do have a lot in common, after all)

And my absolute favorite play-thing, the baby sloth. I want one!

• Iquitos is a pretty modern city, but it has its fair share of jungle-quirkiness. The highlight for me was the witch-craft section of their market, where you can buy such treasures as fetal-pigs, hallucinogenic herbs, or anacondas in mason-jars. You never know when you might need an anaconda in a jar!

• We also visited a community in Iquitos called Belen, which is completely submerged in water for 9 months of the year. Thus all of the houses, stores, etc. are literally floating in the river and people get around by canoe. Although my group was wary to get into another canoe, and reasonably so, we had to get into a canoe to see the town during this time of the year. We found a local to take us around, but warned him that if he kept us on that canoe for more than 30 minutes, he would be sacrificing his fee, and possibly even his life. I believe he was a little confused by this, but he delivered on his promise.
  

The lovely (if slightly smelly) floating town of Belen. Amazingly enough, they have electricity. Seems safe enough, right?

The River is used to travel...

Wash clothes...

Swim...

Catch delicious fish...

Bathe...

And last but not least... go to the bathroom! (note latrine on the left)

We realized that this area is a bit sketchy after two armed policemen boarded the canoe with us, without saying a word.

• After the full week it took to travel to Iquitos, I could not get over the fact that it took us 90 minutes to fly all the way back to Lima. 90 minutes: 990 minutes less than we spent on the canoe ride. God Bless you, Wright Brothers.

So there you have it: Kim’s “trip of firsts” in the Amazonian Jungle. I’m glad I did it… but it was undoubtedly my last. Unless you want to come along next time!