Maureen Stanucci

It was my second visit back to Peru and it felt like coming home. One of the things I hadn’t been able to do on my first trip was to go to the jungle as it was the middle of the rainy season. I planned to rectify that on this journey if at all possible.

A watery scene in the Peruvian Amazon

One of the first friends I had made in this country was an Ayahuasca-drinking cowboy. As he had land someplace around Manu and sometimes led trips to the area, I decide to enlist his help in making a private less-touristy visit to the area. It was definitely an adventure, although not precisely in the way I’d expected.

He picked me up early at my hostal and we took a taxi to the bus station. In this case, that meant the curbside in front of a small bodega. He had brought along bikes for us to use in the jungle. Awesome! Without anything to tie them on top of the bus. Not so much. It was at this point that I started to get the idea that my buddy was not quite as organized as I might have liked. And to admire the Peruvian resourcefulness of the people who worked on the bus. And to miss my Inca trail guide. Not for the last time.

By the time the bike situation finally got sorted out, I was more than ready to get on the bus so that we could all get going. As were the rest of the passengers. It was at this point that my “guide” mentioned that his flashlight wasn’t working and he wasn’t sure if it just needed new batteries. I have extra… get on the bus!

The ride was around ten hours on a bumpy trail undeserving to be called a road. It was hot, dusty dry and – next surprise – my guide hadn’t brought any water for himself. I share. And miss my Inca Trail guide. Again.

We arrive at our destination in the middle of the jungle where there is a perfect spot for viewing the Gallitos de las Rocas, the Cocks of the Rock, national bird of Peru. This was where we intended to be spend the night. Ummm… except for one thing. My guide had not booked us a hostal and there were very few in the area.

This actually turned out to be one of the better mistakes that my friend had made. We ended up negotiating to sleep on the floor in a local man’s house. Dumping our packs, sleeping bags and bikes on the dirty old wooden floor, we headed out to see the Gallitos.

Although they are called cocks, and do sound somewhat like roosters, they look more like a type of parrot. It was a treat to get to see them in their habitat, as there aren’t many locations where it’s possible. We also got to see various monkeys, the first time I’ve ever seen them in the wild. I never had much interest in seeing them behind cages but watching them jumping around in the trees was truly something special.

As the sun was going down, we made our way back to our lodging for the night. When we had met our host earlier, he mentioned working at the hostel next door. He was wearing old shabby clothing, with pant legs that were more ripped than sewn together. The house consisted of one large room and a couple of small bedrooms. All in all, it was a very simple bare-bones type of dwelling.

I settled myself down into my sleeping bag early but was quite interested to hear the conversation that my friend and the owner of our shelter were having. As they conversed, I was amazed to hear that the man had recently sold quite a bit of the surrounding land and still had more to his name.

When you consider the increase in tourism and the interest in creating places for them to go in the jungle, surely he must have made a fair amount of money on the sale. And yet, he continued to work for someone else and nowhere could you see the evidence of that income. I could only imagine that in a bank someplace his heirs were earning interest.

That was my first experience with this situation and one that I continue to encounter here in Peru. You never know when the poorest looking people may actually have a fat bank account that they just have no interest in touching. For them, their way of life has been good enough all this time and they see no reason in changing it.

The following morning, we were greeted with fresh caught trout for breakfast. It was hard to see what was wrong with a life that started the day out with that kind of treat. After our delicious breakfast, we headed out to the next town on our mountain bikes.

It was a trip that was to continue much the way it had started, as my friend’s bike broke down while I was several kilometers ahead of him with the repair kit in my backpack. Despite the hiccups, though, I wouldn’t trade my trip to the jungle for any standard tourist package. It’s those unlooked for experiences that really make for memories.

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