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The next day I woke up to the sun shining through my window. For breakfast the hostel served bread and jam with scrambled eggs and coca de mate. It was a fair breakfast. A young woman from Northern California joined me. Her name was Mimi and we spoke a bit about Peru and trekking into Machu Picchu.

After breakfast I went into the office to make some travel arrangements. A British ex-pat named Simon was at the desk. He helped me arrange a San Pedro healing for the following day. After that I would take a train to Agua Calientes and spend the night there. I would get up very early in the morning and hike into Machu Picchu where I would meet up with a guided tour. I would spend the morning exploring before catching a train at four which would bring me back to Cusco. I would spend my final night at Casa de la Gringa and then catch an afternoon flight back to Lima.

It was a little sad for me to have the rest of my trip planned out. I had done pretty well so far in avoiding planning too far in advance and allowing things to evolve spontaneously, and now I was back on a schedule. I had a week left in Peru, but suddenly I could feel the end of my trip approaching.

While I was sitting in the office, chatting with Simon a very pretty and disheveled looking young woman arrived at the door. She explained, in English with a Czech accent, that she was trying to find her friend Martina who she believed was staying at the hostel. Apparently, the two had meant to meet here, but as there were two Casa de la Gringas in Cusco and she had gone to the wrong one. Simon told her that her friend was here and that she could leave a note for her friend. This seemed to calm her a little. She left a note and went on her way. Simon and I exchanged a glance after she had left.

I then went to get cash to pay for my trip to Machu Picchu. It would cost me $250 US and included my transportation, a hotel, my ticket and guide to the site, and a couple meals. This was a very expensive price by Peruvian standards, but these were tourist prices.

After finding an ATM that would accept my card, I returned to the hostel and paid for my trip. I then sat down at the hostel’s computer and spent some time online. While I was blogging, the distraught young woman returned, looking for her friend who had not yet returned. She seemed to have a little better handle on things now, and she and I chatted for a bit. She then asked if I wanted to have lunch.

Her name was Misa, and as we walked over to the Plaza San Bles she told me a little bit about herself. She was a Czech living in London and working in commercial real estate appraisal. We stopped at Caverne del Orient–a vegetarian restaurant tucked into the corner of the plaza. They offered an excellent four-course menu for 10 sols. Conversation came easy as we sat outside in the sun enjoying our lunch.

After lunch we walked down to the market together, talking and site-seeing along the way. We spoke about our lives and our travels. She had a beautiful smile that came easily and twinkle in her eye. She was easy to be around in the ways that people who are very comfortable with who they are can be. I’m not ashamed to admit that I was a bit smitten.

When we returned to the hostel, Misa went to find Martina–whom she still had not connected with–while I struck up a conversation with a Californian named Kevin, who was on an extended trip though South America. Misa reported that she had found her friend and they were going out to dinner. I unabashedly invited myself along. Misa scurried off to get ready, and I spoke with Simon about my travel arrangements and booked a paragliding trip into the sacred valley. I had seen it advertised in some of the hostel’s literature and it sounded like an adventure. Then I went to meet Misa and Martina for dinner.

Misa and Martina shared a room across the street from where I was staying in Casa de la Gringa’s annex. Martina was a pretty young woman from Sweden who had actually only just met Misa the day before in Titicaca. Neither Martina or I had enough warm clothing. So we decided to go do some shopping. Fortunately for us, the region is known for its fine woven alpaca wool products. And it wasn’t long until both Martina and I had found nice warm sweaters in one of the nearby shops. The sweaters cost us 40 sols a piece.

Now that we were appropriately outfitted for the cool mountain twilight we returned to San Bles for dinner. A place called Km0 advertised Tai food and live music, both of which sounded good to the group, so we went in. As we were having dinner Kevin, the Californian from the hostel, came in joined us.

It was a lighthearted foursome. We shared stories and Martina told us about her experience earlier that day going to meet a little girl she had been sponsoring from home. It was a wonderful story. The whole village had welcomed her and the girl’s family had received her as an honored guest. I felt very lucky to be sitting there enjoying such a nice meal, in such a beautiful place, with such good company. A reggae band came on and played a great set of familiar music.

We returned to the hostel. Kevin went to bed and I sat up drinking tea with Misa and Martina. After talking for awhile Martina excused herself to go to bed. Misa and I sat talking for awhile. As it began to get late she rose to leave. I stood up as well, close to her and told her, “You don’t have to go,” and I kissed her. She was reluctant, but she kissed me back.

She looked me in the eye, “I have to go.”

“Why?” I asked.

“Because I’m not that kind of girl.” We kissed again, but she pulled back again, “I don’t have sex with someone I just met.”

I leaned in and kissed her again. She wrapped her arms around me and kissed me back, but I could feel the ambivalence in her. There was a push and pull that I could feel in her body. A desire and a reserve. I didn’t want to pressure her, but I didn’t want her to leave either. I felt no ambivalence.

“Do you want to go for a walk?” I asked.

This broke the tension. It was a way that we could continue to spend time together without pressure. She immediately agreed. We walked out into the cool Cusco night.

Cusco is a beautiful and romantic city in the dark. The city lights climb up the surrounding mountains in tendrils that follow the valleys. The narrow streets are lit with a soft yellow light that brings out the shadows and textures of the Incan stonework. There is very little traffic so it is very quiet.

We huddled together against the chill of the night and walked uphill where we found a small park with a few thin Cedar trees and a fantastic view of the city. We stood there for a long time. Misa was warm and soft in my arms. Her reserve had dissolved into the thin mountain air. She ran her hands across my back and pulled me close, pressing her body against me. We kissed deeply and passionately, our bodies tuned and responsive to each other. We lost ourselves in the moment, in the beauty of the night, and in the passion and lust we felt for each other.

After a long kiss we started walking again. The path was narrow with high walls that occasionally opened to expansive views of the city. We stopped here and there kissing and talking in hushed tones. Eventually we made our way back to the hostel and said goodnight. She asked if she should wait till I got in. She had a key to the annex, but I had to knock and be let in by hostel staff. It was fortunate that she waited because despite my pounding at the door I could not manage to arouse anyone to open the door for me. It seemed that the night watch was asleep on the job.

She checked with Martina and invited me to spend the night with her. “But we have to be respectful,” she smiled.

That was fine with me. I was legitimately tired and wanting to sleep after a long day. we climbed into bed. I lay for a while thinking when suddenly Martina’s voice awoke me, “Eddy, stop snoring!”

I hadn’t even realized I was asleep. I apologized and rolled over, glad that she had awakened me rather than letting my snoring intrude on her rest.

I spent the next two nights in Iquitos shoring up my travel arrangements and taking it easy on myself. Wil and Grazyna introduced me to Mariella, a lovely young woman who was opening a new office as a travel agent. She arranged a flight and accomidation for me in Cusco. I did some shoping near the city center. My mood improved dramatically as I quickly adjusted back to the pace of urban life and after hearf-felt good-bys to my new friends I left Iquitos in seach of another adventure.

The airport in Iquitos was small, but modern and effecient. I was, however, annoyed to discover that Peru charges an airport tax, paid on-sight, before you are allowed to go through security. The price was less than $5 US, but it had to be paid in cash, and I had not expected it. The airport ATM wouldn’t take my card and I had just barely enough cash on me to scrape together the fee and catch my plane.

That’s not my plane.

This is my plane…

The flight was comfortable and uneventful. I had a layover in Lima and I intended to spend my time on the ground blogging and catching up on my email. After collecting my bags from one flight checking in for the second flight I had to go through security again, which meant paying another airport fee. If this wasn’t bad enough after I found my gate I asked about internet access and was told that it was available, but only on the other side of the security checkpoint. I would have to pay another fee to come back through security. I tried to negotiate, but in the end I sucked it up and paid my third airport fee of the day so I could get a little computer time while I waited. The internet cafe at the airport chared 7 sols/hour as opposed to the 1-2 sols/hour that I had been paying everywhere else.

The flight to Cusco was plesant and the mountain scenery was beautiful. As we landed I looked down on a mosaic of red-tile roofs. It was a bright, clear day and everything seemed to me to be shocklingly dissimilar from the jungle.

I managed to haggle 10 sols off of my cab fare and got a ride to Plaza San Blas for 15 sols. My cab driver gave me a little tour along the way. The thin mountain air was crisp and clear, sharpening edges and giving everything a sparkle. The mediteranian architechture and the mountains gave the place the feel of wine country. There were tourists everywhere. I was not longer off the beaten path.

My hostal was very nice, if a little on the new age/hippie side. The rooms surround a partially covered courtyard. There is a kitchen, a dinning room, a patio, a rec room, and communal baths. It is decorated with paintings of goddesses and hanging dreamcatchers, shards of broken pottery and cacti growing through cracks in the floor.

For 42 sols I rented a small two-level room with a small sitting area and ladder up to a loft with a single bed. It had a small window that looked past the angular rooftops to the mountains beyond. It was pretty and tranquil and just what I needed to rest and recouperate from my time in the jungle.

Casa de la Gringa was very keyed into plant teachers. They had postings for both Ayahuasca and San Pedro rituals. This peaked my interest. I was curious to try Ayahuasca again with another shaman in another setting and see what the differences were. I was also interested in a tune up. I could feel that I still had my soul, but my strength and vitality had not returned. However, my first priority was a shower and a shave.

After being cautioned by the hostal staff about the altitude, “plenty of water and lots of coca tea,” I followed their directions down to find a place where I could get a shave. I brought a water bottle filled with coca de matte along.

I found coca leaf tea mild, but pleasant. It’s effect is no stronger than regular tea, and it’s taste is vaguely similar to a green tea, but naturally sweeter. It seemed to help with the alititude as well. Cusco is high, the elevation is about 3300 meters or about 11,000 feet. At that altitude walking up a steep grade or a flight of stairs was enough to get me winded. Being that the entire city clings to mountainsides, just walking around town would have been difficult without time to adjust to the altitude.

I walked down through Plaza de Armas. There was some kind of protest going on in the square, but I was on a mission. On a street just downhill of the plaza I found my barbar. Her name was Vanessa, and it would be more accurate to say that she found me. As I walked by the shop she looked at my scraggly beard and asked, “Shave?”

She trimmed my hair, shaved me close with a straight razor, and gave me a deep conditioning and hot oil treatment, two shampoos, and a scalp massage. I reveled in the decadence of it all. It cost me 60 sols and was worth every penny. Now I really did feel like a whole new man.

After returning to the hostel I went out to dinner at a little place just around the corner called Inca Panaka. It was a cozy place with pleasant ambiance and amazing food. I had mashed yucca balls stuffed with olives and fruit for a started and alpaca steak for an entrée. I had never eaten alpaca before, and I thoroughly enjoyed it. It was similar to pork but very tender and moist.

After a phenomenal meal I walked a few steps back to my hostel and tucked myself into bed under a thick layer of sheets and blankets.

I got a private room at the Hobo Hideout for my first night back in Iquitos. The room itself was dull with no exterior windows, but it would be dark and quiet. I showered in the communal shower and got the first layer of dirt and mud off, but I desperately wanted to wash my clothing. Everything I had with me was dirty. I decided to buy a new outfit so I could wash all my dirty clothing at once.

It took me about twenty minutes to walk to the market. On the way I ran into Wil and Grazyna. We stopped to talk for a minute and made plans to rendezvous for dinner.

The market was large and busy. It smelled like a stockyard. Stalls selling raw fruits and vegetables as well as unrefrigerated animal parts were intermingled with cheap electronics and cleaning products. There was a stall with live animals for sale as well. Tiny baby monkeys were tied to a pole next to turtles, caymans, a toucan, and an anteater.

The Behlen Market has two parts. The upper part is a pretty standard Peruvian street market: covered street stalls crowd the pavement between the permanent buildings housing smalls shops. But the lower part of the market is a “floating market.”

Lower Behlen is the Amazon’s take on Venice. Built on the river, canoes traverse the waterways between buildings and crude plank scaffolding takes the place of sidewalk. These walkways are narrow, often a single plank wide, and without railings making it harrowing to pass a pedestrian coming in the opposite direction. There were shops and vendors here, but there was housing as well, and clothing hung from lines stretched across the canals. It was charming and bohemian.

I stopped at a “T” intersection in the middle of a canal to take a photo. As I snapped the picture a teenage boy who had been walking a short distance behind me lept from over my left shoulder and grabbed my camera. He wrenched it from my hands and started to run down the path to my right. I pulled back on the wrist-strap and yanked the camera back into my possession. He continued to run down the path which went under a nearby building. I had the camera, but my adrenaline was pumping and I gave chase.

My ill advised attempt to apprehend the thief ended quickly and violently. My Peruvian nemesis was a head shorter than I and where he cleared the building without ducking, I ran headfirst into the lower edge of the concrete structure. I heard a pop and saw stars. I struggled to keep my balance on the narrow plank as my head swam and warm blood trickled down my face.

Nearby a family was sitting out and cooking their lunch. Obviously distressed at what they had witnessed they sat me down spoke to me in rapid Spanish I could not understand. One of the men went into the house and came out with a clean new towel that he offered to me. My head was clearing and I refused. I had some tissue in my back pocket and I used that to staunch the bleeding, not wanting to soil their new towel.

I was a little embarrassed and I wanted to get back to my hostel to assess the damage. One of the women walked me back through the lower market and up to the street where she hailed me a motorkart. I was fully capable of finding my own way back, but I appreciated the kind gesture.

Back at the hotel I examined my forehead. I had a deep crescent shaped gash about an inch wide in my forehead. It was deep and looked like it could take at least a few stitches. I washed and disinfected it with hand-sanitizer. I looked at it again. I did not want to go to the hospital. I travel with superglue finding that it provides a better barrier against infection than band-aides. It has the added benefit of disinfecting as it seals a wound. I had never used it on anything this large, but I decided to give it a shot. I held the gash closed with one hand and applied the superglue. I had to continue to hold my forehead for several minutes while the glue set, but once it was finished the wound stayed closed. It seemed to have worked fairly well. Pleased with my field surgery, I laid down to rest.

I couldn’t sleep at all. I was too excited. I had too many thoughts running through my mind.

When it started to get light out I walked toward the center of camp to get some water. Don Luis was there with his wife. He told me something about going into town. I asked him if I would drink the tobacco again. He said, “Yes.”

He followed me back to my hut with a smaller glass of tobacco juice. It was about half as much as I had previously drank. I sat down on the floor and drained the cup. I then drank a full bottle of water and immediately vomited it back up into my bucket. now that I was purified, I could feel the remaining toxins in my body. It was a mild aching feeling that centered in my teeth. I was determined to get these toxins out.

Don Luis handed me another bottle of water and then went to fill the one I had already drained. I finished the second bottle and vomited it up before he returned.

Before I drank the third bottle of water, I paid Don Luis for that night’s ceremony and gave him a small gift of American Spirit Pow Wow Blend pipe tobacco. I explained in the best Spanish I could muster that it was a ceremonial tobacco of the Indians of North America and that it was all natural with medicinal herbs. He thanked me, and we embraced. He smiled and left my hut. I drank the water he had brought for me and vomited for a third time.

I felt good.

I walked back to the center of camp and asked for a little something to eat. I was starving. It had been almost two full days since I had digested solid food.

Don Luis’s wife made me a plate of cut fruit. Then Don Luis gave me a small plate of sliced raw onion, vinegar, and salt. After that came eggs and cooked vegetables. I struggled to fill my shrunken stomach. The food tasted good, and I could tell that my body needed nourishment, but after a only a few bites I began to fill full.

Don Luis’s wife asked me if I’d had a vision.

“Si.”

When I finished eating, I told Don Luis that I needed to sleep, but that after that I would want to talk to him with Jack’s help. He said, “Yes,” and told me to go sleep.

I went back to my hut and laid down, but even though I was very tired, I had a hard time going to sleep. Visions of impending war haunted me. I worried that soulless men would find out about this magic and twist it to their own selfish ends using chemicals and lies. There are those who would be threatened by it and out of fear they would do anything to stop it. I believe there are those who would burn the jungle to keep magic out of their world. I saw a coming war where those who would pervert and destroy this technology would persecute those who would preserve it. A war of machines against plants…

Finally I slept.

When I awoke Jack and Don Luis were standing at my door. I let them in, and the three of us sat down on the floor of my hut. “You have questions?” Jack asked.

I did. I told them about my experience with the spirit the night before. They listened carefully with Jack translating for Don Luis. When I had finished Don Luis said, “It is good. It is different for everyone.”

I asked how long he had been a curandero. He replied that it was something he was born with and that he had been instructed by his grandfather. He began to learn to cure when he was 18 and it took him 10 years to learn.

I asked him how often he performs the ceremony.

It depends. It can be a few times a week or every night.

Next I asked why a soul would leave the body. I didn’t fully understand his explanation here, but it had to do with how we live our lives. He told me that when the soul leaves the body it does not go far. It stays nearby, but outside the body.

Next I asked about the origins of Ayahuasca. How long have people been doing these rituals? He told me they had been doing this for over 500 years.

I asked him what he thought about western psychiatric drugs. He confirmed my suspicion that these drugs cannot help people because they are chemicals and have no soul.

Next I asked about the war. I told him that I was concerned that people in my culture would try to use this technology for their own ends.

“That is why you have to teach people. Tell them about your experiences here so they will respect nature.”

He did not seem overly concerned and this calmed me.

I asked what I should do after leaving Kapitari. He told me to follow my diet and live in a way that is careful.

I said that I thought that was all of the questions that I had for him. I thought they would leave, but Jack addressed me directly. His eyes were shining.

“I saw you change last night. You and Wil. I did not drink Ayahuasca, but I saw you change. I saw you become more healthy. Your skin went from red to white.”

He smiled at me. Then they both got up and walked out.

I laid back down to rest and reflect.

A short while later I was called to lunch. Grazyna was already eating. I sat next to her. She smiled at me. “You look better.”

“I feel better”

“It is working.”

“Yes.”

We spoke about our experiences from the previous night. Wil came and joined us. He Looked better too. I told him so.

“Yeah,” he smiled, “I don’t feel like throwing up.”

But I could see it was more than that. He had more color to his face. He carried himself with more confidence. He was smiling.

Grazyna encouraged me to make changes in my life. 

” I think I’m going to have to quit my job.  I don’t know if I can keep working somewhere that they are giving people chemicals.”

“Maybe you can go into holistic healing.”

She encouraged me to change my friends.  I explained that my friends were very supportive, but that some of them needed healing as well. 

She asked when I was leaving.  I said, “Tomorrow.  I want one more night to set it in.”

“George is leaving today.”

“Yes.  He’s going to tell other friends and then come back.”

George arrived for lunch a short while later with his backpack on.  He confirmed that he was planning to go.  We made plans to keep in touch and meet up again in Iquitos.

George, Don Luis and one of his sons, and I walked back don the muddy trail to the river.  My understanding was that Don Luis was taking me into town to get supplies, but at the boat he said goodbye to me and turned to go.  I had to have George help me explain that I planned to stay another night.  Don Luis looked surprised, but pleased with this.

After saying goodbye to George, three of us hiked back to camp.  I retired to my hut to read and rest for that night’s ceremony.

We arrived in Iquitos about an hour after dawn.  Our ferry pushed, shimmied, and wedged its way between the tangle of other ships already docked at the harbor.  I was truly amazed that we were able to get all the way up to shore and disembark onto dry land.  When we first pulled in I assumed that we would be climbing over other ships to get to land.  It didn´t look like there was space for the skiff to get to shore, much less the large boat.  But we made it.

Before we even had set foot to earth we were swarmed by a crowd of pushy salesmen.  Taxi driver, tour operators, hotel promoters, and of course thieves and pickpockets.  Patricia, George, Kenny, Mitchel, and I stuck close together and pushed through the crowd.  If we could get a few blocks away from the landing the crowd would thin out and we would stand a better chance to fend for ourselves.  Still, on the way out of the harbor a high school age kid came up next to me an slyly patted my pocket.  There was nothing in it, and he gave up in search of other prey.  But even if I hadn´t been on to him it would have been unlikely that he would have been able to get his hands on anything of value.

I travel with all the zippers on my backpack fastened with split rings to prevent someone from getting a hand in my bag too easily.  I keep a little money and a few expired credit cards in a wallet that I keep in a zippered pants pocket with the rest of my money and my legitimate cards and documents in a money belt tucked into my pants.  That way even if I`m robbed I just give up the small wallet, and I’m only out a little money.

Once away from the harbor George, Patricia, and I hailed a motorkart to  the center of town where we checked in at the Hobo Hideout.  It was a tacky but fun jungle lodge themed hostal with dorms and private rooms.  Patricia got a private and George and I opted for a dorm.  Our room was on the second level of a treehouse-like hut.  To access it we had to go to the second floor and go outside.  Then up a spiral staircase and into the palm-thatch hut.  Then we had to climb a ladder to the second level of the hut to get to our beds.  There was a great view, but no window or screens.

The three of us then went to breakfast at The Yellow Rose of Texas.  We met Gerald, the proprietor, with a booming voice and a personality to match.  Gerald is originally from Huston and subtly hinted at having Regan era CIA connections in Central America before retiring in Iquitos with a pretty Peruvian woman and opening this restaurant.  He said, “There’s three ways to get things done around here.  You either gotta give into their bullshit, pay em off, or you gotta be meaner than a junkyard dog.”   You can guess which way Gerald gets things done.  The food at the Yellow Rose is good and they offer Peruvian dishes as well as traditional Texas fair.  They also have real coffee which was a hit with George and Patricia.

Kenny and Mitchel caught up with us at Yellow Rose and we all had breakfast together.

Iquitos is the largest city in the world that is not accessible by road. 500,000 people call this jungle outpost their home.  It bustles.  The hard sell is in full effect here and visitors can expect to be routinely hassled to buy things from local street vendors.  Drug pedaling, petty theft, and prostitution are rife.  The city feels a little shady and a little loose and easy, but not scary or dangerous.  It’s not too different from any other tourist town, except that it’s buried in the middle of the Amazon jungle.  And that’s pretty cool.

I tried unsuccessfully to get directions to Kapitari.  I managed to get ahold of Wagner (my contact at Kapitari) over the phone, but trying to get directions in Spanish with a bad connection was more than either will or I could pull together.

That night it poured rain.

Yurimaguas is infested with motorcycles and motorkarts. They outnumber the cars by at least twenty to one. Walking down the street in the morning to find the booking office where I was supposed to pick up my ferry ticket it sounded like the Hell´s Angels had come to town.

The booking office turned out to be less than a block away from my hotel by a strange and happy coincidence. When I arrived they seemed very excited to see me and told me many things in Spanish that I did not understand. What I did gather was that they wanted me to come back in in two hours just before my boat was supposed to leave.

I took the time to find an internet café and write my previous post. I then hurried off to the booking office.

The door man at the booking office loaded me onto the back of a motorcycle and took me to the harbor. He walked me to the ship and up the gang plank (which was literally a plank), and deposited me in front of a girl who was taking tickets. She had a fax with my name on it and made out a ticket for me on the spot. I said goodbye to my chauffeur and was directed up to the third level where I would be spending the better part of the next three days.

On Saturday I spent the afternoon exploring Huaca Pucllana–a pre-Incan pyramid that was a regious and and administrative center dating back to 700 bc. The site was only a few blocks from central Miraflores, so after grabbing my bags and travel vouchers from the hostal I walked over and joined a tour.

The “Temple to the Sea” was a royal residence and a site of blood sacrafice and administraion for the Lima people. They build the 30 meter high three tiered ziggurat using a “bookshelf” technique of vertically stacked adobe bricks. This technique was emplyed by the Limas in order to protect the construction from earthquakes and dispite the prevalent sysmic activity and numerous earthquakes over the years the pyramid has proven earthquake proof for over 2000 years.

As we were touring the site, I was suprised to see a small pack of very mangy looking stray dogs run by. Our guide grabbed one of them and explained that they were niether mangy nor stray. These were Peruvian Hairless dogs, kept onsite because the breed was created by the Lima people at the time the site was being built. They also had a small petting zoo with guinie pigs, llamas, ducks, and alpacas. All species domesticated by the Lima culture. And the site’s resturant also served these critters on its menu.

…I didn’t eat a guinie pig. Despite the appeal of having one of those cute little guys looking up at me from a dinner plate, I had to make my bus.

I was taking a large coach from Lima to Tarapoto. It was to be a 28 hour journey through the varried Peruvian landscape.

I awoke on Friday morning and walked from my pension to downtown Miraflores. The weather was beautiful and it was a pleasant walk. The aptly named Lima suburb was in bloom. Flowers creep over walls and hang from rooftops.

I made it to the central plaza and wandered a bit.

In the central plaza I met Juan.
Juan was jovial loafer from Iquitos with more English than teeth. Juan spoke with me about Iquitos and made reccomendations for my travels. I bought him a taco and he appointed himself my unofficial tour guide for the day. From the plaza we walked down to the ocean and along the beach.

Walking south, luxery condos rose up to our left andd to our right miticulously maintained gardens fell away to hundred-foot cliffs covered in morning glories. Below was the beach and sunbathers and spearfishermen enjoyed the surf.

South of Miraflores is Barracado another afflent area of Lima. Relaxing in the central plaza there Juan told me about his experiences in the military and the circus. It tured out that Juan is a fellow fire performer. I shoed him the video of the Doomstick on my camera. He got a kick out of it.

Juan offered to be my guide to Iquitos. He said that he had an unkle who worked on a boat that we could take up the river and once we arrived we could stay on his grandfather’s ranch. It was a tempting offer, but I had to refuse. I explained that this was a journey that I had to make on my own. He graciously accepted this and shortly afterward we parted ways.

I went to bed early, forgoing the Lima nightlife. After a long day in the sun I was exhaused.

From Minneapolis I took an invigorating flight to Atlanta. There were thunderstorms that delayed our landing by about an hour. Atlanta was wet, green, and warm: 81 degrees. It was a stark contrast to the frozen tundra of home.

After a brief layover and an uneventful flight I arrived in the Lima airport around midnight last night. The airport in Lima is pleasantly modern and well organized. Immigration was efficient customs consisted of the standard 3rd world red-light/green-light random search selection process–no X-rays. But I got through just fine.

I had arranged to be picked up at the airport by the Pension Jose Luis where I would be spending the night. However upon leaving the baggage claim area, much to my dismay, none of the 150 people crowded around the exit seemed to be holding a sign with my name on it. This was complicated by the fact that once through the exit, it was difficult to see anything but the backs of the placards held by the numerous transportation operators.

I spent about half an hour trying to find my name before giving up and accepting an offer from a cab driver to take me into the city.

Sagely warned by my trusty travel guide, I attempted to negotiate a price into Miraflores. The cabbie fielded this by pretending not to understand my question–posed in both Spanish and English, but eventually we were about to settle on a price.

The cab ride went about 17km and took about 35 minutes. In that short time, my impression of Lima was a good one. Despite the ubiquitous iron bars, fences, and graffiti adorning the buildings and the traffic’s total disregard for any discernible traffic laws; the city felt pleasantly relaxed.

Couples walked along past street sweepers (people with brooms rather than large vehicles) and colorfully painted apartment buildings. Trees lined boulevards in front of colonial-style homes. The night was warm and busy, but not hectic or chaotic.

When we arrived at the the pension the cabbie short-changed me 5 sols (about US$2). I argued, but he pretended not to understand again, and I gave up in favor of getting settled and getting to bed.

Occasional scams and rip offs are an unavoidable nuisance of international travel. And it’s frustrating to know that you’re being taken advantage of, but I have found that it is best to not get too excited about it as long as the amount is small it is not worth the hassle, and at the end of the day I still payed far less than I would have for a cab in America.

I was greeted at the door of the by an older Peruvian gentlemen just about as much English as I have Spanish. We limped through checking in and he showed me my room. For US$12 I have a six bunk room to myself with a private bath, a hot water shower, and breakfast included.

The “hot water” shower was cold, but the air was warm enough that I didn’t mind. I was pleased to confirm that Peru’s electrical system is compatible with that of the US, or at least compatible enough to allow me to charge my camera battery.

Exhausted from my journey. I climbed into the bottom bunk nearest the door and slept very soundly.

A year and a half ago I stopped using all drugs and alcohol, excepting caffeine and nicotine. And two months ago I quit smoking. Two weeks ago I stopped drinking coffee and other caffeinated beverages.

I have contacted two Curanderos operating outside of Iquitos. Don Lucho runs Kapitari a center for Traditional medicine and renewable rain forest farming. Percy runs the Dios-Ayahuasca-Sanaciones

Healing Center. Both came recomended by sources that I trust.

I have also booked my first night’s accomodation at the Pension Jose Luis in Miraflores for my first night and someone from the hotel will be picking me up at the airport.

I packed a small backpack with everything I will need for my trip.

And I’m ready to go. My flight leaves in two hours. Let the adventure begin.