Tres fronteras...

The weather in the morning could have been the UK, except the temperature, of course.  Grey sky and rain.  As we cruised the distance to Santa Rosa on the border the sun made an appearance.  Here I got the exit stamp needed to leave Peru.  I then took a launch with Henryk, Suleyka (and her brother who had greeted us) to Leticia, Colombia, to change USD and Soles into Reals.  After this Henryk accompanied me to Tabatinga, Brazil, to get the entry stamp needed to enter this vibrant nation.  With three countries combined in one city, Portuguese being the principal language in Tabatinga and little help for the unprepared Gringo, this would have been a very tricky part of the journey to decipher.  I was deeply grateful for the help of Henryk and Suleyka.  A friend in need and all that.

Recycled tree

I stayed in the Hotel de la Frontera, literally on the border between Colombia and Brazil.  This has to be one of the most relaxed borders in the world.  A few guards are present, usually, and they have two wooden barriers but in reality there's no control of movement.  You are free to wander between three countries as you wish.  After some international wandering I couldn't really see anywhere I'd like to see in the New Year, lots of little cantinas but no real centre to this border town.  I decided to down a few beers on the first floor balcony overlooking the border.  When midnight came fireworks burst into the sky on the Brazilian side.  An hour later the same happened on the Colombian side.  Two for the price of one.  I expressed my gratitude for the people and opportunities of the last year, made a little offering for the upcoming one and wished the world well before hitting the hay.

The mighty Amazon...

The timber trade

And mighty it is too.  When the boat is in the centre of the channel it's impossible to see which way the river is flowing.  Only when you look across the wide expanse of water towards the shore do you have a reference point for the flotsam and jetsam drifting by.  This debris in the river is from two sources.  The vast amount is natural vegetation, including huge tree trunks - the flotsam.  This collects in the currents and eddies into interesting patterns resembling hearts or outlines of continents, for example.  The jetsam comprises rubbish, liberally thrown overboard the rusty old ship like fleas constantly hopping off a dog as it walks.  The endless stream of plastic will eventually end up in the ocean and contribute to the gigantic plastic islands forming there.  Henryk assures me it's a different story in Brazil where this is prohibited.

The day was a lazy one, no other choice.  Breakfast consisted of, guess what, rice water! (Or something very similar.)  Although sweetened.  Accompanying this were bread rolls that were so processed they had no memory of their wheat origin.  During the day I mainly lay in my hammock reading, with the occasional jaunt on deck to watch the passing scenery.  Huge clouds, blue skies and the milk chocolate brown of the river dominated.  A thin strip of green was added by the endless row of trees.  Even so far upstream the Amazon is breathtakingly wide, more like a lake without ends than a river.  Dotted along the shore are villages, not many, but enough to demand frequent stops by our boat delivering much needed consumer goods.  Oil, gas, TVs, furniture, building materials and grocieries formed the bulk of the consignments.  Each time the boat mounted the bank whilst locals received the goods, often thrown to them to save time.

Dinner was surprisingly pleasant dinner consisting of a little meat which oscillated in flavour between chicken and pork.  I added a little of the most appropriately named tuna making it into a feast.  Eventually, I settled down to sleep at 10pm.  As we all settled there were a series of very loud bangs which sounded like gunshots.  Everyone glanced at one another briefly before settling down to rest.  After all, I ain't no John McClane.  Two more intrusions into the peace occurred.  First, at 11.30, we were woken by the police who manned the checkpoint on the river.  An important location considering this is the primary drug trafficking route into Brazil.  The second was courtesy of some Haitians sleeping a couple of hammocks along.  They had been full of energy the entire journey singing beautiful songs in four part harmonies in their mellifluous language, a mixture of Creole and French.  However, there was one guy in particular who seemed to lack a volume switch.  Having not shouted enough during the day he woke at 2am and picked a fight with his wife.  They had an argument which lasted about 20 minutes despite the protestations from the locals.  In the morning they were singing happily once more.  Passionate people.

Grand theft barco...

Designed by Gustave Eiffel

Walking the streets of Iquitos in the searing early afternoon heat, I find myself a little grumpy.  They say you get back what you put out and, sure enough, I was approached by someone I thought I recognised, if only by reputation.  An English man, around 40 years old, slim and cleanly dressed, approached me with a desperate look in his eyes.  He asked if I spoke English and was relieved when I said I did as he'd spoken to over thirty people that morning.  Instantly I was reminded of an article I'd seen on the hotel noticeboard warning of a man of his appearance conning people.  His strategy was to tell tourists he had been attacked and needed money for medical treatment, a ruse supported by a permanently bent little finger.  "I think I've read about you," I said to him, coldly.  He looked flustered and, after I'd told him the article was about some English guy asking for money, I said, "And how can I help?"  He muttered some excuse and left. One-nil to me.  But the score wouldn´t stay that way for long.

The dock of the bay

The day before I'd made some enquiries and discovered there was a boat to Santa Rosa, on the border with Colombia and Brazil, leaving Iquitos at 7pm.  To ensure a good spot on the boat I headed to the port at half past three.  This massive flat-bottomed cruiser was ancient, a rust bucket patched together with welded steel plates.  The lower deck was reserved for cargo and had a roll-on/roll-off  ramp which could surmount the muddy river bank.  An essential feature when delivering to villages downstream without ports or docks.  The upper decks were for passengers.  Two spaces each measuring 20m long by 8m wide were to provide accomodation for up to 100 people.  I slung my hammock at one end of the top deck with a wall on one side where I could keep an eye on my bags.  The toilet was a safe distance away, my second concern, given the stains on the bowl which looked like they'd been there since before my arrival on the planet.

After

Before

As I waited the five hours until departure - delayed, naturally -  the boat began to fill with all kinds of passengers.  I remained the only Gringo aboard as the deck transformed from an open, steel space to something resembling the operating tents from M*A*S*H as the tarpaulin sides were lowered.  As I waited a nun, who was selling cosmetics, warned me to keep an eye on my bags as many are stolen from the few tourists that travel this route. I bought my ticket from a young guy with nail varnish on who had welcomed me on board two hours previously.  About £20 for the two night journey including meals.  Maybe his particular shade of red should have warned me something was amiss.

At last, my Spanish is good enough to more or less understand locals in conversation.  First I meet Roberto, a travelling artesan with bags bigger than a house and advice aplenty.  Next to me are slung two hammocks belonging to Henryk and Suleyka, a teacher and his wife whose help was to prove invaluable.  A short while before departure as the boat was close to overflowing, an older couple arrived and slung their hammocks up between mine and the wall.  "¿Hay sufficiente espacio?" I asked but to no avail, up went the swinging beds.  Parts of her hammock were so close we would be bumping all night.  I thought it'd be some time before I slept with a woman again but it looked like a cosy journey ahead.  A little old for my usual taste but there's always a first time to be a toyboy.

The Victor Manuel

We were woken at 11.30 by the crew checking tickets.  Mine was a fake.  I´d been conned after all.  One all.  Grumpy from being woken up, pissed off at being conned, I had to hand over another £20.  The only thing to do was chalk it up to experience, smile, and remind myself not to get smug or complacent.  A tricky business when there are no offices selling tickets, the crew have no ID or uniforms and anyone and his family can get on and off the boat as they please.  More vilgilance needed!

Feliz navidad...

Christmas in Iquitos.  Summed up nicely by the nativity scene in which the collection of animals and people are really beyond description.  Blazing sunshine, a Christmas dinner of guacamole on toast followed by a visit to the cinema to see Arthur Christmas.  The only thing missing are those folks I love to celebrate with.  Raised a glass to you all, and then another, and another...

I'm about to head down the Amazon to Brazil and will probably be offline for a while again.  

 Wishing you all a...

Próspero Año Nuevo

El Colibrí XII - Christ on a plane...

The eighth ceremony in Peru and the last night at the Hummingbird.  As is often the case with ayahuasca ceremonies, each subsequent evening seems to build in intensity climaxing with the last night.  This was no exception.  For a significant part of the evening I was deeply in the medicine.  Dipping between being present and lost in an altered consciousness, perfect balance.  I knew I was going deeper when a plane flew overhead and I had a conversation with it.  At first all I thought was, 'Oh no.  Not another noisy plane,' but it responded with hurt pride.  I got a sense of the plane being constructed.  How, once complete, it attained a consciousness of its own, although with less emotion than something organic.  As it passed on, cockpit held high, I wished it well and hoped to fly again soon.

If you think that's weird you should probably stop reading now.  Get a cup of tea and go and watch a soap or some football...  Going ever deeper I was looking at the central pillar of the maloka when I saw a light appear behind it to the left.  Bit by bit I saw the emerging figure of a man weaving his way through the trees.  When he was fully in the maloka he walked over to me and I recognised the figure in blue tunic and brown robes.  Jesus had come just in time for Christmas.  Believe me, I know how this sounds.  However, I'd had an impression of Christ consciousness in my first ayahuasca journey and always wondered if Jesus Christ, Our Lord, Son of God, would ever make a repeat appearance.  He hopped up into my third eye and sat cross-legged for a few moments, connecting.  He then stepped down and stood over my horizontal body.  Drifting close to the edge of awareness  I could hear Jesus talking to people I couldn't see, in a language I couldn't understand.  He was working on me but I'm not sure in what way.  When he left, very tall figures, maybe nine feet in height, gathered around me, attending to me.  Shortly, I was sick in my bowl, all the time looked after by these benevolent beings.

The black dog returned and sat in front my mattress, shaking the floorboards as it's weight crashed down.  Again I felt it's malevolence but I wanted to know why it was with me.  Protecting myself energetically, I allowed my awareness to enter the dark energy before me.  In my mind's eye I saw rows and rows of sharp, gnashing teeth.  Formidable and terrifying, although I wasn't afraid.  Just when I was communicating more deeply, Jim ended his icaro, clearing the space with a sharp outbreath and the dog vanished once more.

My ear had improved dramatically.  Whatever had produced the infection had gone - be the cause profane, physical, energetic or spiritual.  All that remained was a mild itching, as if the spider was packing its bags and leaving.  Whatever the cause and cure, I was deeply grateful to have trusted Eladio and ayahuasca.  Whether they directly influenced the process or whether it would have run its course like that in any case, I was still relieved it had not become more serious.

The rest of the evening I spent, mouth agog, marvelling at the light coming from my body.  Staring unbelievingly at the light beings moving through the trees outside.  Struggling to take in the significance of the ceremonies I'd undertaken under the guidance of don Eladio.  With surrender in my mind and love bursting from my heart, I retired to bed to be held by one who had walked the path with me all the way.  At peace, in awe, we drifted off to sleep for a final time at the Hummingbird.

El Colibrí XI - Whole lotta shaking goin' on...

With Kristen and Asger gone, the ceremony that evening had a somewhat reduced feel.  Although a new pasajero had arrived.  A Scotsman who had come to work through some problems with addiction and trauma.  He joined us for the ceremony but elected not to drink.  I was doubtful that between us we could generate the same level of energy as a larger group but, before not much time had elapsed, I would be proved completely wrong.

I blended my visions with imagination and felt angel's wings growing from my back.  These I stretched out and I could feel their strength and power.  As the medicine's intensity grew, I began to see dark energy flying towards me from the front of my mattress.  At first I couldn't make anything out then, suddenly, I saw a giant black dog with tiny red glowing eyes.  This huge animal didn't have a good feel about it, something malevolent.  However, I chose not to react with hostility and sat trying to work out what it was he wanted.  Just as I was connecting Eladio cleared the space with a sharp outbreath and the dog vanished.

Earlier in the day Eladio had told us he likes it when pasajeros get involved in the music, unusual for a shaman.  For this reason he'd provided us all with maracas.  At first I didn't feel like playing but forced myself and gradually got into it.  After some time I was playing vigorously, roughly in time with the complex rhythm of the shaman.  The maraca was pointing in towards my base chakra, delivering energy.  I then had the urge to raise it to heart level and could feel love pouring in.  This I began to send outwards by pointing the maraca around the maloka before shaking it a few inches above the floor in a circular motion.  As I played I was amazed to see light building beneath the instrument.  The floor was glowing a bright white green colour.  When the icaro ended the maraca jumped from my hand and my whole arm started shaking violently.  This vibration ran into my whole body before it travelled back down my arm and 'purged' into the floor.  Powerful tunes.

With my body still I entered a meditative state.  Slowly I felt every cell becoming completely motionless, slowly greying over and being covered with what appeared to be lichen.  In the next moment I had become a tree standing in a forest surrounded by other trees.  Eladio was in front of me singing and, as the tree, I felt incredible joy.  It was obvious to me that trees are delighted when humans pay them such attention.  Perhaps Prince Charles ain't so crazy after all!  As the music ended I felt the me-tree return to a state of absolute stillness, completely content in just being.