What a Boy Needs at Eighteen

A rickety flight to Iquitos, Peru brought a clear-headedness coming down eleven thousand feet from Cusco. My dad and I hopped in the back of a covered blue carriage, pulled by a motorcycle, called a moto taxi. We ate lunch in the town square, which had less trees than I would have expected in the rainforest. Getting on another moto taxi took us through endless shanty towns and motorcycle traffic, to open roads and open jungles, and finally to a dockyard. The boat was canoe style but larger with one engine which took us deeper into the Amazon.

The water looked dark green with contrast of white sparkling from the sun and rushing boat wake. Just getting to the hotel was a journey on its own, but my excitement from seeing the wooden jungle gym style hotel, elevated off the ground with multiple layers, was enough to rock the boat. Next to the hotel was a soccer field surrounded by wood and thatch huts. The tour of the small town we were staying in, and seeing a half built school, made me want to cancel our plans to help build infrastructure. Instead I spent the rest of my soles, Peruvian currency, at the local general store where I bought some candy from the little girl at the counter.

After our nights sleep in the mosquito netted cots, we took a boat tour down the river as far as they would let us go. Just beginning we could see steps next to the river that lead to bigger wooden houses. It reminded me of the small canal rivers we have in South Florida that carry yachts instead of canoes. Either way we looked down the river, stacks of trees were layered on top of each other. Looking at so much green would make your eyes change color. Vibrant shades are interrupted by the occasional soaring Herons or monkeys jumping over the canopy above. We stopped on a small island at a thin part of the river, two spider monkeys came down and started talking to us. Our tour guide grabbed bananas out of his bag and started feeding them and explained how they were injured and had been rehabilitated. Now, these monkeys live on the island and the tour guide takes care of them. One monkey, which was older with scars on his back, jumped right on the boat to the snack, while the younger monkey stayed on the shore watching us with familiar eyes. The older monkey wouldn’t allow the younger one to get on the boat and eat so we had to swap them, but the older monkey would have a hand on the person touching the younger one. We enjoyed their company and made our way back to the village in time for the sunset. On the fourth floor deck in the hotel, my dad and I sat in two hammocks watching the sky slowly fade away to the sound of yells at the soccer field where all the men in the village, including the tour guide, were playing soccer. I wanted to join in but they told me I couldn’t wear shoes and my feet were not that tough.

We laid in the hammock until we smelt chicken coming from the cafeteria. On our way down the ladder to the first floor my dad told me, “We are having chicken tonight. Do you know how I know?”

“No I don’t”

“I saw them take the chicken while they were playing soccer and it was running without its head,” he said.

I laughed, “Yeah right,” but on the inside I believed him.

Then, after dinner, when I thought my night was over, I overheard some guys underneath the first floor. They were hanging out by the wooden stilts that kept the first floor dry if the river flooded. Next to them was a little snake that could have been mistaken for a long worm. My tour guide was one of the men by the snake and he came up to me, pointed at the snake and said, “Want to grab?”

I shook my head and said “But what if it’s venomous.”

He replied with a stern, “No” and showed me by picking it up himself.

I shrugged and grabbed the snake by its tail when it started turning its head toward my hand in an S striking position. I slung the snake around in circles so it couldn’t swing its fangs into my hand or worse. I was spinning in circles until I got dizzy and all the men were standing around laughing at my way of subduing the animal. When I dropped the snake it fled and all the men shook my hand. The boat captain said, “We don’t think you do it. You are strong.”

My dad heard the commotion and came to see what had happened but we were already walking back to the hotel’s front stairs. We were scheduled to go on a spider hunting expedition and since we were all together, we left a little early but the moon and stars were already bright. We walked five or ten minutes through the village until we reached its limits, and the path had palm trees lined on either side. We met some other tourists who stayed at the hotel. After I said hello, a hairy tarantula crawled out behind a layer of bark and moved behind the tree almost before I could identify it. The tourists saw my face of disgust after saying hello. After we turned to go further down the path the tourists behind us screamed. We made it to another tree where a tarantula was sat unwavering at the sight of our approach. The tour guide picks up the spider and tells me to put my hand out flat. At this point words don’t even make it to my tongue let alone the neural path to my hands. My dad picks my hands up and the tour guide places the weighted spider on them. The tarantula's first step on my hand was it’s last as I dropped it. It fled away in the tall grass and my dad held the spiders the rest of the night.

At dawn I woke to my father laying in the cot and his skin had a yellow tint to it. He said he was feeling sick and wasn’t going to make the full day excursion.

“We don’t have to go into the jungle this trip, let’s get you to see a doctor. Your health means more to me,” I said.

“No, don’t worry about me. They have a shaman in the village that will take care of me. Go into the jungle, I don’t know if you’ll get the chance again.”

I turned away from his yellow face, “I can’t. I am worrying about you too much.”

“Look at me,” my dad grabbed my hand, his was clammy and burning. “I will be fine. I promise.” The way his hands felt was memorable to my aunt’s, whom I saw in hospice after visiting my grandfather's tomb.

“Just, promise you’ll be here when we get back,” I said turning toward him.

“I promise son. Enjoy your day.”

I left our room and went to the cafeteria, poured hot water into my mug, mixed instant coffee and sat on the hammock by myself, watching the sun rise over the tiering trees. The tour guide poked his head above the floor while standing on the ladder.

“You ready?”

I stood up and followed him down the ladder to the canoe, where the captain patiently waited for us.

We sailed further down the river than we went before, we reached a spot where there were no more houses or docks. We landed on the only place there wasn’t a mass of foliage blocking us, and we still had to climb up rocky, grassless dirt. After the tour guide climbed up the shore, the captain sailed away. We marched with the leaf cutter ants and rested by the walking palm. The bottom of the jungle is void of bushes or grass and when I looked up at the multiple story tree houses covered in strangling vines, made me want to fly. A day dream was broken by someone's whistle. I looked at the guide that quickly ducked down and told me to do the same. We waited while the whistle that sounded like it came from human lips this deep in the jungle, which kept echoing from the same unknown location. The tour guide stood up after five minutes and told me we are ok.

“What was that?” I said.

“A tribe outside our border uses whistles to ambush tourists. First one whistle, then another whistle from somewhere else until you are surrounded by the whistle.”

“So we are leaving right?”

“No, there is also a bird that mocks the same call that is only here in summer. We are ok, let's take a break.” He walks over to a bamboo looking tree and uses his machete to break off one of the segments and shook the liquid inside. Swiped the top off to make a cup that looked like a large beer mug. “Drink.”

“What is it?”

“Drink.”

“No, I don’t know what it is,” I said.

“Ayahuasca,” he replied.

“I don’t want to drink a psychedelic. ¿Estás loco?”

“It’s safe, drink. This is not that type, the female root is used in rituals, the male root carries water. It is the only water we have.”

My lips are dry and the coffee taste in my mouth is seemingly absorbing my saliva. “Fine.” I drank the water and we kept hiking through the jungle. We made it to a different part of the river where our canoe and the captain was docked on the shore with two fishing poles and a bag of chicken leftovers from last night. We got on the boat and started fishing, it didn’t take long to get a bite from a Piranha and I learned quickly to pull them up fast before they got off the hook. Fly fishing in North Carolina helped me pull enough Piranha for dinner at the hotel and to share with the village.

On our way back with a full canoe, the tour guide tells me we have one more stop. We parked at the dock that had no boats near the village and walked to the lake of giant lily pads. I almost didn’t even notice the pink buds because on the ground, surrounded by eight men, was a pile of intertwining, motionless scales that had no head or tail. The green skin was the same color as the river, the spots on its back covered the skin like the lily pads. It started unfolding and the marks underneath the black marble eyes latched onto my soul, like looking at the pink bud, it was difficult to look away. The tour guide found a pronged stick and pinned the head to the ground asking me, “Do you want to hold it?”

“I am not scared. What do I do?” My heart was pumping, and I was sweating. My heart was using all that it could to move my body away from the creature.

“Hold the head and pick up the body, we will help you if you need it.”

I grabbed the head and it immediately opened its wide jaw exposing it’s fangless mouth and used all it’s might to turn toward my face. I grabbed its body and it tightly gripped to my right arm but was not wrapping because I had my arm close to my body. The tour guide starts video taping me while telling facts about the Anaconda and it starts to relax, closing its mouth and not trying to turn toward my face. Before I let my guard down, it tries to squeeze through my hand. Catching me off guard I tighten my grip but move the snake's body away from mine. It’s tale swings through my arm and body, constricting multiple times around. Our captain came with us and unwrapped the tail from my arm. Quickly I grew weaker fighting it, and couldn’t wait for the tour guide to stop telling me facts about the Anaconda and tell me how to release it. I go near the bank of the lake and set it down, pinning its head and body to the ground, jumping and releasing at the same time. It slithers above the first lily pad, submerging itself when it gets to the end while its body is still traversing the pad. I thank everyone there for giving me this opportunity and we go back to the hotel so our guide can prepare the Piranhas.

I came back to dad taking a nap but his skin no longer looked yellow. He woke when I entered the room and we spent the next hour waiting for dinner and talking about my adventure. The next day was our last and dad felt better so we went bird watching with our luggage, but enjoyed our final cruise together more than searching for birds. “I am so happy you went on this trip with me,” dad said.

“Of course, I would never miss this opportunity.”

“But I want you to understand,” he locked eyes with me, “my father died when I was around your age. It was the most difficult thing I went through and all I wanted to do was spend more time with him. Before he died he used to take me fishing early in the morning on his boat. One day there was a huge wave on the horizon, a tsunami. My father told me to hold on as hard as I can and he turned the boat toward the wave, going full speed. We almost went a full ninety degrees up the wave but my father pulled through and the wave passed us. You will never know how much I wish I could travel with my father when I was your age, and I’m so proud you are here.”

I remember earlier in the trip, after we visited my great great grandfather's Navy ship that now tours around the globe stopping at all the major ports, my dad held me as we looked at a metal bust of my grandfather. Explaining my heritage. “Dad, there is no where I would rather be than spending time with you.”

We went directly back to the dockyard where we first met the tour guide after the cruise and when we stepped in the moto taxi we noticed the growing storm clouds chasing us. It was a race to get to the airport and my dad tipped the driver to make it there as fast as he can. Wind picked up and thunder began to roar through the sky. We were whizzing past every other moto taxi, and now cars because we were so close to the airport. We ran through a stoplight while lightning echoed in the distance. Then waited another hour for the plane delay.

© 2021 Sebastian Chipoco