In the jungle, everything wants to eat something (including us)

There are beer pirates on the Amazon River. Or there’s a fear of them at least – there’s no other reason the bottle-laden barges travelling upriver would have locked cages. “Totally for security,” explains expedition leader Alberto Montaudon aboard the significantly less paranoid Delfin II.

“You don’t see it with any other ship on the river – cows walk around on open decks, but the beer gets locked away.”

Exploring the Amazon in Lindblad’s expedition vessel, Delfin II.

This is perhaps the most and least surprising thing I learn in the Amazon, a place I felt I knew before I came, despite having never been before. Travelling with Lindblad aboard the Delfin II, I’m spending a week on the famous river in Peru’s green north-east, making minuscule inroads to its immense centre with local naturalists and 20-or-so other passengers. There are a few jungle walks, but most of our exploration takes the form of skiff rides, flying across the smooth water, searching the banks for wildlife. Often, we passengers are left in awe of the ability of the guides and drivers to see things our foreign eyes cannot. A typical conversation goes like this:

“See the sloth?”

“No.”

“OK, see the trees over there?”

“It’s the jungle, so …”

“Look at the darker one, follow up its trunk, then take the branch to the left, where the leaves get thinner, hanging there is a two-toed sloth. Do you see it now?”

“Still no.”

“OK,” the guide’s tone understandably weary now, “follow my laser pointer.”

Mostly the water is the colour of coffee with not quite enough milk, though once in a while on tributaries and lakes, the silt level drops, and the river darkens. At these rare spots, we’re encouraged to jump in for a swim. Among the passengers there is concern about piranhas. And more about caiman – cousins of alligators – especially after we find the colossal, Jurassic skull of a black caiman on a riverbank. It could have been as much as five metres long and 80 years old before it met its end. Conceivably there are more like it swimming in the waters around us, but there’s also a beer on offer for anyone who braves the water and so, quicker than you can say “consumed by a caiman” I’m swimming in the Amazon.

Back on board, the ship’s days follow a fairly typical pattern for expedition cruises, with lectures on the surrounding environment, photography tuition, and briefings about what’s to come during our trip. Perhaps even more than the passengers, the naturalists take great interest in what birds we see along the way, obsessing over locations and Latin names. One afternoon there is hot-faced debate about a particular vagrant spotted high in the canopy, which is resolved only after much consultation with books and a Google check when a rare sliver of signal creeps into the boat.

The celebratory atmosphere over it being an upland sandpiper is surprisingly infectious.

There’s a complicated number of companies involved with my particular cruise, though all drive standards just a little higher.

Pisco sours all round.

Lindblad, National Geographic, and Relais & Chateaux are all what corporate sorts may call stakeholders, with the last of these making their most conspicuous contribution through the kitchen.

Despite our remoteness, the food is uniformly excellent, often including produce bought directly from Cucama-Cucamilla people living along the infinite banks of the river. As a result, catfish is frequently on the menu – 1500 different species are thought to exist in the Amazon – as is delicious oscar fish. Even fried piranha make an appearance.

When it comes to fruit and vegetables in Peru, there’s almost as much need for interpretation as with the fauna. One afternoon naturalist Jorge Guerra uses some of our transiting time to introduce us to a little of what grows in the upper Amazon region. Standing over a rainbow of fruit and vegetables, he has a masterfully gentle use of sarcasm, heading off any dreadful George of the Jungle jokes before they get a chance to take hold. He then gives us a crash course in wild yellow tomatoes, waxy star fruit, and – his favourite – taperiba, which tastes like it could be a distant cousin of a mango.

These are grown locally and sold to the boat too, but while some of the villages along the Amazon River have taken steps to modernising, several still rely on the jungle for remedies and medicines, for treatments in this world and others beyond. During an astonishingly sweaty trek through the undergrowth, ship naturalist Ericson Pinedo points out machete hacks on trees, tell-tale signs that their valuable saps have been tapped for remedies and potions used for everything from anti-inflammatories to aphrodisiacs.

Get up close with wildlife on river rides and jungle treks.

So far, so terrestrial, but later on the ship, Ericson tells us that in these parts of the mighty jungle, mysticism and cosmic expansion of the mind are core elements of indigenous culture.

“My grandfather was a shaman,” the Peruvian tells us in the ship’s deliciously air-conditioned lecture room. “So was my father. I thought about it, but in the end, I didn’t want to do the training. For us, ayahuasca is very important, not just for getting to higher places, but for cleansing our bodies and minds.”

He goes on to discuss the growing popularity of the powerful hallucinogenic as a new-age treatment for depression, not something he discounts, but which he brackets with advice to “make sure you’re doing it with a real shaman”.

Back out on the river, all animals are concerned with reaching higher planes, especially when the rainy season empties deluge after deluge across the jungle. The water level on the Amazon can change by as much as 10 metres when it reaches its highest point, changing the landscape, cruise routes, and much of the fauna on display. “Then, the dolphins are swimming through trees,” says expedition leader Alberto.

Two types of dolphin live in the waters of the upper Amazon, both of which are endangered. There’s the recognisable – if skittish – tucuxi, and the otherworldly pink river dolphin, a frankly weird animal that looks like an unfinished concept design for a prettier final creature. Given their conservation status, I had expected them to be rare, or at least hard to spot, but we see them every day of the trip, and on one extraordinary afternoon have them for company for over four hours as they hunt and torment fish at the mouth of a tributary emptying into the Amazon.

Everything is always looking to eat something – and sometimes they’re looking to eat us. For each outing, both on the skiffs and during the jungle walks, we are advised to take a hypochondriacal number of precautions to stop us being bitten or stung. Most of the other 19 guests on board are from North America and have come armed with staggeringly potent repellents, so rich in toxic DEET that they are advised not to spray it inside for fear of dissolving the ship’s beautifully lacquered woodwork.

The staff rightly err on the side of caution, not just with this but with the fauna, too. On our final Amazon walk, however, we are assigned a local tracker who seems liberated from the rules that bind our naturalists and much else besides.

The on-board dining room.

Wielding a machete, Federico wears a bright red t-shirt, a sweat-sodden cap, and an air of invincibility. Ericson says he “really has the eagle eye” and the singular is not a mistake – Federico’s right eye is clouded with a cataract. Nonetheless, his ability to locate extraordinary animals in the jungle is unmatched. In a little under two hours, he’s found us a goliath bird-eating tarantula, a red-tailed boa constrictor, a young green anaconda, and a giant monkey frog, the toxins from which are harvested by some Amerindians for more transcendental rituals.

“Don’t touch it,” cautions Ericson as I sneak close for a photograph.

“I can’t lick it, even a little bit?” I ask, mostly joking. “What would happen?”

“You’d be sick,” says my guide. “Maybe something else, but definitely very sick.”

I decide I don’t need the Amazon to teach me that particular lesson, and slowly back away from the magical amphibian.

THE DETAILS

Tour

Lindblad Expeditions’ Upper Amazon tour lasts for 10 days, starting and ending in Lima, with a week on the Amazon River. There are twice-daily outings, either for gentle hikes in the jungle or for skiff tours along the main river and its tributaries, led by local naturalists and experts. All meals and some alcoholic drinks are included, as are internal flights and transfers. International flights are not. From $11,500 a person. See expeditions.com

Fly

Qantas flies to Lima from Sydney, via Santiago; United fly from Sydney via Houston and LATAM fly from Melbourne via Los Angeles. See qantas.com; united.com; latam.com

Five things to do onboard

Kayaking Depending on water levels during the trip, kayaking is offered as a day trip. Participants use double-kayaks to get close to wildlife and explore parts of the Amazon even the efficient skiffs cannot reach.

Towel Folding Yes, it might be kitschy, but anyone staying aboard the Delfin II will be unable to ignore the towel art awaiting them in their room each evening. So popular has it become that a class is offered to try and learn secrets from the masters.

Pisco making As with the towels, the variety and excellence of the complimentary pisco sours on the ship gets most people’s attention. As well as the classic citrus version, there are infusions with cinnamon, ginger, and passionfruit, all of which are demonstrated during an afternoon class.

Smartphone photography While many guests come prepared with expensive arsenals of camera kit, for ordinary guests there’s tuition on how to maximise the capability of your smartphones, from taking the best landscapes, to using telescopes to create surprisingly excellent zoom capabilities.

Swimming If might sound unwise, but swimming in the famously piranha-infested water of the Amazon comes with little risk. Locations are carefully selected to avoid any complications, the chance to cool off in the water will be very welcome, and if you’re still nervous, let one of the staff jump in first.

The writer was a guest of Lindblad Expeditions.