#3 PERU

In 1996, at the impressionably young age of 14, I boarded a flight to Lima with my Peruvian family for a trip that would completely change my life. Up until now, everything I knew about Peru was what they had told me, but finally I would see for myself this magical place of llamas, ceviche, the vast Inca empire, and the violence of the 1980s.

In an earlier post (USA), I mentioned that I'd had the privilege of growing up with two families: one American and one Peruvian. As a result, I grew up bilingual and have always had English and Spanish running side-by-side in my head. As a result, most of my childhood memories are a mixture of both languages intermingled into one set of meanings, feelings, and colors.

Lima

Guinea pig: before and after, Santa, La Libertad, 1996

Huaca de la Luna, La Libertad, 2009

In Peru, they endearingly called me the "gringo acholado," a play on the derogatory phrase "cholo agringado" used to describe those Peruvians who went to the USA. I heard this phrase in Peru a lot, accompanied by much laughter as it wasn't common to see little blonde kids like me running around trilling their "Rs" and eagerly eating guinea pigs. We stayed with family in Callao, outside Lima, and visited historic sights like Machu Picchu, Cuzco, and Arequipa. We also saw more family in the north, in Santa close to Chimbote. Over these six weeks, I collected enough cultural capital to last me a lifetime and affirm my Peruvian-ness to myself. I had seen the sights, I had eaten the foods, I had gotten sick because of my weak gringo stomach, and I'd hugged a llama on a hill in Machu Picchu. I knew there was still so much more to see in the country, but for now, even though the trip was over, I was sure I'd come back for more.

Machu Picchu, 1996

Jalea de mariscos, Lima, 2009

Machu Picchu, 1996

And so I did, but not till many years later, as I spent much of the next decade in East Asia. Then, one day, an opportunity emerged for me to join a series of workshops on environmental conservation and human rights with indigenous communities in the Peruvian Amazon. I signed myself up without a moment of hesitation. I had recently started working with EarthRights International as a Chinese language researcher on the human rights and environmental impacts of Chinese oil, gas, mining, and hydropower projects in Burma (Myanmar). I lived in Chiang Mai, Thailand, at the time, so a trip to Peru was going to take well over 40 hours of flights across several countries and continents, but none of that was going to deter me from going back to Peru! So just a few weeks later, there I was back in Lima, this time not as a child or tourist, but as an employed professional headed to the Amazon to do extraordinary things!

Me and the team in the jungle, Loreto, 2009

In Lima, I met up with my team of incredible people from two local NGOs -- Racimos de Ungurahui and Shinai -- that I'd be traveling with to the Corrientes River Basin, close to the border with Ecuador. First, we flew from Lima to Iquitos, the largest city of the Peruvian Amazon, which is the most inland city on the continent without road access. Here we grounded ourselves and gathered supplies for our two-week trip into the jungle. We continued to Nauta, on the banks of the Nanay River, where we boarded a small boat lent to us by the Federación de Comunidades Nativas del Corrientes (FECONACO). A few extra people joined us, too, from the local communities, including a young woman who had just given birth to her first baby. From there, we'd travel upstream for several days until reaching the Achuar communities of Pampa Hermosa, Nueva Jerusalén, and José Olaya to start our workshops. Well, at least that was our plan, but as I quickly learned, traveling deep into the Amazon can be an unpredictable adventure!

Pampa Hermosa at sunset, Loreto, 2007

Drinking masato, Nueva Jerusalén, Loreto, 2009

Nueva Jerusalén, Loreto, 2009

We set off early in the morning and sailed on winding rivers all day, going back and forth along switchbacks with colorful birds and lush green trees to our left and right. At some point, the monotonous noise of the boat engine lulled me to sleep, and after a few hours, I woke up to discover that all the trees had grown much bigger -- we had entered the virgin Amazon, where things got serious! That night, as we cruised along the river through the pitch-black darkness, we crashed on a small sandy beach, which woke us all up with a shock. As the captain tried to maneuver us off the beach and back into the river, the engine restarted and sent us flying to the other side of the river, where we crashed against a steep wall of mud and thorny branches.

Upon impact, the boat was thrust upwards with the full force of the engine before crashing down vertically into the rushing waters, taking us and our equipment with it. In a matter of seconds, we went from sleeping soundly on the boat to swimming in the middle of a cold river. Amidst the confusion, we called out to each other to make sure everyone was safe. Thankfully, we'd all safely made it to the edge of the river, where we dug into the slippery mud, scratching our hands and feet on thick thorns amidst the panic.

And the boat? Somehow, the captain managed to hold the rope so that the current didn't take it. And so we began pulling and pushing and trying our best to raise the boat out of the water. Working together, we finally managed to lift the boat enough that it started to float, so we finally had some refuge from the jungle.

We spent the next day sailing silently down the river waiting for someone to come along and save us. Without a working motor, we drifted on the current and listened to the cacophony of the jungle birds and monkeys surrounding us. Finally, sometime that afternoon, another boat came by, picked us up, and took us back to Nauta to repair the boat engine.

Canoes on the Corrientes River, Loreto, 2007

Apú de Nueva Jerusalén, Loreto, 2007

Back in Nauta, we waited a few days while the mechanic repaired the engine, which was a time-consuming and expensive annoyance that we just had to suck up. But, before we knew it, the motor was up and running, and we set sail for the second time to the Corrientes River Basin. Unfortunately, after only a few hours, the engine started to sputter and then died. Upon closer inspection, we discovered that the mechanic had used old parts to fix the motor even though we paid him for new ones, not that my eyes could tell the difference. So, again, we floated down the river in silence, enjoying the chorus of the jungle and the bellowing howler monkeys, until a large river ferry appeared and pulled us aboard.

By this point, some of the Achuar people we were traveling with started to look at me with suspicion. It wasn't long before they openly told jokes like, "don't get on a boat with Alec unless you want to sink!" For a while, I brushed them off, knowing that I couldn't possibly be the cause of these events that were beyond my control. But, later that day, we noticed that the ferry had stopped moving and was slowly starting to the side, first a little and then a lot. Yes, the poor ship had struck some rocks and ruptured its hull, so severely in fact that it just sank to the river floor and collapsed against the riverbank with a groan. The time for jokes was over, and my reputation was set in stone by the Achuar: "Alec brings bad luck!"

Rio Tigre, Loreto, 2007

Pampa Hermosa, Loreto, 2009

Saved but still frazzled after sinking so many boats, Loreto, 2007

Rescued by the Peruvian Air Force! Pampa Hermosa, Loreto, 2009

Peruvian Air Force, 2009

For the next two days, the men on the ferry worked tirelessly to patch the holes in the vessel's hull using t-shirts and cement as makeshift bricks-cum-bandaids. I was skeptical it would work, and even if it did hold here on the little river, what would happen back on the Nanay or Amazon with far swifter currents? But we waited for the cement to harden and for mealtimes to come to alleviate our hunger and for darkness to take us to sleep. Aboard the ferry, all the local children had heard the story of the white man who brought bad luck, which soon merged with the myth of "el Pelacara," a sort of Amazon boogeyman with pale skin and yellow hair that would come in the night to steal the organs of children. Soon they all feared me, which proved great fun and a fantastic way to pass the time. I'd sneak up behind unsuspecting kiddos and tap them on the shoulder while their friends watched, speechless and horrified.

Arequipa, 1996

Huanchaco, La Libertad, 2009

Inspecting contaminated farmlands, Trompeteros, 2007

It was around this time that we decided to scrap the trip altogether. Too many things had gone wrong, and there wasn't enough time left to reach the communities, much less organize our workshops. So I flew back to Thailand, thinking I'd royally messed up this opportunity in Peru. Still, it turned out that EarthRights International was more committed than ever to setting up a program in the Amazon, which I was more than happy to support! So, for the next five years, I took annual trips to Peru to strengthen partnerships, lay the foundation for a new country office, and finally deliver the workshops for the Achuar communities.

Bandeja de mariscos, Larcomar, Lima, 2009

El famoso y lindo perro peruano sin pelo, La Libertad, 2009

Yarinacocha, Loreto, 2009

Delicious and cute capybara, Quistococha, 2009

Fast forward a little over a decade and I'm still traveling to Peru periodically, though not nearly as often as I wish. My most recent trip was in March 2024, and how amazed was I to see how much had changed! I had a great time staying at a boutique hotel in Miraflores, and it didn't hurt that it was sunny and warm every day we were there! Also, this time my story came full circle as I was traveling with my daughter and introducing her to the wonders of the country I'd first explored in 1996. My Peruvian parents, Nancy and Arturo, were also there so it was just the most lovely of family visits I could've imagined in Lima!