Sandoval Lake

About 10 kilometres east of Puerto Maldonado, in Peru's Amazon basin, the Rio Madre del Dios has shifted over the years and left a lake that is now been turned into a national park that is a treasure trove of wildlife.

On our last full day in the Amazon jungle, we packed up all of our belongings and piled into the longboat that has been our primary mode of transportation up and down the Tambopata River. We crossed the river to a waiting bus and trekked over seriously bumpy dirt roads (I'm bruised and beaten) and highways for about 90 minutes, back to Puerto Maldonado.

At the resort office, we were told to pack only essentials in our day packs, to leave everything else behind. Our guide led us back down to the riverbank, where another boat was waiting for us.

The Tambopata River opens at Puerto Maldonado into the Rio Madre del Dios, and from there we went 10 kilometres downstream before jumping out and following our guide down another path.

After three kilometres, we came to a cantina at a small pond that was filled with flat-bottomed boats that our guide called canoes. Sure, I'll buy that.

The seven of us piled in (three couples plus our guide, who took the stern) and the guide took us down a short creek, which opened into the lake.

Our guide, Donald, said that the lake was five kilometres across its widest point but that seemed a bit of a stretch. By my reckoning, it semmed more plausible that the perimeter of the lake was five kms. Either way, it was beautiful and teeming with life. Myriad fish and cayman filled the water, while fountless species of bird perched in the bushes and trees.

Plus, we saw three species of monkeys: red howlers, cappucci, and squirrel monkeys.

But the highlight of Sandoval Lake is something we came across within minutes of exiting the creek: giant otters.

Baby giant otters.

They were taking shelter on a tiny island that  held palm trees. Our guide figured that they were taking shelter to nap, possibly after feasting on fish.

Our accommodation was a short way away, tucked into the jungle. It was little more than a shack with beds, a toilet, and sink. The walls between our room and our neighbours, the Swiss couple, was open after eight feet. We could hear everything from each other.

And we were thankful for our bug nets over the beds.

We rested for a couple of hours and then made our way back to the canoe for a sunset paddle, where we saw even more birds, cayman, and monkeys. We stayed out beyond sunset and made our way back in darkness, with the stars our only guide and with large fisher bats doing their best to keep the mosquitoes off us.

Donald knew the lake well and guided our boat straight to our dock, only turning on his flashlight when he needed to be precise at getting the boat aligned with the dock.

Crossing Sandoval Lake, the starry sky was both familiar and different. We saw new constellations, though I did find the Big Dipper. It was upside-down, a reminder that we weren't in the northern hemisphere.

The next morning, we left the shacks a half-hour earlier than planned so that we could have a leisurely paddle and see more wildlife. The paddle did not disappoint.

Back in Puerto Maldonado, we said goodbye to the two couples who had been with us over the five days, plus Donald, who was an expert guide. DW and I stayed one more day in this southeast Peruvian town, as we had clothes to wash and didn't want to go straight to the airport.

We were also pretty ripe and wouldn't have wanted to offend the other passengers.

Early on Friday, we flew back to Lima. Just one more day in the big city before we head home. We won't reach home until Sunday morning and at the time of writing this post (Thursday afternoon), I can't wait.

Peru has been amazing and it's been a worthwhile trip. We've met some wonderful people, had some great food, and have seen the diversity of this country.

DW says that we have to come back, and perhaps we will, but it was hard on my body. My lungs have taken a beating and I had one bad day with my stomach (I know, that can happen anywhere). But I'm also starting to feel my age and I'll be returning home with bruises and muscle aches.

But I certainly won't say that I'll never come back.

Under the Pale Moon Light

I don't know how we completed the journey.

Our guide told us that the rivers in the Amazon basin are always changing and can move, year by year, as much as 10 kilometres. Rio Tambopata, along which our resort is situated, is fast-flowing, carrying along with it fallen trees and other debris.

So how was it that we were able to traverse it, upstream, with no light other than the moon, and survive?

Our group gathered at 4:30 and made our way to the waters edge, where a long boat with a pilot and two guides (one, in training) were waiting. We put on life vests and set out.

It took more than an hour, weaving along the snaking river, until we reached a checkpoint, where our jungle guide, Donald, had to register all of us for this protected part of the Tambopata. They want to make sure that whoever goes in is accounted for, so that they know everyone gets out.

In the past, people would go in and never come out.

It took about another half hour to reach our final destination, a section of the river that was covered in large, smooth stones. In the distance clay walls rose about 20 metres to lush jungle. We carried whatever gear we brought plus a stool that was supplied by the resort. 

The sun was just rising, lighting up the clay licks and turning them a deep orange. Just in time for the residents of this area to wake up.

Macaws. Parrots. Parakeets. Hawks. Terns. More.

There was an explosion of sounds as the birds took flight, dancing in the air before settling on branches or on the clay walls, from which they seek out the salt deposits.

We watched them for hours, though it seemed like minutes. Every time you looked, something new happened. The parrots would gather in one spot. Then the blue and yellow macaws.

A falcon sat, motionless, on a tree branch, biding its time, before swooping down and catching a parakeet in flight, making it his breakfast.

By 8:00, it was time for our own breakfast. The guides set up a table with hardboiled eggs, fruit, breads, coffee, and more in a shaded spot. We carried our stools and gear, and leisurely feasted.

We slowly made our way back, downstream, stopping to see a sloth, several capybara, cayman, and more birds.

Seeing the river in full daylight, I was in awe at how we were able to make the predawn journey without slamming into floating logs or rock outcrops. Because that river is ever-changing and we only had the light of the moon.

Junglefolk

Welcome to the Jungle

Because DW and I are deep in Peru's Amazon basin, Internet is spotty, at best, and I wasn't even sure if I'd be able to post anything for the rest of this week.

I had written yesterday's post while we were still in Cusco and I was suffering the effects of a high altitude on my already weakend lungs. We've been at altitudes for which I'm more accustomed and so I've been feeling fine since last Thursday.

Except for that day I lost, in Lima, due to traveller's diarrhea. I'll spare you the details. 

We said goodbye to our kids as a taxi spirited them to Lima airport, and to their respective homes. As their dad, I was in constant touch and tracked their flights back to Canada.

Meanwhile, DW and I took our own plane to the southeast section of Peru, not far from the Bolivian border, in a town called Puerto Maldonado. For a tiny town that borders two rivers of the Amazon system, it's lively and people were partying until 4 in the morning.

Not great when your room has no glass windows.

The next morning, we were picked up by folks who run a resort a few hours down the Rio Tambopata, were we have a bungalow that backs onto dense jungle that is teeming with life. Two other couples (one, from Switzerland and the other, South African who now make their home in North Carolina) are with us and a guide, who is nothing short of amazing, is taking us all over this region for five days.

Days are action-packed and worth the heat, humidity, and hungry insects.

I'll have more to say, in the coming days, assuming I have Internet. Tomorrow, I'll share some images that I've captured in the jungle.

Stay tuned.

My High Was My Low

A sexy woman can virtually take my breath away. Saqsaywaman literally did just that.

Yes, I've been loving Peru. The people, the history, the culture, the natural beauty, and the food. The experience has been amazing.

But last week, my lungs just weren't up to the elevation. I found myself in distress, unable to catch my breath. Walking up the hills surrounding Cusco, at elevations exceeding 3,500 metres above sea level, I wasn't acclimatizing and was getting worse.

Kid 2 was also having a rough time. She felt the nausea of altitude sickness, plus she's also had lung issues, including asthma and bronchitis. On top of heat exhaustion, she chose to rest at our hostel while DW, Kid 1, and I made the 15-minute walk to the entrance to Saqsaywaman, the remains of an Inca fortress and sacred place.

Construction began around 1440 and took almost 100 years to complete, just in time for the invading Spanish conquistadors.

Bastards.

What remains shows the genius of Incan engineering and craftmanship, with massive stones set perfectly in place without the use of mortar or advanced tools. Some of the massive boulders were brought to this spot from more than 30 kilometres away, and uphill.

Sure, the Egyptian pyramids are impressive but, goddammit, the Inca people kicked ass.

We loved our first week in Peru: Ollantaytambo, the Sacred Valley, Machu Picchu, and Cusco. But the only failing was us.

Having lost 20 percent of my lung capacity from COVID, in 2022, I really felt the thin air. I compared my experience of walking up to Saqsaywaman to the first time I ever cycled up to the Champlain Lookout, in Gatineau Park, back when I had a heavy hybrid bike and I rode up the steepest route.

At the top, I was breathing heavily, gulping air, requiring about a half hour to recover before getting back on my bike. I wasn't in the best of shape, that time, and I was ill-prepared for that ride.

I'm about 15 years older, now, and I didn't exercise before coming to Peru. I told myself that I'd take my time while climbing stairs but it's not really the exertion of energy that got me. It was the lack of needed oxygen.

When we reached Saqsaywaman, I  could barely breathe. Luckily, I had one of my inhalers on me, but it only helped a little.

Throughout the walk around the site, I was dizzy and felt unbalanced, as though it wouldn't take much to topple over. It was difficult to speak. At one point, I told DW and Kid 1 that I was feeling in distress.

I drank lots of water. I stopped often. We decided to not climb the final mound.

I was so disappointed. I was otherwise having a great time. The good thing was that when we were done and made our way downhill, toward our hostel, Kid 2 had rallied and was up to join us for lunch.

But I was done. I struggled through lunch, though I knew I needed the calories. As soon as lunch was over, I returned to the hostel, where my stronger inhaler was waiting. I took a triple dose and lay down.

I told myself that I just had to get through that day. The next day, we were flying to Lima, which is along the Pacific coastline.

We all felt better.

The kids, who only spent the first week with us, have returned home. DW and I are now on the second leg of our adventure, where we're now heading into the Amazon basin.

Lower altitude but humidity and bugs. I wonder what the bigger challenge will be?

Stay tuned.