The River Less Travelled

by Christina Anelli (Australia)

A leap into the unknown Peru

The grumble of the engine startled me awake. I sat up immediately, ignoring the consequential ache down my spine from sleeping on a metal bed. Clare remained unconscious on the bottom bunk, completely oblivious to the disruption. I rubbed my eyes and tried not to envy her ability to snooze through anything - every morning, I’d woken to men yelling orders, giant crates being dragged onboard, hundreds of tuk-tuks tooting their horns. Clare slept. I begrudgingly wondered if this was yet another day we’d be stuck at port. We’d arrived in Pucallpa four days ago, dreaming of the road less travelled. Word had it that you could sail up the river on cargo boats to reach Iquitos, an Amazonian jungle town that had no connecting roads, only connecting flights. Straight off the overnight bus, we’d walked to the port in the sweltering humidity to find our cargo boat. With no idea what a “good” boat looked like, I’d decisively pointed to the rustic Gilmer II, on the basis that if it was carrying expensive cars into the jungle, surely it was reputable. Another rumble passed through the ship as I tried to peer through the grated window for signs of movement. Surely just another false start, I mused. With our severely broken Spanish, Clare and I had managed to secure one of the few cabins onboard with a promise that the Gilmer would leave at 5am the following morning. Morning passed, but our boat didn’t move. ‘Midday,’ they promised. ‘Six tonight.’ We determined our lack of Spanish had surely led to misunderstanding. Our neighbour was one of the drivers who quickly became our confidante (and official knot-tying expert). He’d pitied the ignorant Gringas from the very start, taking us under his wing and helping to hang up our hammocks across the spacious deck. Juan watched us become more miserable with every hour we were stuck on the ship; as more cargo was brought onboard, as more passengers crammed into the below deck, as our luxurious hammock space was diminished to make room for even more cars. On the third day, all remaining hope depleted. ‘Manana,’ he said sternly as the sun disappeared, after another promised departure time had passed. Tomorrow morning. ‘En serio?’ I asked cynically. Seriously? ‘En serio,’ he’d responded with a determined nod. Tuk-tuks beeped on land and I rolled my eyes. I hopped off the top bunk, the clang of feet hitting metal concealed by the rumbling motor. And then it occurred to me - where were the tuk-tuks? Why was no one shouting? The bolt screeched as I slid it out of the latch. I gave Clare one last glance before I stepped out onto the deck… and paused. A golden glow spliced through the morning fog and lit up the sky. Jungle stretched ahead for miles; not a single person, building, or tuk-tuk could be seen on the riverbank. I allowed myself to breathe as the previous day’s tension eased away. A whistle cut through the rough murmur of the engine, and I looked up to see Juan standing on the captain’s deck. He beckoned for me to join. ‘Si?!’ I yelped, and dashed to the nearby ladder, purposely avoiding the sign which forbade passengers to climb up. Juan grinned as I entered the cabin, gesturing to the expansive landscape ahead of us. Suddenly it was just me, the jungle, and The Gilmer II as we drifted down the Amazon river. I breathed in the fresh air and smiled. This is what I was here for. Away from the backpacker trail, from the regular sights and tourist traps, a world away from the madness of Pucallpa. ‘Bien?’ Juan asked with a knowing smile. ‘Muy bien,’ I murmured, a sense of contentment settling over me. I had no idea what was in store for us over the next week; that the four day journey would end up taking seven, that the ‘reputable’ boat was so overloaded it would lodge into the riverbed not once but three times, that cows would join us as passengers, or that we’d be running from pirates… but for now, this was an adventure. A leap into the unknown. The road less travelled indeed.