Dawn on the Amazon Captain’s Blog

No Buzzards on the Runway, Iquitos Peru

Looking out the window on the left side of the plane on the approach to Iquitos, Peru, I caught a glimpse of the Nanay River winding through the jungle. I could almost see my boats on that river. The woman I love was at the airport to greet me. My body and mind felt the contentment of arriving home after a long journey.

Then the pilot came on the intercom and announced it was raining too hard to land and that we would circle Iquitos until the rain let up. There was hardly a cloud. I watched as we made a few circles over the confluence of the Nanay and the Amazon River. The pilot shattered what was left of my contentment when he announced we were returning to Lima. I was furious. Liar! There was no rain; it was those damn buzzards again.

My experience was two years ago, and thankfully the problem has been fixed.

In the last few years, many travelers have had their visit to Iquitos altered or cancelled, and several businesses have been ruined, because the city dump was located one mile from the airport. Thousands of Black Vultures were attracted to the dump, and to the area of the airport, creating a hazard for planes.

From the time I was rerouted back to Lima, all daylight flights were cancelled. Iquitos went from receiving 12 flights per day to 6 flights; one in the early morning, one in the late afternoon, and 4 per night. The largest city in the world with no road access needs as many flights as possible.

The buzzard problem was a disaster for this third world city. The economy of Iquitos was already in the dump. I saw one estimate that buzzards at the airport cost the Iquitos economy $150,000 to $200,000 per day. Something had to be done.

In July, 2007, Salomón Abensur, was elected mayor of Iquitos partly on a pledge to solve the problem by moving the land fill farther from the airport. Say what you will about Mr. Abensur, he did move the land fill 15 miles from the airport and most of the buzzards went with it.

There are no buzzards on the runway at the airport of Iquitos Peru.

Aviation officials lifted the ban on daylight flights, but no new flights have been scheduled. Iquitos needs more planes bringing tourists, business persons, visitors, and supplies. The tourist sector of the economy needs those flights. In the good old days we had direct flights from Miami. Now I would be happy if we could have one direct flight per day from Cuzco.

No Buzzards on the Runway, Iquitos Peru

Bill Grimes,  Welcome to Iquitos Peru,  Dawn on the Amazon Tours and Cruises

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Geographic and Climatic Data for Iquitos Peru

This data for Iquitos Peru is from the NASA Langley Atmospheric Science Data Research Center.

Latitude: Minus 3.75 degrees south of the equator.

The altitude above sea level is approximately 350 feet.

The Coordinated Universal Time of Peru is UTC-5, the same as Florida and New York, Eastern Standard Time.

The time difference between the longest day and the shortest day is only 18 minutes.

The temperature measured by ° F averaged from 22 years of data per month:

(Jan. 82.09) (Feb. 81.86) (Mar. 82.60) (Apr. 82.06) (May 82.42) (June 82.20)

(July 82.04) (Aug 83.55) (Sept. 85.78) (Oct. 86.59) (Nov. 84.88) (Dec. 82.87)

The average rainfall at the Iquitos Port is 103 inches per year. March and April have slightly more rain on a 10 year average, and July and August have slightly less than average, but contrary to popular belief there is very little difference in month to month precipitation in Iquitos. The water level of the river fluctuates by as much as 40 feet per year, triggered by rainfall and snow melt on the east slopes of the Andes.

Geographic and Climatic Data for Iquitos Peru

Bill Grimes,  Welcome to Iquitos Peru,  Dawn on the Amazon Tours and Cruises 

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A Suggestion for Supper in Iquitos Peru

Marmelita and I locked the Dawn on the Amazon office at 7 pm and agreed to go to one of our favorite restaurants, Parrilladas El Zorrito. We flagged a moto-kar and told the driver, “Zorrito’s, at Fanning # 355,” and negotiated the fare down to the proper one and a half soles before getting in.

In a few minutes the moto-kar stopped near a large, hot, charcoal grill on the sidewalk by the edge of the street. I paid the driver, and we stepped over to the screened-in cabinet to see what our choices were. We usually both get a whole fish, palometa is our favorite, wrapped in bijau leaves and cooked over charcoal. This time I felt adventurous and decided on turtle liver cooked over the coals.

We shared an Iquiteña Extra beer and listened to the acoustic music from two street musicians playing in the doorway. They are practically the house band at Zorrito’s. I noticed they had a new guitar, and they sounded great. When they passed the hat, I put in my usual one sole, I am not a big tipper. They did not buy a new guitar with my tips.

The turtle liver was good with the onion and lime sauce, but I probably won’t get it again. I wished I had gotten a fresh palometa like Marmelita.

We decided to walk the several blocks back to our home. We turned to the right as we left Zorrito’s and turned right again at the first corner. We walked along holding hands, weaving in and out and around life on the sidewalk.

One of the charming characteristics of Iquitos is that since most people do not have air conditioning or TV, a big part of life is lived on the sidewalks, in parks, plazas, boulevards, and streets, with doors and windows left wide open. Children play hopscotch and jump rope. Young lovers furtively kiss behind the bushes, neighbors bring chairs out onto the sidewalk and sit together. Some play cards and drink beer.

I like to look in the open doors and windows to see how the locals live, work, and play. Most homes have a picture of Jesus, not much furniture, usually some hammocks hanging, no screens, sometimes a dirt floor.

Nearly everyone that evening was friendly, except one woman who raised her voice in anger at a shopkeeper, yelling her abuse. I wanted to wait and see what happened but Marmelita pulled me on. Like most Iquiteñans, she hates violent conflicts.

We walked past a skinny, wrinkled, old man in a rocker. He wore a frayed hat and shirt that looked like he had worn them half his life. He stared off into space. He did not look up at us.

I said to Marmelita, “That old man must’ve outlived all of his peers and friends.” It made her sad. Perhaps she was thinking of her 93 year old grandmother. The concept actually made me happy, as the alternative to outliving one’s peers is not a good one.

I thought for the thousandth time how wonderful Iquitos is compared to more modern cities, where the sidewalks and parks are deserted, the doors are locked and the blinds are drawn, and people are insulated from their neighbors.

We walked to the river, turned left on the boulevard and into a crowd of jungle guides, hustlers, prostitutes, Shipibo indigenous selling their hand sewn visions, a dog and monkey show, slapstick street comedians, jugglers, ten foot tall clowns on stilts, shoeshine boys, and beggars. We know most of them, and they know us. When we got to the door of our office the circle was complete.

Tourists in Iquitos can follow this path, and if you’re smart, you’ll get the palometa.

A Suggestion for Supper in Iquitos Peru

Bill Grimes,  Welcome to Iquitos Peru,  Dawn on the Amazon Tours and Cruises

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Would you want seconds of Peruvian rat?
By Kevin Raub
Published: Aug 23, 2007 in damemagazine.com

I can usually smell a rat from a mile away. When you travel as often as I do, it becomes innate. There is always someone hustling for your tourist dollars, some less honest than others. I must confess, however, that here in the Peruvian Amazon, when the rat comes braised in soy sauce, garlic, onions, white vinegar, and a local dried pepper called aji panca, it doesn’t smell half bad at all. And it tastes even better.

I came to Peru for an Amazon river cruise, thinking I would spend my days anticipatorily awaiting the next macaw flyby, the next jaguar spotting along the riverbank, the next piercing blow dart to the back of the neck. You know, the usual. But since we departed from Iquitos in Northern Peru, one of the largest cities in the world completely inaccessible by car (it was carved out of nowhere in the jungle by Jesuits in the 1700s), we have traversed over 100 miles along the Rios Amazonas and Marañón (one of two rivers that converge to create the mouth of the mighty Rio Amazonas). There has only been an occasional shutter-quick spotting of grey and pink river dolphins and a few chestnut-fronted macaw flybys so far off in the distance, they were indistinguishable from any other bird. The wildlife thus far just hasn’t been all that wild or lively.

The food has been a different story. Let me preface with this: Here on the Dawn on the Amazon III, a gracious and comfortable boat fired from lovely Purple Heart wood and stocked with a charming staff of four Iquiteñas, the gourmet Amazonian cuisine has been a pleasant surprise. Having toured through the jungle market in Belem the day of departure, I saw the one and only grocery store in town and all its wares. It was no doubt a sensory assault, and not always a pleasant one. So, I know what these girls are working with. It’s down home, it’s hearty, it’s wild, and it’s the friggin’ highlight of the trip.

But no meal arrives at the dinner table without an accompanying surprise to test the limits of my American-bred, world-developed palette. Thus far, it’s been a bit like Fear Factor but without the $50,000 hanging over every bite (incidentally, the boat runs $289/night, including all meals and transfers, so people actually pay to eat this stuff). Last night before a wonderful dinner of chicken and linguiça kebabs, we started with a native delicacy known as Aguaja Palm grubs. Now, we watched these little critters crawl around the straw-filled bucket they were kept in for two days before Judith, the highly-competent chef, stuffed them with cheese and bacon and sautéed them up in garlic and white wine. I swore I wouldn’t dare eat them, no matter how many times the cute waitresses assured me they were delicioso, but peer pressure is powerful.

Before I knew it, I forked one and took it down like an hombre, albeit a very squeamish and vaguely feminine one. It wasn’t bad at all, and was by far the most adventurous thing I have ever eaten. Still, where are the toucans, the tapirs, the giant river otters, and the capybaras? We have been eating more wildlife then we are viewing, though that has started to change now that we are entering Pacaya Samiria National Reserve.

Suddenly, the dark, muddy waters of the Amazonas and the Marañón rivers give way to the narrower, coffee black waters of the Samiria River. On both sides, lush, jungly vegetation is clouded over by suffocating morning mists, from which fleets of bird species are taking off at an O’Hare pace. This is more like my picture of the Amazon, but I can’t help but wonder: What’s the next culinary surprise?

It turns out to be congompe, a massive snail we saw slurping on the hands of one of the Iquiteñas the day before. I must confess, it looked more appetizing then the grubs, but even twice-boiling in garlic, red wine, sweet pepper, and ginger couldn’t save it. Escargot it surely wasn’t. Luckily, with each adventurous gastronomic bombshell there always comes something I don’t need to look up in a field guide to know what the hell I’m eating. In this case, linguine with pesto. Viva Italia!

But the most interesting and appetizing oddity wasn’t the plethora of exotic juices or fantastic grains or even the additive plantain chips with spices we have been consistently munching on for six days. This delicacy in question came earlier in the trip and smelled wonderful, like an Amazonian pot roast only an elder in the kitchen could pull off. Our host refused to tell us what it was before we tasted it, obviously arousing our curiosity and suspicion. The table dug in and the verdict was unanimous: This mystery meat was a tasty treat. When he did reveal it as majas, also known as paca, nobody had a clue. I grabbed the field guide. It was a big ‘ol rat and I never smelled it coming.
 
Kevin Raub is a freelance travel and entertainment writer who contributes regularly to Travel+Leisure, Town & Country, American Way, and Organic Spa, among others. He often finds himself in precarious parts of the world, doing things his mother wholly advises against.
 

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