Exploring the Upper Amazon (1975)

Exploring the Upper Amazon (1975)

By Rich Juro

Fran and I were 33 years old. We asked ourselves: why not visit Machu Picchu in Peru, the mountaintop retreat of the Incas, and then fly to Iquitos over the Andes Mountains and sail down the upper reaches of the Amazon River? 

Our two older kids (all of 6 and 7) were in summer camp in New York State with their cousins. We made arrangements for the baby sitter for little Keri, and flew to Lima, the capital of Peru. 

Whilst in Lima we visited the Larco Museum that has the erotic Peruvian per-Colombian sculptures making love in every way possible. Fran’s favorite was the small green one of a seated man with a giant erection; he had, understandably, a big smile on his face. With that memory, we flew to Cusco, the 600 year old seat of the Inca government. In Cusco, the amazing sight was the big walls constructed of huge rounded boulders fitting snugly into each other with nary a pencil hole separating them. 

Map of Amazonia: You can see Lima, Cusco, and Iquitos (in the north) in Peru. Not shown is Leticia at the southern tip of Colombia

We met our traveling companions. Our favorite couple was Larry and Lyn. They were our age, in their thirties. He was a physician from Atlanta, and she was beautiful and bright. When we got to the bare hotel in Cusco, they sat us at wooden chairs and table and served us “coca tea” to help us acclimatize to the 11,200 foot altitude. Soon Lyn just keeled over and fell onto the floor. We realized then we needed the tea with tiny amounts of cocaine in it. 

Our other co-travelers were three old couples (we are now older than them!). One of the husbands was Mr. McHugh. Some of you are old enough to remember the GE commercial featuring Mr. Magoo. Not only did Mr. McHugh look like Mr. Magoo, with a bald top and a “light bulb” face, the names rhymed. He was outspoken but funny while Mrs. McHugh was quiet and pleasant. One other older couple, Paul and Alice, was very nice, and this was a dream trip that they had been saving for years to afford. 

We took the train ride along the Urubamba River from Cusco to Machu Picchu in the high Andes Mountains. In 1975 there were few tourists, so we climbed all over the buildings of the Inca citadel and the heights protecting it. We were among the lucky few who could stay in a wood cabin “motel” at the top of the mountain. The cabin only had running water and electricity parts of the day, but we didn’t care. We saw both the sunset and the sunrise in that spectacular setting of the royal Inca estate. As we discovered in a return trip a few years ago, Machu Picchu is still magnificent, but its crowded with tourists and you can’t stay in the grounds anymore. 

Fran, Rich, and Larry at Machu Picchu

Our group returned to Cusco, and boarded the flight back to Lima. The next day we flew over the Andes and low above the jungle till we arrived at the upper Amazon port city of Iquitos, Peru. Iquitos used to be a boom town 100 years ago when they tapped the natural rubber sap from the trees. When we were there the most surprising thing was the trash disposal system: the people piled the garbage in the middle of the unpaved, muddy main street. Then the released their pigs, and numerous vultures joined. The animals ate most of the garbage. Now Iquitos is famous as the largest city in the world that you can get to by plane or ship but not by road. Hopefully, the main street is now paved and they have a different trash disposal system. 

An unfortunate sickness-gall bladder problem-befell the older husband, Paul, whose dream had been to go down the Amazon. Dr. Larry and Fran accompanied him to the local hospital, Larry to give medical advice and Fran to translate into Spanish. Paul and Alice had to fly to Lima and then the USA. At least they got to see Machu Picchu. 

The next morning we boarded our ship. Appropriately, it was named the “Amazon Queen”. Its condition looked disturbingly like the “African Queen” from the movie. The “Amazon Queen” was a 40 year old converted WWII minesweeper with sleeping quarters for the crew of four and a place to eat for the group, now expanded to 23. Yes, we were joined by 15 French tourists who thought the 8 Americans were intruding on their vacation. 

Our guide was a local young man named Enrico. He spoke Spanish, English, and French, in addition to his local tribal language, plus a smattering of German and Italian. While he was ostensibly in charge of the French group too, they had their own guide, so Enrico spent most of his time with us. When he called us for lunch, we discovered that the French had pushed their way into the front and took most of the good food for themselves. We were not happy campers, but we were so pleased to be sailing down the upper reaches of the Amazon River that we didn’t care (except for Fran who always deems the local food to be of the utmost importance).

The Amazon River and the Jungle  

That evening we docked at a wooden pier for the nearby Explorama Lodge. After a trek through a path in the jungle, we came to big log cabins on stilts where we left our pj’s and a change of clothes. We walked through the tropical vegetation and met the Jivaro Indians. The chief was heavy, probably from meeting too many tourists. He told us through a translator how the Jivaro had always lived on the Eastern side of the Andes, near the Amazon. They fought the Incas 500 years ago, and the Spanish invaders too. The Jivaro used to be headhunters, but the chief assured us that now only the isolated tribes were. One of our group, Mr. McHugh, had an instant affinity for the chief. Soon they were bragging to each other: 

Chief, very proudly: “I have three wives.”

Mr. McHugh: “Don’t tell me your problems.” 

After the talk, one of the Jivaro young men asked us if we wanted to go for a canoe ride. Lyn and Larry said yes, and Fran and I joined them. It was a long canoe, and we soon were gliding up a narrow tributary. Our Jivaro guide indicated that we should get out of the original canoe and traverse the small island; then we got into an empty second canoe that was just seemed to be waiting for us. Larry had sat in the first seat and was paddling the first canoe with the guide paddling in back. Unfortunately, Larry had misunderstood; he thought we were going back to the first canoe, and left his paddle in it. The guide started paddling in the second canoe. But Larry, who missed being part of the action, reached up for a branch to break off, and at least use as a pole when needed. The tree limb contained hundreds of red fire ants, and they fell into the first half of the canoe, severely biting Larry, Lyn and myself (Fran and the guide were in the back). It was all we could do to not stand up in the canoe and brush off the nasty, biting insects; that would have meant swamping the canoe, so we didn’t. 

Quickly it got dark. We soon realized that the local guide was actually lost in the maze of small waterways. Somehow I had brought a pocket flashlight (that was before the lights on I-phones) and turned it on. The guide exclaimed, “La luz!” (“the light”) and grabbed it from me to see if he could recognize any of the local landmarks. We heard threatening cries in the Jivaro language of the which added immensely to our worries about the headhunters. After 40 minutes of fear, it turned out that the yells were giving directions to our guide, and we arrived back at the lodge after a harrowing trip. 

Explorama Lodge was a big wooden building with six foot high partitions to separate the couples. The amenities were the two toilets: just a seat over a hole in the floor. Fran and I had two wooden beds with slats for mattresses. I was not chunky in 1975. Nevertheless, my turning in the bed caused the wooden slats to collapse with a big “bang” that reverberated through the building. There were several people who asked in the morning if Fran and I had caused the collapse of the bed by making “mufky-pufky”. 

Fran & Rich at the Explorama Lodge 

The next morning we were treated to a demonstration of the local blow gun. It was carved from a thin tree, and was over six feet long. The thin darts were poisonous, and the toxin was derived from the venom of the local frogs. The Jivaro men would take the blow guns and shoot the darts at the local birds for food. We tried the weapon but didn’t have any success with it, even though we would have donated the birds to the local “food pantry”. I’ve never owned a revolver, but the blow gun we bought displays a proud spot in our home; nor have I used the blow gun to hunt Nebraska birds. 

Re boarding the “Amazon Queen”, we sailed down the broad river. It was so wide, even thousands of miles from the delta at the Atlantic Ocean, that we couldn’t see much on shore but the tropical jungle. The most interesting thing was the local children paddling their small canoes on their own on the big river on their way to school. We were told there were piranhas and other dangerous critters in the water, so we didn’t swim. Enrico announced that we would have a hike in the jungle and eat on shore. The French group rushed to the small boat that would take them. Once the group disembarked from the small craft onto the decayed wooden pier, it collapsed, and several of the French legs sank into the river. All of them scrambled on shore, just their pride injured. Meanwhile, we enjoyed a nice meal on board. 

Then Enrico said, “We have one room on the ship with a double bed. I’ve put your names on the hat, and the winner can sleep here.” Naturally, he chose Fran’s name and we accepted the prize, much to the chagrin and complaints of the other older couple. We slept well. Next day, we again sailed down the Amazon until we reached Leticia, Colombia. We said thanks and goodbye to Enrico. A van took us to the local airport for the flight to Bogota, the capital of the nation. At the time, there was a serious rebellion in Colombia. All the men were searched for guns, but the married women were not. The single women were suspected of carrying drugs. A young Canadian woman by herself was carrying her pills for a medical condition she had. The airport officials just dumped her medications on the ground despite her outcries. 

In Bogota, we toured and bought an uncut emerald for Fran’s mother. At the airport, Braniff Air (remember them?) wouldn’t let us bring the blowgun as a carry-on. The airline said it was a weapon, even if I offered to ship the poison darts in the luggage. Instead they consigned it to the baggage. When we got off in Omaha, we noticed that the mouthpiece from the blowgun was missing. We complained to Braniff, but they couldn’t find it. So the blowgun in our house looks fearsome but isn’t really usable. 

We stayed in touch with Larry and Lyn. Unfortunately, a few years later, he fell off a ladder and was semi-paralyzed. He did continue to practice as a physician, and a decade ago they sent us two faded but memorable photos that were included in this memoir. The “Amazon Queen” sank the next year. 

As inveterate travelers, we always say: “The worst that happens makes the best story later.” It was an amazing trip!