With this reassuring knowledge in mind, at 4:45 in the morning on the first I descended our 250 stairs to wait at the dock. The collectivo didn’t appear. But to my surprise, about 30 minutes later Pluma, Marco, Diablo and Leo (one of boat drivers) did. Finding me still standing there, they hustled me into our boat and helped me catch a passing cargo boat on its way to Laberinto. I spent most of that ride pretending to study, but actually napping contentedly on an empty gas barrel. I took a combi (public van) from Laberinto to Puerto. It was more crowded and perhaps slightly more disheveled than the taxis which travel the same route—we loaded about 10 passengers and their luggage inside, stuffing was falling out of some of the seats, and the van had no shocks left to soften the jolts from the dusty dirt road—but hey, it was a bit cheaper, too.
I spent the night in Puerto Maldonado and caught my plane the next morning. After so much time in the field, sitting down in a cushioned, air-conditioned airplane seat felt heavenly and absolutely surreal. In Lima, the hot showers, real mattresses, and laundered, folded and DRY clothing were other luxuries I’d nearly forgotten and which I appreciated more deeply than I can adequately describe. Since I was supposed to be working I didn’t get out of the hostel much (that's the living room in the photo), but I made daily trips to the supermarket just because I was so excited to see one. During my stay, I ate a dozen mangoes and two whole pineapples all by myself. I also learned to cook rice in the hostel’s kitchen. Yes, it was in fact my first time making real (non-instant) rice, ever. I admit, I wrote to Sarah and asked her how to cook it properly. What can I say? I didn’t eat it often before Peru, but now nothing seems like a proper meal to me if it doesn’t include rice. …I am becoming a Peruana.
It was a quiet trip: I spent almost the whole time holed up in the hostel. First I wrote an NSF proposal for graduate school funding, which was due at 5:00 on Nov 6th. It took forever, as proposals always do. It was lucky I happened to be in Lima on 6th because, coincidentally, the internet at CICRA went down on the day. (Murphy’s Law, right?) Sarah was also applying for the grant and had emailed me her proposal the day before, so I submitted both of our applications in time over Lima’s lovely high-speed internet. Go team CICRA! :) Then, for the next three days, I studied for and took two GREs and worked on graduate school applications. Thank goodness Antonio also happened to be staying at the hostel—not only did he keep me sane, he kept me smiling. In the end the proposal and both GREs all seemed to go pretty well—whew. I did still have time for a couple mini-adventures. One morning I set out to find a DHL office so that I could mail Sarah’s camera, which was broken, to the United States. When I got to the office they told me they didn’t have any packing supplies. The woman behind me in line started speaking rapidly, authoritatively, but benevolently (in Spanish, of course). The gist seemed to be that there was a packing supply stall somewhere close to her apartment, but that it was too far to walk. She said was going take a cab back to her apartment because she’d forgotten something. Then she outlined her schedule for the day, mentioned something about lunch, looked at her watch, and motioned several times that I should come with her. I was a bit confused: did she want me to wait here at the DHL office for her? Did she want me to come to lunch with her, or wait at her apartment while she picked up packing supplies? I didn’t have much time to unravel it: in her brisk, assertive, but friendly way she announced that she’d understand if I didn’t trust her, but if I did I should do what she suggested. And like that, she was off. After a moment of bewildered surprise I sprinted after her, not entirely sure whether I was even supposed to.
I was. Her name was Fannie, and she was a forceful, chatty whirlwind of a woman. She’d moved from Spain to Peru years ago and she had Lima down to an art. She hailed a cab and asked the fare. “Five soles,” the driver said. “Four,” she said, and hopped in. On the trip, she asked me what I was doing in Peru. She, like all the Peruvians I’ve met outside of Puerto Maldonado, was fascinated to learn I was living in the jungle and wanted to hear all about it. Very few Peruvians ever actually see it—a situation I find shocking, having come all the way from the States to work here in one of the world’s most pristine and species-rich rainforests.
We arrived at the packing supply stall and I bought some bubble wrap and a padded envelope. They cost 12 soles, but in three seconds Fannie had bargained them down to 10. Then we returned to the curb and Fannie helped me hail a cab back to the DHL office. A taxi pulled up but she waved it away. “That one’s too small; you’d be crushed like a tin can in an accident,” she explained loudly enough that the driver could hear through his open window. Two more pulled up, but she waved them both away because they were dirty inside. Finally a cab arrived that was up to her standards. She put me in the back seat and asked the driver the fare. “Five soles,” he said. “Four,” she answered. “Five if you drop her off right at the door.” She turned to me: “Five soles, and no more. Good luck!” She waved goodbye with a smile as the cab pulled away. I gave her my email address before we parted ways; I hope I hear from my feisty Limenaen guide again some day.
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