Travel

Amazon Jungle, Peru, December 2001.

It's late, and it's dark. It's also hot and humid, beyond anything I can remember experiencing before. The sun set in spectacular fashion about an hour ago, and the boat we're in has no lights. I can see into the corner of the cabin through the thoughtfulness of a firefly that pulses its light rhythmically in the hope of finding a mate. My torch, usually close at hand, has been borrowed by the captain to light his way through the labyrinthine tributaries of the mighty Amazon River. My only hope is that he knows where we're going - despite the dark.

Jorje (George), our jungle guide, is looking worried. He's stripped to his underpants and shoes and is waste deep in black water. He's just freed our propeller of vegetation and is now carrying a rope to shore so we can pull the boat along through the thick floating mat of weeds that indicate we're still in the river, and not on land as it appears. He's sharing the stream with a mostly unknown menagerie of things that want him dead. He should be worried.

He makes it to land not that many metres away, but far enough, and passes the rope around a tree and throws the end back to the boat. We haul on it, the captain, Barb, Sonja and I. It's hard work pulling the boat through what looks like a field of lettuce but we move forward - slowly. The rope is passed around the next tree, and we do it all again. And again.

Jorje tells us the last time this tributary was free of weeds, which doesn't help much. We took this route because the main river is dangerous in the dark - too many floating logs for safe passage at speed. We already have a dent in the hull as silent witness to this. Not that we're doing any speeding now.

Eventually we're free of the weeds, and the propeller can move again without getting tangled. Jorje hurries back to the boat and we move off under the power of our engine.

We're here to visit the Loving Light Amazon Lodge, an eco-tourism lodge in the Peruvian jungle about 100 kilometres from the jungle town of Iquitos which at the time was the largest town in the Amazon rainforest that cannot be reached by land. When Paddington Bear is described as being from "darkest Peru" I imagine he's from here somewhere.

We flew in from Peru's capital, Lima, earlier today and the day has been the most difficult of the trip so far. Two of our party have just come in from Australia and are new to the experience. Their bags have already been stolen on the way to the boat and they have had to stay in Iquitos to fill out a police report in halting Spanish and to buy new clothes. All they had left were the sandals, t-shirts and shorts that they were wearing at the time. Not really jungle-friendly clothes.

Due to the delay in getting to the boat we set off just before sunset, against all regulations governing tourist traffic on the river at night. It's been a couple of hours since we left and we're not sure when we'll get to the lodge, given the dark and the trouble we've had on the river. Eventually, though, we arrive at a wooden jetty surrounded by reeds. It leads to stairs cut into the river bank. At the top of these is an assortment of huts on stilts connected by raised walkways. We're told that in the wet season the water rises to floor level. The huts are made of wood, with dried reeds on the roof to keep the rain out. The windows which connect the low walls to the roof have no glass in them, just insect mesh to keep the local critters out and there are cheap curtains for privacy. A kerosene lamp hangs beside the end of the jetty and others can be seen through some of the windows.

We unpack the boat and climb the stairs towards a large circular hut at the top. We are greeted by a small group; the oldest can be no more than 16 or 17. They are the staff. Apart from ourselves the only other adult is our guide, Jorje, whom we hired independently in Iquitos. I'm so glad we did.

Dinner has finished some time ago, but we're given the leftovers - some grilled catfish and vegetables - after we're shown our rooms. We have a couple of beers in the bar - warm, of course, due to the lack of electricity to run refrigeration. We're then given a kerosene lamp each and retire to bed. It's been a long day.

It's too hot and humid to sleep properly and I rise early the next morning. There are two beds in the room and a shower behind a curtain in one corner and a toilet in another. I unpack my bag on the bed next to mine (I'm the only male on the trip and get a room to myself) and get in the shower. There is no hot water, of course, but I'm used to that by now and the water is warm anyway and vaguely refreshing in the heat. I dress and go to the kitchen hut for breakfast.

Today's plan is to go canoeing up and down the river, visit a local village, see some wildlife, fish for piranha and wait for the arrival of our friends. The promise is that we'll have "piranha lasagne" for dinner if we catch enough to eat. Tomorrow, we'll head out for a couple of days walking through the jungle, sleeping out under mosquito netting to keep the bugs at bay. We say goodbye to the couple that are leaving the lodge today. The guy shows us his back, which is covered in thousands of mosquito bites. He had put insect repellent on his exposed arms and head, but hadn't realised that mosquitoes can bite through his shirt. He'll be lucky if he avoids malaria or dengue fever. As it is, he's almost completely distracted by the itching.

So, to the boats, then. We pack cameras, insect repellent, sunscreen, first aid kits - everything we think we'll need - and push out from the jetty. The next few hours are spent gently rowing through the jungle, avoiding the floating weeds, watching birds, snakes, monkeys and insects. We arrive at the village about lunchtime and stop to eat lunch and watch a soccer match played by the village children in the space between their huts. A young North American charity worker plays soccer with them in her bare feet, and I'm amazed at her bravery. There are insects here that live in the grass and bite. The diseases they transmit are not nice.

With lunch over, we head out to do some fishing. We are brought to a lovely area off to the side of the river, where it flows slowly through the trees. We stop and tie our canoes to a tree and throw lines over the side of the boats with pieces of chicken on the hooks. Jorje shows us his thumb, which is missing a piece from the top. He explains that on a previous trip some years ago he put his hand too close to a piranha that a group had caught. The fish obviously thought he looked tasty and took a bite.

We catch one red piranha that afternoon, and it falls off the hook as we try to net it. We won't be eating piranha tonight.

As we return to the lodge in the late afternoon, we can see that our friends have arrived and that they are sitting in the "hammock room" overlooking the river. We catch up over dinner and then head out again to do some night canoeing. The river is different at night. The sounds of the wildlife change as the animals from the day-shift are replaced by those of the night. Frequently we see eyes staring at us in the torchlight, just above water level. These are caiman, or South American alligators. It feels strange seeing them so close, and at water level. Somewhat disturbing, really. The last caiman of the night's canoe ride is waiting for us on the jetty as we return. It slips into the water as we pull alongside and is lost from sight.

After a couple of drinks in the dinner hut Jorje takes us outside and brings us to a tree on the side of the clearing. We're quite close to the tree when he flicks his torch upwards to show us a huge tarantula about the size of the palm of my hand. He tells us it's a jumping tarantula and we all leap away from the tree. He laughs, it's a joke, but our distance from it is maintained. I'm glad the huts are well sealed from insects.

After a bit more talking, and a few more drinks, I say good night and head to my hut to sleep. It's about 11 pm when I turn off the kerosene lamp and lay down on bed. It's still too hot and humid to sleep, but a wind has picked up and it provides some relief. I drift off to sleep listening to the others playing cards in the dinner hut with the staff, and the last I recall is smelling smoke from a camp fire somewhere.

KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK! FIRE! CHRIS, GET OUT! THE HUTS ARE ON FIRE!

That gets my attention! I'm awake in an instant.

"I'm awake," I shout back.

"Where?" I ask next.

"The two huts next to yours - get out!" is the reply.

I'm scrambling in the dark, trying to find my torch. I look out through the curtains and the hut next to mine is fully ablaze. The wind is driving the flames towards my hut.

I've found the torch and turn it on. There is smoke coming through the reeds of my roof and filling the room. My roof is on fire also! I find my daypack with all my documents and money and put it on. The rest of my gear is scattered all over the bed next to mine. With no time to pack, I simply gather up the corners of the bed sheet and tie them together to form a makeshift sack. I'm about to head out the door at a run when I remember that due to the heat I've gone to bed with no clothes on. I find some clothes quickly and put them on, shoes can wait. The room is filling quickly with dense smoke and I need to move!

Outside, I make my way along the walkway to the stairs leading down to the river. I place my bags near the jetty and put on shoes. The others in my party are also here. The staff and Jorje are running about trying to contain the fire.

A word or two of wisdom is needed here. If you build a remote jungle lodge out of wood and grass, and provide lighting in the form of kerosene lamps, make sure you have fire fighting equipment in abundance. We had none.

That's not quite true. We had buckets of sand placed strategically about the walkway with the word for "fire" written on them. Have you ever tried throwing a bucket of sand four metres into the air to put out a roof fire? Trust me, it doesn't work.

The other fire fighting method that doesn't work is racing down to the river to fill pots and pans from the kitchen with river water, and then trying to make it back up the slippery bank with the pots still containing water. The resulting dribble that is left does nothing to stop a full blaze.

And yet these were the methods tried by our young hosts. They raced about, in bare feet and shorts, looking for all the world like ants defending their nest from an anteater. Some had soaked their t-shirts in water and were trying to beat the flames out, which is still not effective on a roof fire.

Our only running water was fed from a tank on stilts, through plastic pipe to the kitchen and showers. The fire had already melted the pipes and our water tank had emptied itself onto the ground.

Jorje soon realised that the fight was lost and instructed them all to get their machetes (the large jungle knives are carried by all the locals). Our only hope of saving anything was to sever the connecting walkway that joined every hut. It was the conduit through which the fire would spread and it had to come down.

Frantic activity followed, with everyone hacking at the supports and ripping down the reed roofing, some of it already burning. The fire, however, was too quick and the wind too strong. With tears in their eyes and screams of anguish and pain piercing the night each of the staff realised, one by one, that all was going to be lost and they made their way to safety.

My party, in the meantime, was also in distress and I did my best to reassure them that we were safe. I figured we were alive and uninjured, at least.

Then the rain came. The heavy, drenching rain that you can only imagine comes down in the Amazon and nowhere else. It was a torrent of biblical proportions and it was the best drenching we've ever had.

It took an hour or so for the flames to go out, as we stood by watching it. It was two or three in the morning before we could move back into the few bedrooms available, and few slept well.

The morning light showed us the damage. Nearly all the huts on my side of the accommodation had been lost. My room was burnt down almost to the floor level. The connecting walkway was gone on that side also. The rest of the complex had been spared by the rain, including the dinner and kitchen huts. There were five bedrooms left on the other side of the complex, in which we had slept. The stench of burning hung in the air.

Before breakfast I returned to what was left of my room to see if I had left anything behind. Through the remains of the walls I could see my towel and a t-shirt hanging behind the burnt shower curtain. The floor looked good, so I entered the hut and retrieved them. I turned to head back out the doorway and felt a hole open up under my feet and I was suddenly below floor level on the ground. Looking up I could see that the floor was still burning where the rain could not get to it, the timbers slowly being eaten away from below. With a few bruises, and burns to my clothes, I made my way out, and didn't return.

Many of the staff were also cut and burnt from the previous evening's entertainment, and as there was no first aid kit on site, we spent a couple of hours patching wounds with the supplies we had brought with us. Jorje then headed off down the river in a canoe to find another lodge or village that had a radio that could call for help.

As we waited, Mary-Anne and Faye told us of a night of playing cards and socialising when Faye looked out of the window and commented on the fireworks display she could see.

It wasn't a fireworks display; it was the wind blowing embers off the burning roof and past the window.

The evidence gathered by the police and the lodge manager later in the day suggested that one of the staff had left a kerosene lamp burning in their room, hanging from a hook beside the window whilst they played cards. It only took a gust of wind to blow the curtain too close and the rest, as they say, is history.

It's two days to Christmas, and the adventure continues.