Peru Part VIII: From Picchu to Puno

Visiting Macchu Picchu and the city of Puno

I figure we are out of luck when we arrive at Macchu Picchu’s cloud gate. Typical for the wet season, a thick mist covers most of the ancient city. But when we descend and step through the sun gate, the fog dissipates before our eyes. We watch the ruins of the Inca empire’s last stronghold with a sense of awe and respect; to see this, we’ve been climbing slippery steps for the last three days. We get only a few moments of clear view before the dense clouds hide the secretive jungle city once more. Walking further down, we are greeted by the first hordes of day tourists coming to see this wonder of the world. The mystical sense of ancient times is somewhat spoiled when we arrive at the foot of the city by a long que to visit the first clean bathroom since we left Ollantaytambo. After refueling with some caffeine and going through security, David leads us around the site. Even though the place is bustling with people, the strong connection with the sacred town returns. It is not hard to imagine what life in Macchu Picchu must have been like right before the ruthless conquistadores arrived. The most special place for me is the Temple of the Condor, where the Incas have moved and carved tonnes of granite to display an abstract symbol of a giant condor. The temple makes clever use of the illusion of depth to create an image that automatically silences the beholder of this divine bird. Important dead people would be buried under this condor’s wings, or in its ‘stomach’, so the messenger of the gods would carry them up to the sun. If visiting Macchu Picchu is not yet on your bucket list, you should definitely consider changing that. Although I am a person that will often reject religion as being useless and ridiculous, I think the spiritual connection that the Inca’s had with the sun, the mountains and the plants and animals around them is a beautiful way of thinking. It was essentially a religion that placed sustainability and the circle of life in the center, something that religion-inspired societies of today fail to do. The Inca’s fall came from the Spaniards, but we might be creating our own spiral to collapse.

I can’t get enough of the ambiance that is radiated by the meticulously carved stones, but we eventually take the bus down to Aguas Calientes, a small town that has profited greatly from Inca tourism. Together with other trail finishers we recognize from before, we have our final lunch with David before we part ways. A beautiful train ride takes us back to Ollantaytambo and by car we ride to Cusco. A long night’s sleep has to wait until later, since the next morning is an early one. After four days of being outside for hours on end, I now have to suffer through a ten hour bus ride from Cusco to Puno. The occasional stops at historic sites are overshadowed by the feeling of being trapped in a bus for eternity. The things that make me survive the trip are the beautiful landscape, Hiram Bingham’s Inca Lands and watching Scott Pilgrim v.s. the World twice on Netflix. When we finally arrive in Puno, the surprise of another early rise is not a welcome one…

Puno is built on the shore of Lake Titicaca, a huge body of water that crosses the border between Peru and Bolivia. It is the home of Telmatobius culeus, a very interesting species of frog commonly named the scrotum frog, due to its many skin flaps. It needs this extra skin to absorb enough oxygen out of the high altitude water of Lake Titicaca. Unfortunately, its numbers have drastically lowered in the past years; 10.000 dead frogs were found in October 2016. Pollution is most likely the cause of this great dying of the extremely cute amphibians. A successful breeding program was initiated near Puno, but we weren’t able to visit. Other famous inhabitants of the lake are the Ouros people, the biggest tourist attraction in Puno. For more than a thousand years, they have built their homes on floating islands made out of reed. They discovered the touristic appeal not long ago and have been milking that udder extensively. Nevertheless, it is still an amazing look into these people’s cultural heritage to walk around on one of these islands. To create such a home for some twenty people, they first cut blocks of living reed roots that are stuck together with wooden poles. The roots grow together to form a strong base on which many layers of reed are placed to make a comfortable and dry floor to build on. Ten heavy stones are used as an anchor to prevent the island from floating away. After 30 years, the reed base is not safe to use anymore and a new one needs to be built. But the Ouros do not only use the plants for construction, they also eat it. Supposedly it has very high nutritional value. Although that might be true, I found that the flavor resembles what you imagine a wet heap of compost tastes like.

After spending some time on the small island of Tequile, the boat takes us back to Puno’s harbor. As my mom and I have some unused energy, but running outside on the streets of Puno does not feel safe, we end up in a greasy place called Gymnasio Buffalo. Well, imagine what you would think the average gym owner looks like. Now take the complete opposite of that. Gymnasio Buffalo is owned by a Sunday suit wearing elderly couple with the physiques of heroin addicts. Only a faded picture of Arnold Schwarzenegger reminds us that we are in fact in an actual gym. After some language difficulties, we both get to pick a machine. I take off on a treadmill and am quickly joined by my mother when she finds out the elliptical is in fact not plugged in. On multiple occasions I am strongly urged by one of the owners to turn down the speed of the treadmill, and after half an hour I absolutely have to stop running for reasons unknown (we are the only costumers at the moment). I decide to give the spinning bike a go, but discover that there is no way to set the bike to a higher gear. I am frantically pedaling to keep up with the out of control fitness machine before I’m saved by the grumpy old owner. After a few more minutes on a frictionless elliptical, we decide to call it a day.

Pukara is an ancient city on the way from Cusco to Puno. Not much is left, but a nearby museum gives an interesting insight into the live of the frog-worshipping pre-Inca culture that lived here.
A colorfully dressed Ouros woman in a traditional reed canoe on Lake Titicaca.
As you can see, it will be long before the Ouros run out of construction material.

Peru Part VII: In the Inca’s footsteps

Four days to Macchu Picchu

Christmas morning arrives without any presents, trees or snow. Instead it brings me something much better: our guide David, with a bus to take us to the start of the Inca Trail. As we step into the car, I’m shocked by the amount of porters we’re bringing with us. Eight men sit in the back to carry our tents, our food and cooking gear. Are my parents really that lazy and colonial, to make eight people carry their stuff for them? Not exactly. The Peruvian government has actually made it mandatory for tourists to have so many porters, thus creating more jobs for Peruvian people in the Andes. They also set a limit to the amount of tourists entering the trail on one day, thereby conserving the natural and cultural heritage of the route. Back in the day, David explains, there were practically no rules. Porters carried up to 40 kg on their backs, people camped between the ancient ruins and littered without giving it a second thought. Things are better now. A porter can carry a maximum of 25 kg and his bag is weighed multiple times throughout the trail. My parents let their bags with clothes and sleeping bags be carried by these Peruvian heroes; I refuse to let go of my burden.
The start of the trail is pure chaos. In a small overshadowed spot, hundreds of people crowd together to make their final preparations: applying sunscreen, changing clothes, spraying bug repellent. Some groups have even set up a long folding table, where they’re having a festive breakfast. Funnily enough, a little order is created by the shirts the porters are wearing. Every team has their own colour, and ‘our’ men are easily recognized by their orange outfit. Coincidence? Nope, the company is owned by a Dutch couple. We finish our final preparations and take a picture in front of the famous ‘KM 82′ sign that marks the official beginning of the trail. David’s incredible negotiation allows us to skip right to the front of the line for the control point… and off we go.
On the first day, the pace is slow, with many stops that I deem unnecessary. When we pause for lunch, I realize why the porters have such a weight on their backs: together with tables, chairs and a dozen sets of cutlery they take out an entire extra tent for eating and even a table cloth. Everything is set up in a designated spot and the chef (whose name is also David) starts cooking. He’s in a hurry; usually, tourists arrive a long time after the porters. Sorry, but not these tourists.
I don’t know how David achieves culinary excellence in a tent at 3000 meters, but he makes it happen. After an extensive lunch and a small siesta, we continue to our first base camp: a small field in a local family’s garden. We have this spot reserved just for us, so the only noise comes from the family’s Christmas lights that play a continuous loop of the 8-bit rendition of ‘Feliz Navidad’. It seems that soccer breaks all language barriers, as minutes later I’m fanatically kicking away with my dad and three young kids. As night falls, the temperature drops and we retreat back in our tents.

Alex, the youngest of the porters, wakes me up at 5:30 with a hot cup of tea. That’s a very welcome luxury: the second day is famous for being the toughest. After a hearty breakfast and a mouth full of coca we begin our 1100 meter ascend. I’m the first to arrive at our meeting point, having passed tourists and porters alike. The view is amazing: the snow-capped peak of mount Veronica rises 5800 meters high, while the steps I use to climb are surrounded by a lush green environment. Spanish moss and bromeliads dominate the plant life around me. Llama’s and alpaca’s graze in the distance. However, it’s nowhere near quiet at this midway plateau. Hordes of hikers gather to buy supplies from the last shop on the trail. Porters and guides enjoy a glass of chicha, low-alcoholic corn beer that’s traditionally made by chewing the corn and mixing it with saliva. When we’re all gathered, we begin our final ascend of the day: the Dead Woman’s Pass. Although this sounds very intimidating, it’s simply named after the shape of the mountain ridge, which indeed resembles a female figure lying on her back. 45 minutes later, I’m standing at the Inca Trail’s highest point: 4215 meters. As I’m waiting for my parents, the phenomenal panorama is sporadically obscured my thick clouds. I’m cold from the strong wind when they arrive for a much needed picture moment.
From here to the basecamp, it’s only downwards. Quickly walking down the slippery slopes is difficult to master, although I see porters literally running down the mountain. The cloud forest down below encourages me to pick up the pace. The vegetation has returned when I arrive at the large base camp at 3800 meters. To my surprise, no one from our party has made it there yet. When the porters arrive, they’re quite astonished to find me already sitting in the grass. When my parents and David come down, I’ve helped with setting up the tents and already started organizing my own. After lunch, we won’t be hiking any further. I decide to explore the base camp and its surrounding a bit. The place is booming with activity. Many people are arriving just now, or have given up and are being escorted back to the trail’s beginning. The few squatting toilets present are not the best; taking it to the bushes seems like a better idea. I notice the different levels of comfort in which people make their journey. Apparently, we’re on the low tier. I see special toilet tents with chemical disposals underneath -imagine being the porter that has to carry that- and gigantic dining places and sleeping tents. The most ridiculous thing I find are groups that brought a masseuse with them, including a special massaging tent. I stroll around the site and take a few pictures of the plants and streams. After dinner, we call it an early night and wrap up in our sleeping bags.

The longest day starts early. When I crawl out of my tent, the porters take turns in weighing my backpack. I get nods of approval from all of them. We start hiking up the next mountain pass and I look back at the Dead Woman’s Pass from yesterday. Our first stop, Runkuraqay, was once a resting place for chasquis, the running men of the Incas who used this trail to deliver important messages to and from Macchu Picchu. The clouds roll in as I arrive at the top and start making my way down the tall stony steps. I wait for David and my parents at the foot of Sayamarca, another ancient Inca settlement. The fog that obscured my view before now disappears and reveals an ocean of green beneath me: the cloud forest. The prospect of walking through the jungle again excites me. David gives us a short tour of the town and tells us about the sacrifices the Incas made to their gods. Llamas, corn and potatoes would be taken by a priest to the glacier and buried beneath the snow; almost as if they were feeding the mountain spirit. The next part of the trail is absolutely stunning. The pathway is one hundred percent original, and it takes us along steep cliffs and through humid caves. The amount of green around me increases every step and the millions of trees from the cloud forest stream from the mountain flanks. Since I’m walking alone, it is completely silent except for the wind and the birds. We have lunch at Phuyupatamarca, looking out over the still functioning fountains of the city. Even after decades of being a guide, David is still passionate about the route, especially this segment. We spend the afternoon walking down through forest that grows increasingly dense. David tells me he often spots snakes crawling over the path, but I can only find a shy lizard that quickly scurries away. Suddenly, the trees make way and reveal a stunning view of agricultural terraces and the valley below, where Aguas Calientes is split in two by the Urubamba river. We silently sit at this spot for a while, taking in the natural beauty of the scene. It’s only a short walk down to our final basecamp, where we arrive around 5 pm. This camp is even more crowded than the last one, as this is the final camp for every single group: there is no place to sleep beyond this. Tourists, porters and guides roam everywhere, and the place fills up as the evening falls. For our last dinner, David the cook prepares a feast. I don’t know how one makes a warm apple pie without an oven, but he achieves the impossible. This evening is our opportunity to say goodbye to the porters, as they will not be joining us tomorrow. I thank them all in English and David translates it, both in Spanish and Quechua. After the ceremony is over, we settle in for a very short night.

It is 3:30 when I wake up in my tent with hot tea for the last time. After a very quick breakfast and another goodbye to the porters, we walk to the line before the gate to Macchu Picchu. It’s as crowded as can be. At 5:30 exactly, the last control post opens and we rapidly pass through. The steep and slippery path is full of people, many of which try to walk as quickly as possible to be the first in Macchu Picchu. A few of them slip and make some nasty falls. Fortunately, the path is beautiful and the sky is clear as we make our way through the final stage of the journey. At last, we climb the steps to the cloud gate, and there it is: Macchu Picchu.

The ecstasy of reaching the top of the Dead Woman’s Pass.
Our amazingly funny and knowledgeable guide David.
Chewing coca keeps me going.
The orange team.
The view can’t have been much different hundreds of years ago.
The trail slowly descends into the cloud forest.
Small fruit growing around our second basecamp.
A beautiful flower at an altitude of 3200 meters.
I could hear this stream from my tent at the second basecamp.
Two fathers, two sons.
The view of the Urubamba valley, coming out of the cloud forest.

Peru Part VI: The conquest of Urubamba

Cusco and the Sacred Valley

Growing up as a kid, I used to watch Disney’s The Emperor’s New Groove about once every week. I loved the movie for the goofy humour and the catchy music. The fact that it was set in Peru during the reign of the Inca’s only occurred to me a few months ago. Now I step out of the airplane into the city that lends the film’s animated narcissist its name: Cusco. But my first days out of the jungle are tough.  I can’t seem to get used to the cars, the hordes of people and the lack of plants and animals. I’ll have to do with pigeons and planted palms. Slowly, the new environment grows on me. Cusco’s marketplace especially amazes me. Wasted meat does not exist here, everything is sold and used. If you want the freshest and most delicious fruit juice in the world, there’s about a hundred spots on the market alone.
After a day and a half in this urban jungle, we meet our next guide. His name is David Condori, named after the holy messenger bird of the Incas. He takes us on a day-long tour through Urubamba, the Sacred Valley. While we make our way to Ollantaytambo (viewers of A Series of Unfortunate Events might recognize this name; do geckos with an extra leg ring a bell?) we get our first sights of spectacular Inca ruins. From Pisac we drive to Moray, for a view into the genius of Inca agriculture. By using gigantic terraced pits they were able to grow coca plants, but also fruits from the forest at an altitude of over 3000 meters. We continue to the salt mines near Maras, where work has stopped in the wet season. Thousands of large puddles are continuously filled with warm salty water from an unknown location. An ancient irrigation system makes sure all the holes are filled equally. In the dry season, the salts that build up after evaporation are harvested and sold for their medicinal properties. Right now, the inhabitants earn their living from tourism.
In the late afternoon we arrive in Ollantaytambo. Before allowing us to rest, David takes us to a viewing point on one of the mountains surrounding the town. He points out the historical center of what was once a military stronghold. To my surprise, I can easily distinguish the shape of a llama in the old buildings. This is no coincidence: Cusco looks like a puma, Macchu Picchu is a condor and another town resembles a snake. We walk to our hotel near the train station of Ollantaytambo and wave goodbye to David, whom we’ll meet again in two days. The next day we take it slow, acclimatizing to the height. For 2800 meters, it is surprisingly warm. We pay a visit to the llama-shaped fortress, which also served as a religious center. I see the Inca Imperial style of building for the first time, and I’m blown away. Somehow, this mysterious culture managed to perfectly fit together irregularly shaped granite blocks, weighing maybe ten tonnes, without a crack between them. The exact angle at which the walls stand makes them indestructible and able to withstand the regular earthquakes of this area. The temple of the sun looks out at the actual face of Apu, the mountain spirit, a clearly visible rock formation on the side of the hill. To think that this was the site of the last stronghold of Manco Inca, the last king who battled the invading Spaniards to the death, gives even more historical importance to the place. The Inca temples, with simple symmetric fountains and windows that align perfectly with the sun, are stunning on their own.
In the afternoon we hike up the mountain once more and then enjoy the many hummingbirds in our hotel garden. Our Christmas eve is spent eating pizza, after which we call it an early night in preparation of the coming adventure: hiking the Inca Trail.

A cactus flower on the site of Pisac.
Agricultural terraces built in concentric circles at Moray.
Each of the five thousand salt puddles is owned and exploited by the people of Maras. A great portion of the salt goes to Japan, a country with strong trade connections to Peru.
Children in Ollantaytambo celebrate Christmas in a play. Yes, that is an actual dead alpaca on the kid’s waist.
A hummingbird rests just outside my window in Ollantaytambo.
It’s impossible for me to identify this guy; there’s dozens of different hummingbird species in Peru.
A view of the religious square of ancient Ollantaytambo.
Can you see the llama?

Peru Part V: Welcome to the jungle, again

In the jungle with my parents

Picking up my parents from Puerto Maldonado’s tiny airport is a strange experience. Of course, I am very happy to see them again. On the other hand, their arrival marks the end of my time as a volunteer in the jungle. From now on it will be much more like a family holiday instead of what I’ve experienced so far. Fortunately, I get to show them the rain forest from my perspective, before we move on to other parts of Peru. We visit Boca Pariamanu for two days, allowing me to meet up with some friends again. I show them the forest at night, which they later describe as ‘being in some sort of dream’. With my bright headlamp in front, I lead the way along the trails. At first, they’re not quite sure what to think of the caiman and the snake I’m suddenly holding in my hands. But they get used to having me as a guide. After a long day of hiking on Boca’s main road, it’s time for me to say a final goodbye to the town that has been my home for more than six weeks.
We don’t leave the jungle straight away, but my experience in the forest becomes very different. From now on, it’s all in control of my parents and the guides they have booked. We’re taken with a big boat on the Madre de Dios river, all the way to the Rio Heath which marks the border with Bolivia. Here we sleep in a small raised hut, and to me this seems like a useless luxury. Who needs walls in the jungle? A roof is enough in my opinion. And what’s up with the three course meal we’re getting served twice a day? Let me just grab my rice and veggies straight out of the pan. I have serious trouble adjusting to the new, more touristic way of traveling. Thankfully, we have Pepe; a very knowledgeable and friendly guide. I serve as his sidekick: the animals he fails to notice, mostly at night, are quickly spotted (and caught, if possible) by me. Through the eyes of my parents, I get to experience some things all over again. I share their enthusiasm when they see capuchins, squirrel monkeys and hoatzins for the first time. But also for me, many things are new. We climb a massive lupuna tree with a rope ladder to get a 360 view above the canopy and we watch one of the global top ten macaw clay licks from a floating platform. I have a close encounter with a group of coatis, a raccoon-like mammal that communicates with strange clicking noises. The most amazing view I get on the Pampas del Heath, a big stretch of savannah in a place where you would never expect it. It feels like suddenly entering Africa when the trees give way to the great open plain. This is where giant anteaters and the illusive mane wolf roam, but it’s also the stage of a daily spectacle when yellow and blue macaws return from the forest to their nesting trees. We even get a good look at the toco toucan, the biggest species of toucan in the world which is very hard to see in this part of the country.
When we’re transferred to our next destination I almost sleep through my parents’ first (and my sixth) tapir sighting. In the late morning we arrive at the most crowded piece of jungle I’ve seen so far: Lake Sandoval in the Tambopata National Reserve. A long muddy road stretches to a small port, where a canoe takes us and our luggage through the palm swamp and on the oxbow lake. All hell breaks loose as buckets of rain pour down from the clouds. My parents scramble to get their rain coats on, while I’m happy for the frogs and plants that are finally getting some water again; it’s been ridiculously dry for the wet season.
We only have a day to spend in the lodge that we’re taken to. I wish I had more time in the reserve, as it turns out to be an amazing spot for wildlife. Brown agoutis roam the terrain, while squirrel monkeys and dusky titi monkeys jump from tree to tree. Our guide tells us he sees bushmasters on the path near our hut rather often, while I’m happy catching an olive forest racer. After the rain eases down, we venture out with the canoe to see what makes the lake famous: giant river otters. And are we lucky. The entire family shows up, playing and catching fish right before our eyes. We don’t even need Pepe’s binoculars to see them munching on their freshly caught food. The river otters (called ‘wolfs of the river’ in Spanish) used to be heavily endangered because of the trade in their fur. Now they are slowly coming back, repopulating the lakes one family at a time. As if this sight is not enough, a three meter black caiman decides to pay us a visit and show off its enormous jaws. We have no luck finding a tree boa, apparently common in this area, on our final night walk. The next morning we pack up, get back to Puerto Maldonado and check in for our flight to Cuzco. I’m grumpier than ever, now definitely leaving the forest and Maldonado behind me. The prospect of hiking the Inca Trail does not yet excite me; I arrive in the ancient Andes capital without a smile. But that’s about to change.

Video: a tapir swimming and climbing on the shore of the Heath River.

The size of the toco toucan (Ramphastos toco) is not made clear by this far-away picture, but seeing this creature on the flat pampas was a very special experience. For our guide, this was his second sighting in five years.
Red-and-green macaws (Ara chloropterus) enjoying their morning salt lick.
The jungle provides readily made swings for anyone wishing to unleash their inner child.

Peru Part IV: Cutting and catching

Last three weeks at LPAC

After saying goodbye to everyone at Boca Pariamanu, I transfer back to LPAC for my final three weeks as a volunteer. The new organization I’m with is ARCAmazon, where I’m joining as a Forest Ranger. I find out that our base at LPAC has been taken over by Dutch people: there’s four of us. As a Forest Ranger, I’m mostly working on conservation in the LPAC-concession and the new Jungle Keepers-concession right across the river. Together with Rory, Elvis and Chizito, we cut through dense forest to create a path right along the JK borders. It’s tough work, especially when you unknowingly come across a tangaranga tree. This tree, that supposedly has medicinal properties, has a symbiotic relationship with a certain type of fire ants. The ants live inside of the tree and protect the plant from any damage done by other plants and animals, such as, unfortunately, me. To cut the borders far away from LPAC, we organize a two-night campout in the forest, using triangular tents suspended from three thick trees. Although swimming in the forest stream and cooking on an open fire is wonderful, the operation can’t be called a succes: in the morning of the second day, Chizito takes a wasp sting in the eye, forcing us to canoe back.
Around LPAC, we cut new trails and monitor the area for any mammals, guans and human activity. It shows me how amazingly well this small part of the rain forest is doing. Large groups of the endangered black spider monkey are seen almost everyday. In total, I manage to see an astonishing ten different species of monkeys during my time at LPAC. One of my most precious experiences in Peru revolves around two spider monkeys. As I’m taking a walk through the jungle on my own, two of them spot me before I see them. They come incredibly low and seem to be communicating about me. They’re checking me out, just as I’m checking them out. At that moment, we are equally interested in eachother.
My three fellow Dutchies are all doing their own research in the forest. Liselot intensively studies the spider monkeys around camp, identifying each individual and closely monitoring their movements. She unfortunately misses the group of 23 that I spot one day. Marjolein builds traps to find dung beetles for her research, showing us the diverse beauty of these strange animals. And Piet tries to catch as many snakes as possible. Mostly, he’s on the lookout for yellow tailed cribos and rainbow boas. Helping him out with this proves to be a lot of fun, but also a challenge. They’re quick, fierce and often well camouflaged. Nonetheless, I manage to bring back racers, calico snakes and boas.
I see some amazing mammals that I have not seen before. On a solo night walk, I see a giant armadillo slowly scurrying away in the distance. A capybara sits in the shallow water of the river with a cowbird on its head. One night, Piet and I take a small canoe up the stream behind camp. For the first time, I see a huge tapir wading through the water. It’s a beautiful and strange sight.
It’s almost impossible to mention everything I see and experience in these three days. From watching saki monkeys swing from tree to tree and seeing the trail system literally turn into a river, to picking up a tarantula and having a tree crash down on our platform. I have a near-death experience as I’m almost bitten by a wandering spider in my life jacket. Liselot saves me by calling out the dangerous critter. My final two days are especially amazing. On my penultimate afternoon, I see the last half of a big rainbow boa slither under a root. After what can only be described as tug of war with this powerful constrictor, I safely bag the boa and triumphantly take ‘Ozzy’ back to camp, where he is measured and PIP-tagged. The last morning, Piet and I get up before dawn to try and see a roaming jaguar. We walk very quietly along the trail, but without any luck. As we hike back, we notice an abundance of new cat tracks and furballs. We’ve been followed. The jungle awards us on my last night walk with a relatively rare sight: two adult tapirs crashing through the trees; a mating couple. On our way back, we wade through the stream to catch caiman, some of the best fun I’ve ever had. I leave the next day in the early morning, back to Puerto Maldonado. The next day, a new adventure wil begin: meeting my parents again.

A golden silk orb-weaver (genus Nephila) weaves a very strong yellow web.
I mistook this strange lifeform for a fungus, but thanks to Reddit user squidboots over at /r/mycology I now know this is a parasitic plant called Ombrophytum violaceum.
Barred monkey frog (Phyllomedusa tomopterna).
The hoatzin (Opisthocomus hoazin) is an incredible bird. Before food reaches its stomach, it ferments in an enlarged crop. This produces a foul smell and gives the bird its nickname ‘stinkbird’.
A pair of mating stick insects.
Unidentified spider.
Ozzy the rainbow boa (Epicrates cenchria), after measurements and PIP-tagging.
The rainbow boa has to be one of my favorite snakes.
Rainbow boas are highly popular pets in the western world, resulting in a large number of different morphs available.
A brown capuchin monkey (Sapajus apella) in a palm tree on our camp grounds.



Peru Part III: Getting wet

Last three weeks in Boca Pariamanu

Finally, the wet season starts to be noticed. The occasional downpours become more and more frequent. I get myself caught out in the rain quite often, and in the rain forest, even the most advanced piece of clothing won’t keep you dry. Gore-Tex or not, you might as well give up: you’re gonna get soaked.
As Mark leaves for a bit on a  short well-deserved vacation, I am to keep myself busy with other activities. Since the caiman team has just started up to begin researching the crocodilian population around Boca, I spend a lot of time capturing their search for the prehistoric looking creatures. Taking photographs for Fauna’s Facebook page is another one of my concerns. After Mark comes back for a short while, he leaves his equipment with me to continue light box work on any new species I find. Night walks for capturing species, morning shoots and releasing now comes down to me and Allie, Mark’s other intern. And I have to say: we do a pretty good job. Among the new species we light box are the mottled clown treefrog (Hyla sarayucensis), the Amazon horned frog (Ceratophrys cornuta) and even the spectacled caiman (Caiman crocodillus, although some help was required for this guy). I do a lot of shooting for myself as well, now being fully comfortable in the jungle environment. I stop wearing bug spray, I stop caring about getting my socks and pants wet, and I couldn’t care less about pulling some worms out of my foot. We’re all connecting more with the community, playing volleyball almost every day and an occasional game of soccer (only when it’s chilly enough to not sweat profusely). For me, this makes the prospect of leaving this place harder and harder to cope with.
On one of my last days in Boca, I’m going out again with Mark to release some reptiles and amphibians we captured the night before. Even though it’s pouring down, I’m optimistic and bring a tripod and my camera in case it stops raining. Unfortunately it doesn’t, and we’re forced to release the animals without getting any pictures. As we’re walking back to camp, an incredibly bright flash of blue light illuminates the dark sky. Without any delay, a violent explosion of sound, the loudest noise I’ve ever heard, comes crashing through the raindrops. We dive to the ground and I drop the metal tripod. We crouch on the floor, with our rubber boots hopefully insulating the potential path of lightning through us. As the thunder fades away, we stand up and race back to the town. Though we laugh about our experience, we’re shaken out of our wits and smell a strong scent of burnt earth. Mark later describes it as ‘Gandalf the White coming down from the sky’. We’re very lucky that the lightning didn’t hit us, but missed us by around 10 meters.
After surviving a bullet ant infestation, seeing (and smelling) a huge pack of white-lipped peccaries and having a tarantula walk on my face, I’ve grown quite attached to the place. On November 21th, I have to leave at last. I’m going back to LPAC to participate in the Forest Ranger Program with ARCAmazon. But not before saying goodbye to everyone and taking a small party with me to Puerto. Little did I know I would be back sooner than I expected.

Large, unidentified moth.


Unidentified insect.
Beautiful hanging Heliconias, a regular in the tropical rainforest.
Unidentified insect.
The mammal team actually uses this log bridge on one of their transects.
One of the captured white caiman (Caiman crocodillus).
Brazil nuts provide a delicious snack on a long walk. The only animal capable of opening the tough shell is the brown agouti, a large rodent. It buries the found nuts for later consumption, but often forgets their location, thus helping with the spread of the Brazil nut tree.
One of the streams near Walter’s house, a remote place within the Boca Pariamanu community, provides a good place for searching for herps (and posing for pictures).
A swampy area near the habitable sector. I later found out a large anaconda lives here.
An olive tree runner (Plica umbra).
A view of the misty forest around Boca Pariamanu.
A nest of sweat bees. These little buggers won’t sting you, but they will crawl on you to try and get some of that delicious sweat. When you squash one of them, they release a disgusting smell which attracts even more bees.
The Amazon green anole (Anolis punctatus).
The Amazon horned frog (Ceratophrys cornuta) is a remarkable animal. It ambushes a prey by silently waiting in a dug out hole in the forest floor and can swallow animals almost as big as itself. Every frog as a uniquely different pattern and can stay in one place for weeks. They are very popular pets and have been dubbed ‘Pac-man frog’ due to its large mouth.
Some local people believe that its cousin, the Colombian horned frog, is venomous and when it bites you, won’t let go until the sun sets. I, on the contrary, have mostly found this frog to be a general sweetheart and a terrific model.
The wonderful Neotropical marbled tree frog (Hyla marmorata).
The parrot snake (Leptophis ahaetulla) is as cute and harmless as a snake can be. It pretends to be ready to strike at any moment, but will never actually harm you, even if you try.

Peru Part II: A change of scenery

First three weeks in Boca Pariamanu

After spending a week on the couch in Puerto Maldonado enjoying the effects of a virus called Chikungunya, I am the last volunteer to be transferred to the forest community of Boca Pariamanu. Only 2.5 hours upstream from Maldonado’s harbor, this community is based where the Pariamanu river enters Las Piedras. When one thinks of a jungle community in South America, images of strange herbal rituals and naked dancing usually pop up. But to see that, you’ll have to visit the uncontacted tribes, hidden away far from humanity below the thick canopy. Boca is very much like a regular village, but without any roads, and houses above the ground to keep out any wild animals. Nobody in Boca seems to have heard of these strange people called ‘vegetarians’, so my first meal is a bit of improvising.
My job is now different from what I did at LPAC. Here I am working with Mark, a wildlife photographer from England with a love for coca leaves. I sleep on an empty Brazil nut drying platform, which quickly gets dubbed ‘The Nut Hut’. Mark is working on an identification guide for reptiles and amphibians in the Madre de Dios region. I am still skeptical when it comes to handling herpetofauna and going out at night; I thought the night was for sleeping? Slowly but surely, I start to get the hang of the job. The morning is where I get my workout of carrying a gasoline generator and a large wooden table to the Nut Hut, where we photograph species that we caught last night in a white box to avoid background distraction (find these pictures on I notice myself getting more and more comfortable with both my camera and the animals we’re handling. In the afternoon, we usually release the animals and take their pictures in their natural habitat. Most of the photos in this blog are from those times. As night falls, and everyone goes to sleep, we venture out into the woods to find new animals and bring them back with us.
After only a week in Boca, I encounter the most fearful animal yet; a young Fer-de-Lance pit viper. Strangely enough, this is the only dangerously venomous snake I’ve encountered during my time in Peru. Photographing this creature is highly exciting. Just a few days later, I have another amazing experience when I catch my first snake. As Mark is very ill (on his birthday) I am out early with Fauna’s mammal team to survey the area when we stumble upon something unexpected. A beautiful rainbow boa, relaxing in the middle of the trail. I have not seen a boa before and have absolutely no idea whether this is a dangerous animal. After being assured that this one is in fact not venomous, I’m urged by the entire mammal team to catch it. After all, there’s no way that they’re picking it up! And since the boa is starting to crawl away, I’ll have to move fast. Even though the snake does not seem to like me very much, I manage to not get chewed on and safely get him in the bag. In spite of Mark’s illness he seems to be happy with his birthday present.

A katydid mimicking a leaf.
Even the trees can hurt you!


The black-headed calico snake (Oxyrhopus melanogenys), a friendly animal that will lift any mistrust in reptiles.
The pineapple snake, Liophis reginae. We had two, but one was an escape master and disappeared.
Coming right at you.
Phyllomedusa tomopterna, or the barred monkey frog.
A juvenile South American lancehead (Bothrops atrox), also called Fer-de-Lance.
Young lanceheads hunt by attracting prey by waggling their yellow tail as a lure.
A cicada tower.
Imantodes cenchoa, the common blunt-headed tree snake.
A beautiful Phyllomedusa camba.
This katydid mimics a dead leaf.
A shedding katydid.
A cotton candy-like caterpillar.
The one and only Boa constrictor, the red-tailed boa.
A portrait of the Western leaf lizard (Stenocercus fimbriatus).