Perusing Peru like Paddington Bear
When I tell the concierge at my Lima hotel that I’m heading to Iquitos in a few days, she replies, “I’ve never been. Too much green.” I’ve never heard the Amazon rainforest described so succinctly before, but she’s right: there is a lot of green. I’m here to get to know the homeland of a certain polite bear – our hero returns to his home country for his latest movie, Paddington in Peru. But before I get to “Darkest” Peru (supposedly so called because, in some spots of the rainforest, only two per cent of sunlight makes it to the ground), there’s the country’s capital, Lima.
I’m bookending the actual jungle with the concrete one – a sort of urban comfort blanket where I don’t have to worry as much about mosquitos. And since Lima is fast becoming a serious foodie centre – with several Michelin-recommended restaurants, not to mention the street food and coffee – I take a tour. Friendly cafés run on local coffee beans, thriving local markets stock the bounty of the rainforest and the ocean, and we finish at a street food vendor who helps us prepare our own causa – a sort of sandwich made with potato instead of bread, filled with chicken and avocado. The cuisine here goes way beyond marmalade sandwiches.
Next day, it’s back to the airport en route to Iquitos, one of the most remote cities on the planet – and all that green. River tributaries snake through the forest on their way to join the mighty Amazon. In this new, third Paddington film, the Brown family charter a riverboat to navigate the jungle, and it’s an idea I’ve run with. Our coach trundles for two hours through dense forest, down one of the only roads in this region, finally arriving at our boarding jetty. At its end is the Marañón river, an Amazon tributary, where our riverboat, the Zafiro, awaits. This is the Amazon Riverboat Adventure (gadventures.com) – six nights drifting down the river basin back to Iquitos. Skiffs will take us into the depths of the jungle to those sunshine-deprived forest floors, where blazing sun can turn to deluge in a matter of seconds.
Our days are mapped out according to the weather gods. Plans are delayed, abandoned or adapted according to whether the heavens are open or closed. While on the boat, we learn about local wildlife, see the national dish, ceviche, being made by the on-board chef, or sit on the deck with a beer and watch the rainforest slip by on mirror-like waters.
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The majority of our time is spent away from the Zafiro, however, either on a skiff or getting in and among nature. Often, the motors cut out as we glide towards dense greenery, our guides having spotted a creature. In one instance, our bow bumps into a nondescript bank, a vague silhouette of a woolly monkey in the mid-distance. Suddenly, the troop is upon us, a mother with a baby clinging to her back boldly making her way down from the rubber tree, and onto our skiff. Further into the forest, we spot a nest of surprisingly cute baby tarantulas and our eyes quickly flick up to a sloth hanging nonchalantly above us.
We swim in the lagoons , and tuktuk around the bumpy rainforest town of Nauta. We release baby yellow-spotted turtles – their eggs rescued from poachers – into the wild. We row canoes past freshwater pink dolphins, all the time shepherded by our knowledgeable and enthusiastic guides – indigenous to the rainforest – who are first up and last to bed. With all the life happening around me, the tranquillity is astounding. In fact, I have never slept better, though this may have something to do with the antihistamines for mosquito bites, and the absence of wi-fi. Regardless, this place never stops being a revelation.
Returning to Lima, I give myself a few days before the 13-hour flight home (latamairlines.com) to inform my inner-balance that I’m no longer on a boat. From Hilton Miraflores (hilton.com) – its rooftop infinity pool pointed directly at Lima’s spectacular sunset – I see crowds milling around an open-air mall on the seafront. Heading there for a sundowner, I encounter a statue just by the entrance, of a duffle-coated-bear on a plinth, raising his floppy hat as a greeting. Maybe it wasn’t in the rainforest, but I have finally found my Peruvian bear. The inscription reads, “Please look after this bear”, and it seems only fair. After all, Peru has looked after me very well indeed.
