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As we readied ourselves for the journey, Pedro and Eutimio demonstrated how to properly use a machete

which provided Carlos and Christina with plenty of inspiration:

After Leo stared down the chickens,

it was time to head into the jungle.  We walked across the grass, passing beneath the huts, and directly into the forest adjacent to the lodge.  As we crossed past the threshold and into the rainforest, it got a lot darker, and our group got a lot quieter -- drowned out by the din of the insects and animals around us. 

At intervals, Pedro and Eutimio stopped to tell us a little bit about our environs

but it was hard to concentrate on anything but one thing: the HUNDREDS upon HUNDREDS of mosquitoes that were in the air, pecking at our skin.  They largely left Pedro and Eutimio alone, but Amazon mosquitoes apparently have quite a liking for Asian blood, because they were absolutely swarming the rest of the group.  Normal mosquitoes aren't particularly apt to bite you in the forehead, but these mosquitoes were; for once, I regretted not wearing a hat.  I felt myself getting bite after bite after bite, all over my head, and suddenly I was not too happy about having needed the cipro (which, according to my friend Valerie, interacts with malarone -- forcing me to go without my malaria pills).  Pedro tried to assuage our fears, mentioning that in years of traveling through the rainforest, he'd only gotten malaria once.  As the mosquitoes piled onto us, this was hardly soothing news.

We trudged on through the dense forest, encountering a whole variety of insects that I never could have possibly imagined.  One insect gave Christina a particular fright; it was red and black and roughly the size and shape of a large beetle, but it flew back and forth -- horizontally, like it was on an invisible conveyor belt.  It was one of the strangest creatures I've ever seen, but none of us were in any hurry to stop and take pictures; our hands were occupied swatting the mosquitoes from our heads.  For the rest of the nearly hourlong hike, all I could manage were these photos:

After a seeming eternity of getting munched on by mosquitoes, the torturous hike finally came to a conclusion.  We emerged from the rainforest and found ourselves on a long bridge

and I took a moment to survey what we'd just endured.  My face felt completely numb from all the bites, and I was stewing a bit due to the lack of any semblance of warning or instruction from Pedro or Eutimio regarding proper preparations for the swarms of mosquitoes. 

We finished crossing the bridge and ended up at our destination: Yanayacu Village. 

We poked inside a classroom, where a few small children were being taught by a friendly middle-aged local woman.  Evidently, they were well-prepared for visitors; after we left the room, they emerged with an array of handicrafts, which their teacher encouraged us to purchase as a way of supporting the kids.  I got myself an Iquitos fan, we said goodbye to the locals, and we made our way out of the village. 

Thankfully, we were not going back the way we arrived.  This time, we instead headed down to the Yanayacu River, where Julio and his motorboat were awaiting our arrival.

We piled in and were off on our way.

We made our way down the river toward Las Palmas Village, purported home of some Amazonian natives.  After about half an hour in the boat, we landed -- and again we were on foot, navigating through the lush vegetation (this time mosquito-free).

Soon, we arrived at the village

which featured a huge thatched dome:


We walked around it and found a small door

and were greeted inside by some locals and a collection of ostensibly Amazonian musical instruments.

Ever the musicians, Pedro and Eutimio immediately swooped up the instruments and started leading an impromptu jam session:
 

We took some photos with the natives (notice Eutimio's framing skills on the right)

and made our way outside for another Amazonian activity: shooting blow darts. 

Most of us proved to be pretty poor marksmen -- we each got three attempts to successfully strike our target with a dart, and I missed all mine.  I guess I would not fare well as a hunter in the Amazon.

After target practice, we were directed to the natives' arts and crafts -- on a small patio, necklaces and other trinkets were on a display.  I picked up a couple of piranha-jaw necklaces for a few soles -- I figured it was a good investment, since I'm not too likely to find piranha jaws on sale in the States.

This wrapped up our (very canned) round of activities with the villagers.  It was readily apparent that these "natives" had more or less completely sold out -- due to repeated incursions into their territory, their way of life had been irrevocably altered, shifting to accommodate tourism and its attendant trappings. 

While true Amazonian natives do exist to this day, they don't live anywhere near Iquitos or the Yanayacu.  Pedro told us of an expedition he'd taken years ago, deep into largely unexplored regions of the Amazon.  Along the way, his team had encountered natives, but there were no fun and games; these true natives didn't want visitors, and they liked them even less.  Facing open hostility, Pedro and his team endured a series of perilous experiences getting themselves out and back to civilization.   I suppose that, in comparison with actual danger, playing music and shooting blow darts is a preferable -- albeit much less exciting -- alternative.

We piled back into the boat and motored back down the Yanayacu, in the direction of the Amazon Lodge.  Pedro thought this would be a good time for a photo op 

and indeed it was, though I definitely don't want to look like this ever again:

We arrived back at the lodge and said hello to the trio of resident parrots, who were busy enjoying their lunch:

Following suit, our group sat down to enjoy another excellent home-cooked meal -- and, as it turned out, the last we'd share together.  Right after lunch, Pedro, Carlos, Christina, and Lee were set to return to Iquitos.  As they gathered their belongings, we said our goodbyes, and before we knew it, they were off. 

Even though we'd really just spent a day together, it was sad to see them go.  Or maybe it wasn't that sad -- after all, a few of our other friends were still hanging around:

Eutimio stayed behind at the lodge to be our guide for the rest of the way.  The afternoon promised yet another novel activity: piranha fishing.  Like the day before, however, some after-lunch thunderstorms forced us to adjust our schedule -- though this time, the rain ended after a couple hours, so we didn't have to cancel our plans.  Late that afternoon, we headed back to the boat for some Amazon fishing.

We paddled for about fifteen minutes before pulling up next to the riverbank, right next to a tangle of branches that had fallen into the water.  Once we'd brought the boat to a standstill, Eutimio busted out our makeshift fishing rods -- long sticks with a line attached to one end. 

Using these things to fish was a rather inexact science; you basically had to drop your bait (bits of chicken meat, in this case) into the murky brown water and move the stick around in a way that would drag the bait in a way that would a) actually attract the piranhas and b) nab the piranhas when they bit (as opposed to letting the piranhas get away scott-free with the meat, which happened to us 90% of the time).  Eutimio and Julio, though, had no such trouble; they were catching fish left and right, which showed that they (unlike us) clearly knew what they doing. 

Despite our problems, we ended up with a pretty decent haul:

We even caught some non-piranhas, such as these little guys:

That night, we feasted on the usual delicious meal prepared by Julio's family -- but this time, it came with one extra dish: freshly cooked piranhas.  They were a little on the small side, but they were tasty all the same -- and the capper to a busy day.  As my morning mosquito bites puffed up, I again was lulled to sleep by the jungle's nighttime melody.  Saturday had more in store.

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