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Just a little groggily, we went down the river, surrounded all around by the sounds and ambiance of birds' morning chirping.
 

Through the mist, we spotted kingfishers, eaglets, and other river denizens -- all of which were described in detail by Eutimio, whose encyclopedic knowledge of Amazon wildlife was encumbered only by the fact he had to translate it into English.  I've always loved birds, and getting the chance to see Amazon species I'd never seen (and probably will never get to see again) was a truly special experience.

After we'd traveled quite a distance downriver, Eutimio steered the boat ashore.  He told us that his brother lived at this spot along the Yanayacu, and he just wanted to stop by to see if we'd get a chance to meet some of his family.  Unfortunately, his brother wasn't home, but his brother's pet was:

This big creature -- merely the latest surprising pet we'd encountered in the rainforest -- was a tapir, and it was an appropriately voracious eater and a surprisingly capable swimmer.  After wolfing down some fat veggies from Eutimio, it slipped into the river and went paddling away:

Eutimio assured us that his brother's pet wasn't making an escape; tapirs just love to swim, and once it'd gotten its fix of the water, it would surely return to its owners -- after all, they kept him well-fed. 

We returned to our boat.  After about an hour of early-morning bird watching, Eutimio decided it was time to take us for a short hike into night monkey territory.  We'd already spent plenty of time with the night monkeys at the lodge, but seeing them in their natural environment would be something new and different. 

What wasn't new and different, however, were the damn mosquitoes; I'd prepared for the morning thinking it would be strictly a bird watching trip, so I'd worn neither the proper attire nor any repellant.  The mosquitoes had a field day with me.  Even though it was a short hike into the rainforest, it was more than ample opportunity for the pesky bugs to feast on my face and shoulders; in fact, the mosquitoes bit through my shirt, taking a particular liking to my upper arms.  To this day, my shoulders and upper arms are coated in scars from that fateful morning.  I was especially vulnerable to the mosquito onslaught when my hands were occupied with taking these photos of the aforementioned night monkeys:

High up in the trees, you can see the night monkeys watching us.  When you look at these photos and think, "Wow, these aren't very clear," just remember the physical toll that went into their being taken in the first place.  Were the pictures worth the trouble?  Definitely not.  But at least now I can say that I've seen night monkeys in their natural rainforest habitat, in addition to the adorable tethered variety at the lodge.

After I'd been served up as breakfast to swarms of mosquitoes, we returned to the lodge for breakfast and recuperation.  I could feel the dozens of mosquito bites developing into annoying bumps -- it wasn't a good feeling.  Sensing my plight, Eutimio came up with a post-breakfast itinerary: a visit to the local apothecary.

This time with Julio along for the trip, we got in the lodge's motorboat and set off on our way -- but, just moments after we launched, Eutimio called us to a halt.  In the jungle's riverside canopy, he could sense the presence of a big ape.  He beckoned Julio to draw the boat -- quietly -- closer to the shore, and sure enough, this was what we saw in the towering trees:

Julio pulled the boat ashore, and Eutimio climbed out, keeping his eyes trained on the monkey.  Using a trick he must have learned over years of living in the rainforest, he used his hands to pretend he was holding an offering of food -- a trick the monkey fell for hook, line, and sinker.  The ape nimbly clambered down the trees, from the canopy toward our spot by the river.  It got close enough -- just a few yards from Eutimio -- for me to take these fuzzy shots:

It was a pretty impressive display by Eutimio -- both in his ability to recognize the monkey's presence from hundreds of feet away, and in his ability to somehow draw the monkey down from its treetop perch.  Observing the complexity of these and other tricks, I was fairly certain I'd be hard-pressed to last even a week on my own in the rainforest.

After this episode with the monkey, Julio fired up the motor and we were again on our way.  We went down the Yanayacu for over half an hour, going all the way back to the Timicuro, where the medicine man resided.

The apothecary turned out to be home to a glorious assortment of medicinal plants and herbs; we walked through the amazing garden, listening to Eutimio describe the applications and uses of each plant. 
 

After touring the garden, we headed inside the hut, where a woman and a couple kids were awaiting us.  With their help, Eutimio prepared a solution out of lemon juice and a couple plants -- a remedy, he said, for itchiness:

I applied this to my wide assortment of bites.  However, after feeling some initial relief, I am sad to report that the above goop didn't really do anything to reduce my itichiness.  Evidently, at least one traditional remedy functions as little more than a placebo.  The chance to see an Amazonian apothecary, however, was well worth it. 

For the final time, we headed on back to the lodge. 

It might be a little difficult to tell from these pictures, but my head was prominently featuring some major mosquito bite action.  However, even still, it would have been impossible for me to claim that our stay in the Amazon lodge hadn't been a fascinating one.  We arrived back for one last lunch, and one last goodbye to our feathery friends:

Along with two new guests who were about to begin their stay at the lodge, Cesar arrived on the boat that would be shuttling us back to Iquitos.  It was his first trip to the lodge in several months, he claimed, and he was pleased to see it was in good shape.  He discussed business with Julio and told us that he'd be taking us back to the city shortly after the conclusion of our meal; he also spoke excitedly of his son's new plans to travel from the Bay Area and visit his family in Peru later in the year.

I finished my food and walked outside to find that it'd begun raining.  For a period following lunch, rain poured down

but it cleared up just in time for our departure.  It was sad to leave.  Instead of returning to Iquitos with us, Eutimio decided to stay behind at the lodge to guide the pair of new visitors; we took one last photo with him -- the last photo I took in all of Peru --

and we said our final goodbyes.  We set off on the long two-hour boat ride back to Iquitos. 

Cesar, who'd brought a couple of his kids with him, tended to them in the back of our tented motorboat.  As we zipped down the Yanayacu and Timicuro, I looked out at the rainforest for the last time.  Once we were back on the Amazon River, we passed by substantial traffic, in the form of barges and boats carrying both livestock and people. 

Finally, we arrived back in the city.  From the boat, we walked up the same rickety gunk-surrounded steps we'd set foot on when I first glimpsed the Amazon just days earlier.  We were greeted by the corpulent manager, who had a smile on his face.  I'm not sure if he was happier that we'd enjoyed ourselves, or that we'd returned alive.  We retrieved our bags from his office, stepped out onto the sidewalk -- glimpsing road vehicles for the first time in days -- and watched as Cesar hailed one of the many motorbike-taxis that were zipping by.  We loaded our bags into the back of the cab, and the three of us squeezed onto its lone tented bench.  We waved goodbye to the manager, the taxi driver stepped on the gas, and we were on our way to Iquitos Airport.

Along the way, we pulled over at a gas station, where the driver had to fill the motorbike with gas and the tires with air.  While the driver tended to these tasks, Cesar told us about the sad reality that afflicts those stuck with making a living in the local taxi business; renting out the motorbikes for US$10 a day, and stuck with the tab and responsibility of keeping the bikes fueled and maintained, taxi drivers had to recoup their costs on a daily basis -- their profit consisting only of what they earned, if anything, after the rental and fuel costs had been accounted for.  Considering the obviously massive number of taxi drivers in Iquitos alone, and the pittance in soles earned per taxi ride, this clearly was a very difficult way to make money, let alone a living.  As I sit here typing this, I'm struck now -- as I was then -- by the comforts we take for granted, all while the less fortunate struggle to scrape by.  It's a sad, depressing reality, and one we too easily overlook.

After we hit the road again, we soon arrived at the airport.  Cesar paid the taxi driver and accompanied us inside, where he chatted with us as we waited in lines for our boarding passes and then for paying the nationally mandated airport tax.  He then went off to greet newly arrived travelers, hoping to convince them to visit the Amazon Lodge.  All we had on the docket now was a lot of flying -- to Lima and then LAX and SFO. 

On the plane out of Iquitos, I sat between a pair of very interesting folks from Southern California.  Like us, they had spent several days in the Amazon; however, their experience could not have been more different.  They had visited Peru as part of a psychedelic tour group from the United States -- a tour that had taken them first to Machu Picchu, where they indulged in all sorts of trip-inducing substances from high atop the mountain peak, and then to the Amazon, where they spent a week with a shaman in the jungle.  Their story was a rather interesting one, if a little unconventional, but it speaks to the diversity of experiences to be had by travelers to South America.  These two also turned out to be the last new people I'd meet on the trip -- one that had brought us many.  

Once we arrived in Lima, the requisite goodbyes were in order -- and Tammy and I were off to await our redeye flight back to the United States.  I perused gift shops, picking up a box of (what turned out to be nasty) Peruvian chocolates for Victoria, and sat down at the airport restaurant for what was ironically my only meal of ceviche during my entire visit (given the illness troubles I'd already gone through, I had no misgivings or regrets about not eating more ceviche). 

The clock hit midnight.  It would soon be time to leave Peru.

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