My Travels In Peru

Jungle Trekking, Coffee and More

The quickest way to get to the jungle from Lima is to head due east to La Merced, a small town known as the gateway to the selva (Spanish for jungle). A couple from Lima, whom we had met the year before, had proposed the trip to us. As they knew the territory, and were doing the driving, it was an offer we couldn't refuse. To enter the selva, they warned us, "You need yellow fever vaccination certificates or you will not be allowed in." So, before leaving for Lima,  we got our shots and our brand new certificates. 

Manolo has a small Toyota, and with four people and four backpacks it rides fairly close to the ground. We had packed the bare minimum and had left stuff behind in their apartment to keep the weight and volume down. With all the precautions we had taken we should have been okay, or so we thought. Manolo's car is old and has seen better days: it's going to be put to the test. Not far out of Lima, the road condition changes dramatically; it's littered with potholes of all sizes. Now I fully understand his weight concern!

With the dry coastal mountains behind us, we start to see trees, even though we're at higher altitudes. We're enjoying the new scenery when, suddenly, the car sound like a tractor. Manolo's worst fears are realized. We're in the middle of nowhere and the muffler pipe has sheared off. A feeling of near panic overtakes me. "Now what?" I want to ask, but don't.

He sees a clearing on the side of the road and pulls over to assess the situation. "We should be okay for a few more kilometres, until we find a repair shop," he says. I feel like saying, "A repair shop in the middle of nowhere?" but I don't. Sure enough, within half hour or so we stop at a little shack by the side of the road and ask for help. It turns out to be a repair shop. A guy comes out, looks at it and says, "I'll have you back on the road in half an hour." Sure enough, we're off again in even less time. A few minutes later we see a small village ahead: the shack was not as isolated as I had thought.

We entered mining country and most of the trucks that we see on the road work for mining companies. The little villages and hamlets that we see make a living by providing services to the mining industry. It's not much of a living. The guy that fixed the muffler had asked for ten soles, about $4. Can you imagine doing that in Toronto, where one can't even get an oil change for less than $50? So, when he finished I gave him twenty.

We gradually climb from sea level to 4800 m and stop on the ridge of the continental divide. Slowly, and with a lot of huffing and puffing, we climb to the lookout point on the side of the road. All the rivers to the east of us carry their waters to the Atlantic Ocean, thousands of miles away; and those on the west side have a much shorter trajectory to the Pacific Ocean. Although it's cold and windy, standing here is an extraordinary moment. We're literally at the top of the world!

On the way down, we see several large lagoons created by the mining companies to hold contaminated water from the ore leaching operations. The landscape is barren, almost like a moonscape. Farther down is La Oroya, the mining capital of  Peru, and one of the worst polluted places one can imagine. As soon as word got out that there was gold in the mountains, the early Spanish conquistadors started mining operations here, which continue to this day.

We stop a short while later in Tarma, the city of flowers. It sits in a beautiful, fertile valley, which has been largely dedicated to the production of flowers. The contrast between it and La Oroya couldn't be any starker. It's the logical place to stop for lunch. Manolo needs a rest and we all need to stretch our legs and feed our tummies.

When we arrive at the entrance to the selva, the guard motions us to continue. "What about my yellow fever certificates? Does anybody care to see them?" I ask myself. I should have known better. There is a big difference between theory and practice. The regulations exist, but they're not enforced. As we enter the national reserve known as Pampa Hermosa, Manolo says, "Welcome to the selva".