Early in the morning, at around 6, I got up and said goodbye to Luiz whose bus left at a 7am, "When I get outside I will cry." he said, gave me one last hug and squeezed through the narrow slit in the doorway with his large pack. A couple of hours later Ninoska left, we had a nice hug, and then it was just the 3 of us, Blake, Humberto and I. Humberto made a delicious enchilada breakfast with last nights left overs and then he too left us to tend to his business.Our flight to Lima was at 2:40 so we waited until 12 to get a taxi to the airport, which was 8 soles. Upon arriving the woman at the Avianca counter asked us for our tickets, we had only the print out given to us at the main office, she seemed terribly distressed by this, asking us if we had signed in electronically via the net, we said no and this didn't help her worried demeanor. She told us it was a security precaution and that someone had already signed us in. "must have been the people at the office we bought the flights in." We said. We eventually we settled this and then she informed Blake that his pack was to unorganized and had to be wrapped in a plastic wrap before being allowed on the plane, so they charged us 35 soles and wrapped it in an alien green plastic sheath.When we went through security the guard pulled me aside and asked me if I had a pocket knife in my bag, I did, he made me remove it and was going to throw it away, I stopped him in his tracks and said, "this is my father's knife, I'm not throwing it away." His face turned ugly and he said it wasn't possible to keep the knife with me on board, I asked him if there was a way to get it into my checked baggage and he said It was very unlikely. With a final plea he let me through the security door in the back and said I had 5 minutes to return through security and that getting the knife checked was my responsibility. It wasn't really my father's knife, but I had gotten it in Switzerland with my mom more than 15 years ago and I wasn't going to let it go just because it wasn't a good enough story to pass mustard with this guy.I went back to the Avianca counter and asked if they could check my knife in my bag, they said it was impossible, I would have to check another bag with the knife inside. I feel silly to have suggested checking my toiletries bag, but I did and they almost snickered at the idea of it. So I checked my trusted yellow backpack, the one I've been traveling with right by my side for the last 9 years, without ever checking it. I did remove my money satchel first though, if nothing else, Id have that to get me through things if it was lost or stolen. Money is the most important thing to travel with after all. I got back through security and joined Blake sitting in the waiting area of our gate.I looked at my ticket and thought I saw our arrival time as 6:05, I had told our couch surfer in Iquitos that we would arrive at 8:30, So I paid the 3 soles at the cafe for use of their wifi and related to her our change in arrival. Blake got a medium size bag of classic Lays potato chips for us to share and we waited for the gate to open. Soon we were boarded, and as soon as our plane took off I checked my ticket again and noticed with great disappointment in my powers of observation that our flight didn't in fact arrive at 6:05, but at the original time I had told her. As if to ease my conscience, the pilot informed us that due to better than expected flight conditions we would be arriving in Iquitos at around 7:40, which made my blunder a little easier to take.We arrived in Iquitos and walked off the plane down the steps on to the tarmac for several hundred meters until reaching the building at the far right side where our baggage would be unloaded. Moments later we had our bags and exited the building straight into the parking lot where an army of motortaxi drivers and anxiously awaiting relatives of all types waited to see their kin, or whoever it was they were there to meet.There standing next to the curb was Caroline, our local couch surfing host. The three of us greeted each other and crammed into the first motor taxi who had a reasonable price, which Caroline was easily able to accomplish. The motor taxis which I refer to are nothing more than split down the middle motorcycles with a back-end resembling a two-wheel cart with a plastic roof. Some are nicer than others to be sure, but anything fancier would require some higher purpose that doesn't really exist around these parts, with the exception of those used for hauling commercial goods that is.We reached Caroline's fathers hostel, named the Salamander Backpackers, and unloaded our gear into our double bunk-bed room with a single rickety fan spinning haphazardly from the ceiling. The beds were 20 soles a night, which we didn't have to pay. She took us to a local sports bar that was owned by an ex marine and baseball player from Texas that had amazingly decorated walls, full of jerseys, sports memorabilia, 25 foot snake skins and much, much more. The upstairs bar was named Margaritaville and aptly so, the winding metal staircase was actually pretty treacherous, in the states we'd call something like that a lawsuit waiting to happen, but here in Iquitos, and indeed in South America at large, no such weakness in a local drunks character, or ability to make any claim of fault except that of his own, exists.Looking at the menu, we found the Ayahuasca diet options in the very back. Blake chose the veggie burrito and the fish and I the personal veggie pizza. My pizza was blander than any Id ever imagined, it didn't even have tomato sauce on it, I nearly choked on the dry crust. Blakes Burrito was the same, but at least his fish was alright. We ended up having to get some sugar-free fruit juices just to get the food down. We spoke a little with Caroline about our plans here in Iquitos, that we were looking for a legitimate Shaman to facilitate our Ayahuasca Healing and that we were not interested in a mass ceremony with many people. She said she knew someone who might be able to help us and that we could talk with them in the morning. We returned to the Hostel, said goodnight to Caroline and returned to our bunk beds to sweat the whole night through beneath the rickety, barely effective ceiling fan.
A Shamans Tale
In the morning Ninoska took us the the open market that takes place every Saturday in the plaza. We had a great deal of sweets and fatty deep fried potatoes filled with vegetables, mushrooms, creams, meats and spices of various kinds. We even had ice cream that was hand made right before our eyes, they used a bowl that was spun by hand over some freezing mechanism until it churned into a creamy delicious cream, each cup was 1.5 soles and definitely worth it.From there we found the official Avianca office and changed our flights to wednesday, the change cost us an extra $15 dollars, but we were happy to have the matter settled at last.It was at this point that Ninoska suggested we visit the coca leaf Shaman that lived two cities away. Luiz, Blake and I agreed and the four of us departed on the 2 sole bus that drove in a straight line all the way there. We got off the bus, turned a corner and entered a large house to the left of the street. Ginny pigs in cages lined the wall to the right, with little chiwawa type dogs digging through a compost/trash pile in front of them. To the left and down a few steps was a bench we were to sit on and wait. Beneath it, was a female German Shepard sleeping happily, and beside her was a doberman pinscher licking her gentiles on and off the entire time we were there.A lady had arrived before us and had asked the shaman to help her family with some woe or another. The shaman asked her to write the names of the individuals in need of help on a piece of paper and wrap it around a candle that she would light and sit in front of in prayer.Blake went in first, with Ninoska as his translator, while Luiz and I waited outside. I asked him if he was going to see the Shaman, he didn't seem to think so, but when when Blake came out with a shocked look on his face he seemed to change his mind. I went next.Inside the dark room was a large condor hanging from the wall and many paintings and feathers, rugs and beads dotting the room, with trinkets and such of unknown origin here and there. I sat down he asked me my name, "Daniel" I said, and he told ninoska that he had a good friend with that name who killed himself out of insane jealousy for his girlfriends secret lover, then the shaman went into a trance asking me to blow 3 times into a ball of coca leaves he had bulging in his hands. An interesting way to begin I thought...At first I didn't want to seem to reserved so I blew hard into the leaves and watched him twist them in his hands letting them fall bit by bit as he spoke. The first thing he told me is that I had fallen into a shallow pool when I was very young and hurt myself badly, and that this event had made me distrust the world and had made me a dire pessimist. To rectify this, he said I must return to the place it happened, put the dirt closest to the event in my mouth and ask my spirit of optimism and trust to return to my body.It was true, I had fallen into a shallow pool when I was around 2 and had a shattered bottle pierce my heart, nearly dying and having to go to the hospital. I've always had a dire pessimism as well, and up until now haven't really understood why, perhaps this is my answer.He went on to say that I worry far too much about everything and that I must be positive or I will draw all the negative of the world into myself and effect everyone around me badly. Then he said that I have the spirit of the Whale within me and that I thrive most around the water, "this is where you must live and work he said." In addition to this he said that I will likely marry a Gemini and have 2-3 children.He asked me if I wanted to ask him anything and I asked him what my destiny was, he held the coca leaves tightly then relaxed and said my destiny was to help others and that I would be the bridge between foreign cultures, that I would help cure peoples broken bodies through Reiki and yoga and that If could open all seven of my chakras I would be fine in life.Then he said that I would return in 2-3 years to Peru and that I would have my own business one day.I thanked him, half in shock and almost in tears, and exited the dark room, rejoining the others outside. As I sat down Luiz entered the room with Ninoska while I took my place next to Blake. We both sat motionless for a moment and a powerful gust of wind blew over the entire village, when it settled, both Blake and I looked sideways at each other, each recognizing the expression of awe on the others face, and in unison we laughed as though stunned by some irretrievable thought. "what a trip huh?" I said, "Yeah..." Blake replied.Blake explained his experience, and I mine, when Luiz exited the room, we could both tell it had been the same for him. Although It is an event we all shared, it is a personal one and so I will not relate either of their experiences here.On the ride home, Ninoska explained in further detail the words of the Shaman for each of us, being the only person who speaks Spanish fluently we relied entirely on her for what was said. After we shared our thoughts very little was said, and we rode the bus back to Cusco in a state of contemplation with dreamy gazes facing no direction in particular.We decided to visit the Black market, I needed a belt for my pants and bought 2 hand made tribal ones for 5 soles each, one for me and one for Blake, which he uses as a bandanna.Having 2 days left here in Cusco, and with not much else we want to see, Blake decided to look for San Pedro, another Shaman plant that has been used in the Americas for over 3 thousand years. Named "Saint Peter" by the conquering Spanish upon their arrival, The name is attributed to the belief that just as St Peter holds the keys to heaven, the effects of the cactus allow users "to reach heaven while still on earth"After only 2 minutes in the market we found a woman selling 2 full cactus's, she asked us if we wanted a full or only part of one, a full, she said, would be enough for 5 people. We decided to take the full 7 foot cacti... Taking it home, Ninoska showed us how to remove the fine, plastic like layer of skin, dice it and boil it down for a couple of hours, which is exactly what we did.After a few hours we had 3 large pots filled with San Pedro cooking on the stove. Having no clean socks or cheese cloth to strain the cacti with we used Blakes, Harrington #3 Warriors jersey to extract the last of juices from the pots. In the end we had 5 liters of Mescaline in 2, 2.5 liter bottles. We chilled them in the fridge and planned our trip before going to bed, already a bit stoned from cooking the brews over a friendly game of 13 over several hours...