Chapter Seven

Aboard the Henry 3 by 6.30 a.m. and left ourselves into our mini-cabin by opening a padlock on a steel door, the key to which was given us by the Captain the day before. By 8 am, sun is up 2 hours and temperature is already over 30 degrees centigrade. Tony lay down and rested. Two hours later, he is unable to stand up because of weakness. When the vessel finally cast off, he was confined to bed. It was quiet clear he was very unwell and in the grip of a tropical fever.

We were on our way down the Umcayali river and about to join the mighty Amazon river in 3 days. Throughout the morning, families erected their hammocks and did their best to make this their home for the next 4 days. Most of the 300 or so passengers on board our vessel were poor indigenous people. Most of the cabins were occupied by 'gringos' like ourselves, the Euro 12.50 per night travel cost being beyond the reach of most of those on board. But they were quite comfortable, perfectly warm, dry and watched television in their combined dormitory / refectory area.

We had taken on board almost twenty liters of liquid for the four day journey. We purchased two plastic containers (similar to lunch boxes) and two spoons in the hope, at some stage, to be able to avail of the food ladled out three times a day. But, on inspection of the greasy soup, we decided to forgo this option and although the 'menu' varied for cabin-renters like ourselves, we found it impossible to eat what was being served.

I carefully watched Tony's condition to ensure he did not become dehydrated. Day one drifted into day two, and day three, and day four without any apparent improvement in his health. He was still suffering from a form of dysentery and it was important that he replace all lost liquids from his body. His condition, however, seemed to deteriorate by the day. I did not know what to do and could not help him out here in the jungle, in the sweltering heat - temperatures were around 40 degrees by mid day. There was little one could do except to stay clean and hydrated.

Over the next few days the Henry 3 stopped continuously at riverside banks to pick up and drop off people and goods. It was like the 46A bus. At each stop, men, women and children came aboard. They were selling fruits of every kind, fish, cooked rice, ice pops, fruit juices in plastic bags, and other foods peculiar to our jungle surroundings. Sometimes boys came on board with small green coloured birds, the size of a canary and sold them to passengers. They wings were clipped and they could not escape back to the jungle. One boy brought on board what a fellow more knowledgeable passenger described as a Capybara , the worlds largest rodent. This animal which spends a lot of time in the water has webbed feet, and is capable of staying under the water for up to five minutes. It is found in much of central South America.

I watched as a young man in his early twenties personally fed two small birds he had purchased. First he chewed a mouthful of banana to pulp and then fed it into the birds mouth from his own mouth. Unfortunately, one bird was unable to completely swallow its meal. But its new owner now blew into its mouth and lungs and cleared the obstruction from its throat.

Everyday before sundown about 6pm I covered my body with mosquito repellent. Before leaving Ireland, we had taken a course of vaccinations against most tropical diseases we were most likely to encounter such as malaria, yellow and dengue fevers, rabies, and hepatitus. Despite the precautions, I was still bitten each night by insects. Tony miraculously escaped - perhaps they could detect he was unwell and kept away, thereby avoiding becoming victims themselves.

By 8 am each day the sun was so hot that passengers could only tolerate being in it for a couple of minutes before retiring to the cool of the shade between decks. I thought of Noel Coward's witty composition "(Only) Mad dogs and English men go out in the mid-day sun".

Our fellow passengers were lovely and friendly. There was never a threat to me or our possessions.

On the river there were always canoe-type craft with seating for either 2 - 3 people or up to 14 - 16 people. The small river craft seemed to be made out of hollowed out logs. In the rear a small outboard engine was attached to a paddle which moved right and left to give the boat direction.

Throughout our five hundred mile down river journey our cabin was like a furnace. Inside Tony lay sleeping and suffering with no apparent improvement in his condition.

I noticed from observing riverbank communities that people farmed, fished and lived in thatched roofed homes built on stilts, and with no interior or exterior walls. Hammocks hung under the roof space which protected them against the sun and tropical rains. These homes contained little furniture except for some cooking utensils and an odd chair. At one stop I purchased 20 bananas for one Peruvian sol, or about 23 Euro cents.

I noticed a lot of women on board had their teeth trimmed or edged in gold or silver. But these women did not wear any other jewellary such as bracelets, rings, watches, necklaces, or ear-rings. I never saw glasses worn by anyone in the jungle.

Rather than bring food on board, passengers purchased melons from riverside sellers where ever our vessel pulled in. I think this guaranteed a supply of cool, clean, safe drinking liquid.

On average, the Henry 3 stopped at riverside communities ten or fifteen times every 24 hours, often in the middle of the night. Where it did not stop, a lightly built tender sped off to the riverbank dropping off or picking up a family or individuals or small goods, to or from our ship. By the third day the Umcayali joined the mighty Amazon river. People came on deck to witness the confluence of both rivers which now had become one.

Sometimes our ship was guided into night time river side stops by two or three people on the riverbank holding torches. The ship's navigator was reluctant to use his spotlight for more than half a minute or so because of the hundreds if not thousands of flies it attracted to the deck and bridge areas when switched on.

Although our vessel carried approximately three hundred people, I shudder to think what might have happened in the event of collision or capsize. There were some life jackets available but not enough for all. They mysteriously disappeared on the first day of our trip, taken perhaps by wise Peruvian jungle people who better appreciated possible river hazards than we did.

Even with a life jacket, death would come quickly in these waters. Pirhana fish would strip a human body of its flesh within seconds of being immersed in the river. In such circumstances, life jackets in these waters might only serve to prolong the agony and tragedy.

As we neared Iquitos (population 350,000) the decks were cleared of hammocks as families prepared for landfall. We hurriedly packed our rucksacks and dragged them down two sets of circular stairs to the main deck. Our ship had now berthed along side a steep muddy bank. Heavy rain was falling. Tony was still very ill. He had no energy and had not eaten for four days.

I was shocked to see how we were obliged to disembark by walking across an unprotected timber plank thrown between the ship and the muddy wet riverbank.

With our rucksacks on our backs, further bags in hand, rain pouring down we had to negotiate this ordeal in virtual total darkness. A man on the dangerous riverbank reached out and pulled Tony upwards. Other passengers, used to such conditions had little difficulty scrambling off and up. When my turn came to cross I heard someone say in Spanish: "gringos", and I knew from the tone it was not intended as a mere observation. I did not blame them for their impatience at being held up by the likes of us.

I toppled as I got off the plank and tried to get a grip on the slippery muddy and steep riverside bank, scared that I might easily slip downwards into the dark muddy river only to become a surprise midnight feast for the pirhanas.

At the top we began our walk to the port exit. Tony was gasping for breath at this stage. He staggered under the weight of his belongings. He was very unwell. "I cannot go on. It's impossible to go further - I'm bunched," he told me.

We struggled to a covered area and put down our bags, Tony was exhausted.

A motocarro driver who was to pick us up and bring us to our accommodation failed to turn up. Another motocarro driver offered to help. Tony was in a very bad way. He was unable to stand up, even without carrying his luggage. Our situation looked desperate. The taxi driver and I held on to Tony to keep him on his feet. I heard him say something in Spanish and recognised the words "Dios" (God) and "Corazon" (Heart). He then started to pray out loud while holding on to Tony. He shouted to people nearby to call an ambulance.

Quiet clearly, Tony was in no position to continue. We sat him down on his rucksack. The taxi man took off his jacket and began to fan Tony to cool him down as he was sweating profusely even though it was cool and raining. His teeshirt was saturated with perspiration.

The taxi man ran to the port gate and got permission to bring his motocarro into the port area. He then helped me to get Tony into his rickshaw. My ill husband insisted he did not want to be brought to a hospital but rather to a hotel, instead.

The motocarro, as we explained earlier, is a three wheeled vehicle with one seat behind the driver for two or three people and their possessions. It is powered by a motorbike section in front which the driver rides.

Outside the port gate we were stopped by the emergency services who asked if Tony was OK. They were told he was, when he clearly was not.

It was now midnight, an hour after we disembarked and a search began for accommodation. The driver and I went to at least twelve hotels while Tony remained in a dreadful state in the motocarro outside.

After over an hour of searching and refusals, we mercifully obtained a room in a doubtful three star hotel. Tony was in a semi-collapsed condition. Between us we brought him in and sat him down in an armchair while I registered at the desk. The kind taxi driver brought all our belongings to our first floor room and then came back down to help bring Tony up to our room. In his distressed condition, but extremely grateful that we had now secured shelter and a bed for the night, Tony gave the taxi driver 100 Peruvian soles, way in excess of the appropriate fare.

When saying goodbye to us the taxi driver hugged Tony, and cried. Perhaps it was as much with his own relief at not having a fatality on his hands as it was with sorrow for Tony's pitiable plight.

Two days passed in our hotel, with no improvement. Unable to eat, and only drinking little, Tony agreed he needed medical help and was taken to a private clinic called "Clinica Ana Stahl" in Iquitos. He was immediately examined by a doctor, admitted as an inpatient, put on a drip and a series of blood, urine and other tests carried out.

The admissions doctor suggested he might have either malaria or dengue fever.

At last Tony was being looked after, his condition had been tentatively identified and he was under the care of a medical team. He would recover his health and life would quickly get back to normal................... we thought.

more to follow soon.