Ticket to Ride

Out of the hotel. Into the hot sticky air- ¨Tarapoto? Tarapoto?¨ the taxi drivers ask. Not yet. Mañana.

I catch a mototaxi, a motorcycle that has been retrofitted with a rickshaw-like appendage that is covered, with a seat and cargo rack in the back. The scoot around like little technicolour carriages, charging just one neuvo sol for a ride anywhere in town. I wave my hand in the air, palm down, to flag one down. I ask to go to the Mercado Central, por favor. We whizz through the rain and the hot air down the cracked pavement, weaving between cars and dogs.

After a four-hour car ride from Pedro Ruiz, we are in Moyobamba, the Orchid Capitol of Perú. The taxi from Pedro Ruiz was particularly harrowing, as there had been heavy rains that night and morning, and several crashes were still being swept up. Our driver pointed out a bus that had taken a turn to sharply, and crashed into the steep valley below. I asked if anyone had died, and he said no, that God had been watching that night. The day before, not so lucky. A taxi hit a truck head on, and everyone inside had died, just hours and miles later. He stops again and gets us out of the car, and points to a totaled car down the slope of the cliffs. He said the man and woman were speeding, and hydroplaned off the road, launching their car 500 feet down the side of the mountain. But they have nine lives, like a cat, and they lived. He went on to tell us that in the 25 years he drove the road, he had never so much been in a fender-bender. I believed him, and dozed while we took corners and rain dappled the windows.

We came down the mountains into the Amazon Basin. Moyobamba stands at the gate of the Amazon, and it´s every bit rural, humid and wild. Yesterday we took in a few of the ´sights´ around the town, but have instead been taking in the delicious pastries and confections offered on almost every corner. Elliot is sick today, so I headed to the Central Market to grab some fruit and some juice.

The market in this town is fantastic. Pots, pans, soles of shoes, fruits (one that tastes like cheddar cheese- no joke!) , dried fish, animal skins, cosmetics from the 70´s and 80´s, trashy clothing, twine, vegetables, meat in every cut and creed, pirated DVDS, bones, beads, basically ¨anything and everything a chap can unload¨....even soft-serve ice cream. The smell, basically of rotting meat, fish and eggs, takes getting used to, but it has grown on me. I buy mandarins, apples, haggle over camu-camu, some apricot juice. The rain really stars to pour down, and the stray cats and I are both trying to avoid walking between the stalls and getting drenched, and avoid puddles. I catch another mototaxi to bring be back to the hotel, where Elliot´s fever is breaking, and he has nothing left to throw up. I close the windows, turn on Law and Order, and re-wet the cold cloth on his head. We cuddle up, and could be anywhere in the world right now, in the spartan, tiled hotel room.