I headed to the open terrace ‘store/bar’ of Infierno – arranged as array of wooden houses along one long dirt road dividing the vegetation. The village seemed primarily home to many children and their four-legged friends. Right next to the bar the church was in construction while the priest was practicing the Sunday sermon.

The barking dogs act as a wave-like super-loud whole-village alarm system. This is particularly disconcerting when you try to quietly walk - not to say 'sneak' - home at night after an ayahuasca ceremony (that many local disprove of) - waking everyone in the range of miles. 

After much persuasion, pre-payment and a few attempts I managed to lodge my one phone call from the bar-phone, reached Alex and promised to try again the next day. Apparently the tourist boats were leaving from another port on a separate arm of the river?

Settling for Inka-kola and nuts for dinner at the store’s open air bench looking out on the path, night had well fallen when I turned to head back and the srurrounds were pitch black save the lights from the church in the making.

Leaving, I suddenly spotted a set of white arms coming out of a T shirt not far from me in the dark a few meters away. What. A gringo? Here? Possible? The other side apparently similarly mused “What, a hippy chick in a long brightly coloured tunic-dress, here?”


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