Into the Wild

Lynn Atkinson with her husband, Leo.

It is our last night at Sinchicuy Lodge in northern Peru. It is early November, near the end of the dry season. The setting sun turns the haze from forbidden charcoal cooking fires into a ruddy pink. Sitting in my wheelchair in our flat-bottomed boat, gliding past submerged logs and debris, I feel like the Amazon queen.

Suddenly, I see a flash of pink in the water. Not 50 yards away, a long snout and back rise to the surface. My heart jumps. The others – my husband, our guide and a spotter at the front of the boat – have not seen it.

Then Ricardo, our guide, yells, “It’s the pink dolphin!” He starts whistling, and soon we see disturbances in the water all around us. But every time we turn, they vanish. “Watch out – the pink dolphin abducts woman he falls in love with.”

Native myths call these shape-shifters “Encantando,” dolphins in the guise of human desire that claim your soul and take humans to their enchanted underwater world. As Sy Montgomery describes them in Journey of the Pink Dolphins, “they look like us but in another form... eerily familiar...with their melon-like foreheads and long tubular snouts...like fetal humans in a watery beginning.”

Unlike other dolphins, they have no dorsal fins, making them hard to spot. They navigate forests underwater when the river rises, and fins would catch on sunken trees and branches. I feel strangely blessed at my good fortune to have seen this creature.

Next morning, we say goodbye to the co-owner of the lodge, Danillo Pena. He and his staff have done everything possible to make our stay accessible with todos los rampas. They even ramped the boat and the riverbank to the lodge, plus our room had a wheel-in shower! There is no electricity or hot water, but with temperatures near 35°C, I welcome cool showers.

During our four-day stay, we have caught piranhas, seen caimans, and visited a village shaman, who made my scalp crawl with his piercing eyes and the smoke from medicinal herbs that he waved over my head. And I can’t believe my good fortune when I am wheeled through the jungle on cement sidewalks that the government has built to allow natives to transport their produce to the river. However, I am caught in my perennial dilemma – the wilds versus civilization. The first I yearn for, the second I can’t do without. And sometimes the gap between the two is almost ludicrous: Elvis Presley blaring from loudspeakers in one village we visit contrasts with dugout canoes paddled by half-naked locals. In the 30 years since the lodge was built, prosperity has led to problems for tourists who don’t expect two all-night discos in a village of 750 people. Development aside, I find that the lodge, located two hours from Iquitos by boat, is remote enough for me, a girl from the big city.

On our way back to Iquitos, once a flourishing river port during the rubber boom of the 1880s, we take a detour past Belen, a shantytown of shacks that rise and fall with the river by as much as 30 feet. We see whole families bathing in the river right beside floating outhouses. Iquitos is a sprawling frontier-like city accessible only by plane or boat. There are no cars, only thousands of motocaros, converted motorcycles.

At a restaurant, we try alligator nuggets, the specialty of northern Peru. We wander a market where raw chicken, produce and medicinal herbs, such as the hallucinogenic Iawasca root, are readily available. We also visit another wheelchair user, who replaces my punctured front tires for a mere $15. We are good for another two weeks, and I’m happy to have contributed to the local economy.

Back in Lima, we pare down our luggage in preparation for one of the more than 10 flights we’ll take on our trip. While I was able to stay in my comfortable manual wheelchair for the first part of the trip, the rocky terrain of the Galápagos Islands and the rainforest require a TrailRider, a rickshaw/ wheelbarrow device, which we borrowed from the British Columbia Mobility Opportunities Society (BCMOS).

We choose Guayaquil rather than Quito as our jumping-off place for the Galapagos, and we are glad we did. After a one-night stay in this beautiful city with its totally accessible walkway complete with botanical gardens bordering the river, we fly to Baltra, and a short boat ride takes us to Isla Santa Cruz. My wheelchair tied onto the deck, I watch a giant marine turtle swimming in the crystal water just below my feet. Pelicans wheel overhead and sea lions lounge on buoys.

The Galápagos Islands are an archipelago of volcanic islands near the equator, located nearly 1,000 kilometres west of Ecuador in the Pacific Ocean. They are well known for having a wealth of animal and plant life, with several species that can’t be found elsewhere on Earth.

A minivan is waiting for us when we arrive. I am pushed up portable ramps brought by our Peruvian guide, Pepe, who has accompanied us from Lima. But my head crunches on the low roof – in my wheelchair, I am too high for the vehicle. So Pepe, who is used to solving the problems of traveling “wheelies,” pops the tires off my Quickie chair and reduces my height.

I forget about my sore head when we stop the van so that a 400-pound tortoise can cross the road. Later, I will find that travelling in the back of a pickup truck with my wheelchair or the TrailRider is the most comfortable and scenic way to go.

At lunch, we meet our native Galápagean, an obligatory member of our group who proves invaluable when it comes to pushing and pulling me over the rough terrain. Because multiple sclerosis limits the use of my body below my neck, my husband and I did a land-based tour rather than the usual boat cruise, which requires descending a ladder into a smaller boat for wet landings at the islands that do not have docks.

We arrive in Puerto Ayora on Santa Cruz. The barren landscape gives way to a bustling village, more developed than I had expected. We are booked in a German-owned hotel that fits my needs once the bathroom door is removed.

For our first meal, our Ecuadorian guide introduces us to a local fish, wahoo, cooked at our table on hot lava rocks. His impeccable English and knowledge of the islands impresses. He plans a kayak trip around the port the next day. I am skeptical, but with Pepe’s special transfer sling and Felipe’s paddling skills, I am soon out in the waves, revelling in my newfound freedom. We paddle close to sea lions and the startling fluorescent feet of the blue-footed boobies that stare at us from the black rocks. I am constantly amazed at how birds and animals are unafraid of humans.

Tiny finches, whose different beaks on each island led to Darwin’s evolution theory, alight in trees within inches of our heads. The birds don’t fly away because these islands, which developed a select pool of animal and plant colonizers, have no natural resources. This has kept them relatively safe from humans. In fact, they were called “dross and worthless” by the Bishop of Panama in 1535 – fortunately for us.

Our hike in El Chato Tortoise Reserve introduces everyone to the TrailRider. We paid overweight luggage fees to bring the 60-pound device, but it was worth it – the equipment is invaluable.

We visit the Charles Darwin Research Station, where we meet Lonesome George, a giant tortoise, the last of his species. Later, around the shore, we spot flightless cormorants, albatross, penguins, prehistoric-looking marine iguanas, sea lions galumphing across the sand, and reef sharks in a sheltered pool of water. We explore the less developed town of Villamil and visit the Wall of Tears, built by convicts at the penal colony in 1946.

After six days in the Galápagos, we get onto a five-seater plane and take off from Isabela to Baltra, then head to Guayaquil and Lima. I’ll never forget the spectacular views of the turquoise sea and the islands, just dots on the ocean as we climb into the sky.

Lynn Atkinson is a Vancouverite living in Toronto. She dedicates this article to her husband, Leo, without whom her travels would not have been possible.