The Amazon River has the opacity of chocolate milk and is almost deathlike in its stillness—which is wild when you consider how much life thrives there. It was on a nine-day journey through Peru with Lindblad Expeditions and National Geographic that I learned this, as we spent five of those days exploring the jungle by boat. Our chariot: the Delfin II, a Relais & Châteaux vessel with 14 thoughtfully appointed staterooms.
Most days began with a crack-of-dawn skiff ride soundtracked by the squall of jewel-winged, dusky-headed parakeets. The photographers pulled out their football lenses and the birders gasped from behind their binoculars as naturalists pointed out an elegant snowy egret picking its way through a mudbank, a neotropic cormorant spreading its gothy black wings like a vampire, and the somber Jabiru stork, the largest flying bird in South America, standing like a dour English butler on a naked tree limb. Also flagged were capuchin monkeys, giant river otters, flamboyant bromeliads, and—after dark—scores of caimans and capybaras.
We spent one muggy morning in a Kukama village, where indigenous women wove raffia bowls and cooked catfish, and another morning paddling the river—an outing which culminated with a pod of pink river dolphins leaping from the water mere feet from our kayaks. (Even our seen-it-all naturalist, Sandro, clapped like a schoolgirl.)
This deep in the Amazon jungle, there were no other tourists. When we did see signs of human life, they were usually fishermen or park rangers. And because there was no Wi-Fi on the Delfin II and a near total blackout on cell reception, downtime was spent attending lectures on Amazonian ecology, sampling native fruits (how the aptly named ice cream bean hasn’t been pitched on Shark Tank yet, I’ll never know), and buddying up to the ship bar, where I made fast friends of fellow guests. (Expedition cruises always draw a fascinating lot; my cohort included a microbiologist, metaphysical transcendentalist, and one of the earliest Apple employees.)
The highlight of the trip, however, was hiking through the jungle with a local tracker who showed us a brown-throated three-toed sloth, Goliath bird-eating tarantula, junior anaconda, and a century-old strangler fig. When we finally emerged from the bush, we were treated to a spectacular tangerine-and-charcoal sunset punctured by bolts of lighting. It was surreal and intense, just like everything else in this untouched corner of the world. Eight-day sailings from $5,730 per person. —Ashlea Halpern
