DAY 41. BREAKING THROUGH TO THE BORDER

I woke up to the sound of that awful ship. I was separated from the riverbed by a high (about 1.5 metres), but narrow spit. I heard the waves coming. I knew in my heart that they could not overcome all this forest cover of the spit, but somewhere in my imagination I already saw how a stormy wave crosses ferns, reeds and trees and rolls right over my boat. That is all right, someday I will encounter this ship on the river and stop imagining nightmares. I must overcome this fear once and for all.

I had a lovely night’s sleep, and in the morning the birds were singing again. They are especially abundant here. My idyll was only ruined by ants. Yesterday I tied my boat to a powerful trunk of a eucalyptus tree, and it turned out to be infested with small yellow ants. Now, their larger brethren tracked down the rope and occupied my boat overnight. The funny thing is that just yesterday I decided to be a little gentler to nature and avoid killing ants. I have to mention that outside of this Amazon trip, I am normally very respectful of all life. I do not kill ants, spiders or snakes, ever, but here…. this place has different rules. I must be tougher to survive. A badly closed jar costs me my supplies destroyed by ants; I fail to check a bag or my boots – here comes a bite of an unknown spider, and so on and so forth. But I decided that if ants do not bite me and do not disturb my sleep with their movement, they have the right to live on my boat. Well, here is a new colony, and for the first time it is a truly aggressive one. Each individual ant digs into my skin, and it seems that they want me to leave the boat altogether. Chase me off my boat, my home! No, I will be a goody-goody on land, but these ants will get a proportionate answer to their aggression. It is a vital thing here.

I have been paddling all morning. The current disappeared altogether. I steered to the opposite bank and it became a little easier, though my speed now is only 3-4 km/hour. It is usually around 6-7 km/hour. How very strange. The river is so wide that finding the current is now a challenge.

It was less than 12 kilometres to the Brazilian border, and I was starting to feel sleepy. One cannot fall asleep on the current – it is not safe. I guess the sun was making me too comfortable. It rained all day yesterday. If I fall asleep, it is likely that I will pass the border on the river, and then I will face many more problems. I decided to eat the last of my salted fish to keep myself from falling asleep, and it did help. I cleaned up the boat and cast my tarafa net a few times. I need to practise. I still believe that the dry season is coming soon.

Well, I missed the right channel, despite my best efforts. The map showed it would be further along, but it just was not there. The terrain here changes faster than maps are updated. I had to paddle against the current for about 2 kilometres, but the desired channel was still nowhere to be seen. That is where watching the locals helped me. I noticed that one of the boats with a motor literally disappeared in the reeds. It looked like this was the right place for me to go to as well.

Holding on to one of the protruding bushes (in the dry season, there is land underneath, and sometimes a whole forest sticks out of the water), I took a breath and set off to cross the channel. I need to make one last dash to get to the border, then I will cross another calm channel and then travel down the river all the way to the Brazilian checkpoint. I was running out of strength. When it became quite hard, I threw the paddle into the hull, put my hot hands into the water, then splashed some water on my face and started again. I paddled for another 3-4 minutes and repeated the procedure. My calluses, by the way, have not bothered me for a long time.

I saw the desired channel and flew right into the bushes. I had no strength to control the direction, I gave everything to cross the obstacle with a minimum angle. I was already turning into the channel, as suddenly a small miracle happened, and not a pleasant one. The channel goes against the flow of the river! It happens. The neighbouring channel, the Amazon riverbed, is apparently higher than this one. I am rowing up the river again, even though it is a small river. Some people in motorboats are passing by, and one old man even offered me help to pull my canoe up the river. Sadly, he interpreted my ‘thumbs up’ gesture as ‘it’s OK, no help needed’. Oh. Let it be. I am paddling and paddling. It is great that the people are friendly, regardless of this miscommunication.

I reach the bay at the village of Santa Rosa. It is the last Peruvian settlement, and it has a checkpoint. I dock at the pier. I see some guys from the local pub waving at me, well-drunk. They are calling me over.

I went over and greeted them. They offered me a drink, but I declined as I am not interested in alcohol. They tried to convince me that it was just chilled coconut water, but the sign ‘Cerveza’ gave them away. Who knew I could understand Spanish? After all, gringos never bother to learn languages.

I was treated to a cold soda which was very welcome after such a journey. It turned out that at first, when they realised that I was from Russia, they wanted to slap me for what they had seen on TV, but then they decided that only God could judge me. Heh. Indeed, if you are not interested in politics, it does not mean that politics is not interested in you! The guys were nice, despite the circumstances. They were very empathetic.

I learned their names: Sumaetra, Manuel, Mario, and Rosita, the bar manager. During our conversation, I was once again warned that there were a lot of pirates downriver. The explanation looked funny. Rosita covered one eye and pretended to shoot me from her finger, but I was not laughing. They told me about drug trafficking and plantations – they are usually guarded by pirates, so it is best to stay in the villages to avoid showing up in the wrong place at the wrong time. I live in the jungle, oops.

I cannot say these stories scared me, as I have heard them a hundred times before. I realise how real the danger is. However, there is no point in worrying about something I cannot influence. All that is left for me is to move towards the goal.

There was some reassuring information as well. The guys explained that pirates do not always kill, sometimes it is enough for them to make sure that you do not have drugs on board, because that is the main currency on the river, not smartphones or cameras. That is comforting.

I waited for the immigration office to open. Christian, a member of the staff, politely invited me to a table. It turned out that I had overstayed my visa by one day. Well, you bet, I had lost almost four days because of a stolen passport in Iquitos. It is amazing that I was able to cover those 500 kilometres to the border in just a week. But a violation is a violation. Christian said they would not let me out without paying the fine. It is not a critical sum, but it is an unpleasant event. I showed my paper from the police in Iquitos and explained that I had a solid reason. Then they met me halfway and helped me draw up a document to get me included into an amnesty. Yes, there was some kind of amnesty currently announced by the president, which was very convenient. Although the fine was only around two dollars, it was more a matter of principle. I want my conscience to be clear.

Here was my long-awaited stamp, and I was free to go. Now I only need pass the checkpoint in Brazil.

I say goodbye to the locals, and I am escorted to the boat by a friendly crowd; one particularly drunk local even intended to go with me. That is why he was standing watch over the boat in my absence. I managed to get rid of him by saying that there was only one sleeping place in the boat.

I was paddling along a narrow channel among the reeds and saw a young man and his mother navigating a boat in the opposite direction. They greet me in a friendly manner, and I went on my way – but then something prompted me to look back, and a horrible picture unfolded right in front of me. A larger motorboat with 5-7 passengers flew out from the surrounding bushes. Its speed was small by the standards of the river, but boats have no brakes. Everyone seemed to realise what was coming. Seconds later, the big boat literally ran over the small boat, pinning that young man’s mother underneath. The stern of the boat and the motor had already gone underwater, and the boy was trying his best to save his mother. Luckily, while I was paddling towards them, they had already been pulled out of the water. The boat and all their stuff sank. Thus, I saw an accident on the water with my own eyes. It was scary.

Here comes another channel, but this one is going to be much more work. Ahead is the border between Colombia and Brazil, and the towns of Leticia and Tabatinga are nearby. I am separated from them by a fast current which is more than 500 metres wide. The sun is starting to get unbearably hot, but the locals cheer me on. There are a lot of boats here. People slow down at the sight of me and give me a thumbs-up. Someone praises the boat. When I finally reach the bank, I am completely exhausted. When did I eat? I do not remember. Was it that salted fish and a bowl of farinha? Ahem. That is not enough, I am afraid.

In the Brazilian port, I was welcomed even more cordially. Everyone here speaks Portuguese, but they understood Spanish very well, probably because of their proximity to Peru. I, in turn, understood them surprisingly well. I remember my first month in South America when I started my journey in Brazil. It was horrible! I did not have any competence in Portuguese at all, I could not speak or understand it, and I kept using computer-assisted translation the whole month. Something inside me was rejecting the language and gravitating towards Spanish. It is different now. I have learnt my basic language and now I am ready to learn some Portuguese. I have a nice, light-hearted feeling about it.

I met some local taxi drivers who were very curious to learn all about my journey. They again told me of pirates and bandits who would kill me just because they could. Well. Okay. I never made it to the immigration office that day, as it was somewhere deep in the city, much to my surprise, and closed early.

The harbour workers and I chatted for over an hour. The sun was starting to set, so they assigned my boat a place in the harbour where I could safely spend the night. A guy in his twenties asked me when I had last eaten and whether I was hungry. I assured him I was fine, but he gave me some Brazilian reals to buy some food. He realised that I did not have time to exchange my money yet.

I went to buy something for dinner immediately, as soon as the conversation was over (and when I returned, it continued well into the night). I got a bowl of rice, some beans, and a chicken kebab! I was so embarrassed at my manners, but I literally gulped down piece after piece. I wanted to savour the process, but I did not even notice how the food disappeared. One could see that I had done a lot of paddling today.

At the port, there was wi-fi which had a surprisingly high-speed. I suspected that there was something unusual about it, and my suspicion was justified. The wi-fi was being distributed by a boat with a Starlink satellite dish! I saw them in Iquitos, Tonantins, Atacama, and now here, in Tabatinga. Elon Musk’s project is literally saving lives while some people are spreading conspiracy theories about it.

I took a mental note that even simplest canoes here are likely to be tied to the pier by a metal chain rather than a rope that is so easy to cut.

Back the harbour, I was again surrounded by locals who listened to my stories about travelling the world, about my boat, about what had happened to me on the way. I had a hard time excusing myself to finally be able to lie down. My phone is literally falling out of my hands now, but the diary’s entry is finished. I can finally fall into slumber.

25 May, ~40 (1582) km covered.