Hello wanderers! As some of you may already know, whether it’s because you’ve met me personally or you’ve read my initial post, I am currently a PhD candidate in Physical Geography at the University of Manchester. For my project, I’m looking at the environmental history (or, using the more science-y term, ‘palaeoecology’) of peatlands in the Peruvian Amazon. However, I will not get into the nitty-gritty of it, as this blog is not meant to be about my nerdy science and rather about my travels. Still, it’s good for you to know the reason why about a year ago I found myself covered in mud in the middle of the rainforest. This week I’d like to finally take you ‘into the forest’ and journey together to the Loreto region of Peru, in the heart of the Pacaya-Samiria National Reserve. Covering over 20,000 km2, this reserve represents one of the greatest hotspots for wildlife in the Amazon and hosts the largest area of wetlands and floodable land in the whole of South America, which is a crucial global store of CO2.
It is strange for me to think that this time last year I had just come back from that magical land, and it's even stranger that it has already been four years since the first time I went there in 2017 with Operation Wallacea. I often find myself thinking of how peaceful the forest was even though it is possibly the most lively and noisy place on Earth. Every time we left the village and ventured into the thicket, the sound of humans slowly dissipated leaving space for the sounds of the forest to take over. Surrounded by unimaginably wide tree-trunks and immense green leaves, you can really hear and feel how alive the rainforest is. There are monkeys rustling and jumping in the canopy, their roars as loud and deep as what you’d expect a dinosaur to sound like. Occasional screeches from parrots and macaws make you gaze above your head, but sometimes the trees are too tall to see what’s in the branches. Smaller birds whizz past unexpectedly in the understorey, their loud songs travelling through the dense forest. Although less pleasant but still so prodigious is the sound of the insects, so numerous and so varied that it is impossible not to entrench in their territory. On both trips, I kept journals of everything I did every day, including what I saw, ate and how I felt. Here is a small excerpt from my journal: “I am overwhelmed by the height and variety of the plants and how they contort into mesmerising shapes. The bright colours of the flowers and fruit are like splashes of paint amongst the many shades of green. However, most of my focus while walking through the forest is usually devoted to not slipping on logs, tripping on roots or getting stuck in the mud!” (14/05/19) Yet, as you may have guessed, stuck in the mud I most certainly got. Walking in these environments is not just a physical challenge, but it also presents an intense character-building experience that forces you to develop both patience and endurance. The soggy ground and unsteady logs we walked on were the causes of many falls into waist-deep peat. When walking wasn’t the problem, it was the mosquitoes, bees and wasps attracted to our sweat. No matter how much repellent we put on, they always found the one spot we forgot to cover. When it wasn’t flying insects, it was ants. When it wasn’t ants, it was termites. When it wasn’t insects, it was rain falling without warning. Call me mad, but I miss it all. Returning to the village after a three to five hour trek through the jungle was a definite change of atmosphere, and a great opportunity to both rest and experience life with the local ‘Mestizo’ community. ‘Mestizo’ is a word used all over South America to indicate people of combined European (from the colonies) and Indigenous American descent. Many of the villages dotted in the Pacaya-Samiria are populated by Metizo people, though there are also many communities that descend from indigenous ethnic groups. During my first trip in 2017, I was fortunate enough to spend my time with the 'Cocama', who have inhabited this region for over 2000 years. However, while my first trip was a more organised research experience, my second trip was a total dive into the life and culture of the community we stayed with, in the village of Veinte de Enero. Although we were still outsiders – ‘gringos’ – and we had to be very careful not to be the usual neo-colonial westerner researchers that have often visited these communities, we got to enjoy some aspects of local life that have undoubtedly enriched my experience. I remember the late nights at the ‘tienda’, the village shop that sold everything from alcohol to stationary. Sitting under the clear starry sky having beer with the local villagers and researchers was always a special bonding moment. Washing our clothes (and ourselves) in the waters of the Yanayacu river while pink river dolphins jumped in front of us was another unforgettable sight. The same goes for hitching a ride on the ‘Peke Peke’, long and thin canoes powered by questionably build engines, and sailing along channels that meandered their way through the forest. To think that, if it wasn’t for the pandemic, I would have been there right now. Although that saddens me, it is worse to think what situation these communities find themselves in today. The people of the Amazon are amongst the most vulnerable in the world, faced by the ever-increasing threats of climate change. Soils are becoming drier during the dry season, and agricultural fields are flooding more often during the wet season, inhibiting growth of crops. Because of their remoteness, the communities also lack access to basic amenities such as hospitals and food, which makes them more susceptible to diseases. On a more environmental note, unusual seasonal changes are causing several alterations to this irreplaceable ecosystem. Populations of fish decreasing because of changes in temperature and rain, competition between land mammals for food and habitat is increasing, and birds are reproducing at different times which affects their feeding ability. The combined impacts of environmental deterioration and virus outbreak, not to mention the ongoing struggle for rights and land, is posing an unprecedented challenge for the whole Amazonian region. In difficult times, we mustn’t forget about who is having a worse time than us, and we cannot stop fighting for a healthier environment. It starts with donations to organisations like AmazonWatch or this initiative by my friends from Operation Wallacea (People of the Amazon Covid Crisis Fund). You can also help by making small lifestyle changes at home, such as a decreasing your meat and dairy consumption, buying less plastic, recycling your waste, or by using reusable or biodegradable household items. It's much easier that you think - it just requires more shopping awareness and willingness to give up non essential comforts. In time of need, we must stand together and these small choices can make a huge difference.
For more pictures of my trips in the Amazon, click here! Stay tuned and stay wanderlust Dael
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