A number of times over our past months in South America, we've come across references to an herbal drink called "ayahuasca".  In a traditional ceremony led by an indigenous shaman, participants take ayahuasca and are then whisked away on an epic journey of self-discovery and flowery hallucinations.  After numerous recommendations from people we've met along the way, we finally decided to see what all the fuss is about.

The following recounts in detail what turned out to be an incredibly intense and emotional adventure that took place during a three day "spiritual retreat" near Cuzco, Peru.  In deciphering my wildly scrawled notes from the retreat while recounting the experience, I’ve realized how bizarre the whole experience must sound to someone who hasn't been through it.  All I ask is for readers to keep an open mind… at least until reaching the end, after which they’re free to call me all sorts of critical and creative names.

Enjoy!
~ Mandrew

Ayahuasca (“death’s rope” in the Quechua language) is a species of vine found in the Amazon Jungle and has a rich history of use by shamans as a means of communicating with the spirit world.  In Ecuador and Peru especially, wild legends and stories about shamans are commonplace.  It’s said that ayahuasca opens a doorway into an alternate dimension, allowing skilled shamans to acquire objects of power or receive guidance from extra-dimensional beings.  I’ve heard tell that powerful shamans can physically transform themselves into jungle animals or even remotely poison or kill people through the spirit dimension.  Such ideas have been around for thousands of years and are often found depicted on ceramics, textiles, and rock art uncovered from these ancient cultures.

Just like in many other indigenous groups throughout the world, shamans (a.k.a. medicine men, druids, or witchdoctors) are men of power, highly revered in society and often relied upon for their spiritual knowledge and healing abilities.  Throughout the Amazon Basin, a skilled shaman is one who, with the help of ayahuasca, can successfully interpret and control the spirit world, and in doing so identify and remove the negative spirits that are the root cause of one's ails (and hopefully prevent other evils from entering while the portal is open).

In modern day, ayahuasca remains widespread in Ecuador, Peru, Colombia, and Brazil, not only as a rite of passage amongst indigenous cultures (our Shaman's first experience was at the tender age of seven), but also as a treatment for mental or emotional conditions, a means of better understanding one's self, and, of course, a hippy-dippy trip for curious backpackers.  Some families gather every year for an ayahuasca ceremony as a means of maintaining a healthy, mind, body, and spirit.  There's even a religion in Brazil in which members drink ayahuasca tea at weekly gatherings.  Many people who have taken ayahuasca claim that it opens up a connection with the energy of the universe, allowing them to overcome difficult crises or discover their true purpose in life.  I agree - it all sounds pretty nuts!

For the next four weeks we’ll be volunteering at a wildlife reserve called Inti Wara Yassi in the small town of Villa Tunari in Bolivia.  Only in Bolivia (or another developing country, I suppose) could a place like this exist, where unqualified but willing volunteers can, after only a short lesson from other volunteers, work with and handle wild animals.  We arrive partway through the workday and kill some time in the outdoor cafeteria where breakfasts, lunches, and after work beers are available.  While surveying our new surroundings, we take in the graffiti from past volunteers which covers the nearby walls, including things like “Tigre the Lostalot Ocelot”, “Quaranteam 2013”, “Monkey Love”, “small (but vicious) animals”, and “Badass Balu”, and wonder what we’re about to get ourselves into. 

As the workday wraps up and the volunteers straggle into the café, we strike up a conversation hoping to learn more about the volunteer experience.  A couple realities quickly sink in: there will be a lot of dealing with poop, and, at some point, we’re likely to pick up a minor wound (making for an interesting scar story once we’re back at home).  One of the volunteers, a skinny redhead from Australia, eagerly describes his latest encounter with a fox while working in the small animal section.  While attempting to get a collar around the fox’s neck (after days in a cage, he figured it would enjoy a nice walk), the fox decided it didn’t like what was going on.  After a couple quick bites to the shin (through a rubber boot), the fox clamped its jaws on the aussie’s forearm and hung on for dear life.  No lasting damage was done, and we’re assured that the on-site vets are very skilled at stitching up both animals and humans.

Finally, 4:30 rolls around and we’re led on a quick tour of the facilities which include: quarantine, containing about eighty capuchin monkeys, some in cages and some tied up on runners (not to mention the dozen or more wild ones that hang out hoping to snag food from the residents); the aviary, where macaws, toucans, and parrots are guarded from hungry wild monkeys by a well-trained dog; and a sizeable area for land and water turtles.  We´re also told about other areas in which a number of coatis, two ocelots, one puma, and an Andean bear are kept (but which aren´t included in the express tour).  We are then sat down and asked by Marta, the volunteer coordinator, to fill out a survey (along with a hefty waiver form) as well as some extra questions to help figure out which section we belong in.  Chelsea’s asked if she has a good sense of direction, to which she replies yes, and I’m asked if I can handle running through the jungle with my glasses on, to which I explain that I can wear contact lenses if necessary.  We’re then shown to the closet of second-hand clothing so we can pick up something we won’t mind destroying over the next weeks.  Finally, we gather in the office and are given our assignments: Chelsea is to work with Tigre the Ocelot (a lucky opening since the current volunteer, just that afternoon, was jumped and received a decent scratch on her arm) and I’m to spend my first few days in quarantine, after which I’ll be working with Balu, the fully-grown Andean bear.

La Paz sucks.

Keep in mind here that neither Chelsea nor I are big fans of cities - they're usually too busy, too noisy, too smelly... we'd both really rather be in a smaller town or out lost in the wilderness.  La Paz, Bolivia's bustling administrative capital, is the epitome of all that sucks about cities: streets packed with breaking-down cars and trucks, all constantly weaving around one another, doing their best to decorate their hoods with pedestrian guts while spewing plumes of acrid, black exhaust; sidewalks and plazas crammed with crowds of pushy, loud strangers all pushing their way past the rancid cesspools of garbage and human waste that scatter the streets.  I'm sure there are some worthwhile spots hidden within the nightmarish cityscape, though we were so appalled we did our best to stay hidden in our hostel.  One of the few times we did venture out in search of a decent meal, we discovered a maggot at the bottom of our (otherwise delicious) compost soup.

Okay, fine, the central market was a great place to stock up on alpaca-wool sweaters in preparation for the coming cold of Patagonia, and the Witches' Market was a perfect spot to shop around for stuffed piranhas and llama fetuses.  Alright, I'll admit that there were a couple okay watering holes, some even offering different options (options!) of beer: our aptly-named hostel Adventure Brew even had a decent micro-brewed IPA, the likes of which my lips hadn't touched since leaving Canada.

On the whole, however, La Paz sucks. Unfortunately, however, traveling around Bolivia by bus will almost inevitably leave you stuck there for a night.  For us, the only redeeming feature of La Paz was its proximity to "Death Road", the site of numerous fatal vehicle accidents (including a single event in the 80's which took the lives of over one hundred people) and a popular spot for downhill mountain biking.

Hola de Bolivia!  (Hello from Bolivia).  After our Gringo Trail adventure through Peru we headed across the border at Lake Titicaca to Bolivia. This was one of the easiest crossings we have done: we took a collectivo (shared van/taxi) from Puno to the border, walked across stopping in a shack part way through to get our stamps, and hopped into a tuk-tuk (motorized rickshaw) to Copacabana.

When we arrived there was a crazy Carnival celebration going on so we had to stop before the crowded centre and walk with our backpacks, pushing through crowds to a super shitty hostel (not much choice because of the celebration). 

After settling in a bit we went back out to the streets to see what was goin' on. There were parades of people dancing and singing, dressed in all kinds of crazy costumes, some with masks. Almost everyone had a beer in their hand, even the dancers and musicians. The sides of the streets were lined with food and drink stands and there were huge speakers blaring what sounded like the same song over and over again for hours very late into the night. 

Shamans, medicinal plants, earthquakes, ancient cities, mysterious symbols; Peru really is the most diverse and magical country we have been to so far!  Since this is our first visit to Peru (though likely not our last) we decided to go a bit more mainstream than usual and visit the recommended sites along the well-known "Gringo Trail", taking us through all of the major attractions of the country, starting with Lima.

To start out on our route we headed via airplane from Iquitos to Lima, in order to save a week or more of time (the other option was another multi-day cargo boat from Iquitos since it has no road access, followed by a 24+ hour bus ride).  We didn't spend much time in Lima before departing to Pisco to visit the Ballestas Islands and Paracas National Reserve, and to unexpectedly experience a 5.7 magnitude earthquake while face-timing with Donna and Jim, Andrew's parents.  The next stop on the Gringo Trail was Nazca where we saw for ourselves the infamous Nazca Lines and learned a lot about the ancient cultures that inhabited the area between 100bc and 800ad, and then spent the next few days barfing due to the horrific flight over the lines and/or some bad food or water, who knows what.  After Nazca was Arequipa, the second most populous city in Peru and the hub to get to the beautiful Colca Canyon (but we decided not to go there since it was a bit far and really expensive). Finally, we arrived in Cusco, our base for some intense Shamanism and of course, to visit Machu Picchu.  Next and last on the list (heading out this afternoon via bus) will be the town of Puno where we can visit Lake Titicaca before crossing the border into Bolivia.  We can really see why so many people travel this route: the diverse beauty and culture have taken our breath away almost every day since we have arrived.

Following our insane Rio Napo trip we spent a couple of days exploring the incredibly loud Amazonian city of Iquitos.  There were hardly any cars or trucks in the city, but thousands of moto-taxis (converted motorbikes with carriages on the back), thus the very noisy streets.  We have come to realize, however, that almost everywhere in South and Central America so far the people seem to need noise at all hours of the day.  You can't help but wonder if they purposfully design the bikes to be extra loud!

On one day while our muuuuuuch needed laundry was being done we wandered around the Belen Market, where one may find almost any kind of medicinal plant (or animal for that matter) you can think of.  Of course, as is always wise while wandering in local markets, we only took out our camera a few times and made sure that not many people saw us with it, and we left anything else of any value back at the hostel.