Simplicity and the Waters of the Uyacali

The journey idea that I’ve chosen to explore for my final paper/presentation was inspired by a very close friend of mine who has taken a similar journey before and plans on taking a comparable one in the near future. The plan is to take a canoe trip on the Uyacali River (a tributary feeding into the Amazon River) in Peru as sort of “adventure of minimalism and simplicity”. I would say that these two words - minimalism and simplicity - sum up the travel philosophy for the trip. The idea behind this philosophy is that by shedding off superfluous, external distractions and possessions, I might be able to be fully present in the places I will see and experience. I think this kind of journey is best taken alone, so I think I’ll say that the only companions that will be joining me on the journey are a few carefully chosen books (particularly ones that draw me into quiet reflection and pondering) and a journal to record anything of significance that I learn or experience while I paddle the waters of the Uyacali.
The trip will begin with a flight from Seattle to Lima, Peru, which costs around $600 (for a round trip ticket). The whole trip itself will probably cost under $1,500. Once in Lima, I’ll take a bus ride (roughly 20 hours long) to a town northeast of Lima called Pucallpa, which is located right on the Uyacali River. In Pucallpa, I’ll seek out Gilbur, the local river guide. He’s grown up in Pucallpa his whole life and now supports his family by taking tourists out on his river motor boat to experience a day on the river. I’ll spend the first week with Gilbur and his family (his father is a local shaman, by the way) and they’ll teach me the ways of the river. They’ll teach me how to stay upright in a dug-out canoe, how to make camp in the jungle, how to fish for piranhas (the staple meat I’ll be eating on my river adventure), and how to handle being approached by river pirates. During the course of this week, I’ll pick up some essential supplies in Pucallpa for my river adventure. I will have already brought from home a mosquito net hammock, a knife (for defensive and food-related purposes), a water filter, a pair of shorts, a few undergarments, one pair of hiking pants, a tank top, a long-sleeve over shirt (mostly for protection from bugs during any jungle excursions), a few books, my journal, sunglasses, sunscreen, camping dishes, a Jetboil camping stove, some Chaco sandals, a headlamp, and, last but not least, a waterproof backpack. In Pucallpa, however, I’ll purchase a machete, a large bag of rice (preferably one as large as my canoe can reasonably handle), fruit, some dried fish, fishing line and hooks, a net for catching small bait fish, and a substantial amount of toilet paper.
Once I have all these supplies and Gilbur has trained me and set me up with a dug-out canoe and some knee-high rubber boots for protection from snakes, I’ll set out on my journey. My destination is about 600 miles upriver to a town called Iquitos, which will take roughly one month to reach. Here’s a basic rundown of what a typical day on the river should look like:
I’ll wake up just after dawn and have fruit and any granola bars I may have brought from home for breakfast. I’ll then pack up my hammock and all my other belongings into my watertight backpack and stow them securely in the back of the canoe. I’ll shove off and paddle for a solid 4 hours before stopping to fish for lunch at around 11am. I’ll fish just as Gilbur taught me, catching some small bait fish and chopping them up to put them on my hook. I’ll wait for a while and if the spot where I started fishing is proving rather quiet, I’ll paddle farther down the river until I find a spot where the fish seem plentiful. Once I catch one, I’ll swing it up into the boat and immediately chop its head off with my machete, just as Gilbur instructed. After shoring my boat long enough to cook my fish and rice on the Jetboil for lunch, I’ll take some time to swim and enjoy the company of the river dolphins that are often found in that region, though I’ll avoid still, shallow waters where piranhas live in abundance. I’ll then continue paddling for the rest of the afternoon. Once I notice the sun beginning to set, I’ll make sure to be ashore quickly so that I can have my camp all set up by dusk. I’ll hide my canoe in the reeds so that the river pirates that patrol by night won’t bother me. I’ll set up my hammock after a dinner of rice, fish, and fruit, and spend the rest of the evening in my hammock with my headlamp on, reading and journaling until I can no longer keep my eyes open.
When I reach Iquitos, I’ll restock and turn around to head back to Pucallpa, repeating the same journey on the return trip. I won’t spend more time in Iquitos than I need to, only enough time to buy sufficient supplies for the return journey. The idea is to enjoy and be present in that rhythm of life on the river, traveling with no more than the basic necessities and refusing to be motivated by a destination so much that I miss out on the joy and simplicity of the journey itself.

Tully's - Round Two

The Tully’s on 47th and the Ave is a veritable fishbowl. Whether you’re sitting in the corner table adjacent to the south window and looking directly into the eyes of whoever is coming down the hill as they pass (as I am) or sharing an intimate conversation with a friend at one of the tall tables nestled in an alcove next to a full length window, there is not much escaping eye contact with the individuals passing on the street, whether you’d like to or not.
I’ve come here many times, most of the time to study in a space outside of the social atmosphere of my house or the suffocating silence of the library. What I’ve found, however, is that even when I come here hoping for a sense of anonymity to envelop me (in order to be more or less productive), I run into, on average, around 4 people that I know well or am at least acquainted . Occasionally, this is fun, getting to catch up with a friend that I share a community with and exchanging general life updates. But there are times when the interactions are a bit more awkward. I’ll be walking by the table of someone that I know of but don’t necessarily know, on my way to order a mug of black vanilla tea, and then I’ll realize how rude it would be to simply return along the same course after I obtain my beverage without at least saying ‘hello’. I’ll order my drink distractedly as I conjure up something to talk about with the individual at the table I just passed and then return holding my mug in one hand and my solitary nugget of conversation in the other. They’ll take off their headphones long enough to greet me and exchange the standard “how’s your day going” chat, then I’ll sort of look at a table on the other side of the shop as if to say “Well, I guess I’d better go find my own table-island now”. We’ll then part company and I’ll feel pretty good about the fact that I successfully avoided being a completely cold and socially awkward individual in at least that one interaction.
I’ve noticed an odd sense of disappointment, or maybe just annoyance, when I run into situations like the one I’ve just described. I love people and I feel like I really come alive in conversation and relationship with others, but I’ve become conscious of the fact that the sense of life that relationships and interactions bring out of me only thrives when it is punctuated with periods of solitude (or at least anonymity). I think that is why I find myself, and others for that matter, drawn to places like Tully’s, where you can be surrounded, but still alone. Something in me craves that time. The awkward phenomenon I experience in those half-conversations with brief acquaintances at Tully’s is one way that I’ve discovered this need for rhythm in my life, a rhythm with a downbeat of time alone.

Tully's - 47th and the Ave

Today I made a prolonged visit to the Tully’s coffee shop located on 47th and the Ave. The whole set-up of this establishment seems to cater well to a culture which is obsessed with customization. Baristas take orders for coffee and tea beverages which are painfully detailed in their specifications. The variety of chair-table formations leaves no shortage of sitting choices to be sure. As it turns out, you can enjoy your coffee while sitting at a small, round table of normal height, at a long, broad table surrounded by many chairs, or nestled cozily in an arm chair by the gas fireplace. As I observe those who sitting in the coffee shop, what strikes me is the wide variety of reasons that people seem to be here. There are students who enjoy reading and studying in the caffeine-rich aroma and constant stream of music which Tully’s provides. There are friends and couples engaged in intimate conversation, to whom this place is merely a medium through which their relationship can be verbally expressed. There are those who seem to just want to read for pleasure and enjoy a cup of coffee anonymously. There is one man who sits reading a newspaper, muttering something to himself every so often in response to what he’s reading. I’ve even noticed several individuals who come in, get the customized beverage of their choice, and sit alone, perhaps deep in thought, perhaps merely enjoying the opportunity to zone out and people-watch.
Though it is true that Tully’s is, shamelessly, a commercial chain which probably reproduces close to the same store concept in each of its locations, it seems to create something unique in each of those locations (namely, the one where I sit at this very moment). Those sitting in this space have taken the standardized Tully’s product and shaped it into something which meets their individual and distinctive needs for the hour or two for which they remain here.