We spent the night strung up in hammocks with the rest of the 60 or so passengers on the second deck. Aside from the kitchen that served our meals and the little store that sold gum and mostly beer, a hammock occupied every inch of space on the second deck. In some places, hammocks were stacked three high and even dangled over railings. There were so many hammocks that walking became difficult. To get to the tienda for a beer you’d have to step over a hammock onto a bench, then duck under another two, side step a third, avoid stepping on the three kids asleep on a piece of cardboard, and then duck under another. Just getting out of my hammock required a certain amount of concentration and dexterity so as not to swing my hammock too much and knock into my neighbors, causing a chain reaction of swinging hammocks and annoyed Peruvians.
Below the second deck was where the cargo and livestock was stored and where the flies were the busiest. Above us, the top deck was completely open except for about six private quarters, which are really just metal closets with two bunk beds welded in, and are reserved for the captain, his crew and a few high paying passengers. The private rooms cost around $70, around three times the cost of renting a hammock.
Sleeping a night in a hammock takes either practice or the right amount of alcohol and sleep deprivation, neither of which I had enough of the first night on the river. I woke up countless times in the night and my dreams and my sleepless bits seemed to blur together. Fighting chickens grappled in the corner, menacing bats swooping in, shrills from a baby squirming on a piece of cardboard, large buzzing insects, outburst of laughing and shouting and strange ramblings from a deckhand who mistook me for someone else in the night.
It was all made stranger by the line that had begun to form at 7 a.m., winding through the maze of hammocks towards the front of the ship. Each passenger had a container for a bowl and a utensil in had, something Oscar had failed to mention that I needed.
The line moved fast. The cooks quickly plopped down brown, mysterious breakfast mush from an industrial-sized pot. Quickly, I thought, looking at others pull out their Tupperware — what to use? I took out a notebook from my backpack, the sight of which drew an odd glance or two. The cook plopped down the mystery mush on my notebook with a grin, probably thinking, crazy ass dumb gringo. I later found out that you could in fact rent plates for a small fee, a detail everyone failed to mention.
Just as quickly as the breakfast was served, a line formed for the bathrooms, next to the kitchen. It didn’t move fast, just brief, half-asleep shuffles forward. Four people were at the four faucets that spat out river water, using it to wash their bowls and utensils. One man, only in soggy underwear and a rosary, washed his clothes.
There were four stalls, each with a toilet and an overhead shower head, so that you could conceivably take a shower while sitting on the toilet at the same time. It was soon my turn for a stall. The shower water was sucked up straight from the river and never entirely drained out of the stall, leaving little puddles at the base of the toilet your feet would sink into every time you sat down.
