Beyond Machu Picchu: A Journey into the Amazon with Gloria
Immersion into the Peruvian Amazon with the woman who showed me its secrets — one of my most cherished travel memories.
She smudged the sticky, wet paste from the berry onto my cheeks. I had to plié so she could reach, as I towered over her petite frame. With a smack of her lips, Gloria smiled. “Good, good. Looks good.” Standing there in the medicine garden, somewhere deep in the Peruvian Amazon, lives one of my most vivid memories from the country.
Called by Ruins, Changed by the Amazon
A trip to Peru, and naively, Machu Picchu, was one of those "bucket-list" (I abhor that term, but here we are) experiences my husband and I both had in mind. Faced with the actual logistics, we realized there was a lot more to see than just the famous ruins on top of a mountain.
So, there we sat, with ten other travelers, in a hot bus waiting to take us to a boat that would transport us deep into the Peruvian Amazon.
The Cast of Characters
Slyly opening an iPhone translator app, we learned the group of Chinese tourists were concerned about the “hungry batteries” on their devices. An American couple, giving off airs of being too wealthy for this experience — and with way too much luggage — were foreshadowing the energy of Victoria and Timothy Ratliff from White Lotus.
A brash, loud Englishman and his demure, slightly embarrassed younger wife held down the back row of the bus while an aloof London Jain couple not-so-discreetly judged all of us. We were a motley crew going out into the jungle for three nights.
Welcome to the Jungle
Our lodge, Refugio Amazonas, was remote but welcoming. The staff, used to facing sweaty, red-faced white people from the north, greeted us with cold towels and offers of plush seats and fresh-pressed juices.
After being shown to our open-air rooms — outfitted with mosquito netting and reminders to check the floor before stepping on it barefoot at night — we were told to await an orientation with our guide.
Enter Gloria
Sitting in the lounge, beer in hand, a slight woman with braided jet-black hair slowly walked over to us. With a calm, quiet voice contrasting the chaotic chatter of our journey, she asked,
"Richard, Jason?"
"I am your guide, Gloria."
Her dark brown pupils seemed to do the quickest assessment of our souls before succinctly saying,
"We meet here at 5:45 a.m. tomorrow for coffee and cake. Then, at 6, we leave for the canopy."
Sitting in silence for a moment, finally inhaling to say something, she added:
"Ok, I see you tomorrow."
And glided off down the teak walkway toward the staff section of the complex.
Into the Trees
And so, after a fitful night of sleep to a cacophony of jungle sounds, we arrived promptly at 5:45 a.m. for “coffee and cake,” awaiting Gloria’s reappearance. The loud Englishman and his younger wife from the boat appeared, too.
We learned we had “lucked out” and were part of the “small group” for tours — it would be just us and the other couple. After a few belches, I was already wondering: what’s the opposite of lucking out?
Gliding through the lodge’s common area, Gloria appeared.
"Good morning. You take coffee?"
We all nodded.
"Let’s go."
The Canopy Walk
Single file, down a narrow path into the dark expanse of trees, I followed this short, quiet woman I knew nothing about. Within five minutes of the walk, I knew more than I ever wanted to about Ian — a retired butcher rescued from the depths of alcoholism by his saintly wife, Chantal. They now traveled with the surprising sum of money one apparently gets from selling a butcher shop in England.
My husband, usually the chattiest of the group, at one point said:
"Sometimes it’s nice just to listen to the sounds of nature."
Gloria hadn’t even turned around to check on us once.
Arriving at a clearing, a towering platform stood before us. Up we climbed, hundreds of steep steps, to arrive at the tree line just as dawn seeped over the horizon.
Gloria pulled a worn book from her sweater pocket.
"We will see lots of birds this morning, and hopefully some monkeys."
Right on cue, chirps and calls arrived with the first rays of sun, summoned by Gloria’s words. Morning on the forest canopy felt like rush hour on the A train in Manhattan.
As Ian focused on the ground, wondering if he had vertigo, I scanned the trees. Explosions of color — yellow, green, red — catapulted out of the branches.
"You like birds." Gloria stated, suddenly beside me. Opening the book, she pointed out thrushes, woodcreepers, and, with binoculars from her other sweater pocket, iconic toucans.
A howl and rustling led Gloria to say calmly,
"The monkeys are coming."
A symphony of sounds, accompanied by choreographed chaos, kept me enraptured. After what seemed like a few minutes — but was actually an hour — we were told,
"It is time to go have breakfast."
"Fantastic, I’m starving," Ian bellowed.
The sounds of the canopy diminished as the sun ratcheted up the temperature like an oven preheating. It was barely 8 a.m. and I’d already seen more than I’d dreamed of.
The Lake
Late in the afternoon, the air cooling from midday heat, we stood at the edge of the water on a wooden plank masquerading as a dock. Gloria, standing in a longboat with a wooden paddle, gestured for us to step in.
Taking her offered hand — the reverse of what I used to do with my ballerina partners — I stepped in and sat, my husband following behind. Chantal, nervous of any rocking motion, tightly grasped my husband’s hand and plopped down quickly.
Ian, squealing with terror, proceeded down the plank like a cast member from Monty Python’s "Ministry of Silly Walks" — an unknowing ambassador of British comedy. Ninety-pound Gloria maneuvered to the front, offering her hand to assist two hundred fifty-pound Ian in safely arriving in the boat, rather than the murky water.
A few deep breaths later, we were ready to depart. Little Gloria was single-handedly going to row us around the lake.
Rare hoatzin birds, with their dramatic plumage and blue faces, dotted the shore. Out of sight of the dock, Gloria stopped the boat. The silence was deafening — even Ian seemed to get the message.
Something splashed against my arm. The water bubbled like a pot ready for pasta. I hadn’t noticed that Gloria was tossing chunks of bread in.
She giggled,
"Piranhas."
A shriek from Ian.
Handing me a crusty piece of bread, she said,
"Feed them."
Throwing the bread in every direction, I watched the water erupt. Growing up, my dentist had a couple piranhas in a tank in his waiting room. They smiled at us, a reminder that our teeth were important. Here in the oxbow lake, they seemed positively vicious.
Returning to the dock, Ian gave an encore performance of his comedic disembarkation. Gloria held back and asked me,
"You enjoy?"
"Yes," I replied. "It was so peaceful on the water."
She nodded knowingly. Peace radiates from within her at all times.
Getting to Know Her
On the walk back to the lodge, as Chantal and Ian rushed ahead toward the promise of a dinner buffet, my husband and I gathered the nerve to ask Gloria some questions.
We learned she has a tourism degree — her second, after an engineering degree. She has two adult children, and had the courage to leave an abusive, alcoholic husband when they were young. She now spends weeks at a time working at the lodge.
"After you, I have a children’s group from France."
"You speak French?"
She nodded.
"I’m so excited. I love children. They are my favorite."
We went on more excursions with Gloria. Huddling in a bunker, seemingly imported from the front lines of World War I, we silently awaited a jaguar to visit a watering hole. We set off down the river in a motorboat in the pitch-black early morning and later sat eating breakfast while macaws danced around the clay cliffs, visiting the “salt lick” for their daily mineral fix. Flashlights in hand, we stumbled through the dark jungle late at night, the ground sparkling like it was covered in diamonds.
"Spider eyes," she said calmly.
The Medicine Garden
On our last afternoon, Gloria sat with us in the lounge for tea. My husband, an acupuncturist, asked about the medicine garden he’d read about.
Her face lit up.
"Oh, you’d like to go?"
Before we could answer, she stood up, placing her mug down:
"We go now!"
Ten minutes from the lodge, just the three of us entered an unkempt garden. Shrubs, bushes, and small trees sat in clusters with overgrown signs in front of them.
In an almost random pattern, Gloria took us from plant to plant. Eating the leaves of one, our tongues became numb, anesthetized. Chewing another would alleviate the headache we didn’t have.
The last plant we stood in front of — its fruit squishing between Gloria’s fingers — she reached up to me. Towering over her, I pliéd to meet her halfway.
She smudged the paint onto my face — an initiation of sorts to the Peruvian jungle.
"Good. Looks good," she beamed.
We all slowly walked back to the lodge, faces smeared with red paint, not wanting the moment to end.
The Farewell
It was our last night. Tomorrow we’d take the motorboat back down the river, and a plane to much higher altitudes. I was already forgetting that Machu Picchu — the city perched on a mountain — was the reason I wanted to come to Peru.
"You are a very nice couple," Gloria said.
"Very happy life. You take care of each other."
This petite Peruvian woman seemed to know more about us — after three days and minimal conversation — than most of my friends at home do.
Clasping our hands, she smiled one last time before slipping back into the staff quarters, from where she had first emerged three days ago.
I wanted to go to Peru to see Machu Picchu, but I returned thinking not of the ruins — but of red paint on my face and the woman who placed it there.
Tips for Visiting
There are several lodges in and around the Tambopata Reserve in Peru. We stayed at Refugio Amazonas Lodge and had a wonderful experience—with great guides, food, and service.
I recommend staying more than two nights. Some travelers on our boat were only there for a couple of nights, and given the long travel time to reach the lodge, that doesn’t leave much room for excursions.
The best time to visit is during the dry season, from April to October. We went in September and enjoyed mostly hot, humid weather with no rain.
If we haven’t met yet, I’m Richard Philion. I traveled the world during my dance career and continue to explore with the same passion. If you love adventures to both new and familiar places, I’d love to connect and share our mutual love for travel. Through the Travelling Troubadour, I hope to inspire and inform with stories, tips, and itineraries.
Feel free to message me directly—I’d love to hear from you.
We had an Ian on our Brazilian Amazonian lodge trip. Always a happy accident when you have no exit ;)