The Amazon River is a swirling, branching force in the Peruvian jungle, midway from where it first sweeps from a trickle in the Andes and swoops toward the Brazilian rain forest. The rusty gingerbread buildings of Iquitos frame piles of rotting bananas, and vultures swirl overhead. At night the sky lights up like bombs over Baghdad, the humidity released throughout the night.
From Iquitos I traveled with a small group of journalists to a jungle camp by a tributary, lighted by kerosene lamps, with cold water showers and boiled drinking water.
Our local guide was Leo, a tall Peruvian in his thirties with gleaming muscles. Leo had never been to Lima, but he knew all about his habitat. He walked us through the jungle, pointing out the flora amid the screeches of monkeys and birds.
Leo announced that those of us willing to get up at dawn would be treated to a canoe ride with him down a narrow tributary, to observe hundreds of awakening birds, insects and animals. We all planned to join this special trip, but the night lingered with dancing and laughter.
Groggy-eyed, and dragging, I managed to show up by the canoes at sunrise. And I was the only one.
“Good,” said Leo. “Leo and Lea. We’ll go alone, and there will be more birds. They will not be frightened away if we are quiet.”
Indeed there were birds, and Morphos butterflies big as birds, which swarmed above my head, maybe 20 at a time, their iridescent, blue-violet wings like Tiffany glass in the rising sunlight.
“They like you,” Leo said. “They know you care about them. Butterflies can tell.”
I’ve always been enchanted by what I like to call “flutterbies," the name I used when I was a little girl. And these were swirling clouds of flutterbies. The splash of his oars in the water, the orchids and dense foliage, and the sounds from the jungle beyond created a magical experience.
The butterflies followed our canoe and I felt connected to nature as never before. I couldn't stop smiling.
At breakfast when we got back to camp, Leo told everyone what we had experienced, and the others seemed especially sorry that they had missed out. I added that the butterflies were attracted to me and hung above my head and that I felt a communion with nature.
But one piqued man dashed the fantasy.”You’re wearing a red shirt. Butterflies are attracted to red.”
Leo just smiled.
"So all that stuff about them liking me was just about my shirt,” I asked.
“Well, I do think those butterflies know you came out early to see them. You went out of your way, they went out of their way.”
I believed Leo. Sort of. And about a month later I received an envelope from Peru. Inside was a pictograph Leo had drawn of our trip down the tributary, illustrated with blue butterflies everywhere. He probably couldn’t write, but he could draw. And he was able to track me down, explorer that he was. And he knew that I would smile again, so far away.
I no longer have that pictograph, lost among so many other small treasures in the many moves I’ve made. But I have the memories of the butterflies, and of his thoughtfulness. And that was probably the most wonderful thing of all the surprising wonders of that trip.
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Comments
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Donna, for every Leo I've met, alas there has been a not-s0-nice person. I prefer to remember the nice ones.
designanator, first let me comment on *your* really special birthday post for procopius. You sketch so beautifully and each sketch was thoughtful and on the mark; just for him.
And yes, I had fun on my trip.
Thank you.
R
And Gwen, awash in flutterbies sounds like a phrase I should use.
BTW, I've heard that approach to the Iquitos airport is a real white-knuckler! One of these days I'll find out first hand.
Monte
Andy, what is is about butterflies? So fragile, so beautiful, so fleeting.
sophie, a butterfly moment. Butterflies moment even more.
Caroline, I've had wilder, but never more lovely.
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OR, hi sweetie. Wish you posted more here.
I think your name is going to stick in my head forever, "flutterbies" sounds so much more fitting, and it makes me giggle a little when I say it.
Ablonde, I never understood why it wasn't "flutterbies." Makes so much more sense.
Steve, grace notes indeed. Like music.
Cathy, maybe someday I will find it. But if not, I will at least keep the memory alive.
The only flutterbies I've expereinced were hornets when I would pester their hive or honey bees after I'd accidentally knock over their hive while robbing their honey. An entirely different feeling from butterflies :-)
Man, what a life you've enjoyed lady. I'm truly envious.
There are whole parts of the world I'll never get to see, except through your eyes. How lucky I am that you're so incredibly good at taking us with you.
Reminds me of the migrating monarch butterflies hanging like orange and black ribbons in eucalyptus trees in a meadow in Santa Cruz where my son took me to see them. There were crowds of assorted tourists admiring the monarchs in a sea-level grove below, but in this higher meadow, the few other visitors were Japanese. We all had rather mystical expressions, I suppose because it felt like being in a church or temple. I agree with you that an abundance of butterflies feels like a connection to some other level of reality.
Reminds me of the migrating monarch butterflies hanging like orange and black ribbons in eucalyptus trees in a meadow in Santa Cruz where my son took me to see them. There were crowds of assorted tourists admiring the monarchs in a sea-level grove below, but in this higher meadow, the few other visitors were Japanese. We all had rather mystical expressions, I suppose because it felt like being in a church or temple. I agree with you that an abundance of butterflies feels like a connection to some other level of reality.
Hawley, I was in Pensacola when the Monarchs were making a stopover on their way to Mexico. They were everywhere, including the highway, and even out on the Gulf.
363nomore, thanks, and keep on your toward your goal!
Great line.
“They like you,” Leo said. “They know you care about them. Butterflies can tell.”