72.
Pucalpa, Peru:
I am awakened by the sound of women killing chickens.
As the light increases, the riverfront comes to life. Women get charcoal fires going and begin to prepare food to sell in their open-air eating stalls.
Soon brawny longshoremen arrive to eat breakfast--but the wind and rain get worse so they don’t stay.
I crawl from the wretched shelter of my truck and stroll casually down the beach in the rain.
The food the women have for sale looks and smells delicious but would probably kill me.
I settle for papayas that I can peel myself, and fresh, hot bread. I hope the recent baking will make the bread safe for my sensitive digestion!
When the rain stops, I go from boat to boat asking about passage down the river.
I discover that there is only one boat authorized to carry passengers down the river to Iquitos which departs once a week and it just left yesterday--so I must wait a week here in Pucalpa for the next sailing.
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