Tales From My Life in Peru: The Shaman

Another close call from my days of adventure

We’d come by sputtering boat, weaving through the dark waters of the Amazon, splashed by pink, freshwater dolphins that broke the surface and scared the pants off us.

“Don’t swim in the water,” the guide said.

“Why not?”

“Because there are piranhas.”

A short while later the boat’s motor started to expel a reeking cloud of black smoke. Silence descended, the roar of functional machinery fading out behind us.

“You’ll have to swim to shore.”

“And the piranhas?”

“Don’t worry about them.”

Bedraggled, we made it to the far bank, coughing as we pulled ourselves out of the water with all our fingers and toes intact. I was traveling with Andreas, a young man from Germany.

Our guide had told us that there was a shaman’s hut ahead, so we made for it. Seeking out a shaman seemed like the right thing to do. Everybody should embark on such a quest at least once in their lifetimes.

We found him sitting on some planks beneath a grass roof. There were no walls. I realized with a start that this must be where he lived. He smiled at us, showing more gums than teeth. I didn’t get the creepy sense that I should run away, so I sat down to hear him out.

He told us many tales, talking in an excited voice, making gestures with his hands. After a while he started revealing the secrets of ayahuasca, a strong hallucinogen that helps wayward travelers recuperate their bearings.

“How did you become a shaman?” Andreas asked.

“I took ayahuasca every day for four years, and the jungle told me which plants have medicinal properties.”

“Ayahuasca every day for four years?” I said, “That sounds like college.”

The shaman continued with his stories about the benefits of ayahuasca. He told us about a man who took the mystical potion and laid his head down on the table. After about four hours, he rose up like a reanimated corpse, screamed, and ran into the jungle.

The shaman thought this story was hilarious.

We never found out what happened to the guy.

Finally, the shaman lifted up his jug of ayahuasca and offered it to us.

“Want to do it?” Andreas asked.

“Hmmm,” I said, “I’m not saying don’t do it. However, I would say that a moment like this requires some reflection. If you’re depressed, suicidal, miserable, then what do you have to lose? However, if your life is going more or less well, why take a chance on something worse?”

He thought about it for a moment.

“Thank you, but no.”

The shaman looked crushed, but I think he was going to be okay. He had the ayahuasca and the jungle to keep him company.

Just then the roar of the boat’s engine intruded, calling to Andreas and I that we could get back on our way.