A Short Trip To Peru, Part 2
The two-week excursion that became a two-month lockdown–and nearly cost us our sailboat.
Recap: For two years, Stephan and I have been touring South America based on Sailing Vessel Hanalei. In March, 2020, we leave her at anchor in Ecuador while we fly to Peru for two weeks. In the face of the pandemic, Peru and Ecuador both close their borders. A two-week lockdown has just been announced, stranding us with two dozen strangers in the Peruvian Amazon.
SV Hanalei at anchor off Salinas.
What about our boat?
Will SV Hanalei be okay–both physically and legally–for two more weeks?
We left the boat anchored off Salinas, Ecuador. Salinas is a haven for retired U.S. expats and wealthy residents of Guayaquíl. She’ll be safe from wind and surge. The biggest threat she’ll face is probably jet skis.
We hired a caretaker to sleep aboard and keep an eye on her. If necessary, Cocoviche will shake his fist at jet skis. I text him to explain our delay.
Cocoviche is isolating on SV Hanalei.Ecuador has locked down, too. He says not to worry. In a pinch, he’ll deploy our second anchor.
At least, I think that’s what he says. His auto-corrected Spanish dictation sometimes defies even Google translation.
Physical safety, check.
Hanalei’s legal status is a different matter. A vessel’s permission to be in Ecuador is Customs’ purview. Her temporary import license–like permission to drive your own car during a visit without paying an import tax–is good until late April.
The lockdown ends March 31. We’ll make it back with three weeks to spare, plenty of time to check out of the country. Once our friend Barb comes to help crew, we’ll all sail down to Chile.
Quarantine
As quarantines go, Wasai Eco-Lodge is not a hardship post. Accommodations range from funky hostel to spectacular; from treetop rooms to poolside bungalows five levels down that overlook the river.
We could stroll for two weeks around lush tropical grounds with calming water features, listen to exotic birds and discover unique mammals.The time will fly by. I’m already photo-stalking a resident sloth.
Unless you left the premises, you’d never know the military was enforcing quarantine. Checkpoints keep a lookout for unauthorized vehicles; armed men in uniform are posted at the square two blocks away. Their idea of social distance is a rifle length apart.
As 8 pm curfew nears, cops roll past in mini-pickup trucks flashing their lights. Megaphones mounted like machine guns warn anyone still outside that it’s closing time, and you do have to go home.
Peru’s quarantine motto–now featured on television PSAs–is Yo Me Quedo En Casa. I’m staying home.
View from our home-away-from-home for two months.
Yo Me Quedo en Eco-Lodge
We’re staying here, but Wasai is no isolation pod.
Covered longboats still arrive with jungle stragglers. A doctor takes their temperatures and okays them to check in.
No problem. There’s no virus in the Amazon.
The lack of concern concerns me.
What part of quarantine do we not understand?
Yo me quedo en our room, which has a nice, safe view.
We only re-emerge for meals. Lunch and dinner may be purchased from a menu with five choices. Breakfast is buffet.
In line for morning coffee, I can’t help observing–okay, pointedly observing–that cruise ships have buffets, too.
See what that led to?
My remark earns me blank looks, titters from guests thirty years younger than me. They squish together on always-room-for-one-more benches, conversing with passion and conviction.
Stephan and I sit apart at a table for two. Call me antisocial, but I’m more afraid of Covid-19 than missing out on this morning’s discussion.
“No respect for their more-vulnerable elders,” I huff.
Wrapped up in DuoLingo Spanish lessons, Stephan says nothing. He’s on vacation from Chief Engineer duties, which include fixing my messes.
It dawns on me I’m looking at two weeks alone with my spouse in a hotel room. The situation doesn't imply what it once might have, not like John and Yoko. More like the Captain and Tenille, in case you’re old enough to get the reference.
No Virus Here
Presidente Vizcarra announces a mask mandate.
Eco-Lodge employees, who freely come and go, think it does not apply inside or with anyone they know.
The other guests agree masks are a necessary evil for essential missions. “Essential” turns out to include wandering around the public market or taking a scooter ride with someone they know. Who has no symptoms.
Besides, there isn’t any virus here.
Their reasoning appears to work like this:
We’ve all been isolated in the jungle.
There’s no virus in the Amazon or Puerto Maldonado.
Therefore, we are safe. Our pod is infinite.
Despite its circular logic, at least the group enjoys social interaction. Their idea of social distance is huddling with their new best friends on sofas or around the swimming pool, eschewing masks for hugs, shared drinks and cigarettes, or the occasional joint.
It makes me want to head back to our room.
Chief Engineer, who can do calculations in his sleep, won’t take this lying down.
Our friend Barb phones with disappointing news. She can’t crew to Chile, after all. Even if the borders were open, her doctor won't let her fly anywhere.
The two of us will have to adjust to a three-week passage on our own. Quarantining isn’t that much different than crossing an ocean. There’s no place else to go, you get into a routine and sleep a lot.
You stand watches.
We stand watching the river flow, watching birds and watching for the sloth.
Our social life is our three kids, each isolating in the U.S. They set up family Zooms to check in, laugh and play games.
There’s actually not that much to laugh about.
On March 18 the first Covid-19 case is confirmed here in a nurse who came from Lima the day before lockdown. Consensus is it doesn’t count. She didn’t get sick here so, technically, the city is still virus-free.
Meanwhile, we’ve managed to learn Puerto Maldonado has five ventilators. With nothing better to do, Stephan calculates our odds if we get sick. Once the area has 120 cases, he notes quietly, the hospital may not be an option anymore.
Two Bonus Weeks
March 26, the President makes another announcement. The lockdown hasn’t quite contained the virus. He’s giving us two bonus weeks, ‘til April 12.
This development is problematic for three reasons:
1. I only brought five pairs of underwear.
2. SV Hanalei’s temporary import will nearly expire before we make it back to Ecuador which, btw, has not announced when it will open its border.
3. I’m running out of meds.
Sloth-stalking.
This quarantine might turn out to be slower than I thought.
Sloth-slow.
Fair Winds,
Christine
Do Tell!
Why was your longest day of quarantine so long?
