Nov 27, 2016
By Navid Samedi
Finding Freedom on a rooftop in Iquitos, Peru
Trying hard not to panic, I once again compared the bed-bug bite photos on my laptop’s screen to the bite marks on my leg. There was no point in denying it any longer; I was a victim. A drop of sweat slid slowly down my back. A tuk-tuk driver screamed something intangible at the owner of the restaurant as he dashed past, his brightly painted machine belching black smoke into the street’s already suffocating air. The place stank of old ketchup and fried meat. I bit unenthusiastically into my cold, leathery burger and wondered again about the origins of that peculiar meat patty.
The images of slaughtered wildlife I had seen the day before in the town’s market – turtles missing half their bodies, juvenile caimans tied up with filthy ropes, and vultures, vultures sitting on the roofs, squabbling over the animal innards scattered all over the place – filled my mind as I put the burger down and pushed the plate away. It began to drizzle outside. I realised I had left my rain jacket back at the hostel. I got up, paid my bill and seriously considered crying.
I felt alone, dejected and somewhat lost in Iquitos. Located deep in the Amazon rainforests of Northern Peru, the town was dirty, crowded and hot. The three friends, with whom I got along marvellously and had travelled with for a week, had left Iquitos for Lima the day before and I already missed them terribly. But that wasn’t all. I also felt cursed; a few days ago I lost my iPhone for the second time since I left home. And that felt like the final nail in my coffin after all my other electronic devices – external hard drive, laptop, even my brand new GoPro camera – had been damaged in a series of freak accidents over the past two months.
I felt depleted after months of travel, tired of constant movement. And I couldn’t make up my mind as to where to go next. I was running short of budget. I wanted to visit Guyana, but it was the rainy season there and I couldn’t even decide whether I should go via Brazil (the much slower, harder way) or Colombia and Panama (much more expensive). Internet was painfully slow at the best of times in Iquitos, hampering my attempts at reading up about my next destination. Add a bed-bugs infection to the mix and I was steps away from a complete break-down.
Back at the hostel, I climbed up onto the roof to get some fresh air. In the gathering darkness, I spotted a black resistance band – the kind you use at a gym – resting on the waist-high wall. I picked it up gently, holding it by its handles, feeling its elasticity, its tension. It felt like a sign. As if it was beckoning to me. Exercise had always helped lift my mood, and I had never been in more dire need of cheering up than just then.
‘You have a choice! You can always just pack up and go home’. Hannah, one of my travel buddies, had told me when I had confided in her about my feelings. I did have a choice; I could mourn for myself, or do something about my rotten spirit.
I got down on the ground and did a set of push-ups. I gripped the rusty metal bar that ran above my head across the walls and hauled myself up. I reached for the resistance band and performed some of my old work-out routines, as if I was back at my local gym. As I pushed myself harder and my muscles began to ache, I began to accept that I had chosen to be doing this; to be here. Just like I had independently decided to travel in the first place, I was now free to decide how I wanted to feel about travelling too.
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About the Author
Navid Samedi
A wanderer and blogger with a terrible sense of direction, he is ill-prepared at best and a disaster-waiting-to-happen at worst when it comes to travelling. Yet his desire to see has taken him to all seven continents.