Back on My Bulls**t: Tarapoto, Peru
To escape, to extract, to export—is that all the world wants from the Amazon?
Back on My Bullshit are intermittent, totally idiosyncratic travelogues. Don’t worry, I give standard recommendations below but this isn’t your mom’s Travel & Leisure city guide.
“First, I’m going to show you where the workers used to produce cocaine paste,” said Hilmer to me and the two other guests. The hotel offered an afternoon tour of its surrounding areas, which they described as a slow-paced trot where we would learn more about the jungle and its history. I knew from the blurb that observing the coca maceration pond was part of it, but I thought we were going to ease into that whole sordid tale. Instead, Hilmer talked about the narcoterrorism of the 80s with a matter-of-fact tone I’ve come to expect from populations that have seen some real shit. “The men had to work at night because it was a very dangerous job. An average of 20 to 25 men were killed each day.”
We, the limeños, nodded uncomfortably. We were all in our late 30s/early 40s, so we all had recollections, however faint, of Peru being torn apart by the Shining Path. Many civilians were caught in the crossfire. Many civilians faced either starvation or finding employment in the drug trade. For many civilians it wasn’t even a moral struggle of their own choosing. The guerrilla group forced vulnerable populations into unspeakable acts in the name of their supposed liberation. Government forces often did not distinguish between the true believers and the victims of those beliefs.
“Who killed them?” One of the guests asked, a hint of trepidation in her voice.
“Men. Police. Others,” Hilmer answered, businesslike. “Want to see the vat?”