Also known as the Rio Amazonas, the river and Amazon rainforest cover over one-third of South America. Measuring some 6,400 kilometres, it’s regarded as the second-longest river in the world, behind the Nile in Africa, which is about 6,650 kilometres in length, though the figure is disputed by some. Measured on sheer volume, however, the Amazon is undoubtedly the biggest. Starting high in the Andes mountains in Peru, the river snakes east through Colombia and Brazil, taking in some of the least accessible terrain on Earth before emptying into the Atlantic Ocean. At its widest points, there is no land in sight.

Jack Wheeler, co-founder of Xapiri Ground, an organisation that works to preserve traditional crafts and culture in the Peruvian Amazon, says that “the lowlands towards the border of Brazil contain the last frontier of remote forests, where the largest concentration of ‘uncontacted’ indigenous groups live”. The fraction of river we traverse, however, is populated with mixed-race communities and villages that no longer hold to the old ways.

Fishing and farming are important income sources, but so is tourism, with villagers selling souvenirs at the end of many excursions. During a tour of the port town of Nauta, a storm forces us to take shelter. Waiting for it to pass, Juan Ihuaraqui, a naturalist guide who hails from near the Brazilian border, tells of two versions of how the Amazon river got its name.

One is that Spanish conquerors in the 16th century were attacked by tribes resembling the fierce female warriors from Greek mythology while exploring the river. The other is that it comes from an ancient indigenous word amassona, meaning “canoe breaker”. As the wind whips up the water into choppy swells, I can imagine how that’s possible. Ihuaraqui shares other tales about how healthy monkey populations are a sign that malaria is absent. That the all-powerful anaconda is protector and ruler of the river, forest and its people. Of giant fish with armoured scales that are delicious to eat (true). And a curious one about pink dolphins—endemic to the river—able to transform themselves into attractive humans to seduce girls and boys. 

Because it’s low-water season, when water levels can drop by up to seven metres, I go on hikes in the rainforest. A local villager hacks his way through the underbrush with a machete, stopping to cut off a waterlogged vine so I can drink from it.

He finds a pink-toed tarantula the size of my palm, and stumbles upon boas and anacondas—the latter are among the largest snakes in the world, capable of growing a to staggering ten metres in length and devouring adult caiman whole. Few men have sailed the length of the Amazon river. Richard Panduro, who has been navigating it for over 20 years, is one.

The Aqua Nera’s captain has witnessed increasing deforestation and pollution, declining fish stocks, the retreat of indigenous peoples, and seen weather patterns change and the river alter its course over the years. Yet he remains enamoured by its mesmerising tranquility tinged with unpredictability. Even with advances in technology, Panduro recounts how, one fine day, a powerful whirlpool appeared without warning, dragging the ship along. Helpless, the crew had to stay calm and wait for the danger to pass. He understands the science behind it and doesn’t easily fall for sailors’ superstitions. But he also knows that the Amazon is a mysterious, living being, a place of inexplicable magic that can enchant the most rational among us.

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