It was cramped on board
To get from Manaus to Puerto Velho the only sensible way is by boat.
Our boat was a decrepit old steamer strung throughout with enough hammocks for over 200 people. We settled in and chatted whilst people bustled all around us, bringing supplies on board or vending lollies and fake watches. It wasn’t until an hour had passed that I noticed my new flip flops had been replaced with a worn out old pair with what looked like a human bite mark out of the back of them.
Presumably someone walked up, kicked off their shoes and slipped into mine, as they were roughly the same size. The others wanted to run round checking peoples feet, bags and cabins, but I figure if you’re hard up enough to take a bite out of your own shoes, your need is greater than mine.
The food on the boat was very variable, with awful soup for dinner, an empty buttered roll for lunch, and a dull but reasonable mix of pasta and rice lunch.
Everyone had to bring a plate and spoon on board – The feeding system was to then go to the bottom deck, fill your plate and sit about eating. Experienced locals had brought huge bowls to avoid having to queue for seconds. Inexperienced Londoners soon realised it was pretty poor food and didn’t really want seconds.
On the second day I discovered two things that helped with the food situation. Firstly the can shop upstairs unveiled a Breville sandwich toaster and offered cheese and ham toasties, or burgers of slightly questionable provenance but both were very tasty. Secondly I discovered the Refectorio, or dining room, for people too stupid to have brought a plate on board. Here you got the same ropey food, but with more appropriate cutlery and crockery, so no more soup on a plate or eating spaghetti with just a spoon. This was served buffet style at a proper table and chairs, with a selection of condiments to liven up the otherwise dull fare, all for no extra cost. On occasions the dining room got extra food or desserts, so it was possible to walk out with some fruit and wave down to the rest of the gang washing their dirty plates, whilst the happy chef did the washing up.
The following day I was rudely awakened at 10am by a lady demanding my ticket. When I eventually dug it out she examined it and walked off. A few minutes later she returned with a new ticket, this time on a blue background. Looking for our Portuguese speaking guide I discovered he’d been confined to his hammock by the captain after narrowly avoiding being tied up and left in the engine room after misbehaving the previous night. I’d slept through all this, but he’d been drinking all day which resulted in him throwing tables and chairs overboard and insulting the captain and his family. On being sent to bed he’d repositioned his hammock by tieing it round a light fitting and passing out. A passing deckhand had noting the smouldering rope and sparks showering onto his slumbering neighbours and raised the alarm.
On the third day we all got food poisoning, which wasn’t pleasant on a boat with one toilet for the men (and no shoes). Mine developed into a recurrence of a previous bout of Hepatitis A so that pasta was the last thing I ate for about 10 days and just lay in my bed hallucinating. On the plus side I dropped a couple of belt sizes and avoided the constant torrential rain until we reached Puerto Velho after dark on the 5th day.
