Tag Archives: Lake Sandoval

56. Corto Maltes

56. Corto Maltes (Sept. 24-28)

sm 08 2445There are two boats out to Corto Maltes. I take the early one, and ride out toward Corto Maltes with a group of Peruvians. Ragna and Selma must be taking the later boat. I’m the only foreigner on this one.

It feels good to be on the water. It feels good to be riding up sm 08 2452 Rio Madre de Diosthe Madre de Dios River, a wide brown river with sm 08 2454 Rio Madre de Diosplenty of vegetation on each bank. There isn’t really much to see, but I keep watching with great interest.

sm 08 2460 redAfter perhaps twenty minutes we reach a landing with a small dock and a couple of other boats tied up. I think we’re going to let someone off or deliver something, but this is it. We’ve arrived. I’d known the lodge was close, but not this close.

In fact, we’ve arrived so early that I get a bit of breakfast.

The dining room is a large, screened room flanked by a small shop and a large bar with a pool table. After breakfast I talk to one of the waiters. Ragna’s birthday is Friday. Even though we are no longer a couple, I want her to have a cake. We arrange that his wife will have one decorated with Ragna’s name and a little Icelandic flag, and he will bring it out after supper Friday evening.

sm 08 2681 LuciI meet Luci, a knowledgeable young woman from the area who will be our guide during our stay.  (She does not always look quite as she does in the photo at right.)  She says we can go to Monkey Island with another group in twenty minutes or so. I agree.

sm 08 2479 Panchito the parrotAs I walk toward my cabin I shoot a picture of a green parrot in the branch of a small tree, then put out my finger for the parrot to step onto it.

It’s not as if it’s the first time I’ve had a parrot perched on my hand; but I stare at his green and yellow feathers, and at the rich browns and other colors the sunlight finds in his eyes. He makes a small noise that sounds like “uh, oh,” and when I answer it we repeat the sm 08 2488 Panchito perched on handsm 08 2489 Panchito perched on handmeaningless sounds over and over in turn, as I used to do with Ragna’s grandson Elia, who was then 4 or 5 years old, when I was first traveling to Iceland. I am growing quite attached to the bird, but as we move onto the main path, and I say “Buenos Dias” to a cleaning woman, she says something about the bird, then deftly removes him from my shoulder by placing the end of the broom handle near his claws. As he steps onto it, I ask her his name, and she tells me “Panchito.” She pinches her left forearm with the fingers of her right hand to warn me that he might claw or nip. I’m thinking he must do that only when frightened, but I’m not inclined to argue.

My cabin is a spare but delightful wooden structure. The front porch has two hammocks. I quickly fall into one.

sm 08 2674 hammocksAimlessly I push my hand against the cabin so that the hammock swings back and forth, at first fairly violently and then, like a pendulum, smaller and smaller distances. The rope groans regularly, like the heartbeat of the Great Mother, lulling me to sleep in safety. Hearing it not through the air but through the material of the hammock sm 08 2676 hammocks & cabinsagainst my ear is perhaps like hearing from the womb, and the two-beat is regular: one beat as the hammock approaches the apex of its swing to the left, then a beat of silence as it reaches that apex and begins to drop back toward the center, then the second heartbeat as it sm 08 2498 yellow red flowerapproaches its high-point on the right.

Within moments I’m asleep.  But soon I drift back to consciousness, and we leave for Monkey Island.

Isla de Monos

Luci and I arrive with Carlos and the French, or French Swiss, to whom he explains everything in French. We cross a stretch of sand, then follow a path sm 08 2625 the path in - monkey islandthrough the vegetation. It is the dry season. If it were not, Luci tells me, this path would be an inlet we would enter in a boat, or perhaps by wading. (It’s a fact of rainforest life I’ve read about: as here, a river’s height can vary ten feet or more with the seasons. In some places, a boat landing is on the edge of town in the wet months, but a mile or two away from town in the dry season.)

Luci and Carlos leave us behind near a huge tree and a feeding platform that can be lowered and raised with ropes, so that the platform, laden with inviting bananas, can be raised to a level where the monkeys feel safe but can be seen and photographed. They go on, hoping to attract the monkeys toward the feeding platform. She invites me to go with them, but I’m doubting the French or French-Swiss will appreciate that, so I pass. We stand around for a long time, occasionally hearing monkey calls almost certainly made by our guides. Eventually they return, and a monkey also appears, high in a distant tree, and begins swinging and jumping his way from there to the feeding platform, always high above the ground.

and do sight monkeys

and do spot monkeys

sm 08 2554 butterfly
we watch butterflies
sm 08 2629 forest & sky

and scan the sky

Isla de sm 08 2606 monkey on platformMonos is not terribly interesting. It is not an island the monkeys chose to populate, but rather a project to return monkeys, which had been pets in Puerto Maldonado, to their sm 08 2605 capuchin crnative environment. It started about eight years ago. The varieties of monkeys have dwindled a bit because the brown Capuchin monkeys killed most everyone else.

photographing each other

photographing each other

escaping the heat

escaping the heat

sm 08 2667 Corto Maltes 

Evening Nature Walk
Luci leads us on an evening nature walk that is a good deal more interesting than sm 08 2727 luci & treeit sounds.  Highlights include: walking trees, a tree used for dyes, and a tree used to salve women’s broken hearts. (There is another for men, but we don’t see it on this particular walk.) She tells us a lot that is very interesting but will disappear from my feeble brain before I get around to writing this.  However, I do recall a tree used as a love potion (for lovelorn women – men use a different plant), another that provides a natural dye, and a third that actually walks, albeit slowly.

sm 08 2876 big moth or butterflysm 08 2841 forest flower - red

Night Ride

After supper we go upriver a ways in the boat, with flashlights and headlamps. sm 08 2802 caimanThere’s a searchlight mounted on the boat. Along with Luci and the boatman, we scan the shore for cayman. We do spot a few. It’s fun. Photographing them is a challenge.

We also see capybaras, comically awkward creatures who look at us in surprise. They look like refugees from Winnie-the-Pooh’s world.

sm 08 2784 giant rodentsm 08 2796 giant rodent

Later, I drink a couple of pisco sours and shoot some pool in the bar with one of the guides. At 11, when the generator goes off for the night and there’s no electricity, I wend my way back to my cabin, feeling good.

Life at Corto Maltes
It is a peaceful and isolated place. The wood cabins are comfortable and romantic. The guides are knowledgeable.  The bar is relaxing, lively enough to enjoy but not loud.  There’s a swimming pool, welcome in the heat here.

Our group also includes a couple from South Africa and a retired schoolteacher from Toronto, accompanied by his two daughters. The Canadians, having just finished the Inca Trail and Machu Picchu, are particularly delighted by the pool.  There are also other groups, keeping different schedules and often speaking different languages, and we usually see them only at meals.

sm 08 4515 cabin at Corto MaltesThe cabins are well-appointed and simple. Dominated by wood and nature, it’s a place one might easily wish to enjoy with a lover. Oddly, that thought comes to sm 08 4524 cabin - interiorme not as a sour-grapes lament that Ragna and I didn’t make it so far, but as it might if I’d come alone, seen the obvious romantic nature of the place, and pictured no particular woman joining me.

sm 08 4026 parrot and friendWe all like the hammocks very much. One morning I pass the Canadian school-teacher lying in his, with one daughter in the other, and the green parrot sleeping with him in his. Or, in the Rilke-Wright formulation, “guarding his solitude.”

Ragna and Selma lie often in their hammock, chatting and laughing. Dozing in mine, I hear them and smile. It is wonderful to hear their laughter. Ragna has been so much in Iceland, and with me in San Francisco or Mexico or Peru, and Selma so much in Sweden then Milan, that they have not spent much time together. Now they lie for hours in the hammocks laughing. I do not hear what they are talking about, or care; but their laughter rings like two clear bells, or two more creatures from the forest: whatever it is or means, it sounds good; and I am happy for Ragna, at the same time wondering why we so seldom made each other laugh like that, when each of us loves to laugh and makes others around us laugh.

Mother and daughter.
their laughter as filled with life
as the wild bird-calls
that awaken us at dawn.
knowing neither tongue, i smile.
  Our domestic arrangements are a little like a bad soap opera for the entertainment of at least some of the workers here. I have asked Ricardo to arrange a birthday cake for Ragna, but also advised him that she and I have separated. The first day when Ragna and Selma are about to arrive, I go in for lunch, and one of the waiters asks, “Aren’t you waiting for two more people?” It’s easier to delay lunch than dispute the point, and so we eat together. Ragna is not pleased, and when I ask if I should tell the waiters we’ll need separate tables from now on, she says I should. I do. They set me a place at a table alone. But later, as we approach the area for supper, Ragna says, “You can eat with us if you want,” and I ask Ricardo to move the single setting from a distant table to the one where Ragna and Selma are sitting. For the rest of the stay, we sit together at meals. Sometimes we all talk amicably. More often, Ragna and Selma talk amicably with each other in Swedish.

Luci is always asking me whether things are better. At one point she and the other female guide enthusiastically insist that things between me and Ragna seem to be going better. “You’re such romantics,” I tell them.  I can tell that sm 08 2754 bird - bluesm 08 4008 toucanthey, as well as Ricardo and perhaps others, like both of us and would like to see what they figure would be a happy ending. I can feel them rooting for it, and feel sorry to disappoint them, but Ragna and I know that we are not getting back together.

sm 08 4015 toucansm 08 2742 bird - blue

sm 08 3427 macaw at Corto Msm 08 4489 macaw in pool lounger

Most afternoons, just before supper, I’m in the pool. The Canadians are always there too, and often the South Africans. Colorful birds often visit us at pool-side. One bird even discovers the loose toenail on my big toe and kindly pulls it off for me with his beak.

sm 08 4447 girl and macaw

and get more closely acquainted

sm 08 4486 Canadians and macaw at pool

The Canadians chat with a macaw

sm 08 3954 the bar in late afternoonAfter supper I’m often in the bar.  The pool table is often in use, sometimes by me.  There’s also chess, backgammon, and the like, although I don’t mangage to find a chess game.  The bar’s not crowded, and Jean-Paul’s pisco sours are effective.  It’s fun.

Night falls early in the jungle.

dusk is not silent.
birds, cicadas, men all rush
to sing before night
descends like death’s sceptre on
the Mother of God River.
By 11 they’ve turned off the generator, and there’s no electricity back in the room. Corto Maltes is quiet; but the jungle is never silent, and at an astonishingly early hour there’s a cacophany of strange sounds, the oddest of which is some bird’s call that I will wish I could have recorded, to add the sound to this blog. It is very loud, and sounds almost mechanical – yet a little like a drop of water landing in a barrel and echoing, if that sound were magnified thousands of times. Each morning I lie awake, listening in awe, long before it’s time to get up.

The security whistles that all through Peru have sounded a little like they might be birds are finally birds, some sounding as if they might be security whistles.

Parakeet Lick
We get up early to walk to parakeet lick. We sit in a blind, waiting quietly. Parakeets do come, at a distance too great for good photography. Then another animal scares them away, and it is all over.
Isla De Monos – Take 2
On the way to Lago Sandoval, we stop again at the Monkey Island. This time we do not see any monkeys at all. We walk in further with the guides, and see a cage where the monkeys sometimes hang out, but we do not see any monkeys. Luci confirms that the monkeys here were at one time domesticated, then freed to live on the island.
Lago Sandoval
We go on up river from Isla de Monos to Lago Sandoval. The lake is a good place to see animals, I’ve read – but one has to get there at dawn. (There’s a place to stay at the lake. If you’re interested particularly in the animals at Lago Sandoval, stay there.)
sm 08 2960 Selma and Ragna leaving boatsm 08 2993 Ragna near top of stepssm 08 2977 igret

It’s a fair hike into the jungle to where we will take a couple of canoes. I walk briskly ahead of everyone in hopes of shooting photographs of small animals, or macro shots of butterflies, before everything is stampeded by the general herd, which includes our group and a larger group of French folks. In fact, there ain’t much wildlife to photograph anyway.

sm 08 3003 flowersm 08 3011sm 08 3022 someone photographing couple near treesm 08 3115 flower

sm 08 2998 black bird w red beaksm 08 3009 red flower in forest

sm 08 2963 butterflysm 08 3171 butterflysm 08 3018 butterfly on leaf

One stretch of the path is dominated by processions of leaf-cutting ants.  It’s not clear to me where they begin and where they end, but I’m flopped down on my belly a while trying to photograph them.

sm 08 3032 leaf-cutter antssm 08 3030 leaf-cutter ants

sm 08 3210 guias relaxing

three guides relaxing

sm 08 3139 boats at Lake Sandoval

Lake Sandoval

We eat packed lunches at picnic tables near the lake. A couple of the French people and I lose our clothes long enough for a short swim in the lake.

sm 08 3227 tiger igret

tiger egret

Then we canoe around for awhile. It’s a pleasant day, but most of what we see in the way of wild-life is too far away to enjoy very much.  For example, we see a sudden disturbance of water and Luci sm 08 3268 giant otterspoints out the otters one often sees at sm 08 3250Lago Sandoval — but at the distance they could be Olympic swimmers  in training. 

 sm 08 3334 monkeysm 08 3325 monkey

By the time we’ve hiked back to the river, it’s become a long day.  It’s been good exercise.


Friday we are going to a canopy, where we can walk above the forest.  We walk in from a place which has a sort of zoo of local animals. We lunch among a raft of impossibly slender volunteers. (Decades younger, I’d undoubtedly have been in love with one of them, but now they might as well belong to some other species.) We see various [captive] animals, including monkeys and a jaguar.

sm 08 3518 Collin & friend


Soon after we leave, two birds start following closely behind us, barking at us as if they were dogs. They follow us a long way. 

sm 08 3701 canopy walkway - looking up

looking up from mid-point

sm 08 3669 canopy

a view from the top

The canopy is impressive. It is said to be 45 meters high, and 90 long. When sm 08 3783 sign re Canopy Walkwaywe arrive, the first step is to climb several stories of a green wooden structure, from the top of which a long suspension bridge extends upward across the valley toward a spot high in the arms of a huge ______ tree.

The bridge is safe enough, but it sways over open air and the tops of much smaller trees, and where lengths of its flooring meet each other they make a cracking sort of sound unnervingly like the sound of something cracking and breaking under sustained weight. Travelers who are convinced that nothing in Peru is built right must feel their complaints turning into nightmares here.

sm 08 3619 Selma crossingsm 08 3618 Selma on canopyEven I felt a bit disquieted at times walking up the suspension bridge to the treehouse. (Although I’m far from impervious to fears, including physical fears, I have since childhood tended to respond by confronting sm 08 3639 Ragna and Selma at topthem, and when younger I did a fair amount of wandering sm 08 3632 Ragna crossingaround at great heights under questionable circumstances. Still, the canopy is imposing.) Ragna, who is normally quite frightened of heights, courageously walks on up without hesitation.

Walking up, I get a bit impatient with the woman in front of me. She stops to shoot what seem to me pointless photographs, then I have to stop too, then Ragna gets impatient because she is behind me and wants to keep moving, presumably to get up the thing all the sooner; and I begin to share that urge. I know the bridge is quite secure; but it’s a bit of a rush.

We stay up there awhile, marveling at the view. Like being a kid in a treenhouse. A very high treehouse.

sm 08 3674 canopysm 08 3683 the top 

sm 08 3651 canopyI start back first, hoping the others will stay a while longer. I want to stay on the middle.  Having felt a touch nervous on the way up, I want to hang out and eradicate that feeling.

Starting down early allows me to take my time, shoot photographs of the bridge and the sights and the folks still up above, and in the process to feel sm 08 3714 canopymore and more completely comfortable on the bridge itself. I keep stopping, turning, taking photographs from awkward positions, etc., feeling not the least urgency to move along. (A fantasy pops into my head: wouldn’t it be superb to make love with a woman on this bridge, swaying 45 meters above the earth?! This is my new secret ambition.)

I feel so comfortable that I don’t want to go back down to the ground, but eventually the others start down, and I must. 

sm 08 3753 David on walkwaysm 08 3763 Ragna on the walkwaysm 08 3740 walkway

sm 08 3823 butterfly crsm 08 3876 caiman cr

Ragna’s Birthday  

Friday evening is Ragna’s birthday.   We are without the South African couple. They are planning to drink ayahuasca tonight.  Their guide, or shaman, is named Antonio — and he’s the man who constructed the canopy we walked today.
We eat supper.  Afterward, they bring the cake — and, as instructed, also give her a bracelet I had bought as a birthday present in Cusco, before it became so clear that we were parting.
Ragna seems pleased.  I try to disown responsibility, suggesting that the Corto Maltes people had seen everyone’s passport information, but of course that doesn’t work.  But Ragna is not angry, anyway.

Then some of the guys are in the dining room, telling us there is some sort of fire on the river, and that we should all come out and have a look. We sit on the wooden steps leading to the dock and watch a bunch of colored lights – red, blue, green, and yellow – float gently across the blackness out there, from left to right. Although I jokingly ask whether this too is for Ragna’s birthday, and the guys from the hotel play along, the truth is that they have no idea what the occasion is. Someone in Puerto Maldonado has released these to celebrate the anniversary of something, but they have no idea what.

So we sit above the river, watching the lights. About a dozen of them float by in a group, and as they pass toward our right, still in view, a lone red one appears from the left, a straggler. We imagine him chirping “Hey, wait for me, guys!” In the profusion of sound and color that is a city, we’d never have noticed them. In the darkness of the wide Mother-of-God River and the uninhabited and unelectrified jungle beyond, they are like silent fireworks. But mostly they are just one more small mystery we will never solve. 

One night colored lights
secured in bottles float past
on the black river
from unknown celebration
they drift to unknown waters. 

Afterward I have a drink in the bar with Selma, shoot one game of pool with Jean-Paul the bartender, and gab for quite awhile with Marco, the new manager, who had been talking with Selma while Jean-Paul and I shot pool.  A rambling, interesting, late-night conversation that touches on deaths of parents, birthdays, Noam Chomsky, and my opinion of Peruvian girls.  (As to the latter, I tell him I have none, pointing out that I’ve had no chance to experiment.)  He’s from Lima, just recently assigned here as manager, and still getting used to being so far from the city.

I sit in the near darkness of my front porch, not quite ready to sleep. It is quiet and fairly cool. The horse is grazing around somewhere. I learn that the watch Ragna gave me has a luminous dial: it is 10:40. After I sit for five minutes or so, thinking of nothing in particular, the small lights that line the paths go out, and whatever lights were on in the main building.  I sit awhile in darkness, then retire.

Too soon, the bird whose call sounds like water dropping in a gigantic barrel awakens me, as always, well before dawn.


We see our South African friends again at breakfast. They’ve been up all night.  Ayahuasca. They are still sitting with Antonio, and he is still talking earnestly. They look fine. David stops by our table, and gives a one- or two-word report on the evening: “All great” or “Marvelous!” Then they are gone, taking an early boat to Puerto Maldonado to catch a plane.

Antonio is still sitting there, so I take my coffee and join him. He is a strong, solid man. He confirms that he built the canopy, and apparently worked studying eagles for awhile. He asks what sort of camera I use and says he used to use a good camera, a Nikon, until it and a 400 mm. lens came undone and fell to the ground as he was starting to climb down from a high eagle-watching platform. He works in conservation and in cultural regeneration, and with healing. In the former capacity, he saw that people from elsewhere “would come in saying what we need, without understanding how things are here,” and so he started a foundation that relies on “people from here.” He speaks slowly, deliberately, but is not a slow man. His dark brown eyes stay on you while he speaks. He is a serious man.

Los Indios

Later that morning we visit with an indigenous tribesman and his family. They are far down river from their native village, making plenty of money talking to folks like us about their lives and culture, showing us how they drink and shoot, and selling us things they’ve made. For an hour or so, the “Chief,” Gregorio, sm 08 4097 Gregoriosm 08 4086 Gregoriospeaks to us in his language, which is translated as necessary. Sometimes we get to participate, as when he’s showing us a native foul-tasting alchoholic beverage we get to drink, or a dance, or how to drink the juice from an unusual fruit sm 08 4107 Gregorio gives Selma a drinkwe haven’t seen before. He also shoots a couple of sm 08 4091 Gregorioarrows for us.
He says he has five wives. He mentions that several times, either because previous visitors have found it remarkable or shocking or because he thinks we should.
sm 08 4122 Gregoriosm 08 4127 Gregorio drinkingsm 08 4125 Gregorio
sm 08 4232 boy playing fluteHe’s a bit of a self-promoter, but a charming one.  He’s charismatic, and everyone enjoys the hour we spend with him.    His son plays the flute
sm 08 4130 Gregoriosm 08 4149 Gregorio
sm 08 4281sm 08 4302 tree, vines, climberThe Farm
Later that morning we visit a farm.  High points include a new fruit, fresh from the tree, and a tree with vines up which Carlos can climb like Tarzan. I’m the only one from our lot dumb enough to try it, and it’s fun for awhile, but I can’t get very far and make the usual fool of myself in the process.

Travel Notes


I found the cabins delightful: well-appointed but simple and tasteful. They sit on stilts and are basically wood and screens, with reeds or leaves in the roofs. A sizeable front porch accommodates a small table with a couple of chairs, perfect for an evening glass of wine or for writing or playing cards, as well as two hammocks.   There’s electricity — sometimes.   We were told we’d have electricity for only an hour or two a day, but in fact it seemed to be on much of the day.

There are also dorm rooms, I believe.

There’s pretty much nothing else around but jungle and river. 


The only restaurant is the dining hall, and the menu is what it is at any given meal.  The food is reasonably good, although Ragna and Selma noted that every evening it was some form of chicken and rice. (I eat no meat, and the kitchen workers cheerfully produced a variety of non-meat dishes for me each lunch and supper.)  It’s a simple, pleasant place to be.  Staff are cordial and considerate.

Guides distributed water bottles whenever we went anywhere, and brought along fruit or lunches when we would be away from camp during a meal.

Other Points

The key question is, would Corto Maltes be the right jungle experience for you?

sm 08 2918 Corto MaltesThat depends on what you’re looking for; and you should take my comments with a couple of grains of salt.  First of all, I’m one who, as you know if you’ve read earlier posts, is accustomed to independence and solitude, which won’t be part of most jungle experiences here and certainly weren’t in Corto Maltes.  Secondly, I was there in the drier season, when water and mosquito populations are both down, but the place is probably also not so teeming with visible wildlife as in the rainy season.   And of course jungle tours come in all shapes, sizes, and budgets, depending on your age, condition, tastes, and mood.

I’d have rather gone to Manú.  Ragna’s preference for comfort and Selma’s schedule made Corto Maltes the best available option under all the circumstances.  When Ragna and I broke up, I tried to change my plans, but it wasn’t workable.   However, I enjoyed Corto Maltes.  I liked the place and the people; and if it’s the type of experience you are looking for, it’s a good (and economical) option.   Personally, I’d likely prefer something a little rougher and exciting;  but I liked Corto Maltes.

Having said that, I can offer some observations and can pass on comments I heard from others. Some of the others we met there had recently finished trekking the Inka Trail to Macchu Picchu, and were flying home to Canada or South Africa from Puerto Maldonado.  They found it precisely the sort of relaxing but somewhat interesting “wind-down” they sought. They enjoyed the flora and fauna we did see, and I saw them at the pool late every afternoon. They got what they wanted, and were basically pleased.

Corto Maltes is a very pleasant experience. Though there are others there, you don’t feel crowded, and it’s small enough to enable you to get to know most staff-members and some of your fellow guests, but sufficiently well-appointed to be quite comfortable.

The activities were a mixed bag. Monkey Island seemed a waste of time, and seemed as if it would be pretty much a waste of time even if more monkeys had shown up more often on cue. No variety, distance, artificiality, former pets.The canopy was a delight, although not what I’d expected. I’d expected a structure on which one would walk some distance at roughly eye-level with the forest canopy, so as to get a look at life at that level. Instead it climbed into the arms of one very splendid tree, with a fine but distant view of the forest below. It would not be for everyone, because not everyone’s gut will permit him or her to climb a swaying (and flimsy-looking, at first) bridge that high above the ground and so apparently flimsy. In fact, it seems to have been well-constructed and maintained, and appears not to be dangerous; but for some, the visceral fear would trump that knowledge. Other than the canopy, the walk itself was somewhat dull; but in a different season it might be quite a bit more interesting.

Luci’s introductory nature walk was more interesting than it sounds. She knows a lot, from having grown up here but obviously also from studying the subject, and presented what she told and showed us in a reasonably interesting way.  Luci, as well as the other guides I got to know, could not have been more pleasant, knowledgeable, real, and competent. 

Our encounter with the representatives of the T – T (los indios – I forget the actual name of the tribe) was more interesting than it sounds as if it might be, but limited.

The visit to the farm didn’t do much for me, except that I liked trying to play Tarzan on the vines, and the star-fruit tasted delightful fresh from the tree. Again, a different season might have made that a more interesting experience.

The Sandoval Lake outing was worth doing, but: reading and common sense both suggest that if you want really to see animals in a place like that, camp there or stay in a nearby lodge and get up in the early morning, or perhaps get settled in a blind or observation tower before sunset. Mid-day is warm and pleasant for swimming, but nap-time for a lot of animals. Too, two big canoes full of people cruising the same landscape at the same time means that one will scare away most everything worthwhile that it sees close-up.

On balance: Corto Maltes is an extremely tasteful, pleasant, and comfortable place to be. The simple lodgings are enjoyable without being opulent. The guides are knowledgeable and personable, and the kitchen and bar staff are pleasant and helpful. However, I think my own preference would be a slightly more rigorous experience. Alone, I’d have been inclined to arrange for a slightly more adventurous program that involved camping out but carried the promise of more beautiful and unusual sights. I regret that Selma’s schedule didn’t permit us to go to Manú. An acquaintance, a U.S. citizen living in Arequipa, has called it the single most wonderful experience in his several years in Perú. I strongly recommend Corto Maltes, though, in the sense that what it does, it does well.

Meaningfully assessing Corto Maltes is also difficult because I didn’t experience its competitors and alternatives, and because readers will have such varied desires, tastes, and explanations; and at least part of my assessment might be very different if we’d gone during a different season.