I have thought all week about Iquitos. How heavy-handed the place is. For example, it does not rain in Iquitos. It rains and pours and dumps water all over everything. It comes through the ceiling, it comes through the windows, it comes down the stairs. Then it stops. The place, in its remoteness, in its oddness, in its greatness, dysfunction, and weirdness, stands as a character on its own in my life.

I find it intensely more interesting than many places. The beach trip from last weekend was not just a beachtrip. It was a beachtrip which turned into a storm which turned into a mud mess. I happen to love it.