Living in Peru : your everyday companion

Situated in the middle of the Amazon in northern Peru, Iquitos is rumored to be the most populous city in the world that is not connected to the mainland by road. (I'm not entirely sure why this hasn't been confirmed, but with over 450,000 inhabitants, it stands a good chance of being true.) This relative isolation helps give Iquitos a genuinely distinctive feel. To pick just one example, I'm still yet to see a single international chain in the city. No McDonalds, no Starbucks, no KFC, no Borders, no Apple, nothing.

The brands that have come to define the high streets of many of the world's cities are completely absent here, and there are hardly any examples of Peruvian chains either. Things are either home-grown, or someone has decided its worth overcoming the logistical and financial barriers to flying or shipping them in. That's not to say it's difficult to come by things; I've found myself wanting for surprisingly little during my time here. It's just that things seem to have developed in their own peculiar way.

The transport system is a case in point. Cars, presumably as it's a bit of a chore to ship them in, are a rarity and a status symbol. Iquitos runs on motorbikes. Many people have their own vehicle, but those that don't, like me, travel by motorcarro.

A motorcarro (sometimes called a motortaxi) is a three-wheeled vehicle with a front end of a motorcycle and a carriage welded behind. I've heard similar vehicles are common in parts of Asia, where they're referred to as tuk-tuks. I've also seen a handful in other Peruvian cities, though nothing compared to the number here. The streets of Iquitos are full of them. They're noisy, chaotic and most likely indispensible.

The advantages of the motorcarros are many. They're cheap: a standard journey within the centre of the city costs 2 nuevo soles (about 70 dollar cents). They're convenient: there are so many of them that it's incredibly unusual that you have to wait even a minute for an empty one to pass by. They're cool: the air flowing through the open carriage makes for a refreshing ride on a hot day. Most of all, they're fun.

At the same time, they do have their little idiosyncrasies. On one occasion my motorcarro stopped at the side of the road on one of the busiest squares in Iquitos, and asked me to get out so that he could up-end vehicle, allowing the reserve petrol to flow into the main tank. I climbed out and watched bemused as he tipped the vehicle on its side, while other motorcarros swerved to avoid him. None of them honked their horns; clearly they'd seen this sort of thing hundreds of times before.

Motorcarros have enough room for three people and, behind the carriage, a surprising amount of luggage, bananas, drinking water, or whatever else they might be hired to carry. At the same time it's pretty common to see whole families squeezed into one carriage, with small children sitting on laps, hanging over shoulders and waving and pointing at the world as they whizz by.

If you're in a big enough group to split between two motorcarros and you're (un)lucky (very much dependent on your disposition) the two drivers may decide that it's a good idea to race each other. On such, admittedly rare, occasions I find that it's best to suppress the mild panic caused by the speed and the seemingly reckless weaving through the traffic, shrug off the shuddering jolts from the pot-hole ridden roads, and instead sit back, laugh and enjoy the ride.

In spite, or perhaps because of, their randomness and do-it-yourself spirit (each driver customizes his vehicle with personal features and messages, often declaring his love for God or a particular woman), they are a great way to get around and experience Iquitos.

I haven't yet had a problem with a vehicle, and I must be approaching a thousand journeys. The drivers are cheerful, friendly and helpful. As with any hired transport, it's best to agree a price beforehand and there might sometimes be an attempt to charge extra to tourists. However this only amounts to an extra sol at most, and the drivers readily back down if you show you know the regular fare. I have only just, however, got accustomed to the drivers indicating 2 soles by flicking you a v-sign, a symbol that clearly doesn't share the same significance here as in the UK.

Even if you have another way to get around, they are an essential part of the Iquitos experience. The city constantly buzzes with the sound of their swarming engines. Flag one down, get in, and become a part of it. Round here, they're the only way to travel.