The Amazon river system is not something you navigate casually. It drains an area roughly the size of the continental United States, moving a fifth of all the fresh water that flows into the world’s oceans, and in the Ecuadorian section where we were travelling, the river and its tributaries flow through a landscape so dense with life that the forest along the banks registers not as individual trees but as a continuous green wall, the water level changing by up to eight metres between wet and dry seasons, entire forest floors submerged for months at a time and then re-emerging. The river is not dramatic in the way that mountain landscapes are dramatic. It is overwhelming in the way of things whose scale is simply too large to hold all at once.
The Anakonda was eight months old when we boarded, a river vessel built to a standard that the word luxury doesn’t quite capture, partly because luxury in the context of a ship on a remote Ecuadorian river tributary involves considerations that land-based luxury doesn’t: the water supply, for instance, drawn directly from the river and treated on board to a standard suitable for washing, showering, and brushing teeth, with bottled water for drinking, the entire system managed with a consciousness about environmental impact that the Amazon’s situation makes not optional but necessary. The ship carried a crew of ten for facilities that included a jacuzzi suite, a sun deck, dining room, and bar, and on this particular trip the crew was serving exactly two passengers, since we had arrived in the low season and the ship was newly launched enough that word of its existence hadn’t fully circulated yet. We had the Amazon’s most luxurious vessel to ourselves, which produced a quality of service that would be difficult to replicate in a hotel.
We had the Amazon's most luxurious vessel to ourselves, which produced a quality of service that would be difficult to replicate in a hotel.
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