High in Peru's Amazonia

I had spent more than a day with the smell of drying coca leaves permeating the atmosphere but now that I’d arrived in Pucallpa I was in search of a different drug.

Probably pre-dating the use of the narcotic leaf that now has such a bad reputation – although locally its unrefined use was as common as cup of tea – what I was searching for was Ayahuasca, an hallucinogenic infusion made from a combination of two plants.

Drinking in a bar I was told of a local artist, a former shaman, whose paintings were created from images that were based on dreams he had induced by the psychedelic brew.

Pablo Amaringo ran a school where he imparted his skills to a small group of young people and I thought how art students in Europe would kill to get into such a school where the taking of an hallucinogenic was part of the curriculum.

His paintings were crammed full of fantastical images, a benign Hieronymus Bosch transferred to the jungle. These images were based on the world view of one born in Amazonia, a world where he would have grown up listening to stories from shamans who had 'seen' the real, mystical world through eyes opened by the ancient, traditional drug.

How would my images differ, coming as I did from an industrialised European society?

With another shaman I arranged to go to San Francisco, a Shipibo village, which was a short, motorised canoe trip from where I was staying on Lake Yarinacocha.

It was late afternoon on a cold and damp Sunday when we set off. The walk from the landing stage to the shaman’s hut was strangely eerie. The thought that I would have crowds of children clamouring around me as we walked through the village was quickly dispelled as all I noticed were somewhat sullen looks. At the time of my visit there had been clashes with immigrant tenant farmers and I was probably considered to be one of the enemy.

The experience with the Ayahuasca was not what I expected or was hoping for. I was given a small cup of liquid that smelt like photographic chemicals and my palate agreed with my nose.

I was told that I should relax and wait for the drug to take effect. I laid there, not feeling particularly comfortable due to the low temperatures, and marvelled as my own body tried to come to terms with this unexpected ingestion.

I did so all night. Not sleeping much, feeling cold, my stomach churning but not quite getting to the stage of vomiting, a dull headache, everything but an hallucination.

'It's because you come from the cold north,' explained the shaman the next morning, as I paid him what we’d agreed.

I then went to La Hoyada, Pulcallpa’s port on the Ucayali, to find a boat heading towards the Atlantic.

One experience had been a failure; let's see what we make of the next one.