In a remote part of Peruvian Amazonia is a river where the water temperature can reach 210 degrees. Stranger yet, it’s hundreds of miles from the nearest volcano.

For the past 18 years, a friend of mine, a geothermal scientist named Andres Ruzo, has been studying what is colloquially called the Boiling River (formal name: the Shanay Timpishka Geothermal System). He’s a National Geographic Explorer, has given main-stage TED talks, authored a book on the river and is vice president of education for the Explorers Club. But my favorite of his accolades: He was the “partnership ambassador” for a Lego-NatGeo promotion of a volcano/jungle-themed Lego release, and the face of the explorer included in the set has more than a passing resemblance to him.

The Boiling River is, for him, much more than a scientific field station. When he was young, his Peruvian grandfather would tell him stories about a legendary boiling river in the Amazon. But as he studied thermal systems, he never came across a reference to it. He wondered: Could it exist? It seemed unlikely — all known thermal rivers were close to volcanoes.

Mentioning it at a family gathering, his aunt responded, “Oh yes, I swam in it. You can only go in after a heavy rain and then only stay for about 20 minutes. It’s protected by a powerful shaman.”

He asked his aunt to guide him there, and she did.

After a grueling trip, when he got there, he met with the shaman, known as Maestro Juan. They bonded quickly, and in addition to becoming the first scientist to get the spiritual leader’s blessing to study the river, he became one of the shaman’s apprentices, learning about the river’s spiritual importance side by side with its scientific significance.

“Maestro Juan asked me to help him bring the river to the world responsibly because he realized you can no longer conceal it to protect it,” Ruzo said.

This past summer, Ruzo organized a scientific expedition and brought an entomologist, a seismologist, a mycologist, a chiropterist, a few microbiologists, some primary and secondary school science teachers and a cohort of people to support the scientists.

And me. He was wondering whether responsible tourism might bring economic benefits to the region and could keep the younger people of nearby communities from going off to work as illegal loggers or miners. He also thought that the attention visitors could bring to the area might help preserve it.

But he knows that tourism is a double-edged sword, and sensitive areas can suffer from poorly structured visitation. He wanted to get my thoughts.

So I joined him and spent 12 days with the expedition along the river’s banks. It is not 210 degrees for its entire four-mile length; the network of fissures below the Earth’s surface that heats the river does so unevenly. It’s cool enough in some places that one can go wading or soaking. We first spent four days near the hottest area and eight more where, though steamy, the water wouldn’t poach you.

Not a Disney Jungle Cruise

There are currently a few places with basic accommodations along the river where visitors can stay. Our first stop was at Mayantuyacu Healing Retreat, built by the shaman and his family. (After Maestro Juan died, his wife became shaman and proprietor.)

On our first day there, we walked a trail along the river. Sometimes, where the trail had gaps, we’d traverse a log bridge or jump from rock to rock in the river. 

We arrived at a picturesque (and cool enough to stand in) pool beneath the gentle Mermaid Falls, where Ruzo gave the group a briefing. “Don’t touch, lick or eat the frogs or toads” and “Stay away from the boiling water. It’s that simple” were among his admonitions.

Indeed, on that hike we saw tiny poison dart frogs and a caterpillar with venomous bristles that Ruzo said was locally called the “first-you-bleed-from-your-eyes-and-then-you-die caterpillar.” There were bushmasters, rainbow boas and coral snakes in the area, but the vibrations of heavy walking will send them slithering in another direction, he said. There are scorpions and the deadly wandering spider, the only creature he gave us permission to kill on sight. We saw plenty of tarantulas, which, in most instances, are harmless.

The next day, farther up the river near Curtain Falls, one of the science teachers tapped me on the shoulder. “You’ve got a caterpillar on your leg,” she said. Sure enough, it was the “first-you-bleed-from-your-eyes…” caterpillar, fast approaching my knee. The entomologist took out a pair of tweezers and, not without some resistance on the caterpillar’s part, dislodged it from my pants and set it free near some bushes. I felt fortunate that I had decided to change out of my shorts before the hike.

There were two other incidents. A rock that one of the teachers was holding onto broke away, and she fell into 160-degree water up to her legs. She was evacuated but released in good shape from the hospital before the expedition even ended. And another woman had an unfortunate encounter with a wasp nest. She stayed on.

But the river and jungle also bestowed ample rewards. Beautiful misty sunrises and sunsets, and moonlight illuminating the steamy vapors. Before the moon rises, the Milky Way galaxy is on display like nowhere else I’ve seen. There are weaver birds, harpy eagles (the largest eagles in the world), swallow-tail kites, kingfishers and the beautiful, primitive hoatzin. The Boiling River is a tributary to the Pachitea River, a 30-minute hike away, and home to pink river dolphins.

A few of the Peruvian scientists grew up in the jungle and led nature walks, pointing out the medicinal uses of many of the plants along the trail as well as explaining the complexities of jungle ecosystems. Like Ruzo, their attachment to the jungle was simultaneously scientific and spiritual.

Is it tourism-ready?

Toward the end of the trip, Ruzo and I had a long discussion about the area’s potential for responsible tourism. “In a perfect world, this area would become a private conservation area where a number of groups with shared goals would come together” to study and protect the area, he said. “I’d love to have a research station here where you have scientists actively working to understand this place.”

But along with that, he believes ecotourism could accomplish complementary goals. It has the potential to employ (“You need human power. You need porters, you need cooks”) and to safeguard the area (“Until people start protecting their livelihoods, jungles don’t get protected. And anything is better than clear-cut agriculture. Anything, anything is better than gold mining.”)

Currently, only researchers, backpackers and local tourists stay in the simple accommodations available. But there is an abandoned oil field nearby, which Ruzo thinks would be an appropriate site for one of the higher-end Peruvian hotel groups — Inkaterra, Andean, Costa del Sol — to build a resort.

How did he imagine a typical touristic visit to the river would go?

“Day one, you arrive in Pucallpa,” he said, referring to the largest city in the Peruvian Amazon; it has an airport and daily flights from Lima. “There’s a lot to see there, and you rest, get the travel out of your system, drink some good juice, see a modern jungle town and decompress.

“Day two you arrive at the resort and begin learning about the jungle. You attend talks. And someone like Avi [Avita Celeste Taricuarima, a Peruvian microbiologist] teaches about the plants, talks about which animals to look out for, gives jungle survival training.”

If Ruzo’s dream of a permanent research station is established along the river, scientists could give nightly lectures about their discoveries. “But also, you’ll hear the legends from different indigenous groups. I like to blend traditional knowledge and modern science.”

At dinner, “you eat some local food. Food is such a critical part of the Peruvian experience: Every dish has a story. Then you go on a night hike, see the biofluorescent plants with a UV flashlight. Perhaps set camera traps. You stop and look at shooting stars.”

Day three would be a wellness day. “Imagine the spa,” Ruzo said. “We have a lot of hot water that is literally cleaner than Evian. There are beautiful shales in the river that you can make a mud mask with. And we could bring in local healing practices. People love to focus on ayahuasca, but it’s only one of thousands of traditional Amazonian medicines.”

Wellness would include time in the jungle itself. “People find themselves in nature, and self-reflection is where we grow,” Ruzo said. “I like the idea of people sitting, writing music, writing poetry, taking photographs.”

Day four, a boat ride to see the pink river dolphins. And finally, a visit to the hottest and most picturesque parts of the river near Mayantuyacu. Those who want to walk up the river, as we had done, could do so with a trained, registered guide.

I thought about the log bridge and rock-hopping over hot water. “I assume you wouldn’t want to build a boardwalk?” I asked.

“Absolutely not.”

“Ropes?”

“No. Even if I owned all this, it’s still not my jungle to put ropes in. I’d only be the guardian. And I don’t like ropes because I want you to connect. ‘Give me your hand, I got you.’ That’s important, and harder to replicate than a rope. That is not cookie cutter.”

Like Nebraska…

The state of Nebraska once had the most honest official state tourism slogan I’ve come across: “Honestly, it’s not for everyone.”

And Ruzo is aware that the same is true for the Boiling River. “There’s a target audience,” he said. “And I don’t want people who don’t appreciate the jungle coming here.”

He knows that some people won’t want to go where there are venomous snakes, caterpillars and spiders and where they may need to shake out their boots before putting them on each morning.

Still, he sees its challenges as an asset. “Making sure that everyone’s safe is part of team building,” he said. “I want to keep bringing people here. I want people to fall in love with this place. I want to do this for the river. For the jungle. This is for one of the most spectacular, awe-inspiring, sacred places on Earth.”

Currently, there are two ways to get to the Boiling River from Pucallpa. To get to Mayantuyacu Healing Retreat, a visitor takes a two-hour, four-wheel-drive trip on a road that deteriorates steadily the farther one gets from the city. To get to the Shanay Timpishka Ecolodge, where the water isn’t as hot, a tourist is on a better road to Honoria, the nearest town to the river. From there, its a short transfer in a peki-peki — a long, narrow motorized boat — to a trailhead for a 30-minute hike to the lodge.

To travel between the two accommodations, our group hiked through the jungle for roughly two hours.

Clearly, should a luxury resort be built nearby, the infrastructure to get to the river and move between areas would need an upgrade.

Ziplines and killing fields

Ruzo sees opportunities beyond his four-day itinerary above. “It’s awesome mountain-biking terrain. The [abandoned] oil field has roads that could be turned into off-road biking trails. I would love to see a Boiling River bike race where you do the full loop with a final bit that crosses a rickety bridge over the river. Get that sponsored and have part of the money go to conservation, reforesting, protecting animals.

“In fact, I’d love to set up an animal rehabilitation center here where people could visit, interact and help in a responsible way. I’d like to see people getting involved in the science,” he continued.

“I could see a zipline over the river; get people up in the canopy. And we could buy some deforested land, and anyone who wants to can grab a shovel and come and plant a tree.

“There’s also paleontology in this area. People could go on fossil hunts. Obviously, that is very strictly monitored, and there are groups we work with based out of different universities in Lima and Pucallpa.”

And, a more somber activity: “About an hour away is a field of human bones, like the killing fields in Cambodia. This has the remains of victims of the [1980s Maoist rebels] Shining Path. There could be some sort of structure, a mausoleum or monument.”

Ruzo stresses that all activities, from mountain biking to ziplining to the resort itself, would have to be done in a minimally invasive, highly responsible way. “I don’t want people to see human presence. The ziplines are hidden. Everything, the resort itself, needs to blend in with the jungle, Frank Lloyd Wright-style.”

A jungle visionary?

Daunting as all this may sound, one can point to remote natural and cultural wonders around the world and conclude that being in a far-flung location is not necessarily a deterrent to developing tourism. In fact, one need look no further than Machu Picchu, also in Peru.

“I will always advocate for the wild place. I will always advocate for the river,” Ruzo told me at one point of our conversation.

That adamant statement captures the opportunity and challenges of an eco-minded visionary developing tourism in a sensitive natural area. As Ruzo has enumerated, tourism can bring about a lot of good things for the area and aid in his quest to protect the river. But doing it Ruzo’s way complicates what less responsible tourism developers might see as a straightforward plan to profit from a unique natural phenomenon.

Is it ready for prime time? In the present, it’s more akin to a streamer showing niche art films versus Machu Picchu’s Netflix. Ruzo’s vision for tourism is highly specific, but I don’t doubt that, rolled out as he explained it, it could fill an 85-room Inkaterra village resort similar to the one near Machu Picchu.

Ruzo’s dream is uncompromising, which presents challenges, but if he stays true to his vision — he’s young enough to see it through — his ideals can serve him well. In them, I see parallels to Zeta Cobb’s distant-from-everywhere Fogo Island Inn and Blackberry Farm, whose remoteness on the edge of the Great Smoky Mountains National Park is part of its appeal.

I am city born and bred and will admit that a venomous caterpillar crawling up my leg gave me pause. I have been in Amazonia before, but there is something about the Boiling River, the surrounding jungle and its residents that profoundly changed me and my relationship with the natural world.

We are living in a time when people look to travel for transformation. If I’m honest, I’m not certain I can separate being there from being there in proximity to Ruzo and his ebullient enthusiasm. The path going forward will no doubt be connected to his ability to interact with the travel industry while staying true to his principles. From what I know of him, it’s more likely that he will change the travel ecosystem than it will change him.