Welcome to the jungle

"Just listen," says our guide. "Listen to the peace and quiet." Our boat has ground to a halt in a semi-prehistoric setting on the surface of the Sapote tributary of the Amazon, a riot of greenery and dark waters all around us. Giant lily pads spread out across the glassy surface. Overhead, ancient trees loom, cracking and bending in a slight breeze. You would hardly be surprised to see a pterodactyl swoop overhead. Gradually, sounds become apparent. The rustling of the trees, the calls of a multitude of hidden creatures and birds, the ceaseless buzzing and chirruping of a million insects. Then you realise that what you are listening to isn't silence at all, but a symphony – a shriek of nature. This place, a million miles from anywhere, is never, ever quiet. Welcome to the jungle. Heading up tributaries of the Amazon in Peru, you find creatures straight out of a David Attenborough documentary. Departing from the jungle city of Iquitos, our 60-foot MV Delfin riverboat snaked its way through the Amazon and along waterways few people have seen. Guided by Adonay and Juan-Luis, the sensation of our 20-foot skiffs shooting across the brown surface of the river is thrilling enough. Every conceivable creature is there to be spotted: turkey vultures so enormous they bend the very trees they land on; parakeets and parrots in the wild, flecks of red, blue and green overhead; blue kingfishers darting across the water's surface; and the black-collared hawk, perched at the tops of the trees with golden feathers and a little black ruff around the throat, like a Victorian toff suitably attired for dinner. Creatures in the branches are harder to see, until our guides gain their attention by mimicking their cries. The stripy-furred, three-toed sloth hangs around on branches like a handbag. Equally lazy are the iguanas, their crests and tails merging with the vines as they bask in the sunshine. Then there are the monkeys. Saki monkeys are the cutest, with white faces on black bodies and a furry tail, leaping from branch to branch in the treetops. Squirrel monkeys have a death's-head face and are a little more post-watershed in style. Howler monkeys send out eerie cries. Among a million shades of green are unexpected flashes of other colours – the blue morpho is possibly the most gorgeous of them all, a large butterfly with electric-blue wings flitting through the forest. In the water itself, bizarre river dolphins regularly breach the waters beside the skiffs. The skins of the males are bright cartoon-pink due to their blood vessels being close to the skin. They share the waterways with grey dolphins, and there is an opportunity to swim with these creatures in the Dorado, literally a black lagoon due to the presence of tannins and iron bauxite in the water. The lagoon is warm in the early evening as you slip in. You see little beneath the surface, not even your own hand. Other local residents include 10-foot caimans, piranha and anacondas, so it gives you a start if a dolphin breaches the surface nearby. There are opportunities to catch piranhas with some meat on a stick at the Caro Curahuayte tributary. After the skiff has pulled into the banks of the river, we put our meat in among the branches and roots of some of the ficus and secropia trees where the little blighters like to hide. Slapping the water with a stick alerts the red-bellied fish, small enough to fit in the palm of your hand, and they dart in to nip at the bait. Charming by day, the river takes on an altogether different, though no less alluring, character after sunset. Night creatures are a little harder to spot in this place. Drifting into the shallows by the banks of the river, Adonay's torch picks out twin red pinpricks glittering in the dark – the eyes of a juvenile black caiman. Stunned by the light, the two-foot creature is soon firmly gripped by our guide. Holding it by the tail and neck, I'm surprised to find its skin is gentle to the touch. Although its teeth are apparent, the caiman never snaps at my fingers. Although this is clearly a stressful incident for the creature, it wriggles its webbed feet like a dog when I tickle its tummy. Other creatures appear in the darkness. A clown tree-frog is briefly in my hands before it hops into the undergrowth, a jolly orange and brown creature no bigger than a 50-pence piece. The hairy, pink-toed tarantula crawling up the limb of a tree not four feet away from my head seems considerably larger. It's fair to say that the Amazon is not the place to go if you have issues with beasties and creepy crawlies. With mosquitos in abundance, you will need to be well-stocked with repellent, plus anti-malaria medication and other vaccines. However, one type of insect dominates the night sky as we head back to the Delfin aboard our skiffs: fireflies, striking sparks against the pitch darkness. With no clouds and no light or air pollution, they match the glittering display of the stars far above you. On a day trip ashore on