The first question I often get about my recent Peruvian Amazon cruise is “What about the bugs?” It always surprises people to learn that during our three nights aboard the freshly overhauled Delfin I, I didn’t get a single mosquito bite. But we did see bugs. The first evening, at the end of a sunset excursion in the skiff, we paused in a stand of reeds. As we listened to the chorus of jungle insects and frogs, dozens of fireflies emerged and surrounded us with gentle pulses of light. It’s those sorts of Edenic moments that answer another common question: “Why the Amazon?”

The diversity of wildlife in the rainforest is truly extraordinary. Within minutes of the start of our first skiff excursion, we spotted three-toed sloths. On other forays, we saw sleeping bats resembling woody bumps on tree trunks and adorable little squirrel monkeys and saddleback tamarins scampering about. My bird list became exceedingly long, including parakeets, kingfishers, egrets, festive parrots, band-tailed antbirds and a great potoo. My favorite was the jewellike bluish-fronted jacamar. On one hike, a tracker periodically disappeared into the woods and returned with tarantulas and poison dart frogs. We even got a good look at a pod of endangered pink Amazon River dolphins.

But it wasn’t all about animals. On one outing, our trusty guide, Denis, encouraged us to jump into the tea-toned river. “Most piranhas are vegetarian,” he explained, “and all of them are skittish.” Not entirely reassured, most of us jumped in anyway, because how many people can say they’ve swum in (a tributary of) the Amazon?

After toweling off, we hopped into two-person kayaks. As we rounded a bend, a rainbow arced down from the clouds, in another vision of paradise. The next day, we met a local shaman who described her rigorous training and the ayahuasca ceremonies she leads. Nearby, in a village called Amazonas, two women showed us some local recipes, and a lively group of schoolchildren gathered to ask us questions and sing songs.

All these well-organized activities meant that we had limited time to relax on board the Delfin I, which was a shame. The complete refurbishment of the ship turned out beautifully, giving it a fashionably updated décor. We stayed in Morpho, one of the two Deluxe Master Suites, which have jetted pools on their terraces. They’re delicious places to cool off in the afternoon (an outdoor shower and loungers stood nearby). Inside the open-plan space, butterflies of blue beads decorated the wood-paneled wall over the plush king bed, also configurable as twins. Two comfy armchairs and a chaise longue faced a floor-to-ceiling window overlooking the bow. On the other side of the bed, a vanity with a single sink partially concealed a dressing area, which connected to a spacious walk-in shower. The two suites without pools are one deck above and similarly spacious.

Public areas included a stylish lounge (formerly an open deck) that worked well for a cooking demonstration, and a bar where the energetic mixologist prepared free-flowing cocktails for our convivial little group. We all became fond of his camu-camu sours, a twist on the traditional pisco sour employing a pink Amazonian fruit juice.

We took most meals in the dining room at the stern, where our waiter created a different tablescape for each seating. Breakfasts consisted of a small but well-considered buffet and à la carte egg dishes, and lunches and dinners had set three-course menus. Despite the remote location, the cuisine was excellent: fresh Amazonian peacock bass fillets in chorizo sauce, shrimp in aji Amarillo, chicken paillard stuffed with bacon and mixed vegetables, a mango roll garnished with tapioca and vanilla ice cream. Each dinner incorporated ingredients from Peru’s coastal, jungle and Andean ecosystems.

Editor Photos (slideshow below)

Dining was a pleasure as much for the company as for the food. Our band of eight, including guests from Switzerland, London and the United States, had a grand time together. Perhaps a luxury Amazon cruise draws a certain kind of person, so those who board the Delfin I are bound to get along well.

As on most every cruise, a few problems arose. Occasionally in the wee hours, the wake of a large boat passing by would cause the Delfin I to bang against its mooring. There’s no spa. And some guests complained about the pressure to purchase crafts. (I found the small markets to be good sources of inexpensive but interesting gifts to bring home.)

All these issues were minor. Our last full day had me wishing I’d booked four nights instead of just three. We started early, with our guide rowing us across a placid lagoon that mirrored the jungle, glowing green-gold in the rising sun. Soon, a floating platform bearing a white linen-draped dining table shaded by a thatched roof came into view. What a setting for breakfast! At sunset that evening, we motored to the confluence of the Marañón and Ucayali rivers, the official start of the Amazon. The staff passed around flutes of sparkling wine, and we all toasted our good fortune.