Greenpeace volunteers constructing a dam to prevent valuable peatlands being drained © Greenpeace/Oka Budhi

Belinda, senior forest campaigner at Greenpeace UK, is in Indonesia at the Forest Defenders Camp, to witness first-hand the destruction of the forests and peatlands by the palm oil industry.

Indonesia is a mass of contradictions. Two days ago, I stood on a high plateau in the middle of a national park. In front of me stretched miles of virgin rainforest, stunning and luscious, the mist rising up from the canopy. The sounds of insects filled the air, aquamarine birds skimmed overhead and in the distance, the occasional cracking of a branch as monkeys swung through the trees.

Yet today, only a few hours' drive away, I stand in a barren, burnt, and devastated land. What was once part of the same stretch of tropical forest I'd visited earlier is now barely identifiable except for the occasional blackened tree stump. And the eeriest thing is the total silence - no bird calls, no insects buzzing, no chattering monkeys. It's a land drained and devoid of all life.

If there has been one day out here that has reflected the spirit and passion of all the diverse groups fighting to get soya out of the Amazon, it was today. We joined a march of nearly 1000 people from indigenous and local communities throughout Santarem who are trying to stop Cargill destroying their livelihoods and way of life.

It's been a long day and its not yet 4pm. Worse still its been violent and the fear is things could get much worse.

Today, shortly after dawn, we launched three inflatables from the Arctic Sunrise, raised the anchor and steamed over to Cargill's illegal export facility. Our intention, to peacefully shut down the complex for as long as possible and prevent the unloading of rainforest soya from farms complicit in illegal land grabbing and slavery.

The view of the Amazon from the air is spectacular. A broad river winding its way through dense jungle back to source, giant lily pads sit like stepping stones across its tributaries and above, white egrets floating in the breeze. Dotted along the riverside, people can be seen fishing in canoes or transporting produce down river.

On Saturday we finally made it into Santarém port, having persuaded the authorities that they had no legal grounds on which they could legitimately keep the Arctic Sunrise out.

Despite rumours that the soy farmers were planning a march, the atmosphere in the port was quiet - except, that is, for the loading of a cargo ship, ironically preparing to transport Amazonian timber to France. It seemed criminal to stand by and watch it load but on this occasion it was not our remit to intervene.

I'm still expecting to wake up from this dream. A week ago I was standing in the rain and the cold at a bus stop in Hackney. Today, I'm looking over the bow of the Arctic Sunrise, the Greenpeace ship currently sailing along the Amazon River, stunned by the beauty of the rainforest that surrounds us.