Page 93 of Beautifully Wild

“God, you sound mature and so confident.”

I laugh once and yet say nothing because we are interrupted by the tour guide, and we’re directed onto a boat. It’s a civilized means of travel, everyone with their own seat and a canopy to protect us from the sun.

“This is cool, right?” Amy says as the boat picks up speed, and we sail along the water.

I smile at Amy. “Yeah, this is cool.” We point out birds as they fly overhead and chat about the rainforest bordering the river, although it’s nowhere near as majestic or towering as the jungle where I’ve lived these past few weeks.

I sit in awe, staring out at the impressive Amazon River. I’m not sure how many miles wide it is. The current and body of water are more powerful than the smaller rivers I voyaged near Angel Falls. A pink dolphin surfaces and swims alongside the boat. We laugh and call out to the dolphin as though it were following us.

After a couple of hours, we arrive at the small village. While everyone disembarks for a village tour, we cross through on tuk-tuk to a tributary river on the other side. Traditional and Western structures line small, sealed pathways along with a church. Children play, dogs wander, and we interrupt a football game with enthusiastic barefoot teenagers yelling as the ball passes sticks for goal markings. The overland segue is waiting for us, and it then takes us fifteen minutes until we board a motorized canoe. I smile at Amy’s glee. It’s a little more streamlined than my previous canoe experiences, yet it still features a plank of wood as a seat.

My focus is to chat about Yasmine, and yet I’m more relaxed than I should be in the thick, uncomfortable heat. Sailing along the river, the breeze in my freshly shampooed hair, and surrounded by rainforest, it’s almost natural for me to seek comfort in this environment. It gives me a sense of awareness to honor myself. Do what’s right for me. Enjoy the little things and stop stressing about the future, especially the fear of being loved. It has taken me all these years to realize love is more than something found as part of a couple. It has to start from within. In Ulara, I learned to love myself.

In my heart I know Samuel and I will be together one day. It makes leaving him and his work okay because I’m being true to myself as well. I found how helping others as I did in the Pemón camp is rewarding and important to me. It helped me to understand him better. I’m not sure I understand the level of Samuel’s commitment, although over the last couple of weeks, I understand why, as I too have grown to love the Ularan community, the people, and the place.

The jungle has grounded and lifted my spirit. During the tea ceremony, I felt harmonious to the earth, to every living creature, and I developed a tangible unity with the universe. I’ll never lose that bond.

“It’s not too far ahead,” Amy says after speaking with the driver. She carefully steps over the planks to sit beside me. “What are you going to say to her?”

We didn’t speak much on the previous boat ride with other people sitting close to us. “Besides what I mentioned at breakfast? I have a few things I’ve mulled over that might help her rethink her decision. If taking the tea is what she desires, we’ll help her find a reputable shaman. There are hundreds of experienced shamans, so I’m curious why she chose a guy from New York. When we find out why, then we can negotiate with her.”

The driver pulls into a poorly constructed small pier, and I realize by the buildings high on stilts, this area is susceptible to extreme flooding in the wet season. There are only a couple of structures reminding me of the Ularan village, only sturdier with the assistance of modern tools. I now understand the need for rubber boots that are provided when we booked this trip. The driver waits for us in the boat. We slip on the boots, leaving our flip-flops on the boat, and walk through the muddy water pooling ankle deep.

We only have minutes to convince Yasmine to leave with us.

“Can you imagine wanting to stay here?” Amy whispers while watching me peruse the palm-leaf thatched roof and open walls of the two huts.

I ignore her comment, my senses alerted to a herbal aroma hanging in the muggy air. I cough at the unpleasantness. A small indigenous woman dressed in a green t-shirt and pants approaches, almost camouflaged by the surroundings. She speaks to us in Spanish.

Amy talks over her. “We’re looking for Yasmine and Michael.”

Lines deepen on the woman’s forehead. The hand behind her back reveals itself as she takes a cigarette to her mouth and sucks while giving us a once-over. She puffs out smoke in my face as though my facial paintwork offends her.

Doing my utmost not to cough, I follow her past similar structures with walls reminding me of log cabins. She points to a treehouse. Amy and I step up the ladder, my feet slipping in the rubber boots, and I grip the side in case I misjudge a step.

On reaching the top, we scramble onto all fours before standing to find Yasmine in a hammock with Michael. My entry isn’t delicate, so surprise turns to suspicion when both remain sleeping, especially since the small room reeks of smoke, musk, and sex.

“Did you really come here to sleep?” I snap.

Michael jolts. The hammock sways and both scramble to be upright.

“Eden? I mean, how? Why are you here?” Yasmine croaks. Her hand clasps her throat.

“You sound terrible. Are you sick?” I ask. She shakes her head. “Okay, well, I’m here because our holiday is almost over, and it’s time for us to meet up and go home.”

She shoots me a warning look with narrowed eyes. Yet I sense she doesn’t have the energy to argue. “This is the last thing I wanted to tick off before we leave,” she says, with her hand remaining on her throat.

“I know,” I say in a calm voice.

“Did Samuel come with you?” Michael probes.

“Why would he?” I snap.

Michael glances at Amy. “Did you give her the message?”

Yasmine scowls at Michael. “What message?”

“I was concerned about you, babe, that’s all.” His hand slides across her forehead and down her cheek.

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