The Off Seasoner:

What am I talking about here? Catch up on part one and part two.

We embarked on several tours while we were in the Amazon, but the most interesting was our journey into the rainforest itself by foot to meet the abuelo (grandpa), who was the patriarch of a local tribe. We were led by our guide, who explained to us that he was not really a guide but more than a guide. He was someone that acts as the mediator between the local tribes and the outside world. He was a small man with ropy muscles, shrewd features, a rat tail, and no shoes. He told us he had been up for three days leading tours and chewing mambe, dried coca leaves. I immediately felt at ease, that we were surely in the correct hands to mediate us safely through this adventure.

We walked parallel to the dense jungle for some time. We stopped to eat termites from a tree. I accidentally almost ate fire ants as well, totally misunderstanding our guides emphatic Don’t touch these as an invitation to touch. Our guide stopped to speak to someone who was sitting on the stoop of his cabin. The man offered him a bible, which he tore a page out of to deftly hand roll a loose cigarette.

You wouldn’t want someone to come into your house and take things. It’s important to not take things from the jungle he warned us. We came to the edge of the rainforest and took off our clothes, dawning huge rain boots and swimsuits.

You need to ask permission before you enter, we were told. We took a moment of silence and I tried to commune with the forest. I am so honored to be here and experience this. Please allow me to enter. I want to be as respectful as possible, but look, we’ve already been traveling for hours and I know it’s going to be several more before we get to the village, I told her. As soon as the water is waist high, I’m going to have to pee, I’m sorry. But there is just no way I can wait all the way till the end of the tour.

I was nervous. Not only because I had to immediately disrespect the jungle by peeing, but also because there was no trail. There was only muddy water meshed with a thick expanse of vegetation. Our guide went in first, using a stick before taking steps forward as we followed single file behind. The water came as high as my chest at certain points. After maybe two hours or so, moving slowly, we arrived at our final destination, the village.

We went into the main hut to hear the abuelo tell us his life story. In the broadest of strokes, he explained that his parents had wanted him to go to school, but he left to live alone in the jungle from when he was 15 until he was 18. During this time, he ran into some miners who asked him what would happen to him if he needed help, wasn’t he scared to be in such a remote place all alone? He patiently explained to them that the miners and those like them would be the ones needing help from him, not the other way around. This was a man completely at home in this environment. He was obligated into service for the Colombia military so he had to return to life outside for awhile, but by the time we met him, he hadn’t left the jungle for decades.

As native communities continue to have their resources and way of life stripped from them, for many the only option they have left to survive is to cater to tourist. I saw this play out in many forms. When we toured down the Amazon river we stopped on the banks to watch women preforming dances wearing traditional clothing. We bought jewelry and temporary tattoos. We met another abuelo who lived on the edge of town and preformed a ritual with mambe for us. But it was this man, the abuelo who hadn’t left the jungle, who not only seemed the happiest but who had ended up with a better quality of life.

We were offered tobacco in a thick syrupy form and ate a bit of mambe. We were each given a crown woven from the foliage and welcomed into the family with facial markings from a black ink that would last for several days.

We trekked back out the same way we had come in. Single file, wading through murky water and trying not to fall over. Maybe a little less nervous now that we had done this all once before. In the end we made it out in one piece, so I suppose that my prayer was successful.