The Lost Girls (12 page)

After a brisk hike in 100 percent humidity, we arrived pant
ing and dripping with sweat at the entrance of the tiny village, home to the elusive
ribereños
(people of the river). What little breath I had left was immediately taken away by the sight of this strange new world. It took me a second to spot them at first, but peeking out through the doorways of darkened huts, weaving fabric silently in the shade, and resting under trees, were the most intriguing figures we'd yet to lay eyes on.

Petite in stature with striking sienna complexions and red paint smudged across their faces, the Yagua still seemed to live in an era before huge swathes of the Amazon had been deforested and the ever-encroaching gringo had brought commerce and “progress” to the region. The men donned intricate wigs and long skirts constructed of dried grasses, while the women wore red cloth wraps on their bottom half and dangling neck pieces that covered a small portion of their chests.

As he ushered us into a large hut flanked with bushy reeds, Cliver explained that the Yagua relied solely on rain forest plants for their wardrobes and created fabrics from the fibers of the
aguaje
palm and red dye (
achiote
) from the fruit of the
Bixa orellana
tree.

We sat on hand-carved benches and watched in awe as the Yagua elders formed a snug circle and began to sing and dance around the room, their upper bodies swaying and their hips popping from side to side as they walked. One by one the others followed suit, filling the air with soothing drum and flute melodies. In a low whisper, Cliver told us the tribe was performing a traditional dance that paid homage to the rain god and encouraged us to join in when the younger tribeswomen pulled us to our feet.

After several turns around the dirt floor with our new friends, we were led outside for our next challenge: mastering the art of the blowgun. Without a word, the chief pointed to a wooden post in the ground across a wide clearing. We observed
as men loaded darts (small sticks with cottony fabric on one end) into the mouthpiece of long hollow tubes, took aim, and blew. Within seconds, the points landed squarely in the middle of the target. When the Yagua actually went out to hunt, they'd dip the darts in curare, a fast-acting natural poison that paralyzes their prey. But fortunately they skipped that step when tourists were present.

One after another, the girls and I hoisted the heavy tube onto our shoulders, shouted, “Ready, set, blow!,” and fired. A light puff was enough to send our ammo whizzing through the air, and after only a few failed attempts, our shots finally pierced the post.

As we returned the blowguns to the elders and started our journey back, Holly asked Cliver whether it was really such a good idea for outsiders like us to be visiting the Yagua tribe. Though the three of us considered our interaction with the locals to be an amazing once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, we wondered whether our presence was actually benefiting the community—or rather contributed to the demise of the traditional culture.

Cliver explained the repercussions if we
didn't
bring our dollars into the Yagua village. “It is the honest truth, my friends, that the only way to keep locals from cutting down the rain forest for farmland or lumber is to show them they can make more money by protecting it,” he said glancing upward at the canopy as he spoke. “If they can make a living sharing their way of life with tourists like you, then they have more incentive to preserve it.”

We figured that there was another side to this story (some fellow travelers lamented that the local villagers were selling off their culture and turning their customs into a charade for visitors), but we also hoped there was some truth to what Cliver was telling us. I wanted to believe that the tribal masks, necklaces,
and fertility dolls we'd just purchased as souvenirs would actually help preserve the locals' way of life and keep their traditions alive. But as with the future of the Amazon rain forest itself, only time would tell.

 

T
he next day, the three of us wanted to take a break from the prepackaged jungle activities, so we asked Cliver if there was a safe place nearby where we could walk around or sightsee on our own. Nothing formal or touristy, just a real place with real people.

“Of course,
princesas
,” he replied. “There are still many places like that around here. I will take you.”

Hopping into one of the lodge's motorboat taxis, we zipped a few miles upstream to the nearby village of Indiana. Originally founded as a Franciscan mission, Indiana had grown into a large river community with its own market, high school, and small hospital. It was midday, and the riverside dock buzzed with the activity of a typical port town. Sun-scorched fisherman hauled in their daily catch as women unloaded baskets of brightly colored vegetables and children crowded around candy carts. Aside from a few curious glances, no one really reacted as we disembarked from the boat, weaved through the bodies on the shore, and walked to the heart of town.

Since Indiana was about as threatening as a
Star Trek
convention, we decided to branch out on our own and give our guide a break from the unending task of answering all our questions. We agreed to meet back at the main square in about an hour, synchronized our sports watches, and parted ways.

After a month on the road, the girls and I were almost as in tune with one another's habits and favorite on-the-road pursuits as we were with our own. For example, I knew that Holly needed to go running daily and embark on frequent missions
to the market. Amanda would get antsy if a few days went by without going online, writing, and blogging. As for me, well, I just wanted to get involved in any hedonistic pleasure that didn't require technology. Much of the time, our interests intersected, but we were totally fine with a two-to-one group split when they didn't. So before Holly opened her mouth, Amanda and I knew what was coming. “So, uh, guys, I think I'm gonna go for a quick jog and then maybe look around some of the little stands, okay?”

“That's totally cool, Corby. Jen and I will hike on our own and meet you back here by three p.m. Just don't get lost, okay?” Amanda said.

“Yeah, and be safe, Hol,” I added, knowing full well that she could outsprint almost anyone. Not that she'd need to, but still.

As it turned out, Indiana was far more pastoral than most of the Amazonian landscape we'd seen so far. Rather than toucans and macaws darting through the canopy, we spotted scrawny barnyard roosters pecking the dirt in small clearings. Wild anteaters were nowhere to be seen, but there were plenty of cows grazing in pastureland. Taking our trek very seriously, Amanda and I tromped through mud puddles, scaled the barbed-wire fences that crisscrossed farms, and stared down a few restless bulls (though we squealed and ran if they made any sudden movements). Along the way, we practiced our Spanish with the swarm of kids who tagged along with us for much of the journey.

When we returned to our meeting point, we found Holly and Cliver chatting with three young guys on motorcycles. It turned out they were friends of Cliver's who'd offered to give us a driving tour of the area for only 10 soles, or $3 total.

“I'll totally pay a buck for a bike ride. You guys in?” I asked Amanda and Holly.

Within seconds, we were all clinging to our drivers' waists
with a deadly vise grip as they tore down bumpy dirt paths and over shaky narrow bridges. Once it was apparent that we weren't destined to become road kill, I relaxed a little. We rode for miles, zipping past simply constructed farmhouses, vast flower-speckled fields, and the occasional watering hole before screeching to a stop at a makeshift gas station. Giving the attendant a few soles for water bottles filled with a citrine liquid, our drivers topped off their tanks, made a U-turn, and began the return trip. By the time we arrived back in the center of town, dusk was falling. We were all breathless from the ride, but exhilarated.

“You enjoyed the tour,
princesas
?” Cliver asked as we screeched to a stop. “Now maybe it's time for cold Cusqueñas at my friend's bar?”

“Definitely. Love that plan,” I replied.

“Hey, uh, Cliver, I kinda need to go back to the lodge,” Amanda interjected, suddenly looking anxious. “Is there any way I can go but the girls can stay and hang out?”

“Well, with one boat, we should go together,” he said, wiping his forehead with a bandana. “Is something troubling you?”

“Oh no, nothing is wrong at all. I just…I just have some writing to do and need to use the Internet before my editor back in the States leaves work for the night,” she said hesitantly as she shifted from one foot to the other. “But I don't want to make Jen and Holly leave now.”

“It's totally fine with me if we go back,” Holly said, clearly trying to keep a potentially uncomfortable situation light and happy—as she always did. “I'm kinda tired anyway, and I should probably work on my next column.”

“Really, guys? Right now?” I asked, bummed to leave just when things were getting started.

I knew it shouldn't have been a huge deal, but I couldn't understand why Amanda kept wanting to cut our experiences short to run off and work. It's not as if I couldn't hang with Holly or
with the abundance of on-call backpackers at our hostels. But since I'd known Amanda, she'd been a full-steam-ahead, unstoppable career girl, taking on multiple internships in college and as many freelance assignments as she could handle in New York. Frankly, I'd been a little surprised when she'd suggested taking a full year off from her career in order to travel—and even more impressed that she'd actually gone through with it. But over these past few weeks, I'd been gathering that Amanda might not put the brakes on writing while we traveled and, in fact, might want to work every single day in the year ahead.

Although the selfish side of me just wanted her around, the best-friend side wanted to see her find happiness and fulfillment from other sources. But this was neither the time nor the place to get into that, so I stayed quiet. Halfway down the river, a wave of exhaustion suddenly hit me and I was actually relieved we were heading back. I couldn't wait to lounge at the lodge pool with a good book and frozen beverage in hand.

Then, as if on cue, Amanda asked, “So when I'm done with my e-mails, do you girls maybe want to work on the guidebook article?”

“Umm, let me think…no,” I replied.

“Well, I mean, we promised to hand it in next week, so why not work on it now, when there's nothing else to do?” Amanda said.

“What do you
mean
, nothing to do?” I exclaimed, feeling the noose of agitation tightening without warning. “We're in the Amazon jungle. And probably the only time we ever will be.”

“I know, but you could say that about the whole trip,” Amanda replied. “You told me that you were okay with us taking the assignment, but you never actually want to
do
it.”

“Yeah, I know, but this may be the only time ever in our lives that we don't have to work. Don't you think we should find other things we're passionate about or challenge ourselves in new ways?” I asked, my voice still calm but rising an octave.

“Yeah, I guess this is the time to let go of things that have been holding us back or try something that scares us,” Holly added.

“You know, I'd even travel by myself for a few days, even though the idea totally freaks me out,” I offered, trying to bring the conversation to a more productive place. I shied away from solo travel and being alone at all costs, so I hoped Amanda would understand that this would be a sacrifice for me.

“I really want to learn more about Hinduism and meditation, so maybe I really should sign up for that yoga teacher training program in India that I read about,” Holly said, launching another peacekeeping mission.

Amanda was silent, so I blabbed on. “I mean, do you really want to work on the road? This might be the first and last time in your adult life that you have absolutely no responsibilities and nothing but time on your hands. You've already established yourself as a successful writer. So why not give that up for a few weeks and see what else you love? The trip would be more fun that way.”

Amanda's head snapped in my direction, and she gave me what I can only describe as a death stare. “That's so unfair of you to ask, Jen. It'd be like me suggesting you give up your love for film.”

“Oh, please. It's not at all the same thing,” I said, stunned by the ferocity of her reaction. “Movies are a fun passion. Writing story pitches is work. I mean, c'mon. Try being an
under
achiever for once in your life.”

That did it. I'd crossed the line.

The tension was heavy enough to sink our schooner. And considering that we were in piranha-infested waters, I needed to defuse the situation fast.

“You know what, just forget I said anything. It was stupid,” I said, hopping out of the boat and onto the dock we'd reached
just in the nick of time. “I'm going to take a quick nap. I'll meet you girls in the lobby later.”

Amanda and I had been close friends for years but had rarely fought, so the whole incident was seriously awkward. On one hand, I knew it was childish of me to whine so much about, God forbid, having to adjust
my
travel schedule to accommodate my friend's journalistic career, but I hadn't quite been able to shake the mild resentment that I'd been baited by one trip, then given the old switcheroo once we were on the road. I wanted to just get over it and agree to disagree, already, but that was proving to be easier said than done.

 

W
e awoke the next day with a bit of a heavy heart, bummed that it was our last one in the Amazon. But we were quickly perked up by that morning's field trip to Monkey Island, home to eight different species of monkeys that are cared for and protected by a wildlife preservation project. Designed as the ultimate petting zoo, the island provides adventurous tourists with the chance to interact directly with its inhabitants (who are supposedly people-friendly).