Round 1: Dear Saint Anthony, Nicole is Lost and Must Be Found, It's Been About a Month Since I Last Saw Her

Living in Quito is hard for me, with the issue of safety topping the list. It’s not that Quito is any more dangerous than other large cities it’s the fact that every time I am about to do something some Quiteñan is bound to say, “Cuidadate, es muy peligroso”. It’s limiting, literally and figuratively. I stop doing the things that make me happiest, like running, volunteering and writing and more of the things that make me lazy, like drinking and perusing the internet. I lose myself in the dull drums of the daily routine, a waiting game really. In turn, my mind turns to a big mushy bowl of oatmeal and alas any focus I had of my goals is lost. So when I have the opportunity to dawn my adventure braids and get out of dodge, I do so, without thinking twice as I know the trip, lasting from one hour to a couple of weeks, will help me gain back the personal clarity and drive that were lost on the so-called dangerous streets of Quito.

You can only imagine what a simple five days in the Amazon did for my psyche, would do for anyone’s psyche. If you are at all like me, and I’ll willingly admit it I am one in a million, your imagination will go into overdrive the second the scenery starts to change and old Andean men, in fedora like hats, and barefoot women, carrying machetes as if it were the norm, greatly outnumber those in suits and high heels. And when you are greeted at the edge of an Amazonian river by a tall, skinny drunk man whose Spanish sounds more like that of a drowning sailor you know you are finally in for the type of adventure you have longed for in the past month, if not your entire life. Then, as you are waiting for the canoe to pick you up, the sun starts to dip behind the droopy trees and the buzz of the mosquitoes becomes loud enough for you to actually consider the fact that they might be able to eat you alive if not infect you with ten strains of malaria. It is here that you take in a deep breath, one that would make any yoga teacher proud, and let a permanent smile creep across your face. One that is so big your travelling companions ask if you have taken some drug that they don’t know about. You try to explain but you can’t find the right words and you are not sure they would listen anyway as they are, hopefully, starting their own adventures. By the time the long blue wooden canoe arrives the sun has officially disappeared and you embark down the pitch black river, encountering bats and the red glowing eyes of crocodiles. For thirty minutes you are forced to rely on your senses of hearing and touch than that of sight. You feel the humidity and are reminded of your summer in Pennsylvania, hear the river rushing and think of all the camping trips you went on as a child. Memories, that you thought had been erased, appear so clearly, as if they had happened yesterday. You are flooded with them, it’s as if you are dying and your life is flashing in front of you, most likely because you have to admit, you are a little afraid of those things you can not see. And suddenly, just as you arrive at the small, 10 thatched hut lodge your mind stops on one. The first time you watched Swiss Family Robinson, also being the first time you imagined yourself getting lost in a foreign place, happening upon monkeys and toucans that would become part of your family. The first time you realized that being lost, truly lost, may finally stop your prayers of being found. 

Round Two: “I am sorry, I don’t know where we are” says Mariana, our guide will be out in the new year.