A Modern Quest for an Ancient Remedy....
If you enjoy a fast-paced read, Five Weeks in the Amazon is the book for you. It's an honest story filled with peaks of humor and valleys of despair. Author Sean Michael Hayes has written a book that many wou...
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MONDAY, DECEMBER 3
8:10pm, the Karma cafe
When I left Otillia's this morning, I couldn't help but feel sad knowing this time I wouldn't be coming back. It only hit me when I was giving everyone a goodbye hug: I was saying adios, not hasta luego like I'd casually used every other time I was walking away from Otillia or Joshua.
Joshua stood with a tear in his eye. He'll miss me I'm sure, and I will miss him. We fostered each other's growth the same way as brothers do growing up. The elder teaches the younger about strength and courage, and when to take chances. In turn, the younger teaches the elder how about patience and empathy and when temperance is needed. The end result is a brotherhood built on respect and love and with it comes mutual growth.
Otillia, who isn't a big hug person, held me, took my hand, and told me it was up to me now. She said I was strong again, I was clean again. She grabbed my other hand. Holding both she shook them a little, like a grandmother would, and said I need to remember I am more sensitive now. She dropped my hands and gave me a quick hug.
This was really it. That was my final goodbye. Everything I've experienced will become a part of the chapter in my history I just wrote. When we reach the end of one chapter and turn the page it brings us to the start of the next.
I pondered the term sensitive she had used as I walked out to the main road for the last time. Halfway down the trail is a mound of soft clay next to a pool of water. Since my first day, every time I have passed it I've bent down and grabbed a tiny chunk to roll between my fingers.
It's a ruddy gold color and I formed the clay into a cube over and over again in my hand as I walked. I couldn't figure it out; the word sensitive seemed to have two meanings. I examined it further and wondered—did being more sensitive mean I could sense more things, with more detail? Or did more sensitive mean I was more vulnerable, affected by external stimuli more easily and without as much defense?

This afternoon when I got to Iquitos, I met up with Oscar and the rest of the group. Pretty much every time I am in town, I hang out with them. The backpackers and tourists bore me instantly. Keeping up with what's going on with Oscar and the boys (in Spanish) is always good fun.
We decided to walk down to Nikiro which is a bar/restaurant overlooking the river a few blocks from the Karma Cafe. It is a low-key place to hang out and they sell joints the same way they sell beer (and cocaine, Oscar likes to remind me just in case I ever change my mind). There isn't any Wi-Fi or food, but for what I wanted right then, it was ideal.
The group and I were all friends now and walking with any of them through town was like having personal body guards. None of the sketchier street people would harass me and the cops never gave us a hard time because I was just a skateboarding gringo and they were poor kids from Belen.
They all knew I was leaving and were: A) going to miss me, and B) hopeful I would give them something before I left. When we got to Nikiro I bought three big Pilsens and split them with the boys. They had the best broken seat waiting for me on the patio when I got there and I joined their circle.
