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Porto Velho: Trippin' in the Jungle
It’s a regular occurrence and nobody bats an eyelid, with the theory being that the badness inside of you has to come out. Unlike others, I didn’t have any badness. These theories you may not believe, but at least one seemed to be true. At half-time with soup beckoning, I crossed the chessboard to see how the girls had got on. I kissed Blondie. Bad move. We were told, nicely, that this wasn’t allowed as the energies of the two sexes are different. I laughed it off but within a few minutes, I felt totally drained, so badly that I had to go home and leave the others behind, drinking huge glasses of ayahuasca. They were going through until dawn; including a man who had known Blondie’s father many moons and many miles away. He had ended up in Porto Velho because of the ceremonies. Or maybe because of ayahuasca. I couldn’t blame him. It nearly convinced me to stay too.
The Captain came up to say goodbye. He shook our hands as warmly as everybody else who had wanted to know how we had learnt about their church. They’d looked after us, treated us like special guests, given us ayahuasca, water, soup, bread and other essentials such as hugs, blankets, warmth and smiles without asking for a single thing in return. The Captain’s last words were about our night. He asked us why you needed lots of money when you could have something like this for free and laughed. I couldn’t argue with him.
See more of Adam's journeys at www.redmist-redmist.blogspot.com
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