Page 21 of Beautifully Wild

“It’s what my soul craves, and I want to do it with Michael. I don’t want negative thoughts to block my spiritual journey or you all telling me what can go wrong, not how wonderful I’ll feel after.”

“Okay, then,” I whisper. “If you feel this strongly about it, then I’ll have your back.” I reach and touch her arm. “We go together,” I emphasize. “I’m not going to let you do this alone, but we need to learn more because we definitely have to be cautious, and I’m not being negative.”

Yasmine smiles, then turns to gaze out of the bus window. Her smile doesn’t fool me. She’s lost in her thoughts, and I sense she isn’t telling me everything. We’re traveling together yet embarking on our personal journey, which might mean doing some of it alone. It’s not what we promised each other before this holiday. Nor my father. I push out the thought because right now, I need to do what it takes to look out for my friend.

The following day, I’m sitting on a hot bus while my friends hang at the beach. I promised them I’d be fine and needed some time alone. A tour inland to a mystical lake—the one Samuel suggested—and to waterfalls didn’t interest them, especially after they hit the bars again last night. Amy insisted on coming until Yasmine told her to give me space. When I didn’t go out with them last night, my friends realized I was still upset about Samuel. I used the time to call my parents, reassuring them I was fine.

“Fishing is a means of survival here.” The sound of the tour guide’s voice brings me back. Pressing my nose closer to the glass, I make out small fishing villages dotting the edges of a large lake. Canoes line the shore. The tour guide speaks about folklore and the floating islands on the lake. Tales of an underwater kingdom and mystical beings—hence, why it’s known as the Enchanted Lake. He tells a story of how fishermen never returned if their boats sailed near the floating islands at night. It intrigues me as to how some small communities have a strong belief in folklore and how these myths influence their lives and cultural tradition compared to our dependency on science, fact, and statistics. I struggle with the legends since I’m a visual person. I snort, thinking how I’d be the fisherman venturing out because I didn’t believe and possibly never return. If only Yasmine had come with me. She’d enjoy hearing about the folklore.

I close my eyes momentarily and wish for some things in my life to change.

The bus bounces along the dirt road. “The first waterfall is Salto de Apepique,” the tour guide says. “This waterfall is popular for rappelling.”

The cliff edge isn’t high, so a dozen of us are taken through the steps of a quick safety instruction before rappelling the rock while the others relax with morning tea.

The rope supports me when I push off the rocky edge. Water sprays my face, refreshing and awakening the fact my life is in the hands of one rope. No sooner do I reach the bottom, I’m clambering up the rocky cliff to do it again and again.

“We now have a short walk, so I apologize to those who have wet shoes,” our guide calls out.

My feet are squishing in my sneakers. Ugh. Blisters will not be fun, but after an experience like that, it’s worth it.

“Where are you from?”

I smile at the middle-aged lady beside me, both of us stumbling as we trample over pebbled rocks.

“Adelaide, South Australia.”

“We’re from Sheffield in the UK. By the way, I’m Kim.”

I’d picked the English accent. “Hi, I’m Eden.”

The guide stops and points to a cave. He talks in Portuguese first, then Spanish, before addressing us in English.

“Please gather in, people. We’re to enter the cave. I’ll explain the next activity. In the cave, I’ll give a command. Then everyone is to remove their top and swap it with the person closest to them.”

What?

I look at Kim, wide-eyed.

“You won’t be able to see inside the cave. When we exit the cave, you’re to find the person wearing your top. This person will be your partner for the remainder of the tour.”

Surely, there are occupational health and safety issues with sharing clothes? This is worse than any team-building and trust exercise I’ve ever done.

I withhold my grumbling and offer a fake smile when laughter sounds through the group. I look around at the couples and consider how awkward it is for some. Hell, I don’t have a partner. I follow one couple in, afraid to turn and check who’s behind me. I don’t want to establish what top they’re wearing or if there are any sweat marks.

I remember Yasmine’s words about not all experiences are enjoyable.

C’mon, Eden. It’s an adventure, so try and roll with it.

Chatter and laughter echo as we approach the opening of the cave.

“Watch your step,” our guide warns, shining his flashlight into the cavern. “Find a rock to sit on.” I stumble on loose stones before regaining my balance. I walk about thirty steps in darkness, a dim light reflecting the outline of the stones. Taking a seat on the cold, moist pebbled ground, I rest my forehead on bent knees then lift my head when the guide speaks. I strain my eyes when he turns off the flashlight.

In the dark, fear creeps in. I’ve always been afraid of the unknown, of what I can’t see. I remember being a little girl afraid of spiders, unlike my fearless gran. Her words echo in the back of my mind. What if I’m sitting next to a scorpion right now? I re-curl and place my head on my knees and wrap my arms around my thighs to block out the world and concentrate on my breathing.

“Sorry… sorry.” Whispers come from behind me as someone stumbles to find a seat.

In the dark, our guide continues with his folklore stories relating to the Enchanted Lake. The musky air tastes wet, and with only blackness around us, it creates an eerie presence. Goosebumps prick up along my arms, and an unnerving tingle runs down my spine. Yet, I visualize his words. I see the calm waters of the blue-gray lake and the boats sailing across the water without a motor and feel the serenity in the stillness of night and of a single breath while watching these slow-moving islands drift into another dimension.

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