Page 45 of Beautifully Wild

Flight time is over thirty minutes.

“I’m doing the right thing,” I murmur when we’re above the clouds.

The brochures portrayed the landscape below as stunning, and on attempting to peer out the tiny window, I’m hit with nausea and a wave of lightheadedness.

I close my eyes, hold onto the armrest, and pray for the next twenty minutes.

24

Eden

Canaima National Park, Bolivar, Venezuela

Canaimabasecamp’sdirtlanding strip did nothing to reassure me that my decision was a safe one. But a jovial man with a strange English accent greets us, and my erratic heartbeat—matching my decision-making—slows. Maybe it’s reassurance in knowing someone here speaks English.

“I’m Victor, and I’m taking some of you to your accommodations.” He points to an oversized yellow jeep. For a moment, I’m stunned because the body is painted with large random spots like a jaguar, and we’re heading into the wilderness, thus requiring camouflage.

“Eden Monteford.”

My name is read out loud, along with a few others. Out of the five passengers on the plane, three of us are staying at the lodge.

We board the jeep. There are no windows or doors. There are four rows of bucket seats, face to face like the other passengers and I will be seated on a train.

I take a seat along with a middle-aged couple.

“What brings you to Canaima?” The woman’s broad smile is unwavering.

“It was a last-minute decision. I decided to tick Angel Falls off my bucket list before traveling on to Margarita Island.”

“A good decision. I’ve been waiting years. When we traveled, I promised myself to return and visit Angel Falls. My husband is wary with the political tension, so we avoided Caracas.” Her American accent thickens the more she speaks. “Are you taking the aerial view or by foot?”

“Um, by foot.” Only option with my budget. “Canoe, I believe.”

“Curiara,” she corrects. “It’s the indigenous term.”

“Right.”

“Are you taking the Sapo Falls tour?”

“I believe it’s part of the package.” I shrug.

“Helen.” Her partner interrupts, and I turn in the direction he’s pointing.

Wow.

Flat-top mountains rise through the vastness of a green forest breaking through the heavy clouds. I’ve entered an emerald world. It’s like the heavens have poured green paint as thick as lava from above, and it has coated everything it touches. As we head closer, a lake comes into view, and our accommodations sit on the edge of the water with the waterfalls in the distance. The jeep slows, and the squawking echoes around us. Birds and monkeys overpower everything else.

I’m fixated by the beauty of the lake blending in with the surrounding landscape and the low-lying fog hovering above the water.

While checking in, we’re offered refreshments and informed about the morning tour to the waterfalls and lagoon ride.

Every step toward my room I’m besotted with the beauty of nature surrounding me. I step onto a terracotta-tiled patio that joins each hut, all facing out to the lagoon. A hammock is tied to posts outside the door, an invitation to relax and take in the magnificence. Before unlocking my door, I pause for a moment to take in the view of Canaima Lagoon and the waterfalls in the distance.

My room is nicely decorated and cool despite the humidity. There’s no phone, and I have no reception reminding me of our isolation. I change into sneakers, apply Deet because the mosquitoes are already making their presence known, and head to the restaurant for breakfast.

Walking the tropical gardens, I spot a macaw on a low branch. Its head is tilted, watching me, and I it. It hits me how the bird symbolizes paradise, and looking around, I realize I’ve found it.

Breakfast is a smorgasbord of exotic fruits spanning a table in the dining room. Exotic fruit, one of the things I told Samuel I enjoy, and right now, there are some I fail to identify. Regardless, I try everything. I want to taste every piece of fruit on offer. With every bite, I think about our conversations during our days together, trying to remember if he hinted at where he could be.

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