Synopsis
After
hitting rock-bottom, which in no-way could be her fault, and losing all she
holds dear—her Louis Vuitton luggage and a pair of Jimmy Choo’s included—Donna
steps into a pair of trekkers, throws her few remaining possessions into a
carry-on and flees to the Amazon rainforest.
Once
there she is forced to simplify her life—radically. Living in a shack—without
air-conditioning, a plasma TV, or modern furnishings—that fails to keep
anything out, including the weather; and being surrounded by some of the most
pristine forest in the world, it is inevitable that nature elbows its way back
into her life.
When
she accepts a month-long work assignment in the remote jungle, she expects to
catalogue plant specimens and courier samples, but instead she receives a
spiritual vision that rocks her existence and alters the course of her life.
With
a new divide between her once modern, comfortable life and a new existence of a
non-material reality, Donna’s spiritually transformed self leaves little room
for the unenlightened other—including friends who have plenty of doubt about an
experience that can’t be proven.
Thrust
into a natural world where the demands of everyday life seem superficial and
without meaning; where there is no time—minutes can be hours, stress is
virtually non-existent—passionfruit juice is a great remedy, and the world is
wonderfully whole—everything she wants and needs is already given, Donna
realises she’s discovered an essential part of herself that was always missing.
But
where does she go from there?
Between
befriending an Agouti rat, forming a cherished relationship with a tree, and
feeling humiliatingly lost in the jungle, Donna emerges as an
‘Earth-Mother’—raw nature having saved her from herself. Armed with a sense of
purpose, strong values, and a demeanour of calmness and peace, she discovers
what it means to be truly happy.
Release date: September 1, 2018
RRP: AU$29.99 (pbk), 9.99 (ebk)
Territory: English language market
Format: Paperback and eBook
Size: 203 x 128 mm
Pages: 222pp
ISBNs: 978-1-925856-00-2 (pbk), 978-1-925856-01-9 (ebk)
Chapter 4 Guyane
The dreary grey sky fractured into tufts of white cotton candy and the plane banked left to line its nose up to the jungle-fringed runway. The sunlight spilled across the landscape, an emerald dreamland where fantasies and reality blended.
Wearing a moisture-wicking shirt made for the jungle, I stepped onto the Félix Eboué Airport’s tarmac. The heat radiating from the asphalt roasted my face and the humid air made it tough to breathe. My sweat-soaked, sand-coloured shirt turned dark brown during the walk to the arrivals lounge which offered little relief, its giant sliding doors inviting in extreme heat. Families and lovers searching for their loved ones bounced on their toes. Others appeared bored like they were waiting for a city bus. Everyday life played out against a backdrop of vibrant Caribbean colours.
I snapped up a handful of tourist brochures: ‘Enjoy a marvellous adventure in one of the most pristine rainforests in the world.’ ‘Visit a kingdom of forests, rivers and animals.’ ‘Take a three-hour tour of the European Space Centre, free!’ There were no brochures promoting shopping malls.
At the taxi stand, a driver with a cosmic smile and exposed boxers, despite the Gucci belt looped in his jeans said, ‘Bienvenue a Guyane! This is a cool and beautiful place, man. Tell all your friends.’
‘Yeah man,’ shouted another taxi driver with the enthusiasm of a sport’s fan. ‘This is the last truly free paradise on earth.’
Sliding into the back seat, I turned to Frank and asked, ‘Do you think everyone’s this friendly?’
The driver grinned. ‘Cayenne?’ he asked.
‘Cayenne chilli was named after the city,’ he said, ‘and not the other way around.’ The car seat felt like a bed of chilli pepper in the non-air conditioned taxi. I could even smell hot spice in the air.
A standard-issue European Union sign at the exit read FRANCE. I wiped sweat from my brow and gaped at the jungle-fringed highway. French licence plates hung off Citroëns and Renaults, tricolour flags of blue, white, and red drooped from government buildings, and cyclists carried baguettes along dirt tracks. I wasn’t fooled. This was South America, half a world from the manicured gardens and medieval castles of Europe.
When the traffic slowed along the billboard-lined road, mopeds carrying three and even four people whizzed past. Fruit stalls selling bananas and pineapples lined the footpaths. Rundown shacks stood beside elegant Creole homes. Rubbish littered the streets. The car radio broadcasted weather for France.
With my nose screwed up and my tone laced with contempt, I looked at Frank and said, ‘Oh my goodness! Look at all the rubbish.’
The reality of this trash heap conflicted with the image I had of the pristine jungle from 10,000 feet up.
‘Pollution produced by wealthy countries,’ he said.
‘What about the steel bars on the windows and doors?’
‘Look at that one.’ He pointed to a house with ornate shutters and railings.
‘But there’s razor wire and shards of glass on the walls.’
I patted the travel pouch concealing my passport and return ticket. A fellow passenger had enlightened me about the government’s ineffectiveness in ending illegal gold mining. When I learned how it contributed to rampant trafficking and crime, and pollution, I feared I was headed towards one of the most chaotic and disease-ridden parts of the world. I hoped for the best, but out of habit prepared for the worst. Stop it, I said to myself, inwardly repeating a mantra of Annie Dillard’s words: ‘How we spend our days, is how we spend our lives.’
Determined not to let worry, insecurity, or fear spoil this new chapter of my life, I managed a flicker of optimism. Then we passed a drab, windowless, corner store where a dozen menacing-looking men drank beer and staggered about outside. It was only half-past-four.
After a half hour drive, we turned onto the street of our new home: a bone-shaking pot-holed road with winding red dirt driveways. Still in pep-talk mode, I convinced myself that concealed down each lush path was a gorgeous multi-story chalet built of solid mahogany.
‘This is it,’ said Frank.
I looked for a house. Tucked into the fold of a hill, half hidden from view, was a coral-pink shack that looked like a child’s cubby house. If I had seen it beforehand, I would never have gone there.
It didn’t take long to look around, just one room plus a bathroom and a kitchen. The landlord waved his arms as if he was showing us a palace.
‘Where’s the internet?’ I asked, already booking my flight out.
He looked at me as if I’d asked for a fur coat. More than a slight tinge of panic pranced across my skin and my face contorted so much he must have doubted my sanity.
‘No problem,’ he said, a note of alarm sounding in his voice. ‘I’ll instal a booster so you can bounce off the neighbour’s house.’
‘How long for our own connection?’ I asked.
‘Only about seven months.’
My nerves frazzled as if I were attached to a live wire. My mind reeled. I glanced away, then looked back to see if he was joking, but his lips remained in a straight line. He was a big man, but he moved like someone schooled in dance. I walked over to the kitchen sink. The last thing I wanted to see was rust-coloured water.
‘Is it drinkable?’ I asked as a distinct metallic odour filled the air.
The landlord winked at Frank. ‘Look at me,’ he said, ‘I’ve been drinking it for twenty years.’
I took a good look and made a note to buy bottled drinking water.
‘Enjoy your new home,’ he said as he walked outside.
‘Was he joking?’ I asked.
The carbet, the name used for a native dwelling, hovered on the fringe of a nature reserve. It was one of those houses that invited the outdoors in, including a field mouse that hurtled around the corner. When it saw two giants standing in its path, it skidded to a halt, its toenails scrapping on the floor as it changed direction and disappeared under the kitchen cupboard to a secret hole.
Crouching on my luggage was the biggest, hairiest, blackest spider I’d ever seen. I kicked my bag. It hunkered down.
‘Frank! A spider is trying to get into my bag.’
When Frank stood over it, it inched its way onto the floor and in its own time disappeared into another hole.
‘A snake could fit through there,’ I said.
Standing outside on the deck, dusk set in. Cool air banished the heat of the day. I hadn’t expected to have air-conditioning, but the tin roof wasn’t even insulated and there was no television reception or phone line.
‘Frank, please check your phone. Do we have coverage?’
‘One bar,’ he said.
We’d been propelled back to the 1950s with nothing to do after dinner apart from sitting on the porch and listening to the radio. I thought living in a rainforest and striving for simplicity would be romantic, but romance has little to do with real life.
A buzzing sound filled the air and crickets shrilled like ringtones. Then hundreds, no thousands of ferocious mosquitos appeared. The doorway, without a door, beckoned. The mosquitos seemed to know we didn’t belong, and a battalion lined up for the kill. I covered myself in DEET insect spray, but not before being covered in angry red welts. Frank lit a mosquito coil, the landlord’s parting gift.
‘He only left one?’ I complained.
The equatorial darkness, that fell instantly, caught us by surprise. Running my hand across the wall, I searched for a light switch. Even with lights, I needed to squint to see. A colony of bats made swerving exits from under the roof and unblinking geckos that hung upside down stared back. The same hairy tarantula that had crawled across my bag popped up through the hole in the floor and marched across the boards with glowing orange feet. If I survived one night, it would be a miracle. Frank acted like a swamp frog that had found its lily pad, while I floundered around like some hybridised, store-raised species.
Paperback and eBook
Donna Mulvenna is a horticulturist, whose journey as a nature writer began when she moved to the Amazon rainforest. Donna is a Fellow of the International League of Conservation Writers, and the author of Happiness is Green, Wild Roots: Coming Alive in the French Amazon, and The Awe of Nature. She co-authored All Things Breathe Alike: A Wildlife Anthology, and is the co-editor of Tales of the River: An Anthology of River Literature.
For more details about Donna Mulvenna visit her author page
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