A few years ago, on the eve of Mother’s Day, I was invited by an international organism for which I worked to participate in an immersion journey in the Amazon rainforest, and visit the social projects they kept with various riverside communities in the region. With the invitation, then came the dilemma: would it be fair to get out of civilization and get me down trails in the forest leaving my daughter – in the time as a child – and my already elderly mother, on the way to Alzheimer’s disturbances, without the traditional hug and lunch of the date? Sorry for those who consider me a broken creature, but the immediate answer was a great and sound.
And there I went to the middle of the bush, happily made paint in the trash (or jaguar in the woods), for this trip that was one of the most amazing of my bisexta tire life. It was five days without cell phone, telephone, television, away from any soaked shopping mall and eating without facing lines the usual camp delicacies – the undeferable pasta with box sauce, cookies and chestnut mix. The toast was with water, boiled for purification (no one in healthy consciousness will want to fill the mineral water backpack to go to the planet where it rains, no wonder by Rain Forest’s Anglo-Saxons, or rain forest). Eventually, in any of the villages of the way, there was a cauim or caxiri, the drinks made from the fermented cassava, accompanied by a good alligator tail on the embers, a luxury banquet that the indigenous people offered us.
Of course, a journalist for many decades, it has happened other times to have to miss the celebration of maternal ephemeris. In fact, it happened often that will horrify the most affected to the ritualistic convention, both for my work commitments and, more recently, my (beautiful) creates. But this particular trip was marked for giving me a beautiful involuntary Mother’s Day gift: the five -day trail by the Amazonian immensity, under (a lot) rain and sleeping in mosquito nets, to the sound of the forest dragons, as the riverside call the noisy and abused bugies, monkeys that roam unwavering their area.
A while later, I took my own daughter to meet part of the region I had traveled, and with her I was able to make some trail stretches around the woods, refudes in the clay and drinking the water from the cut -cut vine by the guide. I think she understood the immensity of the so -called Amazonian. I hope you understand. On this Mother’s Day when she will be traveling, working on her own journey, I can only hope so that we can live more adventures together soon. Because we are of these. And on Children’s Day we get it right, combined?
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