Twisted Vines of Curiosity

The first thing to hijack my awareness was the silence. Not the absence of sound—the jungle is never truly quiet—but the sudden disappearance of all human noise. The mechanical hum of civilization had vanished, replaced by a symphony so ancient it felt like another world. This was the moment I'd been hoping for: standing at the edge where curiosity and danger meet. A place called Amazonia.

As a child, I was gripped by anything that beguiled my five senses. One afternoon, I sat transfixed by water striders zipping across an irrigation ditch like tiny ice skaters. Just as I leaned closer, studying their delicate ballet, two teenage bullies hurled me headlong into the water. Though my spark was briefly snuffed out, my fascination with nature remained steadfast. That encounter taught me an important lesson: sometimes our fascination with discovery can blind us to potential dangers that curiosity itself might invite.

Curiosity has always been my gateway to the grandest adventures. In January 1995, while savoring Sour Cream and Onion chips, I watched a Nat Geo documentary about the forgotten tribes of the Upper Amazon. By the time the credits rolled, I knew we had to go.

My wife, Kathy Kay, was skeptical. "The Amazon? With our kids? Have you lost your mind?" After some creative persuasion, she relented. That summer, our family of seven packed up our suburban Utah life and plunged headlong into a self-guided journey into Amazonia.

After touching down in Lima, Peru, we faced the challenge of finding accommodations. These came courtesy of my penny-pinching ways and a meeting with a physician named Victor. After dinner at his home, our youngest son, Goose, fell victim to a dish of last month's "fresh" catch. Without a clinic in sight, the only remedy we could find was Inca Kola, a bubblegum-flavored concoction we hoped would have medicinal promise.

The next morning proved surreal. Seeking fresh air along the beach, we encountered a sight to spice up any travel review. "Dad," our daughter Brighton asked, "why is that hairy naked man walking a bear?" Yes, there it was—a Russian circus performer in see-through briefs, parading a cinnamon bear down the shoreline.

From Lima, we flew to Cusco, where locals insisted coca leaf tea helps combat altitude effects. At eleven thousand feet, we weren't going to argue. The Plaza straddled past and present—Spanish colonial buildings alongside echoes of the Incan Empire. We roamed ancient sites where behemoth stones were so precisely fashioned that not even a razor blade could slide between the mortarless joints.

Hidden in a tourist shop was a map marked "Forbidden Zone." A sign reading "Do Not Enter" simply begs the question: how quickly can we get inside? Our relentless interrogation of locals led us to Mr. Abel Muniz, who, for reasons aside from a small bribe, orchestrated our journey into the jungle from his posh villa.

Our driver, Gonzalez, met us in a miniature 4x4 pickup truck. The road to the jungle was an endless series of switchbacks that left us white-knuckled, bouncing through the Andes for seven arduous hours. We reached "Tres Cruces," where Incan sentinels once stood as the sun breached the emerald canopy. Eventually, we descended into the heart of the jungle, where the atmosphere grew dense and primal.

We stumbled into Pilcopata village thoroughly exhausted. Our destination, Hacienda Villa Carmen, was like a charming Hobbit hovel illuminated by candlelight and circled by vampire bats. The communal pit toilet was frequented by spiders the size of dinner plates.

Risk and curiosity meld together like the alloys of a double-edged sword. The early explorers who crossed oceans didn't know if they would find new worlds or disappear. Each small venture carries its own degree of risk, but curiosity has its own gravitational pull that defies logic.

Abel introduced us to Ruben, an ethnobotanist who was our portal into the hidden wonders of the rainforest. He led us through a tapestry of plants with strange Latin names. Just as we were feeling like seasoned botanists, we came upon the wreckage of a 1947 Russian airplane, wrapped in vines like a forgotten gift. Moving beyond the wreckage, Ruben casually sliced open a bamboo stalk, revealing a hidden reservoir of pure water.

After Abel and Ruben laughed at our elaborate survival preparations, they arranged for a proper jungle expedition. Kath and I hiked to the remote village of Atalaya in search of a motorized longboat. The following morning, Abel introduced our guides, Jose and Santiago. Jose, dressed in nothing but a loincloth, contrasted sharply with Santiago in his khakis and button-up shirt. Accompanying them were four boatmen from Atalaya.

After launching upriver, the boatmen jumped overboard to push our boat over rocky shallows. Above, macaws flashed brilliant streaks of blue and yellow while toucans and harpy eagles added their own splash of color. Just before nightfall, we found the perfect campsite. The men of Atalaya turned the boat downstream, bidding us farewell until our pickup in seven days.

While we fumbled with tent poles, Jose and Santiago settled on the sand using driftwood for pillows. Why bother with tents when endowed with a roof of stars? One evening, they invited us fishing—a simple affair for them, but a comedy of errors for us. While we wrestled with tangled lines, Jose had already speared a massive catfish. They transformed their catch into a jungle stew, while we quietly nibbled granola bars.

The next morning, peeping through fog, we saw a bloated animal resembling a naked cow with a stubby elephant trunk. Further along, we stumbled upon tracks looking almost human. The air felt thick with tension, as though we were being shadowed. Yet downstream, our daughter Britni swam blissfully unaware of the piranhas we imagined lurking beneath.

Perhaps the real paradox isn't that curiosity and risk are in opposition, but rather they tango together, striking an equilibrium. The mind may want safety, but the soul yearns for adventure.

Our adventure took a somber turn when Brighton fell ill with a burning fever. Santiago proposed an evacuation plan—float downstream on log rafts. As the men searched for raft-making materials, Santiago handed Kath a vintage rifle and three bullets. Following our guides hacking through undergrowth, we heard eerie whistles penetrate the jungle. Our guides exchanged looks of alarm before changing direction abruptly—we were probably passing through ancestral grounds of the Machiguenga tribe.

At the river crossing, Goose lost his footing and plunged into the water. Only his brother's quick reflexes saved him from a long ride downstream. Reaching the opposite bank, Jose and Santiago revealed ivory-colored balsa wood beneath emerald bark. With practiced skill, they shaped logs into three rafts, each twelve by seven feet.

Like a teeter-totter, curiosity and risk perform a delicate balancing act. Take too many chances, and curiosity may burn us. Play it too safe, and risk avoidance will suffocate curiosity.

The current picked up as our boys, B.J. and Beau, commandeered their own raft. They disappeared around a bend, and dread began to settle in. Within hours, they were scrambling to repair their raft after being sucked into a sinkhole. While repairing it, a nearly naked man with a spear glared at them from the opposite bank. Despite his menacing appearance, they kept their heads down as they drifted away.

After hours of separation, we spotted their bare-chested figures bobbing toward us. As we approached journey's end, Brighton's eyes were glazed over like dim light through clouded glass. Slipping through jungle mud, we dragged ourselves toward the hacienda.

A figure emerged from the shadows—barefoot and bare-chested with wisps of feathers adorning his head. Like a guardian of secrets, he appeared shrouded in timeless wisdom. Without a word, he gently scooped Brighton from Kath's embrace and laid her on a makeshift bed. He began to chant—a hypnotic melody infused with humid jungle air.

He drew three smooth black stones from his pouch, placing them on Brighton's stomach. Santiago presented him with a burlap swatch, water basin, and curious-looking egg. He pressed the egg against Brighton's arms and stomach with circular motions, then placed it in water. Iridescent colors streamed off the eggshell. After Santiago reappeared with emerald-colored slime, the potion's effects were swift and miraculous. Brighton's fever dissipated as color returned to her cheeks. "Is there something to eat? I'm hungry!"

Unable to comprehend the shaman's healing ritual, we were awestruck at the miracle we had witnessed. The jungle had given us back our girl.

The next morning, we learned his name was Alejandro, a traveling shaman who possessed the knowledge of a naturalist. Like other shamans of Amazonia, he might someday find a cure hidden in the bark of a tropical tree. The annals of ancient pharmacopeia reveal how traditional medicines play vital roles in developing modern drugs.

The Machiguenga tribe, avoiding anything we might recognize as "progress," follow a matrilocal order and practice eco-smart agriculture with tools considered primitive by others. As empires crumbled and nations faded, the Machiguenga remained, their culture intact—timeless guardians of future discoveries.

Perhaps we should pay closer attention to our own curiosities and nature's whisperings. Curiosity is the great leveler, the great teacher. A brief time spent with curiosity will teach us more about ourselves than a hundred years of indifference.

While yesterday's trials grow dim, tomorrow's allure is bright and untamed, whispering promises of adventures yet unseen. What it reveals may be exhilarating, but with it comes the truth that some adventures, once experienced, cannot be undone. And so, we march on beyond the next horizon, captivated by boundless possibilities only curiosity can reveal.

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Barrie Brewer is an adventure seeker with a background in organizational development and process engineering. He is the chief executive of The Syloet Leadership Academy. Working closely with C-level executives from a variety of organizations around the globe, he and his team have helped both nonprofit and commercial enterprises of all sizes leverage their assets and operating capacities beyond pro forma expectations. He has authored a handful of articles on “agile/lean” business practices.