When I learned to draw as a child, I was constantly told to, "stay within the lines". Like a good middle child, I tried my hardest to obey and please by not crossing those thick black boundaries. As an adult, I have come to realize that this standard, "vanilla" way of living inside the lines is not always the best way to live. Sometimes, outside those lines, there are experiences that are the rich-dark-chocolate-with-spicy-chili-pepper moments of life--the kind that make my mouth water, my throat burn, and my taste buds dance. Anyone who knows me is aware that when there is a high cacao content chocolate bar in the vicinity, especially when it is accompanied by an unlikely pairing such as green tea, coconut curry or chili pepper, the vanilla gets tossed over my shoulder as I sprint towards the taste sensation and, if need be, knock over any Grannies in my way. Finding value outside the lines is especially true with travel. When we visited the Amazon, we didn't want to simply view the sights from the side of a large boat passing through. Instead, we wanted to get our feet wet and hands dirty to really explore the nooks and crannies of the vast jungle. Boy, did we ever.

Our experience there was spectacular and mind-changing, but in a subtle way. The wildlife doesn't just hang out in plain view like they do in Africa; in the Amazon, quite the opposite is true. Aside from a few species, most animals are camouflaged and very difficult to spot. Piranhas, electric eels and caimans are well-hidden in the murky waters, while anacondas look like vines in trees, and dinner-plate spiders look like just another spot on a tree trunk. However, if you do look closely you will, if patient, quietly see life everywhere you look--two-toed sloths, pink dolphins, brilliant macaws, green poison dart frogs, howler monkeys, colorful toucans, and giant anteaters too. The plant life, however, is impossible to avoid. No need to look closely here. It is more diverse, more dense, and more abundant than anywhere else on Earth. Each time you look at a tree or bush, it seems that you see a pod or a flower or fruit that you have never laid eyes on before, even in a photo.

One night, we opted to leave the comforts of our rustic jungle lodge and sleep a few miles away in the wild jungle with nothing but a hammock and mosquito net. As we got ready to go to sleep, Chris prepped me to survive the night by re-spraying me with bug spray from head to toe as I held my breath. We jumped under our mosquito nets and secured the bottoms with rocks quickly to keep any determined little buggers out. Then, I slipped off my boots and, with my thick hiking socks still on, wrestled with the hammock to find a comfy position as the jungle really came to life. There were so many chirps, squeaks, rib-bits, and howls that it was as if every animal and insect on earth was within 10 feet of us. It had been virtually silent during the day compared to what we were hearing now. My eyes grew wide in the darkness as I imagined what creepy crawlies were out there. I hardly felt a sense of security with the net around me as I laid there with wide, cartoon-like eyes listening to the cacophony of sounds made by millions of living things singing together in harmony. At sunrise, I was the first to wake up as I heard a mosquito buzzing around my ear. I saw that there were at least 50 mosquitos who had found their way into my net. Panicked, I examined my arms and legs--no bites! Phew--that spray had done its job. As I put my feet into my boots to escape the mosquitoes caught in my net before they got a hold of me, I felt a searing burn run from my feet up to my brain. I pulled my socks down and saw over a hundred bites per foot. It dawned on me that I had my boots on while Chris applied bug spray to me, and so the spray had not penetrated my shoes nor covered my socks. The fat, juicy Amazon mosquitoes had eaten me up right through my thick hiking socks, only an inch from where my bug spray-doused pants lay. I sighed and grimaced as I pulled my boots on and loosened the laces in hopes of reducing the itch-sensation. It didn't work. I wondered how the locals dealt with things like this--did they build a resistance as they grew older, or were they of such different DNA that the bugs did not bother them? I don't think I would have survived long on my own in the Amazon.

The deeper we went, the more we found that the locals had solutions to many of these "issues" which one could encounter. They knew how to use the jungle to their advantage. Practically everywhere you looked, there was a flower that could be used as some sort of medicinal remedy, an animal that had an alternative function (e.g. army ants are used to suture open wounds!), a fruit whose pulp could be used as a dye or even a temporary tattoo, or edible pods and berries that your local specialty grocery store never even imagined existed. It seemed like we pointed at a new, crazy looking plant every 15 minutes with our mouths agape, asking what in the world that was to which our guide would laugh and explain its use. At one point, while trekking through the jungle, our guide pointed at a tree covered with thousands of bustling ants then placed his hand on the tree trunk, right in the center of the action, allowing the ants to start crawling up and down his arm. He then smeared them all over his skin which released a sweet, citrus-like scent, reminiscent of citronella. These ants were not only harmless, they provided repellant against the insects out here that do bite and cause problems. I couldn't even imagine how many other animals or plants out here had magical powers.

While the locals for generations have passed down knowledge of how to utilize the plants and animals in the rainforest, life is still very simple in the Amazon. Houses were, at most, two rooms and built on stilts over the river with roughly cut boards and no mosquito netting or electricity. Boats that floated out front were basic, handmade, and had small motors if any. Our guide took us to one local family's house for a visit and what we saw was brand new to us. They were finishing the butchering of their cow which they had begun days earlier. Owning a cow was a rarity, so this family must have been fairly well off. We tried to stay out of their way but were still surrounded by pools of blood, piles of skin, and entrails which the locals dogs were sneaking bits of and running off into the woods to devour. The major chunks of meat were hanging from the front porch dripping blood all over the walkway and remaining there to "dry" in the hot, humid Amazon environment. It was kind of like attempting to dry a piece of meat in your mouth. My eyes got wide as I saw that much meat, that much potential food, hanging there in the open air with no electrical outlet--thus no refrigeration--for miles, and wondered how that would turn out. It hit me like a ton of bricks how sheltered we were from this scene coming from America where cows are butchered somewhere else, somewhere I don't have to think about, with meat displayed in tidy packages with plastic cling wrap and stickers at brightly lit grocery stores. As we took in the scene here, we saw the harsh reality of this particular slaughter: the cow had been pregnant with an almost full-term fetus. Somehow, they didn't know she was pregnant. The sights, unbelievable as it may seem, were not as grotesque as the stench of the days-old carcass strewn about which was so overwhelming that I thought I might vomit if I got any closer, no matter how much I told myself to play it cool and not put my bandana over my nose so as to not offend the family who was letting us visit. There were children running around in ratty, dirty clothing with no shoes as the mixture of mud, blood, and grass squished between their toes. Even though much of this scene went against everything I knew to be "right" in my world, this was "right" to them. That meat was going to feed many people for a long time...somehow, it worked.

As we began our long canoe ride home, we heard a putt-putt-plllbttt of the motor dying as we drifted to a glide. Our guide lifted the single paddle from the bottom of the boat and pushed us closer to the riverbank. As Chris and I were having visions of floating along the river for hours, we finally came across a family working in front of their home asked for help. Luckily, in places like this, one need only look as far as the next neighbor to find a few tools and someone who knows something about boat motor repair. The shirtless, tanned patriarch came to the shore to meet us, then proceeded to tinker with the motor to see what was wrong. His curious, shirtless seven-year-old daughter peeked out shyly from behind a tree to watch. I employed my 20 words of Portuguese to say hello to her, ask her name, and ask how old she was. She was an incredibly gorgeous girl who may not have ever seen her reflection except in the river's surface by the looks of the simple, rustic, virtually see-through house that she lived in. I wondered if I had anything from "my world" to share with her so I rummaged through my backpack to see what I could find. Nothing but a penny and a pen. I offered her the pen and then the penny and told her they come from the same place as us. Her face lit up and she smiled from ear to ear as she accepted it and then ran off into the woods. She returned moments later with several dozen açaí berries held by a gourd. After situating herself on the riverbank, she washed them off and handed them to me one by one. Apparently, she was so touched by my gift that she wanted to return the feeling. The little girl's shyness melted away with every "Obrigada" she heard from me as she handed me more and more berries. Our trade was interrupted by the sound of her dad coughing as he ciphoned gasoline too enthusiastically into his mouth. With a wave of his wrench-filled hand, he motioned to our guide to start the motor. We heard the familiar hum of the motor as it came back to life. The man smiled at us, stood up and waved, then returned to his work. There was no expectation for payment...just a nod of the head as we called out to him with our thanks.

The decision to visit the Amazon by way of canoe instead of passenger boat gave us just what we were looking for: a close encounter with life in the Amazon. We saw first-hand what it meant to live in the jungle. Sometimes life was carefree and simple, and other times it was difficult and disappointing. There were dangers both in the water and on land, but the locals knew how to navigate them safely. In fact, if a local tells you that it is okay to swim in the river where you just went fishing for piranhas and where your guide just caught a caiman with his bare hands, jump in! (Just make sure you don't have any open, bleeding wounds since that would attract the piranhas. I did have a bruise from where a monkey nibbled on my arm, but it didn't break the skin, so I swam with confidence.) While there were dangers lurking, there were also plants and animals with medicinal properties which, if you knew how to use them, could prevent discomfort, illness, and maybe even death. People worked hard to survive, yet also stopped to help each other with no thought of what it was going to earn them. They worked together to live in this mysterious, vast expanse of botany and wildlife. Traveling outside the lines rewarded us with a lot to think about and showed us that the Amazon really is the proverbial piece of dark chocolate to be enjoyed slowly, listened to, looked at, and savored.