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Oh, my God, my head aches.
I hate Caipirinhas.
They’re the Devil’s juice and that’s a fact.
Slouching in the back of a taxi en route to Manaus Harbor, I stare out the window wishing my sunglasses were darker or the Brazilian sun was weaker. I swear, if I hadn’t pre-paid for this Amazon River cruise, there’s no way on God’s green earth that I’d be awake. I’d sleep the day away, and then I’d chug coffee like it was going out of style.
Instead, here I am in a fried food- and cigarette-smelling car, hungover as hell, about to embark on a 6-day river cruise that will take me to the place I’ve chosen to spread my father’s ashes: Miraflores, a tiny town on the banks of the Amazon.
Why? Because the lingerie company he built from nothing—to become a rival of La Perla in both quality and value—is called Miraflores. He never told me why he named his “other” baby Miraflores, but when I saw the town on a map of the Amazon, I knew.I knew. And I wasn’t surprised. Just like I wasn’t surprised when Desidério told me yesterday that I was named after an Amazon princess. It made sense. I just wish I’d known sooner, and had heard it personally from my dad
Speaking of Desidério, however, thank God for small mercies: I didn’t run into him on my way from my room to the check-out desk to the cab. I’m still annoyed about the way he brushed me off after flirting with me and calling me “bonita,” but I’m not feeling great about the way I treated him. I wanted him to feel as cheap as possible, and I could see—from the anger in his eyes—that I succeeded. And while that fact might have given me a little satisfaction at the time, in the very bright, very sobering, light of day, I feel ashamed. He didn’t owe me anything. I had no right to expect his interest, or to punish him when he withheld it.
A wave of nausea washes over me and I roll down the window, breathing deeply of the fresh, warm air. Reaching for the bottle of water between my thighs, I raise it to my lips, sipping gingerly, and praying to God I don’t vomit in this poor man’s taxi.
My stomach levels out just as the cab parks at the marina.
“Aí está,” he says, catching my eyes in the rearview mirror before exiting the cab to get my bags from the trunk.
I pay the fare, then hoist my purse and duffel bag onto my shoulder. I take the handles of two rolling suitcases and schlep across a hot parking lot to an anchored boat named “Amazon Sinfonia,” my home for this week.
It’s a beautiful boat, made of glistening honey-toned wood and sleek black stainless steel, with eight enormous windows on either side of the ship marking the placement of sixteen luxury cabins. I researched several river cruises before deciding on this particular ship, with its jacuzzi, massage room, auxiliary canoes (with ergonomic seats!) stored on board the boat, and award-winning rainforest-to-table cuisine.
One look at this gorgeous vessel tells me I made the right choice.
“Senhorita!”calls a man in a white polo shirt, standing by the gang plank. “Você precisa de ajuda?”
Because I have no idea what he’s saying, I nod. “Uh... passenger?”
“Ah, yes!” he says, rushing to take my suitcases and duffel bag.What a relief.“Welcome, miss. Welcome to the Amazon Symphony!”
“Thank you,” I murmur, out of breath. I take a swig from my water bottle, desperate for a comfortable bed and a long nap.
“Your name, miss?” he asks, preceding me down the gangplank.
“Marino. Yara Marino.”
“You did the pre-check-in?” he asks, pausing before embarkation to look at his smartphone.
“Yes. This morning.”
“Ah, yes,” he says, clicking on the screen before shoving it into the back pocket of his pressed khaki shorts and continuing forward. “The single American lady.”
Why this shorthand for my situation makes me prickle is beyond me. I can’t fault him on accuracy. I nod, following him down a ramp and into a small, elegant dining room.
It’s strange that there’s no check-in desk or concierge. Just a dining room with six round tables, each bearing place settings for six, complete with starched white linens and glistening glasses.
“I’m Lucas. Follow me, Miss Marino,” says my new friend, breezing through the dining room, onto a gleaming, polished outdoor deck and down two narrow sets of pristine wooden stairs. I find myself in a paneled hallway, plush carpet beneath my feet, cabin doors on either side and pictures of Amazon flora and fauna framed on the walls. It’s a tight space, but not unpleasant. Cozy. Rich.
“Here we are. Cabin 6. Deck one, for one.”
I consider giving him a look, but I don’t sense he’s trying to be offensive in driving home my single status, so I follow him into the room, anxious to confirm my lodgings are as advertised: a queen-sized bed overlooking the Amazon, with sliding doors to a shared deck, rainforest shower in the bathroom, and top-drawer amenities all around.
I am not disappointed.
In fact, I sigh with pleasure looking at the soft, white cloud of bed, beautifully made with a starched white comforter and plenty of gold-toned velvet throw pillows. And the view.Sigh, again.The view of the Amazon from my open curtains is...amazing.
“You like it?” asks Lucas, rolling my suitcases to the foot of the bed and placing the duffel bag beside them. “Nice, yes?”
