Guests of the Noke Kuin Tribe
The rarest of rare invitations to the Amazon
Road trip: from the Sacred Valley to the Brazilian jungle and the Katukina tribal reservation
Road Trip
Following an unforgettable ten-day plant medicine retreat, my wonderful brother (and Shaman) Andres and I were invited to join our friends Pajé Penó, Mõcha and Tama on an epic road trip from Peru’s Sacred Valley, to the Noke Kuin village in the Brazilian jungle. We would spend five days as guests of the tribe — an unexpected yet welcome opportunity.
I’d love to be able to talk about the rugged countryside and jaw-dropping views of northern Peru, but for the lion-share of the twelve-hour journey to the Brazilian border, I was fast asleep.
Our trip would involve three legs: a hire bus to manage the twelve-hour trip to the border; a four-hour border taxi driver to ferry us to Rio Branco; then from there, we would pick up a hire car and drive ourselves the last eleven hours to the village in the Katukina indigenous reservation.
A lackadaisical border crossing station between Brazil and Peru
Having awoken from my surprisingly deep slumber, I immediately noticed huge birds littering the sky like ominous bin-liners with insidious plans; their widespread wings laser-guiding them to carrion. This was my first (and by no means last) sight of the black Brazilian vulture.
We stopped in the small town of Brasileia to look for a SIM card shop and acquire some water. With people spread so far and wide, there aren’t a great deal of shops, and it’s common to see retailers carrying their wares in carts. I was greeted by a man selling leather shoes and boots. Also handling repairs, this mobile cobbler trudged up and down the main street, stopping by people from time to time; apparently not attracting much business that day. It struck me as a hard yet necessary way to trade.
During our amble, Andres and I received a different kind of greeting as were stopped by two slightly agitated Federal Police officers. Two men dressed in full military police outfits — two pistols and an assault rifle between them. Following his training, one chap rested his hand on his pistol as he asked for our passports. His partner began rooting around in the public bin next to us — into which I’d just emptied a load of used tissues. The policeman asked Andres what we had thrown in the bin — believing it to be drug wraps. He seemed rather disappointed as I explained I had the “cold from Hell” (the humour of which did not translate at all) and had been collecting snotty tissues in my pocket for some time. After some serious scrutiny of my passport, the two happy chaps conceded and let us go on our way. The whole thing seemed rather surreal to me, as a bloke from the UK currently dwelling in the more peace-loving Balinese countryside, but as Andres bluntly explained “The Federal Police don’t fuck around here, bro!” Advice I stored in the unlikely we happened upon these stern fellas some time in the future…
As our van-load of personalities set off on a long carve through the Brazilian countryside, every shade of green visible to the human eye flashed by us. The landscape was a smorgasbord of farmland and jungle and the long road rolled through it nonchalantly and brutally all at the same time. All-in-all, the entire journey would cover 1,716km; a journey made an unequivocal joy by my musical, jovial, and fun-loving travelling companions.
Cacophonous skies in the rearview
Finally we arrived in Rio Branco — a rather tired looking city in western Brazil. Here, we said farewell to our taxi driver, stopped for food and then picked up the rental car that would be our home for the next eleven hours or so. And then we were off again — this time with me at the wheel, through more beautiful Brazilian countryside.
Not to over-romanticise: it wasn’t all exactly relaxing, as the roads of western Brazil have pot-holes like cliff sides. We chicaned around countless series of road craters, and I wondered for how long this rather unwelcome challenge would be along for the ride. Alas, it transpired that this fun terrain would in fact be for the remainder of the trip. Or at least, for my six hour share of the drive.
I can honestly report that driving on the roads of rural Brazil (partially-blind and in the dark) was some of the most harrowing driving I’ve ever had the misfortune to tolerate. Don’t get me wrong, it was fun, but in a twisted extreme sports kind of way. Rapid reaction motoring, with snaking swerves and road crater or total asphalt-ending moments in every other breath. It felt rather like playing an endless computer game; gaining points by dodging holes, as the long straight road rolled out ahead of us. After six hours, exhaustion took over and I had to hand the wheel over to Andres, who handled the final five-hour stretch entirely complaint-free. I was comatose from there-on, though I recall Andes having to handle a few tricky manoeuvres of his own.
Welcome to the Jungle
We arrived in the Noke Kuin village just before dawn and were unspeakably grateful to be offered two rooms in Mõcha’s house. Andres and I were more than happy with this twist in the plot, as we’d been fully prepared to spend a week in mosquito hammocks in a nearby tree. Walls, roof, and a shower (bucket and clean water) were absolute luxury. The rooms were connected to the kitchen space. Wearily, Andres and I parted at a long table and directly into our adjacent rooms for a lengthy interview with the coma police.
Our ‘driveway’ for the week
The following day, we left early for supplies. The nearest city (circa 60km from the village) is Cruzeiro do Sol. We took Mõcha, Tama and their families to a huge supermarket and to an electrical store. We bought a fridge as thanks to Mõcha for giving up his family’s rooms for us; we also bought enough food supplies to feed five thousand. Or so we thought…
Organised chaos as villagers divide our welcome gift of food
Returning to the village, we were welcomed by a great many members of the community. The kids and mothers swarmed around the car as we unloaded the stash we’d bought for our hosts. I’ve never seen people get so excited by the most basic of foods. Funnily enough, it really was as if we were feeding the five thousand, what with all the loaves and fishes to share. We watched from an open window as they divided the rich supply of bread, fish, rice, coffee, fruits, yoghurts and other goods. I was impressed as I watched this small community calmly working together to evenly distribute their welcome supplies.
Settling in as our hosts feast
As the sun wained on our first day, a group of the young men huddled under a porch — sharing the space with a motorbike which was also quietly keen to stay dry as the tropical rain settled in.
We sat and ate bread and cheese with Pajé and laughed and joked with some of the men. We talked with Mocha’s father, Sheré — the current Cacique (chief). He told us about his twenty-three children; eighteen of which were in our village.
Andres, the Noke Kuin Cacique, Sheré (and me of course)
During our discussion, Sheré explained that in 1998, he was the first villager to share the Ayahuasca with the other villages. This work spread around Brazil and Chile. He went on to tell us he’d developed a written alphabet for the Noke Kuin language and overseen the construction of the health centre and school. I pointed out that with twenty-three kids, building your own school seemed like a very sensible idea.
Afterwards, Pajé and I sat together on the porch silently watching over his community. I put my arm around the tiny man with the big heart, and I thanked him the best way a guy who doesn’t speak Noke Kuin or Portuguese can communicate with a guy who lives in the jungle: hand gestures and whistling noises (obviously). Apparently over the previous weeks, Pajé, Mõcha, and Tama had noted my idiosyncratic gestures with great amusement, and now, at any given chance, they mimic my gestures and whistling sounds, whilst having a good old giggle to themselves. I’ve been the butt of far worse jokes.
As the men gathered, talked, sang and shared Rapé, the women all worked together in the porches of each other’s wooden houses — balancing babies and preparing fish on their makeshift fires. Whilst this dynamic would likely be criticised by many, all I can unbiasedly account is that there was a sense of unspoken teamwork in both the male music group and the female teams preparing food. Though it did occur to me that one group might well be having the easier ride. This is Noke Kuin village life. A patriarchal arrangement.
A regular occurrence in the village as the men ‘jam’, singing Noke Kuin ceremonial songs and sharing Rapé
Pajé and I sat silently together on the porch as we watched his world go by. And a very tranquil world it is too.
Later as the light all but drained from the sky, Andres and I were sitting on the porch as someone shoved a guitar in his hand. He sang a song in Spanish as a group of villagers huddled around us and listened intently. I wondered if I had the courage to sing and play in front of all those incredibly musical people — and on their home turf too.
As I entered the simple wooden house, the dark corner of the ‘lounge’ was illuminated by a single light bulb and a widescreen TV, pumping out cartoons for the squatting group of small people — all happily making do with an entirely furniture-free floor. Observing them, my mum’s long-gone advice about sitting too close to the TV rang in my ears. Nevertheless, this was not my home and I was a guest. So I left the goggled-eye sprogs to their up-close viewing, very sure they wouldn’t miss a single frame of the animated robot tale they watched with such intent.
Kids and cartoons in the ‘lounge’
Andres and I both needed internet to touch base with a few people, but it turned out that digital connectivity in the village is a little less simple than that which we were used to. Obtaining the right to connect to the outside world involved a five-minute car ride, then some hairy driving up a dark and very hacked and muddy camp entrance. We then had a short walk through the sticks, at which point, we would all huddle around a cell-tower to get free WiFi access. It was fun and oddly communal (in a non-communal-looking-at-phones sort of way). It also made me consider how quickly this rigmarole would likely reduce my data-imbibing Instagram habit.
Huddling around a tower in a field, for WiFi
The excursion was perhaps made more adventurous as, driving back, I failed to escape the muddy holes upon our exit of the camp and we got stuck. Thankfully we had a car full of young folks from the village who’d accompanied us to stream music and send messages to friends. With their help and with guidance from Andres, we eventually managed to free the car and force it up and over the contoured mire, and back onto the solid asphalt surface of the road. Everyone took this is their stride, whilst I quietly thanked my lucky stars for the carefree assistance.
My mosquito collecting net
There is no need for alarm clocks in the village. Since everyone gets their heads down as it goes dark, the kids are up between five and six. And then a musical group of small people, is rapidly formed. Waking up is therefore usually brutal — either by way of a lot of drums and guitars, or the early stifling humidity and the realisation that your mosquito net provided top-draw overnight stay to a fistful of hungry winged critters. Either way, I couldn’t help but wake up rested and happy, as there was a kind of peace to the lack of peace if you know what I mean.
We went to a small market where Pajé bought his Yuca (a low-cost powdered flour which the tribe consume with other foods). Driving through these lands: every once in a while, a residence would pop up in the countryside’s lush green. Simple, stilted wooden structures with tin roofs, surrounded by small clearings. Appearing and quickly disappearing as we carved through the jungle road. Chocolate brown bodied cowboys rode bareback on horses, cantering and corralling their herds across high definition green spaces. Occasionally we’d happen upon a small shack selling something or other, or providing mechanical repairs.
A rare roadside garage, on the BR 364 highway
There’s always something trying to get in your ear in the jungle. Constant buzzes and flashes of some variation of winged imbecile, relentless in reaching its goal (i.e. my ears or face). The countless variations of insects had the resilience of a door-to-door salesman, despite receiving clear indications that I’d prefer my facial space to remain 100% trespass-free.
On the subject of insects: during a pre-dawn visit to the long-drop outhouse, I had to share my experience with a large black spider with unimpressively spiky legs. My voyeuristic friend (which some Googlising suggests may have been a Whip Spider) was as large as my outstretched hand, and sat low to the ground on high alert, as my head torch shone in its beady eyes. I couldn’t decide whether it had plans to pounce, or was rather waiting with anticipation for the moment of my departure. Either way, this was one of the fastest pee-stops of my forty-fours years of existence and every time I returned to the outhouse, I watched out for the eight-legged long-drop guardian, ever-so keen to avoid any further meetings. Actually, we met a few more times after that, and it turned out to be a pretty cool spider. Though I can categorically guarantee, you did not want this bad-boy in your bathroom.
Bathroom buddy
Pigs, chickens, cats and dogs all roam free throughout the village; the people here have indifferent relationships with dogs. Though as I learnt: the indifference is not dispassion, it’s simply that everything here is wild. Everything looks after itself. And the dogs must find their own food in the jungle or around the village if they are to coexist rather than assume the role of ‘pet’. I would see a more familiar canine/human arrangement later on, as some dogs curled up under the hammocks of their owners during their Ayahuasca journeys. Ever the faithful guardians and protectors, as dogs are.
Kitted out with Noke Kuin jewellery and en route to an inter-school event, to support the village
On the second day, Cacique (chief) Sheré invited us to accompany a large group of the village’s young folks, as they would perform some Noke Kuin songs at a large inter-school event in the city. We had such a wonderful time, watching these passionate and talented musicians share their culture with so many onlookers from far and wide. The tribe also had a stand where they sold their stunning handmade jewellery. I watched as the other children from the towns and cities looked on with interest at these kids from the jungle.
A small selection of the tribe’s beautiful handmade jewellery
Returning to village life having been surrounded by all those people and the comfort of a car, I found it surprisingly hard to settle into basic village life all over again. A potentially rougher-than-planned re-entry, as tonight was the night which would be involved in an Ayahuasca ceremony with the tribe. This night we’d be working with Ayahuasca at its very source — in a wooden moloka (meeting place) under the stars, in the Amazonian jungle.
Kitchen Scene
Before the ceremony, Andres and I made food in the kitchen. There was a bloody great downpour of rain and suddenly our moment of peace (and scrambled eggs) transformed into a houseful of life. The family had returned, along with Penó. We shared our food and talked about how the band had done the village proud with their performance.
Chef at work: making do with the bare minimum
As the rain continued to smash down like giant grey water bombs, the kitchen soon filled with whipper-snappers, who quickly queued up for bread, butter and eggs. The lack of furniture and the motivation for play-fuel was just the ticket for the marauding bunch of sproglets. Bemused, I watched them — a standing line of kids all filling their bellies like a swarm of really cute bees.
My adopted buddy: Penó son of Penó
Watching the kids’ faces as they realised we had butter… They spread it as if it were the finest strawberry relish this side of the equator. I’d have worried for their cholesterol had I not been sharing their delight in what I’d previously considered to be a basic pleasure.
The Ceremony
As the sky cleared, the sun, on its was way out, gave pause to assist a fluffy cloud in painting a pretty picture filled with pinks, oranges, blues, and grey. I’d have been rather chuffed if I were that otherwise unassuming cloud. I hung out of the window and watched the kids re-emerge for play and to clean our filthy soaking car with their hands and tee shirts. Dragonflies zipped around my face, dancing together like tropical teenagers on a Saturday night. The simplicity of it all; of the people, was a wonderful scene to imbibe.
Dragonflies zig whilst mosquitos zag, as dusk falls in the village
The scene provided me the opportunity of a huge, conscious breath and I took in a lungful of peace and gratitude whilst standing quietly as the crickets began to chirrup and the toads to croak. The night jungle was beginning to come alive again and it was time for the ceremony.
Shawadana Shenanigans
I don’t know why, but even though this was my ninth Ayahuasca ceremony, I was a little nervous. Not for the next deep healing journey I was about to embark upon, but for the questions I had in my head over whether everyone would join the ceremony, or would we have an audience of observers — all keen to see how we would handle the experience? I meditated through my anxiety as Andres slept like a baby in a hammock he’d secured right across the lounge space.
Arriving at the Moloka, it had been transformed by way of dozens of hammocks tied around the perimeter of the huge circular space. Babies already slept under mosquito nets, as others laid back listening to the musical group which increased in number every minute. I managed to find a space for my hammock near to the music, as I enjoy letting the music guide my journey.
Pajé serves Mõcha with traditional Rapé using a Tepi
The ceremony begins with the rural consumption of Rapé: an ancient tobacco mixed with natural healing plants. Rapé is served by a two-way pipe called a Tepi. The server loads the pipe and then blows the mixture up each of the recipient’s nostrils. It’s an assault on the senses the first few times, as a combination of blocked nasal passage and a feeling of euphoria and light-headedness follows. The tribe believe that the powder opens your third eye, opening you to the spirit realm. More simply put: I suppose it’s like a kind of next-level snuff.
The first time I took Rapé, my subconscious served up unwelcome memories of my days of cocaine abuse, which was most disconcerting. I’ve since changed my perspective on this for a number of reasons, notwithstanding the fact that my days of addiction are long behind me, and the two are in no way comparable. Besides, when in Peru, do Rapé! It’s as simple as that. I believe it to be an exceptional source of centring. Once served Rapé, I enjoy meditating and to meditate with Rapé is to go deep hard and fast; using conscious breath to provide immediate focus.
The Noke Kuin begin using Rapé from a very young age and either serve each other or themselves (using a single-use device called a Kuripe) regularly and throughout their lives. As we sat quietly in the maloka, Mõcha began to come around with his Tepé and I knew the ceremony had started.
A Journey in the Jungle
As the adults waited for their portion of Ayahuasca to be prepared and blessed by Pajé, the children had already been given spoonfuls of the brew and slept into their journeys. Pajé did some bodywork on one of the small boys — a ceremonial energy cleansing of the abdomen, chest and back. The work is designed to transfer negative energy from the body, and then be purged by the Pajé. To watch and experience this process is quite literally supernatural, and one feels for Pajé as he does this work so methodically and selflessly. Another little boy near me began to purge as a mindful elder watched over him. At the same time, I observed two of the elders scanning all the lines of sleeping kids by torchlight — constantly checking in on the little mites as they began their healing journeys. It occurred to me how lucky these kids are to have the magic of this plant available to them at such a young age. To be shown fresh perspective of self and oneness; to learn the inner most laws of love and appreciation at such a young age… Surely this meant they were gifted with the power to avoid the relentless scaling of humanity’s layers on their mental and spiritual psyches?
My mosquito-proof bed for the Ayahuasca journey
Andres was invited to take the Uni (the Noke Kuin world for Ayahuasca), followed shortly by me. After drinking the brew — which is not the most pleasant of flavours — I retired to my hammock to meditate. Others took turns afterwards, going around in the circle until the entire gathering of around forty people had ingested the brew. And then came the typical moment of calm, as each and every one of us sat peacefully, letting the medicine work its way through our bodies. Then, as Mõcha began singing, the people began to activate again — sharing Rapé and joining in with the singing. The songs continued, with more voices and more instruments. Drums, guitars, and the charango (a South American ukulele). The group was alive and as one — from small babies to elderly adults. The Ayahuasca coursed through all of us, setting us off on our own personal journeys.
I felt the first wave rush through me and as I closed my eyes, distant shapes of brightly-coloured sacred geometry began to slowly twist and turn towards and around me. The rush increased; that eye-hugging feeling, leaving a wonderful sensation through my energy field. As the warmth and the images grew stronger, I breathed deeply and consciously, taking me further into the blissful space, so bountiful with untold healing information. Who knew what the medicine would show me this time? Which long-forgotten concepts or subconsciously suppressed memories might be shown and released for me to examine and let go forever?
All that was left for me now was to buckle up and enjoy the ride. And so buckle up I did. And then down, down the rabbit hole I went.
Integration
The details of my journey are for me alone. Suffice to say that I shall never forget my ceremony with the Noke Kuin as long as I live. It was a truly wonderful experience, like Christmas and Easter all rolled into one bun and wrapped up in a gently rocking hammock, covered in gravy, with a side portion of roast potatoes to boot. It’s impossible to retain all the information one experiences during a plant medicine ceremony, though it is undoubtedly stored at a subconscious level, which will serve me as and when my future existence has need to call on this data. In fact, the medicine really is an intrinsic opportunity to reboot. The journey and the purging process clean and revitalise my spirit, body, and mind. A metaphysical reset, taking on new (yet ancient) concepts and methodologies of how to be. You see, for me, this journey of mine keeps coming back to a number of common themes. One of which is the distinction between being and doing. Human being or human doing. I once struggled with the notion of this shift in consciousness, yet now that’s simply no longer the case. Perhaps that’s one of the greatest gifts that Ayahuasca gave me? I know for sure there are — and will be — many more such gifts.
As the cacophonic child-noise-generated alarm clock began to sound in the maloka around 07:00, I’d had two and a half hours sleep. I dozed off again and eventually awoke at 08:30. A visit to the long-drop (yeah, Spidey was there), followed by a lengthy bucket-shower, left me feeling cleansed and fresh. This would be my last Ayahuasca ceremony for a while, having already undergone a heady programme of Wachuma and Kambo medicine sessions back in Peru. Needless to that the past three weeks had been a marathon of consciousness expansion and spiritual and physical healing. It was now time to begin the reintegration process — back into the real world. Thankfully, the ‘real world’ I was currently inhabiting was a tiny laidback back village in the jungle — where the people cooperate and communicate, and oneness and peace prevail. An entirely wonderful place to take some time to reflect and meditate. And so for the next few days, I did just that. Talked, laughed, sang, meditated, ate and slept.
In Search of the Frog
We had a rare rain-free night, so we set out in the bush to go in search of the Kambo tree frog. I figured, what with me being so intimate with its poison, it would be nice to meet one. Cacique Sheré, Pajé Penó, and Tama led the way, with Andres and I in tow – excited to find one of these luminous green reptilians.
Entirely free from light pollution, the black sky was thick with stars. We walked along the roadside for about fifteen minutes. Just before we turned off the road, a beautiful shooting star zipped across the sky right in front of us before burning out as it entered the atmosphere. As if my expedition couldn’t be anymore perfect; a shooting star waves a fond farewell during my final night in the jungle.
We’d been off the road for all of five minutes, when we heard the distinct call of the frog. Tama and Sheré took the lead as Andres and I followed — me in full camo gear and boots. As my head torch shone down at Tama’s feet, I chuckled at my cautionary outfit noticing the fellas weren’t even wearing shoes. Perhaps my concern for spiders and snakes was melodramatic after all. Still, it kept the Martin-hungry mosquitos off of my legs and arms for a short while at least.
We all stood under some trees by the water’s edge — completely silent and with our torches off. It was pitch black under the trees and I took this brief opportunity to close my eyes and have a few cheeky conscious breaths — centring on the noises of the living jungle and the sound of the air in my lungs. Such an awesome moment. And then Sheré began mimicking the call of the frog. We stood like that, with Sheré frog-calling in the blackness, for around five minutes. And then the frog began calling back. It conveniently transpired that we were standing very close to it. Andres shone the torch high up in the trees, on the bright white belly of the massive green hopper and I simply looked up in wonder. Perching on a 15ft high branch of a tree — just like a bird — was the Kambo frog. I’ve always used the words “tree frog” (granted, not all that often) without really considering the concept. It’s a frog. In a tree. Like a bird. But not a bird. It’s a frog! A tree frog in fact.
As Tama quietly disappeared into the undergrowth, I considered the fact that he was half my size, and subsequently wondered how on Earth he intended to cajole the frog from its perch. Shortly thereafter, my answer came trudging out of the foliage, in the shape of Tama carrying a huge bamboo. Without breaking his stride, he raised up the bamboo until it was right under the frog. To my surprise, our new green pal simply stepped onto it and was instantly fished out of the tree and brought back down to eye level for a human encounter. Such a huge and agile creature — placid and trusting of us from the get-go. Andres and I took turns careful handling it and allowing it to climb on us. The Kambo frog is a really stunning creature to look at. Naturally it secreted its venom onto our hands, so we were careful to wash immediately afterwards (don’t try this at home, kids. Neural toxins are not for the faint hearted…). And that was that! We placed Kermit back in a nearby tree, and off we trotted back to the road — and onto the nearby cell tower, for one last blast of connectivity before we returned to the camp for our final evening.
FOND FAREWELLS
Despite their huge hearts, the Noke Kuin are all quite small in stature. Which makes hugging them all the better, as an embrace from these people can be felt on a whole other level. They have a very peaceful existence and thus exude tranquility and love.
Pajé in full ceremonial attire
Throughout my weeklong stay, I detected no resentment, heard no raised voices or frustration. Everyone communicates calmly and often, and everyone helps one another without the necessity for words. It is a community in the purest sense.
Mõcha: the ‘Axel Rose of the Amazon’
In fact, their language lacks many words which we use in our everyday lives: two of note being ‘necessity’ and ‘problems’. I love the idea of a life and a language that has no place for problems…
Thumbs up from my wonderful friend, Penó
It was time for Andres and I to say goodbye to our wonderful new friends — many of which of course Andres already knew so well. It was late as we left. I hugged Pajé and gifted him my Balinese sarong as a way in which I hoped he would remember our encounter — one which I would undoubtedly hold in my heart forever. I hugged Möcha, Sheré and Tama warmly and shook hands with many more. And as I slowly moved the car down the dirt track, Andres and I sighed a great lungful of love for these people who had welcomed us into their hearts and homes with open arms. Driving into the dark, images of those smiling faces zipped through my mind like an exotic flip book of wonder. And then in a flash, I was on the straight and crater-filled road again. The long road back to Peru, then onwards to Chile, and then ultimately back into the gentle and loving arms of Bali.
I spent decades on a doggedly determined quest for success, yet now all I seek is harmony. To have a taste of such a simple way of life, filled with me gratitude and harmony in abundance. Something which I shall never, ever forget.
I don’t know what my future may bring and thankfully I stopped worrying with such futility some time ago. All I can do is live mindfully and in the present; every once in a while, accessing my subconscious for reminders of how to be. One thing is for sure above all else: I’ve fallen in love with being. And spending time with the Noke Kuin tribe reminded me once again of the deep value in humility, and in maintaining the high vibration of gratitude.
Standing under one of the village’s Samaúma sacred trees
With Heartfelt Thanks
Thanks to Pajé Penó, Mõcha, Tama, and the people of the Noke Kuin tribe for allowing me to document their way of life and for their unequivocal hospitality. And thank you to my dear friend Andres, without whom this unforgettable experience would simply not have been possible.
