following dante out of limbo

According to jungle legend, there was a time when the Living and the Dead lived together in the same land. After some time the chief, Kumokums, had to build another village on another bank of the river so that there would be space for everyone. Before long these two towns got so crowded that he made a deal with the chief of the underworld to allow the Dead to go live with him, and make room for the Living in Kumokums' domain.

But when Kumokums' daughter died and went to live in the Land of the Dead, he was devastated, and he went to the porcupine to ask how to get her back. "Look, dude," the porcupine said. "You made the dead go live down there; you deal with it." But Kumokums couldn't live with it, so he set off on a heroic journey to reason with the chief of the underworld and get his daughter back.

At first the chief of the dead agreed with the porcupine, but after listening to Kumokums beg for what seemed like forever he said, "I'll tell you what. You can take your daughter back to the Land of the Living, but you have to just lead her by the hand and not look back until you see the sunrise, or she will have to live with me forever."

So Kumokums thanked the other chief and took his daughter by the hand, and they started walking. As they walked the sky got lighter and lighter, and he felt the skin and flesh coming back to his daughter's hand. She was back to normal just in time for the sun to rise, but before it had crested the horizon, he looked back...

And saw nothing but a pile of bones turning to dust and blowing back toward the Land of the Dead.

***

Ovid tells almost the exact same story in Latin, about Orpheus, king of the Kikonians and possibly the Macedonians. Orpheus, though, goes to the Underworld to bargain with Hades for his wife instead of his daughter. Like Kumokums, he cannot hold his excitement until sunrise. As he turns to gaze lovingly at Eurydice, she slides back into Hades, never to be seen again.

***

My time is coming to ascend (or descend, or sidle, depending on which way you turn the map) out of my Hemispheric Limbo. I have recently climbed out of (or into) Citizenship Limbo, with passports in-hand from both my country of birth and my country of residence (although residence is kind of a limboistic term too, since I don't really have a fully-functioning address anywhere). This summer has given me a sense of solid ground to put my sea legs on after years of rowing across the Styx. I may have just been kicked out of the boat for running out of money to pay my way, but I'm not complaining.

I have chosen to follow Dante out of Limbo because he seems to be the only one to leave his companion, who happens to be an angel, in one piece. Also, since he is descending into the Inferno, sliding down wouldn't be such a bad way to go. It might actually be easier. And he eventually comes out into Paradise on the other end, after a very educational journey through the Circles of Hell. (I actually found the Inferno more entertaining than Paradiso, so I can't see any disadvantage to taking this route.)

The descent happens to be gorgeous. We watch the mountains unrolling in front of us on our way out of Quito toward the jungle on Friday -- the windshield magnifies the same scenery from "Proof of Life" showing on the wobbly little TV screen right above it. Three hundred meters above sea level we get into a long, covered motorboat that makes me feel like I've just jumped into "Amazon Trail," and then around another bend our hotel rises straight out of the river and the jungle in front of us: La Casa del Suizo.

***

It wouldn't take much to believe the story about Kumokums after a few days of exploring the river settlements and learning what the people have always known. We learn first-hand the genius of building rafts out of rope and surprisingly light balsa logs, the medicinal properties of dragon's blood (which comes from a tree called the drago), and how to make the grass roof of a hut last 20 years or more just by burning a fire 22 hours out of the day. We taste the different vintages of chicha: yucca fermented for 7 days tastes like bland coconut milk, while the 12-day variety tastes like wine. A big bowl of that in the morning keeps the workers satisfied all day when there is nothing else to eat, not even the roasted palm tree grubs that taste like chicken skin. ¡Qué rico! One of our guides, Ruben, demonstrates a traditional dance to a tune played by hitting his palm against the waxed open end of a turtle shell. He comes from a family of shamans, so we stop in a clearing in the forest while he sings and sweeps away our impurities with a noisy brush made out of leaves. Freddy weaves a crown for Megan out of a palm leaf and gives her a bright red lip-like flower (labios ardientes) to send flying kisses to the cameras.

We visit an animal rescue center with cages full of naughty monkeys, noisy birds, capybaras in danger of being eaten by the locals ("giant cuy") and an ocelot whose smelly spray easily reaches two meters -- Katie, trying to take a close-up photo, got it full in the face. Later on that afternoon we take turns swinging on a rope from the slippery rock out into the water. Some of us are more glamorous than others: Jose manages a full flip in the air, while I can hardly keep my feet from smacking the water on the way out. We spend the last morning sifting for gold with a wooden basin. Freddy explains that some families can make $1000 in a day of working, but that they often come down with rheumatism from bending over the water in the hot sun all day. In half an hour we came up with a decent flake or two and a lot of gold dust sparkling in the black iron sand.

Freddy invites us all out one night to a little bar on someone's property, and it is empty when we arrive. I have to start the party, and by the time the locals start showing up all of us are dancing our feet off. After awhile police sirens cut through the music, the lights come on, and a big man in a tan uniform walks to the center of the dance floor and yells, "Anyone underage needs to leave now!" In the US we would have been gone, but we stay, sitting quietly in the corner waiting for the music to start up again. Some middle-aged drunk guys surrender themselves to the power of the law, but the cop ignores them and walks outside, where he stays parked with his lights flashing, talking to his friends at the party.

We spend the last night in Termas Papallacta, easily the nicest hotel of my life, lounging in the hot pools. The air is crisp and cool and the freezing waterfall thunders down the rocks meters away from our rooms, but we are cozy in the steaming spring water and the woolen blankets in our rooms.

***

Then it's goodbye, and I spent Wednesday sitting in the hotel thinking about all my friends meeting each other in the Miami airport. I'm halfway between my new friends and my old friends, soon-to-be new again, looking forward to being with one or the other, back in my comfort zone, out of limbo.

I'm starting to realize that maybe living in limbo is the way it's supposed to be, or at least that when we leave one limbo we end up jumping straight into another one. I just need to get comfortable with jumping from limbo to limbo bent over backwards (without cheating!) just like I've gotten comfortable with whizzing across thousand-foot gorges in metal baskets, floating down potentially anaconda-filled rivers in a tube and a life jacket, letting go of my harness to fly upside down over mountainous jungle, riding up to the top of active volcanoes in little cable cars or in a bus swaying back and forth over slippery precipices... Life is an adventure and I wouldn't have it otherwise, and even the things I do that don't make my heart batter my ribcage are worth it, whatever "it" happens to be.

To be perfectly honest, I'm ready to have a slow-and-steady heartbeat for awhile. Only a few days remain to get my adrenaline kicks! My plan? Climb to the top of the un-guardrailed Basilica tower and look over my 'hood: the city where I was born.