LITMIR.BIZ

      Are you going, too?

      That’s what all my friends wanted to know.

      Um, no thanks.

      This journey reminded me of how our Moroccan affair began with the family of farmers who supply us with the henna we use in our Earth Henna Tattoo Kits. Pascal was the one who made the initial trip out to the isolated and inhospitable desert terrain where, before his arrival, the family had only once before in their lives been visited by a foreigner—and she was a scientist on research assignment for a book. I did eventually visit the family, and enjoyed myself tremendously—we were welcomed like royalty, and the stopover included an unforgettable traditional henna session administered by the loving matriarch. However, although I was thankful for the firsthand experience, and have been feeling the call to return, it wasn’t the kind of trip that was high on my wish list. It took a full day’s drive through utterly desolate country to get there (Please don’t let the car die out here, I kept thinking). The conditions are very harsh, with unbearably dry, gusty winds that made it difficult to see and breathe. There was no running water, electricity, or even a latrine (going to the bathroom consisted of digging a hole in the sand). And even though our hosts pleaded with us to stay awhile, after two days I worried that every scrap of food we ate was one less morsel they would have for themselves. After all, these are people with few means, and we were their guests. And there was no way they would take money from us for food. Pascal’s upcoming jungle adventure sounded like much the same—only humid.

      In my book, Sex, Cheese and French Fries, which takes a humorous look at the challenges of a cross-cultural marriage between an American woman (me) and a French husband (Pascal), there is one chapter titled “I married Indiana Jones”—and I’m not kidding! Pascal is perfectly suited for this kind of trip. He thrives on exploring undiscovered territory. He is exactly the kind of guy you’d want to be stuck with on a desert island, because he’d figure out how to survive, somehow. And he possesses an internal navigation system that is hardwired into his genes. As for me? To find my way home, my instinct is to line the road behind me with bread-crumbs inevitably eaten by vultures that prey on idiots who don’t know how to read a compass. This trip entailed flying into Lima, Peru, taking another flight to a small town, then another flight to an even smaller military outpost, and from there taking an eight-hour canoe ride to the first of several tribal villages. I thought my husband should go first, and tell me all about it upon his return. In the meantime, I went shopping for a Temple of Doom-style hat-and-whip ensemble for him to wear.