All journeys have secret destinations of which the traveler is unaware. – Martin Buber
The sweltering heats bring me from my slumber in the windowless upstairs room of our private jungle hut. I look over to the only other bed in the small room and Tim is still asleep. The rustling noises from below mean only one thing, Char is awake. I poke my head through the opening in the floor, careful to hold my body from falling with arms stretched out on each side, palms flat against the floor to distribute the weight of my body, just then looking upward from staring into the only mirror in the room below, Char gives me a smile, and we both know that our day is beginning.