Angels in the Peruvian Amazon: Matt and Debra St. John

Editor’s note: While our focus is on luxury travel, we also champion travel that gives back. If you have participated in charitable travel, please tell us about it in the comments.

As an itinerant travel writer and photographer who has set foot in some of the most remote places in the world, I have had the privilege to experience and interact with people and cultures who embrace the joy in life, live simply, and understand and appreciate their natural surroundings. However, many lack basic necessities: clean water, medicine, a nutritional diet, and basic education.

I have made the Peruvian Amazon my second home the last three years. And in the process, I have encountered many individuals who come to the Amazon and give love, respect, food, clothing, medical supplies, and hope to the riberenos – a term used to describe those living in the vicinity of the Amazon River.

Many come to share their faith, others come to understand the biodiversity, while still others come to attend to the medical needs of these resilient people. But few come with the open arms and caring hearts that I have personally witnessed in a doctor/nurse team I met about a year ago from Alabama. Their names are Matt and Debra St. John.

I was originally going to tell their story and pepper my interview with their quotes. But in the process, I discovered that the story they tell is so compelling, it’s best that you read their intentions and deeds in their own words:

The Year the Amazon Ruined Our Lives

Three years ago, our lives were ruined in the Peruvian Amazon. My wife, Debra, and I had spent years traveling to extraordinary places and meeting remarkable people. Travel had become part of our rhythm. But every time we returned home, a quiet question lingered: were we simply consuming experiences? We didn’t want to just visit beautiful destinations.

We began asking ourselves a harder question: what if we made every effort to leave a place better than we found it? Not by arriving as self-important outsiders looking for charity work, but by listening first – by building relationships, identifying real needs, and serving where invited.

The idea began taking shape during the Covid-19 pandemic. While much of the world shut down, we loaded our children into a motorhome and quarantined by traveling Route 66 across America. Along the way, we encountered communities wrestling not only with illness, but with fear. As a naturopathic doctor and a registered nurse, we developed an all-natural immune support protocol using plant compounds and essential nutrients.

We discovered during the journey that many people needed reassurance as much as remedies. Conversations around kitchen tables and in small-town storefronts became reminders that courage is often as contagious as panic.

After that trip, we traveled to Costa Rica, hoping to learn from experienced curanderos practicing traditional plant medicine. The rainforest was beautiful. The wildlife was breathtaking. But we left unsettled. We didn’t find the depth of knowledge we were seeking, and we didn’t make much of a difference either.

Then before my birthday, Debra asked where I wanted to go next. “The Amazon,” I said. Through a connection, we found a guide in Iquitos, Peru. We explained that we didn’t want a tourist experience. We wanted to travel deeper into the jungle, meet authentic healers, and learn.

I was particularly interested in understanding more about Ayahuasca – a often called the “Grandmother Plant” – and whether indigenous healers used it only ceremonially or also in smaller, measured ways within daily practice. We flew into Iquitos by way of Lima and were soon traveling upriver to a small village near Tamshiyacu.

There we met Jayme, a sixth-generation Yagua shaman, and his wife, Sadith, who has lived as a paraplegic in the jungle since she was 13. Jayme carries her on his back using a sling. We found their resilience to be quiet and unadorned.

One afternoon, as Sadith prepared lunch over an open fire, a wild parakeet flew into the hut. I gently cupped it in my hands. To everyone’s surprise, it relaxed and fell asleep. Jayme watched carefully. Later, he told us he felt we had come with sincerity. He agreed not only to teach us about Ayahuasca, but to walk us through its preparation and cultural meaning.

The experience humbled us. It wasn’t spectacle; it was relationship between people, plants, and place. When we returned home, we believed our mission had been accomplished.

But the Amazon wouldn’t leave us. The people. The river. The relentless vitality of the jungle. Something had shifted. We returned.

The villagers were surprised. “The Gringos have something called a bucket list,” one of them told us. “They check the box and never come back.” But we came back to the same village and the same relationships.

On that trip, I noticed a small squirrel monkey tied to a porch. In the region, wildlife is often hunted, and orphaned animals are sold in open markets. When I asked to pet the monkey, people laughed. Instead of biting me, the animal climbed into my arms and pressed its small body against my chest.

An 86-year-old matriarch named Mama Adela watched the exchange. As we prepared to leave – with the monkey – she instructed her grandson to show us their family land. The property stretched from the Amazon River back toward the Tamshiyacu-Tahuayo National Preserve, which is one of the most biodiverse areas on earth. We never imagined owning land in Peru. I actually prefer cold climates.

Yet months later, after navigating legal processes and approvals, we became stewards of that land. Today, that property is home to a wellness center. What began as a visit has become a long-term commitment. Through relationships in the community, we learned about the black-market animal trade in Iquitos.

When young animals are domesticated too early, they can’t survive if abruptly released. Some are sold as pets. Others face far worse outcomes. Because local families trust us, they sometimes contact us when animals need rescue. We have rehabilitated and released monkeys back into protected areas.

We now divide our time between the United States and Peru, maintaining responsibilities at home while continuing the work in Santana. Schools, churches, and families have become partners. What began as a desire to “make a difference” has become something deeper – shared belonging.

More important than this, we have spent the last 3 years developing close trusted relationships and bonds with locals in our village, as well as people in the communities in Belen, New Belen, and other areas in and around Iquitos. We have worked to build kitchens in schools to help circumvent the need for children to roam the streets looking for lunch. This region has an extremely high rate of child trafficking, and when the children can eat at the school, it’s a huge help.

We have worked to provide everything from hundreds of Bibles to churches and individuals, solar power and lights to everyone in our village, and additional healthcare for residents who couldn’t afford or obtain adequate health services from the social programs available to them. We regularly distribute clothes, food, and shoes to the people of our village and to other communities who need help.

Five years ago, if someone had told me this would be our life, I might have laughed and suggested Alaska instead. But the Amazon “ruined” us in the best possible way. It ruined the comfort of visiting without responsibility. It ruined the illusion that fulfillment comes from ease.

It ruined the idea that happiness is found in square footage, sameness, or convenience. Some of the happiest people we know now wake up on wooden floors or in hammocks. They live simply, generously, and close to the earth. Their joy isn’t purchased; it’s practiced.

So yes, our former life was ruined. Or as Debra prefers to say, it was saved. And she’s right.