I FaceTime with my parents at least four times a week. But this time, I'm not calling them with a mundane life update or to catch up on the latest adventures in their freewheeling lives as 60-somethings with grown children.
Instead, I'm here to listen as they share their experience taking ayahuasca, a psychoactive brewed drink that originated with Indigenous tribes in South America. In recent years, the consciousness-altering drug has become a hot topic, with its benefits touted by everyone from the NFL quarterback Aaron Rodgers to the actor Megan Fox.
One of its most unexpected advocates is Prince Harry. On a publicity tour for his new memoir, "Spare," Harry divulged to The Telegraph that he'd taken the drug with the help of a professional, and that it had changed the way he saw his relationship with Princess Diana.
In the years after Diana's death, Harry said he'd only cried twice, which made him feel guilty. During his trip, he came to the realization that his late mother "wants me to be happy. This weight off my chest was not the need to cry, it was the acceptance and realization that she has gone."
Harry's trip made me curious about what taking ayahuasca is like, so I asked my parents if they'd share their experience. Growing up, my three sisters and I always felt like we could speak to our mom and dad about almost anything, so I wasn't surprised when they immediately said yes to this interview.
As I learned, their experience had many parallels to Harry's, affecting their relationship to their own parents, to me, and to the nature of life and death itself.
My parents never experimented in their youth, but decided to try psychedelics in their 50s
My dad, Bob Noyen, is Dutch, and my mom, Maria Isabel Melendez, is Puerto Rican. They met studying at the University of Georgia in the 1980s and were married in 1990. Various jobs took them around the world, but we eventually settled in the UK, where I've spent most of my life.
When my dad retired from a currency-management consultancy in 2020, he and my mom, who's a trained yoga and Pilates instructor, put all their focus into their shared dream of running a wellness retreat in Spain.
I've always admired my parents for pursuing their passions, but in the past few years, I've been seeing them more and more for who they really are. They're driven and stable, but also adventurous and curious.
But tripping on ayahuasca was a surprising choice for them because of their upbringings. Neither of them had thought about trying psychedelic drugs until they were in their late 50s.
"We grew up in an era where, let's say, earnest people would not partake in this," my dad said. "The official message from the state or officials was that these substances were potentially harmful."
My dad's perspective began to change in 2008, after he watched Jill Bolte Taylor's TED Talk about what it was like to have a stroke.
"Jill taught me that there is something there, about the brain, about the mind, that requires exploration," he said. His fascination grew from there. In 2019, he decided to attend a three-day retreat where he took magic mushrooms to see if he could recreate aspects of Taylor's "euphoric" stroke experience.
He returned incredibly moved. But my mom wasn't too pleased.
"I wasn't in agreement at the time," she said. "And that comes from the way I was brought up."
Over time, her views shifted. A longtime student of meditation and Buddhism, my mom met like-minded people in her work who had done ayahuasca before. She began to wonder if it could further her practice.
"I got curious," she said. "After talking to your dad, he said, 'Well, maybe we should try it.'"
They chose a well-planned retreat with a trained psychologist
Here's everything I knew about ayahuasca before my parents took it: It's illegal in many places; it can make you vomit; and it's mired in controversy over cultural appropriation.
For thousands of years, Indigenous tribes have used ayahuasca as a spiritual medicine. But in the past several years, scores of tourists have sought to take the brew at retreats, where it's touted as a spiritual and therapeutic treatment.
My parents considered this in their choice of retreat, which was run by a shaman who claimed to have direct ties to the Indigenous community in Peru that supplies the ayahuasca he gives to his clients. He told my parents that the tribe wants to share ayahuasca, which they refer to as the "abuelita" — Spanish for "grandmother" — with the world. The shaman said they consider ayahuasca medicinal, and are "protective" of who they entrust it with.
The shaman, Pedro (a pseudonym because ayahuasca is illegal in Spain), came with strong references from people my parents knew. He's also a licensed psychologist, my parents said, and the retreat, which cost over $1,000 a head, was planned carefully in order to ensure the best chance of a positive trip.
In the days leading up to the retreat, Pedro advised the group of 10 participants to take part in a cleanse, eating minimally and avoiding any stimulants like coffee and sex. (I couldn't help but instinctually say "yuck" to that one — I may have a transparent relationship with my parents, but there are limits.)
Equally important to prepping the body was getting the mind right. My dad said that Pedro conducted one-to-one interviews with each person to gauge their "intention" — what they wanted to get out of their trip. My mom wanted to see if it helped with her spiritual journey; my dad was simply curious about what effect it would have on his brain.
Before the trip, Pedro made the group participate in a few activities like playing tag to make them feel more comfortable with one another.
"As a group, we were excited," my mom said. "It was like going on a big adventure together."
The ritual started in the late afternoon. My parents and their new friends were led into a large space, where 10 mattresses were neatly set up. Each person was given a bucket, in case the brew made them vomit.
They were also told to bring an object with them that would make them feel safe. My mom took four shells with her to represent each of her daughters. My dad brought a seed, a flower, and a decayed flower — to represent the circle of life.
My parents' trips changed their relationship with their own parents, their kids, and how they saw death
According to my parents, ayahuasca tastes like expired Worcestershire sauce and mushrooms. It's thick, too, making it difficult to swallow.
But once you do, there's no going back.
After taking the brew, they were led back to their mattresses by helpers, referred to at the retreat as "angels," and given eye masks. Pedro pressed play on a soundtrack — the kind of music "that takes you on a journey," my mom said. With zero visual stimulation, it began to feel like the music was carrying them away, like gentle waves on the shore.
Around 30 minutes in, my dad started to become sick to his stomach. Other guests began to purge, and some began to cry softly.
My parents began to feel the DMT, the psychoactive chemical in ayahuasca, seeping into their bloodstream. For my dad, it felt like his mind and body were being pulled apart, becoming two separate things. His eyes were closed behind the mask, but he started to see flickering lights, colorful geometric patterns, and swirls.
All of a sudden, he said, he found himself becoming his dad, my grandfather. He was 4 years old, the age his father had been when he lost both of his parents, who'd stepped on a landmine during World War II.
My grandfather never spoke to my dad in detail about the incident that left him and his older siblings orphaned. But my dad could feel his father's deep pain, which he interpreted as generational trauma.
Later, my dad found himself feeling the stress of his parents as teens. Unmarried at 18 and 19 years old, it "couldn't have been easy" to discover they were pregnant with him, he said. He felt an overwhelming sense of love and empathy.
"And then I felt your anxiety," my dad said.
I've dealt with bouts of anxiety since I was a teenager, which has manifested in recent years as an off-and-on struggle with insomnia. I've always been open about it with my parents, but knowing my dad felt as if he actually could step into my shoes was something altogether different. I felt seen.
My dad felt more love than he thought was ever possible to feel, he said. "I live in my brain, and I try to live rationally and intellectually. And love is not a rational thing."
My mom's trip was more centered on the purpose of life and what happens when it's over. As you get older, you start to wonder about what's next, she said.
"I didn't see images of people. I didn't think about your dad. I didn't see you guys. It was for me, a connection with the spirit in the sky," she said.
One vision she remembers seeing was Jesus on the cross. Growing up, the crucifixion was an image of suffering that instilled feelings of guilt inside her. But it was different this time.
"I saw Jesus and I saw him looking at me saying, 'It's going to be OK,'" my mom said. She took that as a confirmation that death is not the end. "It made me a lot happier."
Ayahuasca can be scary, but my parents still recommend it
A month after my parents' first trip, they tried ayahuasca again at a four-day retreat in the Caribbean, which cost around $2,500. The location was beautiful, but it felt less intimate than the first time around, with more participants with whom they felt less of a connection.
When the ayahuasca ritual began, my mom said that it felt like "Dante's inferno" at times.
One woman was making guttural crying sounds; she later told my mother she had flashbacks to being sexually assaulted as a child. Another man writhed around the mattress next to her like he was "possessed," she said, reminding her of Gollum from "Lord of the Rings."
The experience made my mom feel like she was in hell. "We didn't feel the joy we felt the first time," she said. "But there's no light without dark, and there's no dark without light."
Even so, my parents still feel ayahuasca can be a valuable tool for the mind and soul, like therapy or meditation.
"It can give you perspective, it can show your stuff that maybe you are not aware of. In the case of trauma, it can be instrumental to healing," my mom said.
My dad thinks taking the drug could be especially helpful for men, who often aren't given the chance to get in touch with their emotions. "I am absolutely convinced if somebody like Vladimir Putin would've done psilocybin or ayahuasca, he would not be able to send young people to cause harm and to hurt other people that way," he said. "You feel so connected to that understanding that we are all part of this, the same big organism called life, that you cannot go and then harm other life. You cannot."
Ayahuasca is not for everyone. People with a history of schizophrenia or other psychiatric disorders, for example, could see symptoms worsen if they consume it, according to Healthline.
And even for those who can take it safely, it can't heal all wounds and answer all questions.
I've never been interested in ayahuasca. But after hearing about Harry and my parents' experience, I wouldn't rule it out.
At 26, I'm not overly concerned about death yet, or what happens after it. I have a good relationship with the people I love the most in my life, my parents included.
Prince Harry is older than me, and he has dealt with a kind of loss that I can't even begin to comprehend. After speaking to my parents, I can see why he would be drawn to ayahuasca.
As my conversation with my parents drew to a close, I started to wonder whether ayahuasca could one day help me find the root cause of my own anxiety. Is there generational trauma I'm not even aware of that it could bring to the surface? Would I end up feeling the overwhelming love my dad described? Or would I end up being the person writhing around like Gollum?
At this point in my life, my level of curiosity isn't high enough to find out. But I am my parents' daughter — so never say never.