The joys of traveling

You have to throw your bags in the stow-away spaces underneath, stuffing and shoving in between various boxes of flowers, plantains and the sophisticated zippers of North Face and Osprey packs from the other extranjeros that have chosen to explore the country. After you secure a spot for your bag and turn around, fingers crossed, hoping this is not the last time you’ll see your life-crammed-into-duffel bag, its generally a chaotic scram up the steps and onto the jam-packed bus with rows the width of your waist. The nice elderly women chanting deals on empanadas, although adorable, only complicate the situation, weaving their way in and out of the maze of passengers trying to locate their assigned seat number, if they have one, which generally go in no sequential order and could range from 1 to 50 (despite there being only 25 seats on the bus). Alas, you will secure a seat eventually. For the next three to six hours you’ll either sleep, read, furrow your brows attempting to decode the peculiar Spanish translations of obscure English movies frequently starring Jean Claude Van Dam …. or you can gaze out the window and absorb the incredible vistas of the ever-changing landscape of Ecuador. Riding out of the Amazon jungle of the Oriente up into the Central Highlands of Ecuador is like nothing I’ve experienced in such a short distance. Five hours from Tena, at the confluence of two of the Amazon River’s most abundant flowing tributaries and I arrived in Banos de Agua Santa, observing the gradual interruption of evergreens and Condors on the tropical rainforest. The clouds hover everlastingly, taunting your senses (and your camera) as the peaks of numerous volcanoes move in and out of sight.

The hillsides on my bus rides through the most biodiverse country in the world

As the bus peddled along the infamous PanAmerican Highway plodding through fragile ecosystems and frail villages I pondered the irony of using this diesel-guzzling machine to make my departure from 7 weeks of work with a Rainforest Conservation Organization. Banos de Agua Santa is a quaint mountain town tucked into the valley of several hills and volcanoes, the most famous of which is Tungurahua from which the province derives its name. Among the many other legends from this small town known as the “Estrella de Ecuador” there is a compelling suite of miracles performed by the Virgen de Agua Santa, the most recent of which was the valiant act of saving the city from the eruption of Tungurahua just three years ago. The city center sits at ~2,000 m (6,000 feet), the statue of the Virgen overlooks her puebla from 3,000 m up, hiking and biking trails weave in and out of the vertical agricultural painted on the hillsides, and natural baths of healing waters heated from the voracious activity of Mother Earth underground are planted all along the periphery. Its a haven for the adventure-seekers and the nature lovers, and a place I could easily allow myself to call home someday.

The hillsides of Banos

Countries like Ecuador are great for people who like to forge their own trail. We began at a legitimate trailhead that was rumored to lead to the Mirador de Volcan at which we could capture some breathtaking views of Tunguruhua. Five hours later we had been rained on, acquired a pet dog we appropriately named Benito, slipped and slid in muddy puddles, passed several greenhouses full of babaco, trekked through farms and backyards and forests, seeing less and less friendly tourists along the way until we finally reached an unmarked, sleepy little bench in between two farms atop a hill. The bench held the words of wisdom, “Ama la Pacha Mama” (roughly, Love mother nature).The clouds were serving their usual plate of frustrating yet beautiful thickness; I wouldn’t have known we reached our destination save for the nice beanie-clad woman hauling boxes in the cold who informed us that the volcano lay just behind us. Pacha Mama finally chose to reward the hikers for their courageous efforts, retreating the clouds for no longer than a thirty-second window of the striking ferocity of Turungahua’s snowy peaks. The descent included lots of trial and error on various trails and muddy pathways until we fell upon a picturesque little red house on the hillside where an exceptionally friendly man promptly sat us by the fire just before the rain came, served us a plate of vegetables and a Pilsener to share while unloading heaps of kind word and interesting facts about our surroundings: the tree just feet from where we sat, El Sangre de Tigre (Blood of the Tiger) seeped a red liquid which you could collect, dip your fingers in, and rub on your skin rapidly to form a cream that serves as an excellent bug repellent – I really could have used this guy in the Amazon. Although he insisted he could make the trek back to Banos in an eight minute run, he refused to let us walk back in the muddy cold. We caught a ride in the back of his father-in-law’s truck, sharing the bumpy ride with a couple other Banenos discussing the upcoming football games.

Our walking stick, my wet socks and the cozy fire Jorge shared with us.

In addition to the hiking, rafting and canyoning offered to visitors, the most famous adventure of Banos is the Ruta de las Cascadas (Route of the Waterfalls) down the highway to Puyo where thrill-seekers can visit over forty waterfalls of various sizes and styles. We hailed a public bus for $0.25 down the road and stopped off at Pailon de Diablo. The steep hike down on a well-maintained trail was adorned with wooden signs advocating the respect of nature, “Water is the wisdom of the land, the wise protect it” and “Conserve nature, protect your life”. The line of eco-friendly advertisements ended with the most powerful of phrases just before we arrived at the waterfall: “Estas preparada para una sopresa? …DIOS EXISTE!” And they were right, the astounding might of what I saw that day was most likely the best representation of a deity I’ve ever experienced. The crashing sound echoing below the rocks as I crawled under low-hanging ceilings and around cave walls was astonishing. The mist twirling around the walls of the canyon, hundreds of feet from the bottom, was unbelievable. The sight of each of the billions and billions of water droplets falling in a chaotic song of power was impossible. I think this is what they mean when they say breathtaking.We cascaded down waterfalls on ropes, we hiked around the periphery of the city, we soaked ourselves in the refreshingly steaming, thermal waters after a cold day in the rain, we ate a host of international foods (even Pad Thai!), and we cozied up in one of the best hostels I’ve ever stayed at. 

End of my days

The sharp pangs of technology have not beckoned my morning arrival in over two weeks. My alarm clock here is a choral performance of the rainforest. Its soft at first, like the setting on your cell phone that offers an “ascending” ring tone. One male Oropendula offers a full belly announcement, awakening the choral voices of the screaming pihas intertwining their sounds with the pitter-patters of last night’s shower dripping off the multitude of leaves. The monkeys awake, finally, offering their faint whistles only to the most keen of listeners.

I will miss you, Amazon, and all the various ways you engaged my five senses. I have attempted to give much, take little from you, and have gained an incomparable appreciation for the Lungs of the Planet along the way.

Inspirations

I have encountered an inspiration, and from none of the usual suspects. When I travel, I always manage to pick up an extra bag of “get my shit together” souvenirs. With all the extra time to think, I plan. I’m really going to get in better shape when I get back. I’m really going to spend less money this year. I’m really going to manage my time better by cutting at least three hobbies out of my life – (this one is pure absurdity and never achieved). You could call these inspirations and they usually come from observation followed by contemplation, with the observation part generally being of new activities to try, new books to read, new challenges for myself, new ideas for my future, a new subject I want to study. Now, I encounter myself inspired by my peers – my younger, harder working, more diligent, softer, smarter, self-less Ecuadorean peers.

Robert hails from the small community of Mondana where he grew up playing volleyball on muddy courts illuminated only by the hours of sunshine offered and washing his clothes in the Napo river. He graduated in the first class at Yachana Technical Colegio where he helped build the classrooms, dorms and kitchen and also served on the team that cleared six hectares of rainforest to grow food for the high school. Robert acquired his perfect English skills in Pennsylvania, going on to impress listeners worldwide during his speech on rainforest conservation in Tanzania before returning to his family at Mondana to work as a one of the most highly-requested guides at Yachana Ecolodge. All before the age of 21.

Maggie is a quiet-hearted, sweet soul who is determined enough to return to complete her high school education at 28 years of age. She never fails to smile as she serves me breakfast and I have never heard a peep of fatigue from her during the eight hours of machete-whacking through the fields.

And then there is the legend of Fabio. A young man by age and a wise soul by wisdom, I have met few people in my life with the work ethic and desire for knowledge as this friend of mine. I have been inspired by his diligence, moved by his words, inspired by his dreams, and struck by his smile. He studies in the city at the University of San Fransisco de Quito with the big boys but has not forgotten a single scent of the rainforest of his roots. His relationships are precious to him, his reading is important, and the notebook tucked in his bag, toted down rivers and through forests and on long dusty bus rides, is bursting at the seems with every bit of knowledge he could ever require from any passerby. He is the inhalation and exhalation of one of my favorite Emerson quotes, “Every man I meet is in some way my superior, and in that, I learn of him.” I will tuck a little piece of Fabio in my notebook and tote it through all of my further journeys as a constant reminder of a inspiration.

The constant competition and striving for perfection in my culture can be quite enervating at times. I need to get an internship, I need to get a job, I need to write better, I need to read more, I need to focus focus focus. Then, I stand at the corner of Confusion Avenue and Running-Against-the-wind Boulevard, staring at my map thinking, “Now, where was I trying to get to again?” In these folks at Yachana, I have seen a strength I would like to acquire. These people are not trying to take over the world. These young people are not trying to prove anything to anyone. They are not out to win some award, get their name in some research paper, or get a better job than their peers sharing the canoe with them. They are out for the journey. They are content in their work, their play, and their “achievements” they receive along the way. Life must be, as the notorious and anonymous “they” always say, truly about the journey and not the destination. I have gained so many things from this summer that are difficult to put in Research Field Notes to my professor or my final Research Analysis for graduate school, and they’re difficult to express in a flashy resume aimed at obtaining a sought-after job. But they’re in my resume of life. The references are listed as teenage Mentors.

Mission Impossible: Mission Accomplished

What happened was a story fit for Oprah… or Ellen, Ellen would be fun. When the word was passed on to all of our MDP partners about the location of our research, one of our professors, Julie Andrews, was elated to hear that we would be trapsing around the same plot of jungle she visited more than 15 years ago in her young career. Julie is a videographer and news contributor to News 9; She has an incredible family and a beautiful home in Denver which she graciously invited us into for some dinner and wine before we left… to give us a mission.

Julie had visited the Napo Province of Ecuadorean Amazon for a month long ago. She taught English, made videos, and did much of the same activities we participate in today: bug bites, rainforest symphonies, shotty canoes. The memories of her family there brought tears to her eyes, yet, she had not communicated with them since she left. The community in which Julie stayed was quite small, remote, no electricity and certainly no roads through which to tote gracious gifts and letters from well-meaning, monthly gringo visitors.

Our mission looked something like this: Find a canoe. Find Huino. Find the football field in the middle of the community. Look for a house on one of the corners of the field. Find a woman named Narcissa, her husband and her three kids (no last names) and give them these soccer balls, books, pictures and a heart-felt letter. Oh, and don’t forget its 15 years later so no one will look like they do in these photos, certainly not the kids who were 5 at the time nor the father who was 65 at the time and may not be alive. Hmmmm…

To my utter amazement, Mission Impossible became Mission Accomplished today. We hitched a ride with the Yachana canoe that was headed down river to Coca; the dropped us off on an abandoned bank with a half-constructed gravel/dirt road leading to Nowhere, Amazon. Filled with the energy of the sun straight from the middle of the Earth blaring down on us, we hiked up the road for a while until a dump truck operated by none other than a friendly young Ecuadorean who had lived in New York with perfect English. He informed us we were walking in the wrong way, gave us a bumpy, sandy ride in the back of his truck down the road, and informed us of the next obstacle: we would have to ford the river, and we would have to dig out a canoe to do it.

All adventures become less intimidating when you have a jungle guru like Fabio at your side. Two at a time we scooted into the canoe no wider than my waist and no deeper than my Nalgene bottle.

Digging out the canoe

Crouched with eyes agape and abs engaged, Fabio used a long branch to push the canoe across the rier, careful not to sway more than a bit and tip ourselves over into the murky water, video camera and all.

Riding in the canoe across the river to Huino

A young boy toting a dog he apparently wanted to sell us found us on the other side, escorting us up the steep, slippery slope of primary forest and across several Ant Superhighways until we reached Huino. Huino has changed. Electricity lines draped the sky and the center reeked of construction and development. Finding the family wasn’t quite as hard as I had imagined with my ethnocentric mind – small communities like this have quite the ability to spread the word, and they know every single person who has ever walked these streets for more than a day. We soon found Nancy, a friend of Julie’s who was flushed with emotion upon the mention of her blonde friend’s name. Nancy led us out to Narcissa’s chakra(family horticulture plot) where we uncovered a family much like the description Julie had given us.

Narcissa and her family receiving their letter from Julie, in the middle of their work day on the finca.

Narcissa was much older now, although that didn’t stop her from spending her hot, sunny days working in the field. Nancy, the daughter, was a woman now with a young son and a baby daughter who swung in a glistening white-sheet hammock under the shade of a plantain tree as her mother diligently swung her machete clearing space for crops. We gathered under a lean to, all six of us gringos on our mission and the family of Narcissa. The only exception, the father who had died just three weeks before our arrival.

Joyful tears were shed and genuine smiles were shared as we read the letter aloud to the family and passed around the pictures.

Narcissa cries tears of joy

After departing the chakra and sharing some fruit Narcissa cut down from her tree, we made the trek together back to their house, exactly where Julie described it at the corner of the field. Except this house was a new one. The plot where Julie had lived lay bare in the shadow of a concrete-walled, two-story, barred-window home that the family now shared, equipped with a stove-top fit for Denver surburbanites and a living area in which we shared some much-needed cold coca cola and crackers while opening the soccer balls and books fro the children. It was an afternoon of joy for all, and exceptionally pleasing to see the community’s development and the family’s well-being improved over the time away.

Julie's Amazonian family, 15 years after the last contact.

Save a little spill out of the dugout canoes on the way back across the river that made for good laughs, we safely made it back to Yachana with stories to tell and an incredible video to share with Julie.

La Madre de Valeria

Apparently the agronomist formerly employed by the Colegio is too often preoccupied with a propensity to alcohol, or suffering the aftermath of over-consumption the day after, to assist in the revitalization of this agricultural project we have undertaken. We roamed around the premises hoping that notorious small-town word-of-mouth would afford us with some agronomy-savvy somebody, and fate provided. Rumors began soaring around about “La Madre de Valeria”, which sounds striking similar to the English word Malaria. Confusion abounded, but after several sloppy Spanglish attempts, I finally figured out that Valeria was a Yachana Colegio student and her mother had some sort of garden in Coca.

Exhausted shock absorbers and worn-out brakes toted us out of the jungle and into the city of Coca, noted for its ill-famed oil evil-doers who’ve cut through the primary forest to provide all of us industrialized people with the precious flow of life. Coca is also getting a bit further North than the guide books entice travelers, stretching into the border with Colombia and reaching into hearsay of crime and kidnappings. To the contrary, we pulled into a well-equipped bus station, walked no more than a mile to a descent, cheap hostel with several panaderias luring us with their aromas along the way.

“La Madre de Valeria” advised a short taxi ride up the road where we perched ourselves atop a concrete block waiting for further instructions. A fancy white Toyota Tundra showed up and in we piled for a short jaunt across the street to a stunning, elegant wooded house, shaded by a smorgasbord of horticulture glistening after the afternoon’s rainshowers. Am I back in Fort Collins, CO? The gate was opened and two German Shepherds scurried up to greet us along with their two most recent puppy additions to the family. Over the next several hours I came to find out that La Madre de Valeria would be the front-runner in Greatest People I’ve met in Ecuador (second only to Fabio, perhaps). Still unconscious of her real name, this graceful woman began with an offering of fresh hot chocolate, made from the Cacao of her own farm and some warmed empanadas drizzled in a local honey that ran off my spoon like molten lava and dazzled my taste buds like carbonation. This is a woman I want to know, I thought. She escorted us around her half acre home garden, insisting on the tasting of every leaf, filled with tomato hybrids, four different kinds of orchids, a succulent section of cactus from all over the world, every herb known to man, and even some tobacco and coca that act as natural repellents (unfortunately, the leaves of those plants were rather unappetizing). After an hour or so of gardening galore, her husband shouts from the steps “la lluvia!” and we make our way back into the cozy comfort of her home for a seminar on seeds, passing around bowls of her most proudest possessions, a variety of colors, textures, ruggedness and ability.

We decided the trip was too good to pass another day in Coca without Paquita, her name, I finally discovered. Day 2 of our makeshift Agronomy conference included a trip to the family farm of six hectares where we toured the interwoven patterns of pineapples, cacao trees, coffee trees, papaya, banana, guanabana, orange, lemon, of course tasting each of the delicacies along the way.

Red Pineapple

Wandering through Paquita's Organic Farm in Coca

Cacao, that illustrious fruit with hidden gems inside which some genius decided to add a lot of sugar to and produce God’s greatest gift of chocolate, is quite different than I imagined. The chocolate goodness, which first of all tastes nothing like the Hershey’s bar at the gas station, can only be found once one has cracked the outer core and eaten through the fruity, slimy goodness off mush that resembles something like smashed banana innards. Needless to say, your hands get really dirty and spitting of seeds is highly recommended. Paquita had three different kinds of cacao growing on her property.

The unexpectedly peculiar innards of Cacao.

We trapsed through the organic section of the farm where I was attacked by a spiky plant by the name of Ortiga, through the yuca and onto the tree potatoes (which, yes, grow up the tree on a vine and drop to the ground like candies from a pinata) before heading back to the truck. As only the best of hosts will do, Paquita and her husband took us out to their third piece of property up on the hill overlooking the entire city of Coca before heading home. If you’re wondering where the money was procured to live such a splendid life of luxury in Ecuador, you may be saddened (as I was) to hear Paquita’s husband is an oil man for Halliburton. Ah, the irony.

Paquita sat with us through an explanation of the Agricultural Senior Project for the students, the land Yachana has, the crops we were thinking of growing, and the many questions we were troubled with. She filled our map with agroforestry and permaculture guidance, inter-cropping inventions, native variety options, and a bag full of seeds and leaves to take home for inspiration. She also packed a bag full of natural medicinal leaves which I was ordered to place in a bathtub of hot water and soak myself in as remedy for my unbelievable war zone of bug bites on my legs. If I had a bathtub, I would love to complete the mission – a bucket bath of tepid water may be my best shot.

All in all, the trip to Coca was a success as we’ve completed the map and planting plan for all nine teams of three students who are arriving tomorrow. They’re in for a bit of an agronomy surprise, just as we were when we set out to find “La Madre de Valeria”.

A Day in Paradise

Remember the summer days you used to have in your childhood? Makeshift games of kick the can, adventures trekking through the creek mimicking Indiana Jones. I never worried about the germs that may be having a landrun through the plains of my hands or the scrapes forming scabs on my knees Maybe development is the perfect career for mixing work and play.

Dan, Fabio and I grabbed a 30 meter tape measure, a notebook, a machete and approximately one gallon of bug repellent in preparation for the hike up to the Colegio’s agricultural fields to make a lofty attempt at mapping the area.

Mono, which actually means monkey in Spanish, happens to be the nickname of the long-haired, hard-working chef of the Colegio. Mono hiked up from his home in Mondana with his two kids that morning and was diligently sweeping the floors of the comedor when we found him. Simple, quiet, straightforward, Mono graciously supplied us with his menu, more or less, for the year at the Colegio, in hopes that we could plan agricultural plots that could better serve the high school and the products they needed.

After receiving our helpful guidelines, with ideas brewing in our heads, we hiked down into the terrenos which have become such a familiar home in my short time here. The next five hours looked something like a GIS topographer’s nightmare. One 30 meter tape measure was dragged through the rugged forest with our best attempts at direct lines. I would hold down the fort in the middle of a chaotic fury of corn and plantain and peppers and god knows what else as the boys drug the other end of the tape as long as it would stretch, at which point they’d chop down a branch of yucca or banana trees to place as an x-marks-the-spot treasure for me to find. I spent most of my lonely time waiting in the middle of the jungle gawking at the soup of organic matter in beautiful disarray on the forest floor, imagining the millions of different life forms that call that one square meter home. My hippy-dippy natural repellent, needless to say, isn’t powerful enough to repel the fear that ensues from standing in the jungle alone, looking down to find centipedes crawling up my rubber boots. Soon, Fabio shouts “listo!” and I begin a slight trot towards the boys, feigning tranquility as soon as they can see me again. Mono showed up armed with his machete to assist in the messy attempts at cutting make-shift paths through the over-grown jungle plots.

The afternoon sun made its appearance bursting through suddenly blue skies. Desperate for rehydration, the universe answered my call with a naranjillo tree. Fabio darts to the left and after a few minutes says, “Come!”. He’s chopped down one of the luscious, orange fruits for me and begins to peel back nature’s packaging with his machete. “How do I eat it?” asks the inexperienced Gringo. “Bite and suck!!” responds the amused Amazonian.

We needed to measure another plot. We needed to meet back at the Lodge with Douglas. We needed to do our daily exercises we’ve made routine during our days here. We wanted to jump in the river to cool ourselves off. A moment’s decision plopped three twenty-somethings right back into their childhood summertime memories in the middle of a Mondana resident’s property on some flat(ish) sand. As I lay there, sand in my hair, mud on my pants, sweat drenching my skin, eyes glancing out over my heavy rubber boots as I wallowed in the pain-staking cries ringing through my torso, I couldn’t help but smile at the peace of my day. Upon word of the last situp, like clockwork, no words exchanged, we were down the path and ducking under the last leaves overhead as we break out onto the shore of the river. Boots off, clothes off, skin gasping for air as its enveloped in freshness, in coolness. The boys immediately follow suit with the requisite competition – attempting to outswim each other upstream; they didn’t make it too far. I sat on the shore soaking up my happiness.

We make our way back through paths unexplored, stopping in a Mondana neighbor’s land at which Fabio converses with “Don Quixote”, the nickname of his friend who is drying coffee beans on a big mesh bag laid out along his muddy lawn. They exchange words I can’t understand as I ponder how incredibly content I feel in my clothes dripping in river water, my pants covered in mud a melting pot of plants and bugs, my hair a humid mass.

I truly enjoyed, for the first time, my cold shower as I cleaned off the day’s adventures. The tourists have all made their departure for the week and my co-workers are down at the Mondana volleyball game (I think its oil guys versus locals today), a cultural portrait of women cheering them on over their Ecuadorean Pilseners. I opted for a sunset alone. I close my day in paradise perched upon a comfy chair, listening to the symphony of the selva. Birds making the last calls of the day, monkeys whistling each other into the twilight, night insects taking stage, and a young man off in the distance casting his net over the river in hopes to catch the dusk’s offerings. I hear everything. I feel nothing. I feel free. I feel like a little girl who just had a great day in paradise.