The neck of the moon. in Quechua it is called ´Cotopaxi´. Its perfectly conical and glacial shape rises high above all other mountains in the Ecuadorian Andes excepting one, the dormant volcan Chimborazo.
At 19388´Cotopaxi is one of the world’s highest active volcanoes, a stratovolcano, and is worshipped by the indigenous populations as a god, by alpinists as a prized climb, and by others as a striking backdrop to the cities of Latacunga and Quito. Standing on the circular kniferidge rim of the 13000´Quilitoa Crater, high above the emerald waters of the lake nestled within its bowl (and the one place I’ve seriously felt the effects of altitude sickness), i could see in the distance the triangular profile of Cotopaxi pushing up through the clouds moving in from the East, and further to the south the pointy spires of the twin-peaked Ilinizas. A month later i would be flying down the slope of that snowy triangular shape with two friends on mountain bikes, having started just below the snowline at an altitude of 15,000’.
~~~~~~~
In Ecuador it’s possible to bath in the waters of the Pacific in the morning, have lunch on an Andean pass in the afternoon, and spend the evening hiking through lowland jungles of the Amazon basin. Possible…but i don’t like to move that quickly, and had no qualms with stretching out my time in the sleepy surfing village of Montañita before heading further inland (in Ecuador, the sentiment of mañana is ever present). It’s pretty much what you’d expect from a coastal town that caters to the surfing crowd: tanned and barefoot surfers ambling up the streets with board under arm, Bob Marley crooning out songs of freedom from every nook-and-cranny café, vendors hawking handmade boardshorts, rashguards and sex wax, a wicked ‘right’ that uncurls off a gnarly coral point break, and a ‘full moon’ beach party each month that blazes with bonfire and pulses to the beats of djs from around south america.
This is the atmosphere in which I bade farewell to my Danish, Swedish, and Swiss friends from Cuenca, watched the much anticipated fútbol matchup between Brazil and Ecuador televised live from Stockholm (ecuador lost 2-1), sat curbside with a cerveza in hand on a ‘dia seco’ while the rest of Ecuador voted for a new president (ending in a runoff between a socialist and capitalist), and in which i met Freddy the Swiss and Luis the Basque. I would end up traveling with Luis over the next few weeks, from Guayaquil to Guaranda to Salinas, from Baños to Latacunga to Quilitoa and finally to Quito. Freddy, on the other hand, became my surfing buddy for the next week, and it was he who one day was swept out to sea when I wasn’t paying attention.
Montañita, as well as being known as the hottest surf spot along the Ecuadorian coast, with 3m waves regularly forming in the winter months, is also well known for its riptides, and Freddy was lucky enough to locate one that day. In a matter of 2 minutes, the amount of time I was on the beach examining a sprained ankle, Freddy was pulled out a ½ km in the direction of the Galapagos Islands, far beyond the line of waves we’d been riding. When I looked up and saw that he was just a speck on the ocean, looking like a waved albatross bouncing up and down on the swells, I paddled over to get help from a surf instructor who was giving lessons not far from shore.
I’ve never seen anyone navigate over 6’ waves as quickly as that little Ecuadorian did, plowing through the water like a motorized canoe heading out for a day of fishing in head-high surf. It took a good ten minutes, encouraging words of “tranquilo, todo bien, tranquilo”, and some pounding breakers on the way in, but Freddy finally emerged from the sea breathless but okay. The first thing I remember him saying to me.
..“we have to come out tomorrow, for sure!
” The days of surfing that followed were absolutely fantastic, and it was only after he boarded a bus bound for Peru that I began to think of leaving. This was when the rain came.
Tired of the dreary weather, Luis and I headed out a few days later bound for the ‘wild and beautiful countryside’ surrounding the off-the-beaten-track mountain pueblito of Salinas.
From this community come many of the excellent cheeses, chocolates, marmelades, dried mushrooms and homemade salamis found in finer shops throughout Ecuador, and we, as well as our stomachs, felt as if we were headed for the promised land. At the Guayaquil bus station, where we sat waiting for a 3am transport that was to deliver us to paradise, we passed the time eating late night grilled cheese sandwiches and watching through weary eyes a rowdy ‘station’ drunk stumble amongst the empty tables. Upon arriving in the chilly and sleepy provincial town of Guaranda, the ‘rome of the andes’ and the capital of the agricultural province of Bolivar, we were happily surprised to be treated to a ceviche breakfast by an old restrauteur we had befriended during our ‘overnighter’, then promptly hitched a ride with a local dump truck driver over the impressively bad road leading up to the artisan village, our gourmet destination.
Not much can be said about this isolated yet delectable place, with its hillside houses huddled together under a vertical wall of limestone, other than it put two huge silly grins on our faces and fulfilled our expectations in a sinfully delicious way (and any place that’ll sell you cheese in 31kg balls (68lbs) rocks!)
~~~~~~~
The Ecuadorian Andes lie within a predominantly volcanic province, with magma erupted from volcanoes starting 25 million years ago building most of the mountains in this country. As we left Salinas and headed higher up into the treeless páramo dotted with pajonales (tussock grass) and lichen we passed near the tallest of the Ecuadorian volcanoes, Chimborazo, which can claim to have the furthest point from the center of the earth due to equatorial bulge.
Below its craggy glacier-capped dome and in the dry semi-desert of its rain shadow we could see through the fogging bus windows indigenous Quechuas dressed in their woolen handwoven sweaters and felt caps herding cattle, sheep and llamas as we rumbled past. We were bound for the pueblo of Baños, which sits in the shadow of the active and threatening 17000' fuming Volcan Tungurahua, but which also is the source of the heated water that creates the thermal pools from which the town derives its name. Here I was to rendezvous with my San Diegan friend Cody (which I did - he’s hard to miss at 6’3” and a head of churros) and during our stay the town was on constant orange alert (shiiiit!
) - in its scale from white to yellow to orange to red - for potential of an eruption; but the locals told us it’s been that way ever since the volcano came out of dormancy in 1999. It was at this time that the authorities ordered the evacuation of the town’s inhabitants. Three months later in the January of 2000, after no major eruption had occurred and locals began to clash with soldiers in order to regain access to their homes and businesses (leaving 1 woman dead), many found that their properties had been looted by the military that had evacuated them.
Now, understandably, most are reluctant to abandon their homes even with the volcano showing signs of certain eruption. Knowing that this is a “when” and not “if” situation, little yellow arrows have been painted in the streets leading the way to a ¨safe zone¨, down along the river and off towards Puyo in the jungle further East; but it seemed to me as if the arrows guided you in a zig-zagging scenic route about town, past attractive colonial churches and along aged cobbled streets, and I’m sure that if the top blew off that mountain and you followed those arrows willy-nilly about town you’d be gobbled up by a flowing river of lava in no time. Most days a constant cloud of ash and vapor billowing thousands of feet into the air hung over Baños and, depending on the direction of the prevailing wind, we sometimes had to go out wearing dust masks as the ceniza laid a thin grey blanket over cars, houses, dogs and people alike.
To get away from the ash we took daily hikes into the surrounding hills and bike rides along the river highway toward Puyo and Tena, along which we could see dozens of waterfalls dropping into the river far below, then followed up our excursions with nightly dips in the thermal pools. This is where Luis - being Basque and, therefore, a huge fan of Euskatel-Euskadi - and I would fall into conversation about what was happening in the world of professional cycling. Basques are a very proud and nationalistic people, and he was always quick to point out that he wasn’t a Spaniard as well as that what we speak here is not Español but Castellano, his second language.
The last I’d heard of him, after our departure in Quito where he had set off for Colombia, was that he had had a machete pulled on him because of some over-aggressive bargaining on his part.
Much of my time in Quito, the capital of Ecuador and what was once a major Incan city, remains a vague hazy memory for me, mostly due to the free rum and coke nights at Centro del Mundo, the over-lively hostal where I stayed and got very little sleep. But the massive electrical storms, visits to colonial old town with its numerous plazas and narrow cobbled streets, an oxygen deprived hike up the dormant Volcan Rucu Pichincha - which looms over the western side of the city – followed by a head rushing ride on an amusement park ride, an afternoon at a professional soccer match in which 7 beautifully placed goals were scored, trying my hand at skateboarding with two Santa Cruzians at El Parque Carolina skate park, dancing away Saturday nights at No Bar and brunching away Sunday afternoons at The Magic Bean, and celebrating Halloween with a costume party at the hostal (at which an Israeli friend successfully imitated a Galapagan magnificent frigatebird) injected enough sanity and clarity into my time in Quito that it was quite enjoyable.
Two days after Halloween I made a long bus trip out to a cemetery in the northern suburbs to observe the celebrations for 'All Souls Day'. There i found local indigenous groups laying flowers and food at the gravesites of loved ones, clearing rubbish from tombstones, repainting crosses with white to cover over the dust and dirt that had accumulated in the past year, and picnicking and drinking all day until the sun had nearly set. It resembled more of a day at the park, a fiesta rather than a somber day mourning the deceased.
It was quite beautiful and touching and i was very happy to have been a part of it.
Weeks later, during a return visit to Quito during the weeklong independence celebrations commemorating the founding of the capital and after a memorable day in the rain at an outdoor ska/reggae concert, I found myself sitting in the Plaza de Toros dressed in a panama hat and drinking brandy from a calfskin flask with two new friends. Being my first correador, I think I may have been more nervous than any of the three matadors performing that day, but after the second of the six bulls had been killed I began to relax (translate - go numb) a bit.
It was quite an amazing atmosphere to be in really, with ¡olé!’s shouted out with each pass of the bull and most everyone dressed in their Sunday finest as if they were attending a triple crown race. Having learned that the occasional animal is pardoned for displaying extraordinary aggressiveness and making numerous passes at a matador, often in conjunction with roars of approval from the masses and dramatic flamenco style music blaring across the ring from a live military band, i began to yell ¡olé!
more and more frequently between sips of Brahma. Unfortunately that day, my efforts went unnoticed and all six bulls were put to death by a long sword plunged to the hilt into their backs and curving down into their hearts. For their efforts, grace, and, more than anything, machismo in the ring, the matadors from both France and Spain were awarded two ears each and lifted onto the shoulders of adoring fans that paraded them about as hats and flowers rained down on their heads.
~~~~~~~
Yanayacu Biological Station, Cosanga, Napo Province. This is where my friend Caroline travelled from on the Eastern slope of the Andes to rescue me from certain over-exposure to Gringoland, Quito. As she drove us over the Western slopes, past massive Volcan Antisana with its tundra-like páramo and the Papallacta hot springs, we had time to catch up on the intervening years while scanning the roadside for Yanayacu’s owner/biologist who had set out earlier in the day to search for bird nests.
Caroline, an Irish pub friend from SF who shipped off for Cambridge a few years back, has been coming to Ecuador on and off over the past 12 years and is now doing PhD work on the songs of the grey-breasted wood-wren in the cloud forests around Yanayacu. What a great thing it is to see an old friend in another part of the world!
Hosting half-starved beetle, bird and reptilian/amphibian biologists, diminutive station workers, one small devilish ankle-biting dog and the occasional random visitor like myself all surrounded by overgrown vegetation, Yanayacu has the feel (in dim fluorescent light your first night) of a wacky scene pulled from Alices Adventures in Wonderland.
But in early (early!) morning light, while sipping a fresh cup of joe with powdered milk, you realize that it’s quite a unique place you’ve been dropped into and these zany people will be difficult to separate from after 3 weeks. It would be tricky (and risky!
) to describe all the singular personalities that keep Yanayacu humming, as much as it would be to attempt an illustration of the beauty of the cloud forest that surrounds it. My days were spent hammock cruising with book in hand, journal writing, sunset watching, pancake cooking, poi spinning and occasionally tromping off into the nearby forest with Caroline to net wrens and take blood samples for dna testing or doing song playback experiments. Not wanting to regularly wake at 5am (can you blame me?
), I didn’t do nearly as much of these last two as Cian O’Launigh, Caroline’s field assistant, an artistic chap who could do as many impressions as the number of languages he spoke, and who swaggered about the station with a guitar in one hand and a witty remark ready in the other.
It wasn’t long after we celebrated Thanksgiving – on a Monday - with a feast of trout and fixings, that I set out for the lowland jungles with a few of the motley crew from Yanayacu: myself, three fanatical Dutch birders, an Irish/Belgian (see above description of O’Launigh), a snake loving Chicagoan, and a bot-fly fascinated/poo loving dung-beetle researcher from Seattle (the only woman) making up the party. Camping in tents alongside an oxbow lake off the Rio Napo we spent days birdwatching or searching the jungle for creepy-crawleys and taking long, mosquito maddening night hikes into the jungle to hunt for frogs, beetles, caiman, snakes and other nocturnal animals.
Out of the numerous venomous creatures that can be found in the lowlands, one of the most feared is the bullet-ant (supposedly named because it’s as large as a bullet or because it’s excruciating sting feels like being shot), and our intrepid group had a running dialogue of taking a bullet-ant in the bum before the end of the trip. Naturally, the first (and only) to do so was ‘femme-fearless’ from Seattle. Heidi got serious respect after that stunt (and huge thanks from me later for quickly polishing off a jar of Nutella so I could use the jar to pee in on a too-long bus trip).
Wouter, of the Dutch fanatics, found his 1000 Ecuadorian bird and bought a round of high-priced beers for everyone, and Bryan nabbed 6 snakes (one being the highly venomous equis). Cian gave a lecture on DNA to a group of indigenous high schoolers followed by a singing of “Old MacDonald” by the 7 of us to a class of 4 year olds (the only song in English we all knew), and we all found the elusive rufous potoo at dusk one night. It was a fantastic trip to the Eastern jungles of Ecuador.
~~~~~~~
Today, as I celebrate my birthday at Yanayacu with Caroline and the rest of the madcap family, I can’t help but reflect on all my years before and all my years to come and, all-in-all, I feel very happy with were I am. Today a friend asked me what I was learning about myself? about other cultures?
about meeting people? That’s a tough question to answer in short, but I can say that I’m enjoying immensely the process that’s taking me along the path to finding answers to these questions. Later this week that path will take me down a tributary of the Amazon 1000km from Ecuador into the jungles of Peru, where I’ll celebrate Christmas and New Years, and will certainly be thinking about all of you.
http://www.flickr.com/photos/69757633@N00/sets/72157594366609567/ (coast and andes)
http://www.
flickr.com/photos/69757633@N00/sets/72157594391293255/ (jungle)
click on ¨view as slideshow¨ or if you´re curious about where these photos were taken click on ¨map¨ under the large photo of the candied apples or leafcutter ant
Suerte
News RSS