Jungle Finale

The impact of my immediate environment on my thoughts and state of mind always astounds me. I'm now back in the States, visiting dear friends and eating delicious Texan BBQ. Only a few days removed from Ecuador, the bland food, Spanish speaking, being heads taller than everyone, and most brutally, the cheaper prices, all feel like a dream.

Though they already seem like long ago, the last five days of my trip were spent in the Amazon rainforest - some of the most fascinating hours in all my time in Ecuador. We took a long bus ride to Lago Agrio, a town close to the Colombian border and full of oil money. Winding our way through lush and stomach churning hills, the vast majority of the trip had us riding parallel to a huge oil pipeline. An extreme and thought provoking juxtaposition. From Lago Agrio we drove another 3-4 hours, the last hour on a dirt road. There we made the transition from land to water, hoping in a motorized canoe that would be our primary means of transportation for the coming days.

We arrived at the lodge/bunk huts in the late afternoon, after two hours on the river. For me it was a ride full of stiffness from the tiny benches, awe at the endless depth and density of the rainforest, and meditative monotony from the noise of the motor and pace of the boat. The rhythm of our journey was abruptly interrupted when the driver spotted a water snake, about 4 ft long, skimming across the top of the water. He put us on a collision course for the poor guy, and neither party flinched. Until of course, the snake actually ran into the boat, right where I was sitting. I screamed and the snake launched into the rear of the canoe. To my surprise, the driver seemed to have a healthy fear of the snake, kicking his rubber boots frantically at the squirming and jumping snake, launching the reptile back into the water after a solid 5 second dance.

The camp was made up of hammocks, thatched roofs, and cheerful staff members. There was a long-term German volunteer and I could definitely get behind spending a couples months in that idyllic jungle locale. We spent four days doing an array of exploratory walks and boat rides at various hours of the day and night. We were treated to tropical birds of all varieties and sizes, including macaws, toucans, parrots and woodpeckers. Of the flightless variety we caught glimpses of crocodiles, pink river dolphins (actually kinda creepy looking), tarantulas and sloths.

Yum

Even more fascinating than animal spotting were the plethora of plants and insects we got up close and personal with, thanks to our guide Ramon. A local 26 year old whose grandfather was a shaman and taught him much about the resources of the jungle, he provided a truly unique window to the jungle. He introduced us to a water vine with fresh and plentiful water hiding in its core. He had us snort garlic bark - clearing our sinuses and burning enough that we were all convinced it was a close relative of crushed fresh garlic. We ate ants that tasted like lemon and larvae the flavor of coconut. We got to see first hand the ayahuasca vine, an incredibly important and powerful hallucinogen that is the center of much natural medicine and tradition in the area. For every health problem faced in the jungle, there is a plant to cure the malady, and Ramon knew them all, adding a new and special element of depth and richness to the already impressive Amazon.

It was a great ending to an incredible trip. I'm so thankful to all the generous and welcoming Ecuadorians and fellow travelers I met, and to everyone at home for keeping in touch and providing me with incredible amounts of both support and entertainment.

Cotopaxi

Working on the lungs - hike to the refugio on Chimborazo

Train station where we stayed the night to acclimatize

At 10pm I felt Erin tug on my sleeping bag. I begrudgingly turned on my head lamp and began to pile on the layers. Emerging out of the bunk room with snow pants, jackets, helmets, and boots in tow, we choked down a bit of 'breakfast' and hit the road at 11pm. A half hour up the road, we came to a hill of unknown proportions, made up of a loose, soft, rocky ground that daylight would later prove to be a maroon mixture of volcanic rock and dirt. The five of us - Erin, Jake, our two guides Paul and Jaime, and myself - stepped out of the car, clipped on our helmets, and began our climb of Cotopaxi.

Cotopaxi is the second highest peak in Ecuador and one of the highest active volcanoes in the world, sitting at 5,897 m or 19,347 ft. To summit Cotopaxi you need a guide (regulated as one guide for every two people), crampons, an ice ax, and very warm gloves. Despite it's height, the climb is remarkably straightforward and known to be a good beginners technical climb.

With clear and stern instructions to follow Jaime's pace, we started walking. Every so often lightning lit up the horizon and the stars were the brightest I had seen in Ecuador. Aside from the celestial pyrotechnics, it was pitch black and my peripheral vision offered me nothing, allowing me to hone in on the foot steps of the guide in front of me. After half an hour, we took a quick breather. Erin was breathing very shallowly and looked very faint. We all expected to have trouble with the altitude, but not this early. The guides quickly decided that she needed to go back down, that this wasn't a fleeting feeling of nausea, but instead difficulties that would persist. Jake and I continued on ahead, reluctantly leaving Erin to rest with Jaime. Another fifteen minutes of walking brought us to the under-construction refugio (bunkhouse) at 4,800 m, where climbers normally spend the night.

Rest stop

A bit farther, and we began to see snow. We wrangled our crampons onto our boots, armed ourselves with our ice axes, and began laborious and intentional steps up the glacier side. The mountainside was steep, but it was so dark, scale was only shown when the lights of other climbers appeared above and below us. Two groups hopped ahead, and their lights moving up and up served as hopeful motivation as my legs were still pretty energized with adrenaline. Later a group would come up from behind, their lights portraying them as spotlit insects in a dark hole, and their presence serving to emphasize that we really were in fact on the side of a very steep and snowy mountain.

We rested, we walked more, weather changed and so did our moods. At 3 or 4 am, huge clouds rolled in, bringing chilling winds, nerves and doubts. The assured 6 am sunrise energy boost kept me focused, until I realized that the cloud was now a lighter color and little had changed except for increasing fatigue. Roped together, Jake was subjected to my ever-so-motivating inconsistent and increasingly lethargic and unbalanced gait. We were treated to exquisite ice formations, but each rest brought less and less energy.

At the top!

The drop dead hour to reach the top is around 8 am, depending on the weather. Worse than having to turn back for health reasons or fatigue would be to get close and be told we were too late (ie going too slow) to reach the top. Even with that knowledge I couldn't make myself go any faster.  I felt rather helpless, though encouraged by the intermittent crawling and complaining of much more experienced climbers in our midst. About an hour from the top, Paul asked us what we thought Erin had done. The next rest brought the news that she and Jaime were on their way up. Within reach of the summit and knowing that all three of us would be there together, we huffed and puffed and continued. The last portion being the steepest, calling for real use of the ice-ax and the adrenaline that thankfully comes from being within spitting distance of one's goal.

We got no views. A couple times the clouds cleared enough that we could see other clouds, but I was more easily convinced we had gone to another planet than that we should be seeing other mountains and vistas. The socked in conditions contributed to the surreal nature of the whole experience. We reached the top at 8:10 am. In a fraction of the time, we skidded our way down the mountain. I'm definitely loosing a toenail from the hike, but it is an exchange I'm more than willing to make for such a unique, difficult, and empowering 12 hours.

Cotopaxi on a clear day (not my picture!)

Cloud forest and Quilotoa

On the Quilotoa Loop

And somehow it is May. It always amazes me how quickly time passes when one is busy, or having fun, or on the go, or in this case, all three. Since saying goodbye to our parents and the Galapagos, Erin and I have been traveling around central and southern Ecuador, along with our third tall compatriot, Jake, Erin's boyfriend. Remarkably different from both being stationary and from traveling alone, exploring Ecuador with Erin and Jake has been a real treat.The downside is the much stronger buffer between myself and others at hostels, on buses, in markets, really anywhere; when alone you end up interacting with such a broader range of characters, both enjoyable and stressful. That change is overshadowed by how refreshing and wonderful it is to be with people who can shift seamlessly from seeking out cheap beer and American sports games to discussions of gentrification, the future of cities, and natural resource management.

At the butterfly breading center

Now over two weeks ago, we took a two hour bus ride from Quito to the small eco-tourism oriented town of Mindo, nestled amid lush rainforest-like hills in a region categorized as cloud forest. We did the most well known hike to waterfall, treated to a major downpour, which put my Northwest soul in a great mood. We zip-lined through the hills, flying over diverse canopies and being eaten by small devil flies. Our final evening, Easter Sunday, we treated ourselves to an incredibly decadent brownie at El Quetzal, a local chocolate factory, where I ran into a 19 year old girl who was not only from Seattle but also had attended the same elementary, middle and high school as me. The small world moments never fail to amaze me.

Trail up to Pichincha

From Mindo we returned to Quito where I finally completed the last of my Peace Corps medical exams and more interestingly (though perhaps equally as exciting for me personally) we climbed Pichincha, a volcano hugging one side of Quito. The trail head is accessed via a gondola ride and the peak sits at just under 15,700 ft. After scaling what amounted to a sandy wall, we found ourselves in a rocky nook a bit below the peak where windy chills set in and views back over the city opened up. From there we hightailed it back down and feasted on 'chinese' food, with an incredibly friendly and adventurous (i.e. the quintessential) Australian man.

Quito provided a couple great surprises - crossing paths with a friend from home and exploring Parque
Metropolitano, a remarkable public park, apparently the largest in South America. But with the Peace Corps logistics settled, I was thrilled to set off for the Quilotoa loop, a hiking route through picturesque communities and up to an exquisite crater.

Who are these fools?

From Latacunga, we stored our stuff, got 'maps' and directions, and took off the next morning for the town of Sigchos, from where we would walk to Isinlivi, realizing later we were fairly malnourished and dehydrated. After an endless uphill climb of the far side of the valley, we arrived in the town and found heaven - a hostel with the best, most plentiful food imaginable. We all ate ourselves into comas and slept like babies. The next day we walked to Chugchilan, again crossing a river and valley. The hillsides were similar to those I saw around Otavalo, in that the patchwork patterns from agricultural cultivation, cattle crazing, and forested areas provided an endless array of shades of green. The landscape around Quilotoa appeared even more expansive though; I found myself getting lost in the details of any one hillside whenever we would stop for a break.

View from the top

From Chugchilan we walked the longest day to the main attraction of Quilotoa. Treated to the same gorgeous landscape, lots of cows, sheep, horses, and a few semi-ferocious dogs, we reached the base of the crater volcano around lunchtime. Joined by a loyal dog who followed us all the way from Chugchilan, we chomped on ritz crackers, tuna, and boiled eggs and began the climb. It was a long haul but I felt energized almost the whole way up. I'd like to attribute it to my body getting in shape and aclimatized, but I think it has more to do with excitement about reaching our end goal.
At the top, we were treated to massive clouds and views of nothing beyond our feet. Instructions read to walk around the rim of the crater for an hour in order to reach the town of Quilotoa. As the sun broke through and views of the crystalline lake appeared, we wasted no time in running ourselves well into the crater. Walking through idyllic fields of wildflowers and the jagged crater edge and glacial blue water in the background, I was blissfully thinking of dinner and resting my feet.

Quilotoa crater lake (with distracting wild flowers)

When we were more than halfway down into the crater and thunder started really cracking, we realized how majorly we had gone awry. After much deliberation about backtracking, going to the kayak post another 30 minutes down into the crater, or trying to follow a random path back to the rim, lightning hit within the crater. Squatting in a low spot with some bushes, I felt each rain drop seeping through my layers, empathizing with our loyal dog companion who was shivering with cold and confusion as to why we weren't under the trees. The rain let up a bit and we decided to give it a go on a forward and upward moving path that looked promising. Thankfully it brought us to the real deal path, each of us rapidly huffing and puffing our way up with our (at best) third wind, coming from the adrenaline rush only attainable with the risk of being stuck in a crater for a lightning storm.

Galapagos Islands

The squad

Two weeks ago I left Otavalo, sad to say goodbye to my generous and energetic host family, the mountains and lakes, and interesting and compassionate Tandana friends and coworkers/bosses. However any reservations about leaving were heavily outweighed by my excitement around seeing two of my favorite people - my roommate from school Erin and the one and only Mary Jean aka my mom - and embarking on a trip of a lifetime with the two of them.

Erin joined me for my final night in the picturesque hills and ominous cement factory shadow characteristic of Gualsaqui. Danika dined with us, filling the Muenala Oyagata household to 12 people for the classic courtyard soccer, hair braiding, and massive, heavy, delicious feast that was dinner. The following day we hit the road, meeting my mom and Erin's dad at a beautiful hotel in Quito. The next morning we hoped on a flight to the Galapagos Islands, a dream trip to say the least.

To say I feel fortunate for the sights, sounds, and feelings I've been treated to over the last two weeks does not do justice to the unique and riveting ecosystem that is the Galapagos Islands. Not to mention the joy of drinking beers on a boat deck, in the sunshine, with the best company imaginable. I'm hesitant to try and describe what we saw, as it is a certainty that my words will fall short of capturing the bizarre and beautiful species and landscapes of the Islands. Below are some pictures that can hopefully give you a taste - 

Blue-footed Boobie

Flamingo!

Land Iguana

Frigate bird ready to mate

Marine iguanas - creepier in the water

Truly rare bread doing the frigate bird mating dance

Medical brigades and guinea pigs

Beautiful bus stop

Attempting to ignore the now typical 6am wake up call of kids screaming in protest to a cold bucket shower, I hid in my sleeping bag until Mayki, my 5 year old brother, creeped into my room to ensure that I too was up and ready to scarf down left over potatoes and rice before heading to school. Except I didn't have to go to school. Today I didn't have to go anywhere, a nice contrast to the past couple weeks of healthcare clinics in rather remote but realiably gorgeous communities. After the morning carb-bomb as my friend Danika so perfectly termed it, I leisurely washed my clothes - the first time I've done laundry in over two weeks and the last time I'll be hand washing my clothes for a while.

Mountain-side  looks of confusion

I find hand washing clothes calming and therapeutic, and the company of my grandma only added to my good mood. Perfectly in line with my strongest associations with her - jokester and animal lover - she ran up to me yelling in Kichwa, saying the word for duck over and over again and eventually pointing to the corner before doubling over with laughter. The duck hand a plastic bag attached to one foot, leaving it to travel around the courtyard with a parachute. The whole scene was great.

Añadir leyenda

Yoga, Harry Potter in Spanish, and some sweeping later, I literally sprinted after the bus 'with' host mom. The disparity in leg length between the two of us left me a football field ahead of her, pleading with the driver to wait. I would later be rewarded with beer at 1pm from my mom and her uncle, both of whom adamantly claim not to drink, a fact that evidently goes by the wayside if a wedding is added to the mix. The afternoon passed rapidly as I reveled in the sunshine a little too long, and shopped for going a presents with a canned beer in hand. Shopping companion and fellow Gualsaqui resident Eddie swore it was legal, or at least was confident that no one
would care "no pasa nadaaaa".

The past two weeks were filled with medical brigades, the most interesting and busy time during my three months here with Tandana. Two groups of American doctors , ready assistants, and helpers stayed in Otavalo, piled into a bus, braved some exciting roads and set up clinics in a total of 10 different communities. I usually rode with a group from the local rural health clinic, which saw us squished into a truck, travelling much faster than the bus, and blasting America techno music as we wove our way through picturesque curves and communities.

On the road to Minas Chupa

Overall the burden of serious illness and poor health in the communities didn't feel that strong to me. Access to regular primary care is certainly lacking, as transportation and the ability to dedicate the necessary time prove to be massive and persistent barriers. However within communities there seems to exist the capacity to mobilize when health problems become serious enough to infringe on the daily tasks of life.That being said, the need for dental care was apparent, as was the impact of a pair of glasses on women who embroider clothing for their families and livelihood.

The whole operation of the brigades was tiring but rewarding, both to see quality healthcare and resources being delivered to families in need and excited about this closer point of access, as well as experiencing my surroundings through the eyes of new visitors, which always does a lot to boost ones appreciation for the day to day. Despite the fun and interesting Tandana related tasks occupying my days, my host family continued to provide the most noteworthy moments.

Wedding season is in full swing, so frequency of parents being drunk has increased (ie happened twice) as has discussion of my marital situation aka when the hell I'm going to get myself married  (topic of discussion at least once a day). This dinner "table" (floor?) topic is marginally more palatable  because me being married would make me an eligible godmother to my siblings, one source of their concern

Buying cuyes

Cooking cuyes

 about my 22 yearold single status. Also on the home front was a delicious and particularly stomach stuffing meal of cuy aka guinea pig. I went to the raucous Saturday morning animal market with my parents to by the poor guys (we got 4 for the ten of us). I was bummed they had killed and processed them by the time I got home to following day, as I had hoped to be a part of the whole process and endure killing my own meat, something I think should be a prerequisite if we are going to eat animals. However my worries about missing out on the intense mental toll of butchering the animals were rapidly assuaged when my mom decided to kill the pet pigeon because it was messing with the chickens. It got thrown in with the guinea pigs and smoked just the same. Card games have been traded in for wild relay races, the sun is shining more and more frequently, and though I still can't speak any respectable amount of Kichwa, I'm really going to miss living here. 

Goat parking

Padre Chupa

I continue to discover new shades of green amidst the patchwork, rolling hills and ravines of the Andean ´sierra' region. Otavalo is situated in the midst of various volcanoes and their respective hills and small mountains. The topography makes transportation a real issue in accessing healthcare, though buses, trucks delivering gas, and even potatoe venders make the trek to surprisingly distant communities. And though bouncy to say the least, my charge of meeting with community leaders and school presidents before the upcoming health brigades has been a real treat. Accompanied by an impossibly sweet cab driver - the best grandfather character and a wonderful conversation parter, I´ve hopped around to a handful of the communities we will be visiting, to deliver letters and concrete information as to when the bus full of medications, doctors, and a guitar will be appearing. As Tandana has longstanding relationships with all these communities my job has been very easy, the hardest part being tracking down presidents living in communities with no cell service. Luckily, when lost and asking for directions from the man wrangling his horse in the driveway, sometimes you that very man is the president.

Beautiful traditional women´s wear + reproductive health

As preping for the health brigades has ramped up, I´ve said goodbye to my lovely hosts at a number of health centers. As per usual, the most interesting of these departures was with the nurse Mercedes, who was doing another training with local midwifes, this time on pregnancy risks and warning signs.The training started with a video, describing conception and quickly segwaying to a horrifyingly graphic and propogandized piece on abortion, produced by the Catholic church. Eventually the head doctor at this clinic ran out of the room, returning with a different video, which actually pertained to pregnancy risks. I´m still not sure if it was an honest mistake or an intentional move.

Yesterday, I luxuriously emerged from my now-pretty-smelly-sleeping bag to find the sun shining and the puppy playing. It was awesome, particularly after a week straight of gloom and rain, thanks to my oh so romantic description of the harsher weather. Like a dummy, I left the house with not a jacket nor rain coat, relishing the rays of sunshine (and getting sunburned) and freezing from 2pm on when the downpour began. The day epitmozed the weather here - no month-based seasons but all possible weather within any given day.

In a few weeks I´ll be leaving here, and as always is the case, I'm now more than ever 'at home' with my family and finding friends in the community. Though my routines feel normal and Otavalo familiar, stills from the community and town continue to capture my attention :

Post-market goat parking

Happy St. Patrick's Day!

Thunderstorms and puppies

The headlamp yet again proves to be the best object in all the lands.

We hustled the 10 ft. across our courtyard into the small two room addition to eat dinner. It had been spitting all day and the rain was starting to pick up. Sitting on tiny benches or the one large woven mat, eating by the fire always puts me in a good mood, both for the palpable communal energy generate by eating in such close quarters as well as the rich flavors that accompany cooking on wood rather than gas. Last night, out of the caldron (I think reading Harry Potter in Spanish is affecting my vocab...) my mom poured out fava beans and potatoes while my dad used the mortar and pestle to pulverize the aji peppers and chives into a thin but flavorful salsa, as we would say. One of my brothers mixed the toasted corn kernels with fresh though flavorless cheese from a hacienda up the hill, while the youngest arrived carrying the obligatory stack of bowls and spoons (the only utensils we use). The rain was now at a solid downpour, the open windows in the unfinished cement room facilitating a crazy conversion of heat from the fire and cold wet air, shoving the smoke to the top two feet of the room.

Best surprise to ever -  arrived in a sac of potatoes

I sat in my happy corner; Diana resting on one leg occasionally throwing her hair into my food, Abuelita on my other side, invading my personal space as always and making fun of my inability to spit out the fava bean casings with any competency, and behind me, the most recent addition to the family, an adorable golden puppy nuzzling into my back to try and sleep away the new-home and rain-storm scares.

The first bolt of lightning lit up the sky about two potatoes into dinner, with the thunder waiting a polite six or seven seconds to release the pent up screams of all the kids. With every bolt, everyone said a prayer and touched their head, torso, and shoulders in the form of a cross - I recieved more confused looks than usual when I failed to follow suit.

Shameless puppy photo shoot ensued

After many rounds of lightening and water creeping in the corners of the room, electricity had had enough - a ground shaking roar that gave me that exhilirating, unweildy-storm feeling as well, did the community power system in and the lights (naked lightbulb hanging from the roof) went out. Diana leaped into my lap spilling tea all over, the dogs started crying louder, and grandma and I went by light of a cell phone to find back up - candles and my headlamp. We rigged the light to the ceiling, wolfed down the rest of our food, and raced across the small pond now in the courtyard.

I fell asleep feeling like a tiny but wholly integrated part of this amazing, powerful world. My lips burned from the aji, my hair still wet from the fleeting moments outside findings lights and feeding the pigs, the continuing downpour, intermittent thunder, and little bits of Latin pop music coming from a brothers phone, left me feeling content and sleeping like a baby.

On a totally unrelated note, here is one of the few pictures from last weekend, when I went to Ambato with my friend Jake for Carnaval. In lieu of throwing water, Ambato celebrates with a parade of fruits and flower. That being said, kids and adults alike were still ruthless in their foam attacks of the two tall gringos.