What a trip. Today I am finishing the last day of a coastal trip that has brought me from Quito, through Canoa and to Puerto Lopez. Along its duration, I have burnt myself to a crisp, been stung by a jellyfish, said goodbye to friends, accomplished a lifetime goal involving boobies and seen the most beautiful ocean sunsets. Tomorrow I return to the highlands to spend the next week climbing, wandering through museums and swinging over the end of the earth. But for now, let me catch you up to speed. So as I said, we started out in Quito. After bussing from Cosanga to pick up Julian’s friend, Mante, from the airport our friend Vale shuttled us to her apartment on the outskirts of Quito. For the next three days, she and a collection of her friends guide us through the crowded, sticky, beautiful maze of buildings that make up Quito. Constantly surrounded by sea of bustling men and women, I find it hard to watch my step as my neck cranes to see take in church spires, magnificent sculptures and impressive graffiti that adorns the sides of buildings. Unfortunately, this makes me the perfect target for the players of carnaval. Men, women and children, even dogs, run around shrieking as they are covered from head to toe in spray foam and paint. It seems as people live for this festival and put everything they have into playing its games. Countless bottles of foam are purchased and promptly emptied onto the nearest bystander’s body. Nobody is spared but nobody minds, everyone seems to accept their fate and are ruthlessly soaked by the sickly smelling, perfumed foam. When asked, it seems as though no one actually knows a reason for these antics and put it off as their ancestors traditions. I myself have no problem with the answer and set about to drinking the local favorite of Ecuadorian moonshine (Puro) and juice from the passionfruit (granadilla). And I dance. Damn how these people like their drinking, dancing, laughing, eating...how they love their country. There is no sense of hostility in the packed streets of the Rhonda as I speak to one of Vale’s friends. She tells me that she lived in America for four years of her life but made the decision to return to Ecuador. To return to the streets of her home where her friends knew how to dance, knew how to cook delicious food; where they knew how to love and live life. It is amazing to me the passion with which the men and women of Ecuador love their country. Ash Tuesday, we find ourselves walking the city temple to temple. Standing in minuscule proportion to these towering spires, cavernous ceilings and geodesic domes. Although I do not consider myself religious in an institutional sense, there is a surreality to these experiences. I feel humbled by the figures that stand with an eternal sign of forgiveness, so close to the love, hatred, evil and good of so many on our planet. Today, everyone is good. Next stop was the coastal town of Canoa. Known for its surfing, this town has a seeming vortex that sucks most anyone with cash to spend into its timeless beaches. We arrived at six in the morning with a group of flushed vacationers, ready to unwind and enjoy a little time doing nothing. We waited for the first hostels to open their doors as the morning sun licked the tops of cumulonimbus cloud formations on the western horizon. We ended up choosing the Coco Loco for its front yard oasis with hammocks, a cabana, bar and the lazy cats that lounged uncomfortably in the early heat. The next week passed in a blur of sandy feet, salty...everything and ex-pats. The town seemed to be a permanent vacation home for a community of retired Southerners, beautiful local surfer boys and their Spanish speaking gringas. A place that seemed to be constantly awash in beers and cocktails with an early happy hour on Fridays to celebrate a hard week passed. We dabbled in surfing and developed the permanent taste of salt and slathered on aloe to soothe our poor blistering skin. I developed a wicked tan line, framing my butt, in about a day, was thrashed by a jellyfish during my first time in the water and loved every second of it. After resting and seemingly just getting more tired in the process, we made our way to Puerto Lopez. Lined with a beautiful beach, tucked between jungle topped cliff sides, this city houses a plethora of tour companies, all with an identical coups de gras: La Isla de la Plata or the poor man’s Galapagos. Having the budget of a full time student, I made it a goal at the beginning of my journey to visit this island. The morning seems to start out slow, our guide leads us from the tour office; a gaggle of white people, awkwardly sticking to our own individual groups as we try to suss out what nationalities we are surrounded by. We file into the seats lining our tour boat and begin an hour long ride over open waters to the landmass we see in the distance. I doze in the craft as it breaks through the tumultuous waves, it’s stern slapping them five in passing. Within the last fifteen minutes of the trip, a shout of “dolphin!” is took up by the passengers of our boat but I am too late to partake in the oohs and ahs. Eventually we pull into a bay where fishermen lay on their boats listening to Ecuador’s top twenty, drinking Pilsener and shooting the shit. Red crabs scurry furiously out of the way of our plodding feet as we ascend the beach to the beginning of our hike. We are to hike about 7km in a loop around the crown of the island, meandering from one nest to another cactus to a third bush, all with historical and biological relevance to the people of Ecuador. Honestly, it is truly amazing how many uses the people of this country find for plants! And the lizards that scuttle around our feet are pretty damn cute too. Overall though, I am unimpressed as we reach the top of our ascent and begin to choose our next course of action. We split off with a group of people who have all opted for a longer trek and follow our guide into the high island grasses. We make our way in a quiet, uniform line as she lists off more plants for us to take pictures of and smell. My mind begins to wander until lo and behold what magical creature doth show its scraggly white awkward self to us but a baby blue footed booby! In fact a boogyin’ baby blue footed booby struts his weirdly tufted self into the midst of our group. Due to its age, it still has smokey blue feet and will not have they characterizing blue feet until it has matured into adulthood. But what doddering majesty this little creature has! It shoos us on with weird little stomps that seem to set it of balance and in a moment, my day has been transformed. This little creature trumps my expectations. Expectations I have held since seeing my first blue footed booby on the cover of a Ranger Rick magazine when I was five. Expectations that have set this little gremlin on my list of dream animals alongside the elegant wombat. I am content and proceed on the hike with a new mindset. Along the way, we pass three more juvenile boobies who watch us quizzically and waddle curiously towards our giggles and exclamations. I begin to notice just how many damn birds swoop and call and shit all over this island as we progress further into its center. Frigate birds make up the majority of the population and they proudly present their bizarre red neck pouches from the surrounding bushes. While airborne, these pouches dangle like gonads swinging in the breeze, quite a comical look for such a dignified bird. On our return trip, we have the opportunity to meet and greet with three mature blue footed boobies. My first dream animal sits on the edge of a cliff and shuffles uncomfortably as I approach with a glint in my eye. Such an honor to be in the presence of these bizarre and awkward avian creatures. Back at the boat, our guide surprises us with a bale (group) of giant sea turtles that escort us to an adjacent cove to snorkel for the rest of the day. Snorkeling passes without many thrills and soon we are on the return journey to Puerto Lopez. As we coast into the bay, the call of “dolphin!’ is raised one more time. This time I have a front row seat to our entourage of bottle nose dolphins as they guide us through the flock of fishing boats, glittering in the setting sun and making the toddling passengers of our vessel chortle with glee. What a day.
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Wilderness is not a luxury but a necessity of the human spirit, and as vital to our lives as water and good bread.- Edward Abbey Archives
March 2020
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