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Published: September 16th 2007
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The Final Frontier
Once you cross this river there is no more phone signal, roads, electricity (apart from the bar)...it is the bridge into the wilderness After a hectic week working in my adopted Ecuadorian family's stationary shop i decided to take a mini break to explore the East of Ecuador. As every Ecuadorian will repeatedly remind you, it is a very small country but has four distinct regions, the coastal region, the highlands, the jungle in the East and dubiously the Island region (the Galapagos)...i mean is that really a whole separate region or is it a few rocky outcrops.
On my arrival in Tena, the gateway to the jungle, i was approached by a couple of guys claiming to be tour agents. Normally i would use the classic "No Gracias" and find a hotel but these two were kind of friendly and i thought what harm would it do to check out their tour. In a small wooden hut off the main road i was convinced into parting with my hard earned (ok borrowed from the Student Loans Company) dollars mainly on the basis that i could stay with an indigenous community which seemed like fun. Sure enough by 7 that evening i was drinking $1 beers with two indigenous political activists in the warm jungle evening with the rush of the river fighting
to be heard above the offbeat and monotonous cumbia from the bar. Less than 12 hours earlier i had been in the highlands with a fleece and hoody to keep me warm, proving that Ecuador really does have very distinctive regions in a very concentrated space.
But the best part of Tena was not when i crossed the bridge into the wilderness, leaving behind electricity (almost) and showers and trotting off with a short man with a machete who i had just met. It was on Saturday when i had no fear of being cut up into tiny pieces in sacrifice to the Pumas, i was more worried about scoring a goal against Elsa's team and not going blind from moonshine. Because Saturday was party day in Serena and to celebrate a pig had been killed in the dead of night (so the children don't see) and was cooked throughout the day so everyone had food in their belly before the mammoth drinking started. Because when you are in a village where the only lightbulbs are in the bar and the two plug sockets are for the fridge (for beer not food) and the stereo you know you are
Annoying Kid
He kept whipping me with that bag, hence the smile somewhere that likes to party. Moreover these indigenous folks love a punt, you could only play football or volleyball if you backed your team with a $1...i feel it is no coincidence that a beer also cost $1. Slightly merry on Friday night i had told Elsa (who did my cooking for the two nights) that i would give her a beer if i didn't score a goal against her team. To my acute embarrassment i didn't. I put it down to the heat (it was about 35c and humid) and the beers (on about 3 by then) but really it was just a shocking effort from someone who as been at altitude training (read living in Quito) for the past two weeks.
After that match a good gambler knows not to throw his money away (besides i needed it for my, Elsa and my guide Fausto´s beers which as the only gringo i seemed obliged to buy) so sat and watched volleyball. There i watched Nelson (the president of the community) and Pachaloko (a crazy babyfaced guy who just danced absurdly all the time whether or not there was music) knocking shots of a clear liquid and they
PachaLoco
In the notorious jungle bar with PachaLoco the boy that never stopped dancing saw my interest. "Quieres VeinteCinco?" they offered. At this point i wasn't going to reject an offer from the handsome, athletic, indian warrior-looking chief for fear of offending him. Anyway i didn't think it was strong because VeinteCinco means 25...25% alcohol is nothing. Of course i should have realised that when they said VeinteShhhinco they weren't mispronoucing the ´C´on purpose it was because this alcohol had no know percentage, Nelson had made it himself and the stuff was FIRE!! But once i tried it i had to seem man enough to stomach it and soon i had been accepted into the VeinteCinco rounds. As darkness descended Fausto and I sprinted across to our cabin on the other side of the river to get long trousers (mosquitos) and torches (so you get home from the bar) before returning to the bar to continue the fiesta.
What followed is rather hazy and the presence of photos are some of my best recollections. I remember dancing to Kichwa music and i remember going with Elsa to a random shack to buy a crate of beer except Elsa had to do the last leg of the journey because i couldn't walk up the stairs. I somehow stumbled home that night with my torch and even remembered to untie my mosquito net.
The next day was rather uneventful except for the end of the museum tour where i got to blow a dart at the target. Of course this had to be done in the form of a bet and of course Fausto hit the target not I meaning he won a beer. The only problem was that the village had run out of beer...Yes we officially drank the place dry. I was proud and very hungover.
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