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Published: October 3rd 2008
Ecuadog
Everyone, even the dogs, got their kit on when Ecuador played Uraguay in a World Cup qualifier. With heavy hearts, we left the Galapagos and flew to Quito. Darn it. After six months of soil-treading around South America, covering every blade of grass, flake of snow and grain of sand along the way, we finally cheat and miss a chunk. But what the hell, it doesn't really matter in the long run, and besides, Ant loves flying. Shame Jen doesn't. Every flight sees us display polar opposites of emotions. As the plane gathers speed on the runway, Jen frowns so hard her eyebrows meet as she pretends to read a book, only to be yanked out of her meditation by Ant squeezing her hand and going, 'There can't be much runway left, hope we leave the ground soon!'
According to various reports, one thing far more dangerous than flying, is Quito. It seemed everyone we'd met had been mugged, or knew someone who'd been mugged in Quito. We'd also heard that many a Galapagos photo never makes it back, being unceremoniously yanked, along with the camera, wallet and whatever else, somewhere between the airport and the hotel. So we were extra careful and fortunately, survived our first couple of days there unscathed. We'd been quite excited about
Basilica
Quite impressive from a distance. Quite tatty closeup. Quito, expecting a colonial gem of narrow streets and impressive buildings, and they were there, in the old town. There was an impressive Basilica (big church), which was a gothic wannabe, sadly let down by a clock face which looked more Ratners than Goth. Still, it had an exceedingly precarious set of stairs to one of its bell towers which we cajoled one another to climb. We never learn. Jen almost made it to the crumbling and windswept top, but with wobbling knees and yellow belly, failed with one flight of rickety stairs to go. Somehow, against all the odds, that was enough to spur Ant to the top, just long enough to wince, take a photo, and hurry back down. For some reason, religious buildings were the theme - perhaps we were hoping for the Almighty to spare us from muggings - as we next headed to a convent where the highlight was witnessing a couple of doddery old nuns pottering around a courtyard. But these were exceptional nuns, Supernuns if you will. For they were 'profoundly' silent - apparently. Not just really silent, but profoundly. Which must have come as some joy to their in-house cat and dog
Syddler in the Roof
In the roof of the church. who could presumably get away with murder and never be shouted at, though what the nuns did if they escaped is anyone's guess. And that was about the extent of our sight seeing. By nightfall, there was a distinctly menacing air about the suddenly empty streets and we retreated to the relative safety of our room, locking out the pimps, junkies and knife-toting badies from our serene little world.
But as you all know by now, we don't shy away from danger that easily. Oh no daddio! In fact, we seek out danger, grabbing its balls and squeezing them so hard that danger knows who's boss. On this occasion, danger was hiding out in the jungles of north east Ecuador, about ten hours from Quito, close to the Columbian border. Arriving in the smoking, (probably gun-toting) Lagos Agrios was like a different world. With choppers whirring overhead and the kind of humidity and military tension usually reserved for Hollywood/Vietnam blockbusters, we sponged the sweat from our necks and headed off for our first full-on taste of the Amazon Basin. Unlike other basins, the Amazon Basin is rather large and definitely wouldn’t fit conveniently between the toilet and bath in
Ba Silly Carr
Shitting ones self. your average semi. It was another few hours by bus, then three hours by boat to reach our jungle lodge (Samona) in the Cuyabeno Reserve. For those few hours on the murky brown river, everyone at some point played out their ‘Apocolypse Now’ fantasies, and it wouldn’t have come as a great surprise if the jungle had suddenly lit up in neplam-ignited flames. Fortunately that didn’t happen, as it would have caused tremendous damage to the flora and fauna, although this isn’t a concern of the numerous oil companies who are happily raping the area around the reserve with unabated gusto. But the reserve itself was a joy, and ably led by our good guide Lenin (true!) we sensed that no wild thing would go unnoticed and we spotted snakes and pink dolphins before we'd even arrived at the lodge. There followed five days of steamy, brown-rivered joy in which we spied all sorts of creatures which, in normal circumstances, you'd pay good money to run away from. Assured by the guides that it was safe, we swam in the murky river waters, knowing full well that they were home to alligators, piranhas and anacondas. Quite why we trusted the
View of Quito
Well, the old town. If this was a view of the new town you'd have every right to spit at me. guides we're not too sure. Apart from Lenin who seemed to buck the trend, the others were an amusing selection of 'man types'. There was one we named Rambo, who really could have been the real deal. He had the hair, the knife and the snarl, although his muscle t-shirt and sawn-off denim shorts lent more towards a ‘Wham’ video than extreme violence. Then there was the girly, good looking one who used charm to combat Rambo’s brawn, and who positively throbbed with delight at his all-female group. We were glad we got the guide who appeared more interested in spotting birds than shagging them. That said, Lenin had his party piece too - a one foot high Wooly Monkey named Pancha, whose cuteness made Bambi look like Hitler. If Lenin’s ploy was to use his monkey as a pulling tool, he was a certainly more cunning than the other alpha male guides.
And so with Lenin, Pancha and a fine group we explored the jungle on foot and by boat, by day and night, seeking out its elusive and fascinating inhabitants. We encountered a tree half-covered in caterpillars, frogs that looked like leaves and sat perfectly still hoping
Technicolour Cake (and a smashing coffee)
It's a tragedy, but good coffee is hard to come across in these parts as it's shipped to all the rich people. But we found one marvellous coffee, and a very gay and proud cake. we hadn’t seen them and other frogs that wore Day-Glo orange and bounced away the minute they knew their garish skin had given them away. Most nights we could see numerous tarantulas in the roofs of the lodge, one of which dropped to the floor, sparking off a daring game to see who would pick up the hairy bastard. Apparently they only bite if they are scared or alarmed, which came as no comfort to Ant as he was about the tenth person to scare and alarm the poor thing by having it crawl all over his arm. Meanwhile, just outside, a boa constrictor sat lazily draped across the branches of a small tree, no one daring to have such close encounters with him.
We met Shamans and village chiefs, learnt about the medicinal qualities of the trees and plants, which we then instantly forgot. We paddled around the wonderfully named flooded forest, and swam in a huge lagoon, which must have been home to all sorts of weird and wonderful creatures, both creepy and crawly. But one of the coolest things of all, bizarre and dumbfounding, came in the innocuous form of a bee hive. We had heard,
Trio of Catapillars
Three of the most dapper catapillars we've ever seen. but not believed, about the ways these bees protect their hive, until one morning… Upon spotting a large nest, high above our boat in the branches of a tree, Lenin instructed us to loudly shout the word ‘March’. On his cue we screamed the word and waited. A few seconds passed before we heard it. Quiet at first, then louder, like a war drum, repeatedly and with menace. Inside the hive the bees were drumming their wings against walls, defending their territory with rhythmic beats, prepared to take to the skies and launch an aerial attack if need be. They didn’t need to; we weren’t going to shout again, knowing that we’d be chased down the river by thousands of angry bees. It was an awe inspiring moment where suddenly humans don’t seem so clever after all. A little later we spied a hummingbird nest, the size of a small biscuit, complete with three chicks, each about the size of a little fingernail. But obviously this small stuff is small fry for such danger seekers as ourselves, and the one thing that we really wanted to see was an anaconda. We tried our best - we found their haunts and
Cheeky Monkey
Finishing off Ant's dinner. Jen went swimming at every opportunity in an attempt to lure them towards her, hoping that her sacrifice would lead to the greater good of the group getting a good photo. But despite our efforts, it eluded us. As we left, after five days of insecty, sweaty joy, our only niggling disappointment was the lack of anaconda action. Until… About an hour back upstream, the ever ready Lenin, the man who never gives up, gave the cry we’d given up hope of hearing. ‘Anaconda!’And sure enough, there in a bush, gleaming and still, lay the elusive beast. Well, more of a tiddler, actually. It wasn’t the eight metre behemoth we’d been hoping for, but a two month old baby, long, though not an eight metre fatty. But an anaconda it was nonetheless, and we were happy with that.
It had been quite a couple of weeks, what with the Galapagos and the jungle trip, and it had been a joy to have someone look after us for a while. But our return to Quito was a return to the normality of having to feed and house ourselves again, and think about what to do next. There was one more
thing to visit before we headed south again - the middle of the world! We were in Ecuador, after all, which in the Spanish language means equator. And just 25km north of Quito is the shambles of sites claiming to mark the equator. Maybe shambles is a bit harsh, but there’s actually two sites which claim to lie on the equator, and apparently they’re both wrong! The first is the Mitad Del Mundo, a monstrous erection planted wrongly by a bunch of French people in the 19th century, complete with a wrong line and wrong norths and souths where people take wrong photos in the wrong place in a series of wrong poses. The second place is just wrong. It’s the place that claims to be the real thing, where you can balance an egg on a nail or watch a guide pour water into a sink on either side of ‘the line’ to watch it swirl in different directions. It’s fake. And wrong. And summed up by Phil, one of our buddies, by the phrase, ‘I’d love to help you with your cheap tricks but I´m too busy being rogered by capitalism´- we´d paid over the odds for this
Spot the Frog
There is one there. wrongness. But in between the two sites, like a little shining light of honesty, we stumbled across a project which seeks to educate those who are willing to listen, about the true equator. We learnt that the Inca’s worked it out centuries before the French lot came along, and listened with interest as they explained that all our maps are also wrong - they should depict north on the left, not the top. They were right, too, we’ll show you when we get home.
But in amongst all the excitement of our visit to the jungles of northern Ecuador and the equator, we almost overlooked one stunning and poignant landmark on our journey. For the first time in roughly fourteen months, we’d crossed back into the northern hemisphere. And you know what, it felt good. We felt a little closer to home, if only for a few moments. But that joy had to be put on hold, for a few more weeks at least, since we were heading south again. And so it was that we left Quito for a second time, heading for the volcano-strewn hills of central Ecuador. But we’ll save that for next time.
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