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Published: April 25th 2011
Fresh off the week in northern Ecuador, I'm preparing for the longest mini-trip of my stay here: Two weeks in the jungle volunteering at the Merazonia animal shelter. Two weeks of back-bending labor, scooping up copious amounts of monkey and bird shit and living without electricity. Sounds like a vacation, right? But first I spent two days in Cuenca trying to set up a late-in-the-game trip to Galapagos. I end up going with Eos Ecuador, where the sales rep does his job by convincing me an 8-day trip is far superior to the 4 or 5 day excursions, particularly because the first and last days of a trip are essentially a loss since they're about shuttling people to and from the airport. Since the boat looks good and the price is in my allotted budget (and includes the flight to Galapagos), I book my spot on the MS Cacholote. But first it's jungle time. Aside from a few Habitat for Humanity days, I've never volunteered my time before. If it's to be done, it may as well be for monkeys.
Friday night keeps me up late as there is a street festival down the road playing horrid music meant to sonically shake the structure of my building apart. I glare at them from the roof. Saturday morning it's an early trip to the bus station and it's all feeling like old hat now. Grab the ticket, pay the 10 cent entry fee and settle in my seat before napping the first few hours. A strange mix of Billy Joel, Bowie, Marilyn Manson, Pink Floyd and George Carlin routines plays on the iPod. After the switch at Ambato, I arrive in Banos in mid-afternoon, checking into my familiar hostel Chimenea but getting a far superior room with a balcony this time around for $10. I head back to Veija de Dusseldorf for their awesome onion soup (with cheesy bread), a filet mignon smothered in mushrooms, bacon and a white cream sauce, a large Pilsener and some veggies and fries for the killer price of $12. I'm happy to see the Flintstone kiddie car train (with oddly stoned eyes on Dino) runs full time, not just at Carnival. A pan flute player with a recorded backing track actually sounds good for once. A swinging five-piece brass band keeps the energy of Banos constant. Nap for a bit. Sit on the balcony and watch the comers and goers. I go for another stroll but I'm soon tired and back to the room to listen to some Jon Spencer Blues Explosion and reading. An article by a travel writer recently arrived in Quito makes me glad we had different experiences there. First day in country, marveling at the slopes and sights of the Old Town, and foolishly holding his expensive camera out, the travel writer suddenly and unceremoniously gets a bucket of human diarrhea dumped on his head from a balcony above. Stunned by this turn of events, two locals rush him and grab for his camera and backpack. He saves the latter but loses the camera and is forced to sit in the police station for hours while uncaring officials take his report, shit still drying on his head. He ended up calling his editor and just getting out of the country. Lessons to be learned.
Sunday morning and I check out, grabbing a nice mixed herb chicken for lunch, trying some of the locally famous malcocha (taffy) that's twisted and worked on poles in seemingly all the vestibules in town. I watch an impressive one-man band work the street....he's got ropes from the drum on his back tied to the back of his shoes, meaning he's got to step in time to keep a respectable beat and he does a good job of it. He gets the most tips I've seen. A kooky drunk at the bus station tries to talk me into coming to see his house and going on a local tour for free (he's supposedly a guide) if he can practice his English. Every two minutes he breaks our talk to borrow a piece of sugarcane from some passing by familiar. Needless to say, I pass on his offer and grab the next bus to Mera. Getting off just past the police checkpoint, I quickly find one of the blue pickups that pass as taxis in this tiny almost-nothing of a town and start down the rocky backroad obviously designed to destroy any passing truck underbelly. The 15 minute ride drops me off at a small wooden bridge and the cabbie points across. I hope he's right or I'm stranded in the middle of nowhere. But of course he's right. Across the bridge I pass a burn pit and a small bodega which is where the animal food is kept. The paths are all haphazard rocks, a minefield of potential bad steps and twisted ankles. The jungle is thick and hot today and I run into two women coming out of the Quarantine house (currently housing a howler monkey not yet ready for outside living). Bree is the Aussie ecologist here on an extended tour away from her gig in Brisbane. Lilly is the 18 year old hyperactive girl from the rich section of Connecticut. They point me up the path to the volunteer house and soon Frank, a co-founder of Merazonia originally from Holland, gives me the two cent tour.
Hidden in the thick green of the jungle are just a few structures. There's the volunteer house, with twelve wood and foam cots arranged in the round, and an upstairs eating and rec room (two tables and matching benches, two hammocks, a ping pong table, a trillion empty rum and beer bottles and some leftover games and books, usually occupied by three dogs who I'm warned first off will bite most anyone), the compost toilet and shower house, the small kitchen structure, the animal food bodega, the quarantine house, the tool shed and three cabins (one for Bree, one for Christiana the Ecuadorian vet and another for Frank). Far down the path, over thin logs thrown over sinking mud, another house is to be built for a new investor coming in July, though no one seems to think it will actually be done in time (right now there is channel dug a meter deep in the mud and that's it). And aside from the animal cages, spread far and wide on the property, that's it. No electricity, except when the gas generator is cranked up for an hour or two a couple times a week and everyone rushes to plug in their phones, iPods, speakers or laptops. I settle into my sleeping space, say my hellos to the folks here, down a veggie burrito with garlic mayo dinner and stay up playing Shithead (card game) with the night owls (some folks hit the hay early around 8 or 9pm, others plug on to midnight).
The schedule each day is regulated. Morning feeding of the animals starts at 7:30am. We all slip quickly into our knee high mud boots and dirty clothes and head down to the bodega to chop up pieces of papaya, platanos, banana, guava, okra, grapes, apples, heads of corn and other veggies and fill the bowls for the assigned animals (aside from quarantine, volunteers either get the Capuchin monkeys, the Kinkajous with Tamarins and Blue-Head Parrots, or the Big Birds with Aguntas and two other Tamarins). We carry the food and waste buckets out to the particular animal cage and start by coercing the animals into a separate section of the cage so we can pick up all the discarded food bits, animal shit and waste and wash out their water source. Then we plant the food around the cage, trying to stage it to look as natural as possible (there's still hope many of the animals will be able to be released back into the wild, so we have to prepare them to hunt for food and not be dependent on humans as much as they could grow accustomed to here). This takes about an hour, after which we wash the bowls and dump the waste and scraps into the compost bin. Then we have breakfast (we're on our own to prep breakfast and lunch). At 10am, everyone is assigned (from the job board, updated weekly) something to clean (kitchen, bathroom, house) and once that is done some other work is taken up until 1pm. It could be as simple as catching grasshoppers in jars to feed to the animals (the easiest and rarely all we have to do) or as back breaking as grabbing a shovel and a pick axe and clearing thick roots and digging channels through the mud. There are cages to be built, cement to be mixed and placed, stuff to be hauled. At 1pm is lunch and usually some more work from 2 to 3pm. At 3pm, the animal feeding is repeated from the morning. So by 4 or 4:30pm, we're done with the labor. Folks shower or lounge about in the hammocks, reading and chatting until dinner (on informal rotation, prepared for everyone and usually consisting of some kind of grain - rice, pasta, etc - and vegetables) at 7:30pm. By then it's dark and we're all depending on candle light and head torches or flashlights. After dinner Frank asks about "Animal Five" and everyone gives a report on the behavior of their daily assigned animals. Beer and rum is cracked, cards are played more often than not, and people drift off to bed. The one night I go to bed early, I realize it's almost impossible to sleep with the noise from the people above, so I take to staying to the last rounds of whatever card game is going on.
Merazonia is about 100 hectares in size, been around six years now and Frank is the only founder here full time. The power structure goes something like this. Martin (also known as The Machine), the tall blond gregarious Hollander who builds boats and is starting a tour agency, shows up for various months during the year and is a tireless titan of work. He's like Hercules performing the legendary feats. Works all day, eats two or three full servings at every meal and talks constantly. Smart guy, good natured but doesn't get the Velvet Underground. I take a pass on some of the text for his tour agency website and give him some rewrite suggestions. Bree the cute Aussie has her own cabin and is here for an extended stay. Damien, the mid-20s Irishman who shows up a few days later, coordinates the volunteers for afternoon work when here. Me and him talk about every movie and song in existence. The shorter term volunteers (some for 3 or 4 months, some for 2 weeks like me) include Lilly, hyper and sailor-mouthed, the youthful energy of the group, escaping her bored-with-riches existence in CT; Brit couple Ian and Jenni, who leave a few days after I arrive; Phil and Ami, another Brit couple, him a photographer and son of a policeman, her a cake and wedding dress maker; Celine, the bubbly French girl missing her real estate salesman boyfriend; Christiana the vet, with her wicked laugh, paperclip earrings, and killer smile that makes her look like the actress who plays Pocahauntus in
The New World; and Elli, the German vet's assistant who arrives the same day as me. Fortunately no one in the group is at all objectionable. They're all friendly and giving and excited about opportunities like these in their lives, in the "the adventure is just starting" way many 20-somethings are excited. I'm the old man of the group, even older than Frank I believe, and it leaves me in a slightly different place than the rest. They're mostly starting off in their careers, still considering their future place and goals. The literal treacherous rocky paths to them are to be skipped across...I trudge through the obstacles wary of twisted ankles and hernias and make sure I have my sunblock with me at all times. Which is not to suggest I'm not enjoying all the small bits - I am. It's just from a different place. It scares me a bit to think that technically 18 year old, half my age Lilly could be my daughter.
The animals are, as hoped, the best part of the experience (though you'll have to wait for the next photo blog to put names to faces). The Capuchins are maybe two feet high and a blast to watch play. They're separated into two groups, one of four young monkeys who run and play constantly, tearing through their caged environment at blinding speed, blind tackling each other, swinging by their tails and curious about anyone that comes to watch. The other two Capuchins are Anushka and Sophia. Anushka is especially comfortable with humans and we enter their cage while the two monkeys are still present. Anushka is wily enough to have figured out out to take the carabiner off the door lock and is close to figuring out how to work the combination code lock. She's shook my finger through the cage, grabbed the water bottle I was holding and made me pour the liquid down her throat, and is constantly trying to take my hat. Sophia gets pissed about this at times and screams and looks like she's going to jump me but given the size difference I feel pretty confident. Once a week we have to do cage decoration, which involves taking a machete into the surrounding jungle and hacking down trees and plants to stage in the cages for the animals to play on. One day, after 90 minutes of tree chopping and hauling and then arranging, the Capuchins destroyed most everything inside of 15 minutes. I take it as a good sign that they enjoyed what we did.
The Kinkajous are nocturnal and nasty little bastards. You have to lock them in their wooden sleeping boxes before entering the cage. It's hard to tell if the sound coming from the boxes is sleeping or snarling. They're the Gene Simmons of the raccoon family, with long thin tongues that slowly snake out of their mouths. One of the released Kinkajous, Kiki, has taken to sleeping outside the cage and gives a snarl whenever you come near. We've also found her sleeping in Bree's backpack on her cabin's front porch and occasionally you'll see Frank carrying her by the tail back to the Kinkajou section after she tries to cross the bridge. Their cage always has the most shit to clean up.
The Tamarins are unbelievably cute little six-inch creatures, brown or red furry, long thin tails and they look like monchichis. Two of them are separated from the others, and one has a cleft palate giving her a funny little face. After she's had her special milk mixture this adorable little creature's whole head is dripping white. Near the larger cage, larger wild Tamarins will gather and partake of some of the left out food. Sometimes one or two will run around the outside of the cage, driving the interior ones into a frenzy and you have to swat the wild ones away but they don't really listen.
The Blue-Head Parrots are fun to work with. There's about 14 of them and the friendliest, living up to her name of Slutty, has taken to immediately flying to my shoulder and staying there the entire time I clean or distribute the food. Others try to gather on your head and back and some will try to nip you on the face or chest but they're easily shooed away.
The Big Bird cage holds Chessnut Macaws and other birds. Malcolm the Blue Macaw, is separated out, as he is larger than the rest and has a beak that can easily take your finger off. He also will dance for the ladies. Whenever Malcolm sees new food coming he spills his current food and water dish on the floor in anticipation. Living on the ground in the bird cage is Mrs. Guatini, a people-friendly Agootie, (a mouse-rat thing that looks like a cute mini-version of the ROUSs in
The Princess Bride - so I guess they're RAASACs - Rodents of Above Average Size And Cuteness) who's prone to trying to climbing into every food bowl and bucket you bring into the cage. Two other Agooties, including a blind one, have their own cage.
Near Quarantine, two turtles live their simple existence in plastic buckets. A few other off-limits birds and the Howler Monkey complete the menagerie, though we've been building a cage for an Oscelot to come in the future.
In addition to the caged animals, this jungle is home to trillions of insects, butterflies like I've never seen (including a few larger than softballs), other birds and monkeys, anteaters, sloths, armadillos and some big cats. Moths and bugs fly into our candle flames at nights. I've found a finger-length cockroach crawling over my socks in the morning. Giant beetles and caterpillars inch their way across the paths. The jungle comes as advertised.
Outside of the work and meals, the small prep moments needed to keep the efforts of the days moving forward, there's limited time for much else. Every worker gets one day off per week. I used mine to walk the hour long trek out to Mera to use the internet cafe and let everyone know I'm still breathing. On a lazy Sunday, where there is no afternoon work, a few of us head up river to a small swimming hole below a waterfall. The water is frigid and a relief from the heat. Fortunately there are left over clothes to use for work - I would have been screwed with all my clothes mud-coated and dirt infested by day 3 without the already dirty and damaged clothes available to volunteer. The smell becomes difficult after about three days and I sort through the rags for the next outfit. My blue striped pants and torn t-shirt have me rocking a homeless look. The clothes came in to particular use the first work day, by far the hardest of the bunch. The afternoon work was all about trench digging in the mud during a particular hot day. I found myself frequently brought to my knees, dripping sweat from every pore, back and arms exhausted from the efforts. I thought about the probability of surviving a heart attack deep in the jungle. But I made it through. And days of walking on uneven logs and scattered stones have my feet used to the uneven rhythm of moving here. The nights of rum and large Pilseners ($10 for a 12 pack) during cards by candlelight are a welcome come down from the day. I'm content to spend hours swinging in the hammock, listening to music, staring out into the insect noise of the surrounding jungle.
Highlights Outside of the Routine
Day 1: Bent over in the brutal sun dripping sweat from every pore while digging 1.5 meter trenches in mud and hacking through a forest of thick roots. I may die here.
Day 3: I suck at catching grasshoppers.
Day 4: Capuchins shake hands with me and try to steal my hat. Me and monkeys, I tell you.
Day 5: I'm officially non-phased by picking up animal shit in my hand. Frak the gloves.
Day 6: Christina's boyfriend, a New Yorker with mid-length Adrien Brody hair and full-length Adrien Brody nose, awkwardly tries to bust in to our game where we try to describe a movie title without using the words (ex: An array of numbers = The Matrix). Somehow he just comes up with The Green Lantern. Then he gets defensive about his lack of game understanding and quickly goes to bed.
Day 6: After walking to Mera to use the internet, I get a ride back from the taxi Frank has picked up. We promptly hit a small dog who jumps into the path of the taxi. I look back as the dog rolls with a wounded leg, yelping in pain. Great. I came here to do good things for animals. I guess that's the cost of the internet.
Day 7: A former volunteer, 18 year old Brit Adam, shows up randomly for a one night stay on his way to Quito. We have a fun night drinking and playing cards, but Adam doesn't know his limits and downs a whole bottle of rum, causing him to alternate between speaking bad French, singing in a lounge crooner style and groaning like Frankenstein. He soon pukes in front of the house, not quite making the ditch a few feet away. Elli, the German girl, has her hands full convincing him he doesn't need to take his underwear off before passing out in bed.
Day 8: We haul 40 heavy bags of fertilizer (read: broken down human excrement and food waste) far across the muddy logged path to use in a future garden I'll never see.
Day 9: Christina the Ecuadorian vet mis-translates Spanish swear words for us. Somehow "fuck off" becomes "you can't fuck me" and "dickhead" becomes "face the penis."
Day 10: First ever projected movie night at Merazonia. Frank picks
Dr. Strangelove but I think it's a tough movie for most of the group.
Day 11: Me, Bree and Elli dig holes in the mud deep enough that we can't see over them. Then we take pics with Bree's camera of us trying to escape the holes.
Day 12: We haul large rocks up a step mud slope from the river. This is Rocky Balboa training.
Day 13: Wile hefting logs up to the top of the aviary for the birds to sit on, a cross bar piece of wood breaks and misses me by two feet. Time to head home.
By Sunday I don't want to leave and wish I had more time. Hugs and goodbyes exchanged, I endure a 12 hour sequence of buses (after killer burritos at Cafe Hood in Banos) to get back to Cuenca.
Now it's one day of errands and packing and I'm off to start the trek to Galapagos. 11 days in Ecuador left!
Next time: my new relationship with a sea turtle and the joys of sleeping on boats and swimming with sharks.
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Tony
non-member comment
Good stuff Grant
Grant, Love that you are having a great time. Your blog posts are priceless. I'm waiting for more! - Tony F