Ecuador

Sleeping on a Landslide, Latacunga
11th July, 2012

¡POP! There she goes. I'm totally screwed. All of a sudden I've found myself tangled in a mess of material - disorientated, confused and still half asleep. Surrounded by darkness, I scramble about for my flashlight - all of a sudden it is freezing!! "Yes!" There it is...my swirling suffocation chamber suddenly bursts into light. A small relief. The howling winds are making a proper abortion of this situation. I'm camped at about 4,800 meters above sea level, far up the slopes of Cotopaxi, one of the highest active volcanoes in the world. Struggling out the now shapeless hatch of my tent, I look up and see the nearby silhouette of the glacier, glistening in the moonlight. A few hours ago, this spot was magical. Now I curse my pre-informed stupidity. I clench down upon the flashlight between my teeth, spinning in circles wildly trying to recover the front two pegs that exploded out of the rocky soil like landmines. The tent was being shredded. It seemed no stronger than tissue paper. Man, it was so damb cold!! I found the first peg, and forced the left corner down into place, flattening the guy-rope with large boulders & anything else I could reach. My hands and toes were starting to go numb, this had to work. Finally I managed the second peg, and triple checked the rest. It looked as good as it could get. I rushed back inside, heart thumping & mind racing, praying the old Vango would survive the night. This was possibly the worst spot imaginable to set up camp. What was I thinking?? Nice little sunset?? Save a few lousy dollars?? I checked the clock. How much longer did I have to endure?? Faaarrrkkk!!! It was only 9:30!!!...looks like I was in for an interesting night out...

Crazy Camping on Cotopaxi

I was ready to leave Popayán an entire day or so before I actually did. I was ready for a change of scenery. Ahead of me was another long haze of travel, but I could not wait to cross over into Ecuador, so this gave me grace. The trip to the border was a spectacle. The road winded its way through mountain tunnels, and hung out over great parched canyon lands. Reaching Ipiales earlier than planned, I decided to push on across the frontier & make for the market town of Otavalo. Customs however took it's toll unfortunately. Nothing is ever easy. Actually the Colombian side was a breeze, and I passed through so quick that I almost jumped in a cab back to where I had just came by mistake, forgetting about the second lot of practicalities. Ha, did I say practical?? I couldn't figure out why the Ecuadorian side was such a different shade of chaos. The line was flowing out the door and nearly around the corner. It took a good two hours to make it through, and another hour to go from one end of Tulcán to the other. Even heading away on the bus took an eon. I was checked out three times by military personnel who all asked me the same shit, totting their massive machine guns in my face. I'd been on the road for a good fourteen hours by the time the bus dropped me on the side of the Pan-American. There was no way I was walking. I hailed another cab, found a dank place to crash and passed out for the night.

I changed hostel pretty early the next morning. It was OK, but seemed like it was run by a gang of street kids who lingered about outside and came in only to check out the photos of my girl friends from back home. There was also no one else staying there. Still??...where were all the other bloody tourists?? I made an obligatory visit to the local market, aptly named & held in the 'The Plaza of the Ponchos.' I even went all out and actually brought myself something; a much needed giant woollen jumper. That was it though. There is only so long I can linger in a place such as that. I felt like a dick, and the locals weren't exactly what you'd call friendly. So, what else was there to do around here?? I tried to book a tour out to some of the lakes surrounding the town for the following day, but again there was not enough people signed up for it to go ahead. I ended up playing games of pool against myself back at the hostel...devouring a kilos worth of grapes & a bowl full of strawberry yogurt with granola. Exciting stuff...

Otavalo Markets

Despite the warnings in guidebooks (and from even some of the tour agencies), I bit the bullet and decided to make a trip out to one of the lakes on my own. Armed robberies & rapes are 'apparently' not uncommon in the area, but I thought hey, at least it might make for a little entertainment. I took a taxi up into the hills, making for Lake Mojanda. The driver had his young daughter in the front seat who blared the hit Brazilian pop song 'Ai se eu tu Pego' on repeat for the entire ride, not too unlike the rest of Latin America as a matter of fact. I was taken a back when we eventually reached the lake. The scenery was beautiful. Open moorlands, crowned by dark jagged peaks, not unsimilar to the landscapes of Tasmania. I paid up & quickly bounded off, exploring the lakeside, all the way around to the base of the intimidating Cerro Negro, before heading back along the road to where the trail head began for the climb up Fuya Fuya. To my surprise there was now a large bus waiting in the car park, but I couldn't see any of its occupants. As I moved higher up the slopes I soon spotted them. Two big groups could be made out in an ant like army, spread in a colourful conga line along the path. The first lot was a bunch of high school students from Massachusetts, all decked out in newly purchased woollens from the markets. It wasn't long before I passed them, apparently I'd acclimatized somewhere along the way & was still a lot fitter than I'd thought. The next bunch were all about my age, on a summer university trip from California. It was nice to have some fellow tourists to talk to again, and I probably went overboard. That's the problem. The longer I spend not chatting, the more crap that comes out when I unleash on the poor soul who ends up copping it. They didn't seem to mind. I pushed on past them, treating myself to some peanuts in celebration once I reached the top. At least I'd believed it was the top until the clouds parted slightly, revealing a gloomy massif at the conclusion of a sharp, sweeping ridge line. I knew the feeling. I couldn't not climb it. The views down to the lake were incredible, and now I could even make out another smaller one in the distance. Shuffling down the ridge, I was stopped abruptly in my tracks by the stern presence of great raptor-bird. It just stood there right in front of me, unfazed by my movement. It was a divine creature, elegant & proud. I needed Chelsea here, I was no bird expert. Just as I was raising my camera it took off, soaring away on the breeze high above the lake. I later Googled it searching for an identity. I'm pretty certain it was an illustrious condor. I sure felt pretty lucky.

Ridge along to Summit

Continuing onwards, the mighty views disappeared and I was soon engulfed in cloud. Passing around an impressive knoll & scrambling up some delicate slopes - there I found myself, loathing on the tippy-top of Fuya Fuya. It was much colder over here. Glad that all was done, it was time to get down. I followed the ridge back along to my false summit, which reunited me with the friendly group of Californians. We hung out together up there for a good half an hour before making our way slowly down to the car park. The plan had been to walk home, but of course I managed to scam a ride back to Otavalo in their bus! It was the 4th of July after all...how could they not be jolly?? Stoked. That day out gave me a new awakening. I was pumped up now. The Andes were calling.

Lake Mojanda from Fuya Fuya

The next day I waited around for the direct afternoon bus to Latacunga. I had no desire what so ever to pay Quito a visit. Not only had I heard some fairly nasty reports from some pretty hardcore travellers, there was nothing there I wished to do. Plus, I hate the big cities. I wanted to go climb snow-capped volcanoes! On arrival, I went searching for camping fuel, the only product that seemed impossible to purchase in this blastered country. Turned out the guy at the hostel had a small stash tucked away in his basement, and charged me a goldmine for a mere three-quarters of a bottle. Now I was set. I got drunk that with an Argentinian girl, devouring slabs of apple & sultana pie; that's right - gearing up for a few days of solitude.

Cotopaxi sure knows how to make an impression. After catching a bus to the park turn-off, and hitching a ride in the back of a pick-up truck with a mob of clueless French twats, I sat revelling awestruck in admiration as I caught my first glimpse of the approaching mass. The driver dropped me at Lake Limpiopungo, and I wandered around the shore, hoping for the clouds to clear and reveal the grandest of vistas. The gods were taking their time...so I pushed on, planning to make the refuge by sun down. It was a tough hike, but ever increasingly dazzling. Apart from my strikingly handsome volcano friend which loomed here above me; dotting the horizon was a vast & endless array of stylised summits, poking up from the barren grasslands, creating 'The Avenue.' I'd never seen anything else quite like it. Near perfection. The road made for easier walking than the slopes. Although these 'shortcuts' cut out half the distance, the fine loose rock was torturous, and the altitude only made it tougher. I was overjoyed when I finally reached the car park; slumping down in the dirt, cradling my pack. It was only another 30 minutes or so to the refuge hut now, and I was more than looking forward to setting up camp & cooking up a spaghetti storm for dinner. I tried my best to conceal my disappointment when I arrived, only to discover there were no spots for camping...I was sure I'd read that somewhere!! Now what Nicko?? The hut was loaded full of climbers, and it would have made a great place to hang out for the night; but on discovering that it would set me back over twenty bucks or so just to crash on the floor, I chose a 'bolder' option and took off to find an alternative.

Last push to the Refuge

Here's what brings us to the shelf camp. Oh buddy boy...how silly am I?? Not too far from the hut, down a protruding ridge is a broadish flat shelf. On either side there are drops down into iron-stained bowl like valleys. Up out front is an uninterrupted view over the plains; behind is the great wall of flowing glacial ice. I knew the dangers, but found myself mesmerised. How could I pass this up?!?

                                                                  ...

After my long night of turbulence - sunrise came and went. There was nothing I could do. I was tent bound. Could I even call it a tent anymore?? The poor thing had copped a trashing. Any minute now, I would hear the ripping of material, and see sections of the roof fly off into the distance...

Tent-Bound

...only then...silence...it had stopped...I was sceptical at first, carefully sticking my head out the door to inspect the conditions. Well I be...I'd better make the most of it, I thought. This might be the only chance I get all day to pack this thing up and get the hell outta here. I went to work - sleeping bag, jacket, stove, food, in the bag, shoes on, out the tent, front pegs, back pegs, pack up the inner...FUCK, FUCK, FUCK!!! Woooosshhh!!! There it goes!! As quick as that, two dry bags & my tents fly were picked up by an enormous gust of wind and were now racing off down the slopes of the volcano!! Nooo!!! This wasn't happening. Instinct kicked in, and I too found myself speeding off with all haste. Without a thought for self preservation, the game was on. I didn't know I could move so fast. I lost sight of one of the dry bags, but tried to keep my eyes fixed on the fly. Shit!! Then that disappeared too!! The only thing I could still see was the last of the dry bags. I snatched it up quick smart when I eventually caught up, and took a moment to catch my breath. The fly was no where to be seen. I was guessing it had flown over into one of the deep valleys or got snagged upon a sharp rock or something and shredded into a million small pieces. Man, this sucks...I trod back up the hill (which took ten times longer than it did to skid on down) accepting defeat. I found the other dry bag on the way, and shoved them both into my backpack. I couldn't believe this had happened. At the same time, I really could and I kind of felt like I deserved it.

I decided to try my luck one more time and head down in that fateful direction instead of walking back up to the hut. I didn't have high hopes. The wind was still relentless. But someone up there was looking over me that day I swear, because just as I was about to skip over to the car park - there it was!! Lying out of the direct wind, flapping gently against a large boulder. I was ecstatic. I packed it up with the rest of my gear and sat down on the rocks, taking a moment to savour the moment. All I could do was laugh. I burst out into hysterics. What a day...and yet to reach mid-morning...

The rest of that afternoon was spent plodding back down the road to the lake. I was still blown away at my dumb luck! Since you're not actually supposed to camp by the lakes shore, I decided it was best to head on up one of the little creek valleys, and find myself a quiet grassy area where I could relax & spend the night...out of the wind!! That afternoon was superb. The sun was shinning brightly, and the clouds parted from the volcano, affording some of the best views I'd had thus far. What more, there were wild horses & cattle, Oh!! and I forgot to mention the fox up on the slopes earlier. I couldn't have been more at peace. This whole trip had been an amazing experience, jam packed full of contrasting circumstances. Many a tale to be had. They're always the best anyhow.

Cotopaxi

I hitched a ride back to the highway the next morning with a car load of road workers. I managed to nod my head along to their questions in my usual nescient manner. I smelt bad...and needed a shave, but all the barbers were shut & the hot water had stopped working!! Disaster. I opted for the 'shower in a can' and coated myself in cheap deodorant.

There was one more trip I wanted to do from Latacunga before I kept moving on; a visit to the Quilotoa Crater & the surrounding highland communities. After a quick wordless Skype with Pantoon, I got moving off on the bus, seated next to some stoned Israeli. Now, this is an unmissable part of the country. I had no idea. Jagged mountain peaks reminiscent of Federation rose high above sleepy villages, tucked away in wide green valleys. Once at the crater rim, the wind picked up again, but that did little to spoil the views down to the shimmering emerald coloured lake. Magnificent. Circling the craters edge I bumped into a few groups of people; some more Israelis who refused to talk, and a German grandmother with her sprouting young granddaughter. The hike to Chugchilán passes through some stunning countryside, and the welcoming farm folk make the journey even more enjoyable. However, nearing the end of the route, my brisk footsteps were rudely brought to a halt by an unexpected mishap. A landslide had violently came down across the mountain path only an hour or so prior, destroying the railings and effectively cutting off the two opposing sides of the valley. Some people had gone down to check if it was safe & possible, but had returned unamused and were now sitting around waiting for a pick-up to take them the rest of the way. Shoot. This wasn't good. Another big group of school kids from Massachusetts were also crowding around (Ecuador must be the place to be), and one of their teachers showed me the mess from a viewpoint. It was steep, that's for sure. I wouldn't be taking a class of kids across it. But, I didn't have that burden now did I?? That's the thing, when you're on your own; you only have yourself to worry about. There is always a way. Always. I felt like I had an idea, but wasn't really sure how I was going to pull it off. I had to check it out...

Quilotoa Crater

Everyone wished me good luck, and joked at the thought of their afternoon entertainment. I should really go into show business...that only fuelled me further. Running down the first section of the path took only a few minutes, but the loose sand told me it wasn't going to be a fun trip back up if need be. Then I came to the slip. Man...it looked a lot steeper and higher up from down here. I started having second thoughts. The railing had been ripped out of the ground completely, and now lay on its side, half buried in the sand. Small rocks still hurtled down the slope into the abyss bellow. I wasn't walking across. In hindsight it would probably have been a wiser option. Nay...turning back would have been a wiser option; but I had a crowd now, I could see them lined up along the fence where I had been looking down only 15 short minutes ago. I'd made up my mind. I was going to slide down this fresh landslide till the river & climb back up the vegetation on the other side. Booyah!! Here we go. I hoped it would work...but remember; a good story never came from saying no. Woooaaahhh!!! The sand was fast! I realised I could barely slow myself, that'll own stop! BANG!! Ohhh man...that's something I didn't account for...solid rock! My ass burnt like hot coals, there was dust everywhere. This was nuts, I was travelling wayyyy too fast now. If there was a lip I was bound to break my legs. But that wasn't going to happen now...I always pull this shit off right?? BANG!! More solid rock! I chucked on the brakes as best I could...I came to a standstill. Dust slowly began to clear around me. I'd made it...Woohooo!!! That was the biggest rush I'd had since the orange fight!! My hands were cut up pretty bad & my ass looked like a baboons, but I was down. I survived the landslide. I painstakingly climbed back up the other side and received my quaint round of applause from the lingering crowd. I layed out on the grass, soaking up the rays of sun, and smashed through a hard-earned Snickers bar. Always save the Snickers for the summit. I guess this counts more or less.

Looking back at the Landslide

I strode into Chugchilán feeling pretty flush; high & mighty. The school kids thought it was all pretty cool - one of them had even filmed it. This wasn't exactly something to be proud of (I tried my best to explain that to them)...it was sheer madness. But listen to me being all knowing & cautious. What a hypocrite!! I'd do it all over again tomorrow without the blink of an eye, just for the sheer buzz of it!! Gheesh...glad mum wasn't here. She'd kill me, Haha. It felt like beer time. I sat around in hammocks with some new found friends, and crapped on the night away.

Now, the next day was the painful one. I'd forgot about that. I couldn't sit down, and one of my fingertips had blown up like a balloon. I had breakfast, bid my farewells, and walked along the yo-yo road for four hours (chased by angry dogs the entire way) to the sizable town of Sigchos, from where I caught an afternoon bus back to Latacunga. Ahhh...what a life. I have to admit, sorry to say folks - it just keeps getting better.

Beautiful Countryside

Anyhow, it's off into the jungle for me...
I'll chat next to ya'll on the other side of the Amazon

Bon Voyage!! Much Luvin' 
Miss you all...xxxxxxxx

Nicko.

Rumble in the Jungle, Baños
21st July, 2012

Who would have believed...it actually rains in the rainforest. Torrential. I think I've had more soakings in the past week than I have from my entire trip to date. But so it goes hand in hand, with a little slice of this magical wonderland. I've finally made my way into The Amazon. The name itself is enough to send the mind into an imaginative childlike frenzy. And I'm merely squatting at the tip of the iceberg; the Ecuadorian percentage covers no more than a minute portion of some seven million square kilometres which make up the entire basin. Dilute that slice even further, and you will find where I've wound up - in a protected reserve encompassing the Cuyabeno River & it's neighbouring surrounds. I'd been quite sceptical of the proclaimed bio-diversity in this area, and therefore found myself running blind; bounding away from Baños with no clear vision of what I was looking for, or what was even out there. The plan had been to catch a river boat downstream along the Napo all the way into Peru; but that idea fell flat on its face the moment I arrived into Coca. No one was letting me in on anything. Information was impossible to come by & what more, the town itself was a bit of a shit hole. I found myself moping out across the water searching for answers. I guess nothing should ever be too easy. I was after something un-real, un-forgettable. This was all seeming more & more un-attainable if I didn't knock that stubborn-headed pride of mine to the floor, change my plans and place my faiths at the mercy of a gamble. Unlikely, but what was that phrase my old teachers used to preach?? Ahhh, that's the one: "A change is as good as a holiday." I can't say I ever liked it much. More often than not I find it leads to even worse chaos & confusion. And after all...I was already on holiday! Tsk, tsk. Do you still think change could save me from that?? Well it seems for once, it proved so...

Cuyabeno Reserve

The mighty epicentre of pie & barbershop was left behind before I could have someone else talk me into sticking around any longer. I was tempted to summit Cotopaxi, after the wears & tears of my previous ordeal had taken time out to mend at least; but in hindsight I knew there would come many more epic mountains of which to conquer, and there was still a lot more yet to be done else wear in this again surprisingly beautiful country. Earlier at the markets I'd acquired a brand new Amazonica tie-dye t-shirt, and I'd be dambed to not step one foot across the borderline and denounce myself a fraud. But that was a lot of bus between me and the jungle; I'd have to break this journey up somehow. I felt my best bet was to make for Baños, a popular tourist town where I thought I might be able to get some inside information, or jump aboard an out-going tour group. At the least, I should be able to meet a few fresh faces who were keen for a good time! It wasn't a long ride by any means, but the scenery warped into that of another time-zone indifferently; the only constant being the ever looming pyramidal monoliths that took rise out from the green forest like giant ant nests above a vast field of clovered grass. A furious river gouged itself through the valley floor, as waterfalls tumbled on over the high, un-stable looking cliff-faces that this torrent here previously created. There was a spectacular view point from the San Fransisco Bridge, right beside the bus terminal, where folks were throwing them selves out into the void from an adjoined gang-plank, for no more than $20. I sure hope those ropes hold tight.

View from San Fransisco Bridge

I soon discovered Baños itself is pretty snazzy, aesthetically pleasing with lots of people and lots to do - but is there really lots to do?? No, there is. No doubt. But I'd got there a bit too early in the morning & wound up walking around for a good six hours, much like I would everyday for four years on those hour long lunch breaks back in Taz making teeth. Arrghhh...I sat in a café & ate biscuits to kill the time. Once I was done with that, I took my place upstairs on the hostels rooftop balcony with a Friday night cocktail consisting of books, beer & yogurt covered granola. Thank god, for the ditsy Yorkshirean! OK, so I could rest easy. My luck was fairing a lot better than this poor lass. The girl had left Mother England all excited to see the big wide world, only to discover she hated it. "I guess I'm just too English!" My mouth kind of dropped. It was like someone admitting themselves into cowardice. I don't think I'd ever heard such out-right truth before. Turns out Yorkshire here couldn't hack it another day. After three hard weeks, she booked a brand new flight home, leaving behind her two (kind of) friends, and the continent that I have come to love!! However, the best bit was she didn't give a hoot! She wanted to go back, and I couldn't help but to find it all hilarious. She found it all hilarious! What a crazy bitch. We decided to get drunk & celebrate, so off into the semi-dead night-life we strode; in search of some redemption.

This next day was bike day. Yorkshire & I had met a few fun loving chaps the night before, and we had all planned to ride the Ruta de las Cascadas; pretty much a downhill bomb all the way from town, following the course of the river to the stunning Pailón del Diablo waterfall. Yorkshire had already done it yesterday...but she seemed to like us for some reason, and so still tagged along. My bike chain decided not to cooperate to begin with, and there were times where I was nearly cleaned up by a car when I hadn't noticed it had bounced off the gears. One cog seemed to work, so I stuck to it; even if that meant riding uphill in full slow strides. There was water beading out from the cliff lines everywhere, sometimes even down upon us! It was a very scenic ride. The couple was having a domestic in the background, but that was easily ignored; the views & Yorkshires cluelessness kept me more than entertained until days end. Of all the falls, the last - Pailon del Diablo was the most impressive. I've never seen such a raging gush of water spill over from such a height; the pool at the bottom was like a rough sea breaking into the confined space of a blowhole, churning like a whirlpool - bubbling like a witches 'cauldron.' You could even squeeze up behind it to hear its roar, bending down on all fours and wiggling your way through a cave like tunnel. It was well worth the day out. After, we all caught the bus back into town & I destroyed a well overdue lunch, before getting merry off an eventless night with a bottle of rum.

The Devils Cauldron

Arrghhh shit! I hate these kind of mornings. It was Saturday night, how did nothing happen?! I was feeling the toll of my night on the limón crisps & rum. Sure to be a long day...let's just clear out. I'd failed to find some companions for the jungle in Baños; maybe I would have better luck in Tena. Off I went, further towards the lowlands. I craved flavour in my mouth that whole fucking bus trip. I went nuts in the restaurant the moment I pulled into the bus terminal. It kind of helped - so did the heat once it made me sweat. Again, the town was nice but I simply found myself wandering. There was not much on offer. Most agencies I went into required a minimum of two people to even contemplate organising some kind of tour. That my friend is one of the banes of solo travel. Two people can share a bed, two people can share a taxi, two people can buy groceries & share the bulk of the annoying large packaging. I found some kid, spinning a ton of basketballs on his fingers, visited the blow-gun statued man in the town square & ate more meat on a stick. That was Tena. Strike two...

Strike three, was Coca...I should have seen it coming. I'd been offered a lot of tours back in Baños but thought I could find something a little more "authentic" further on down the line. Now I was the only gringo left standing this side of The Andes, or so it felt. Coca to Iquitos was going to be a rough & lonely drift, and this old river was fat! I don't think I would have seen all that much bar my hammock & a crowded deck of sweaty men for a good week or more. I guess I could have worked on my Spanish, but I wanted dark & mysterious, piranha infested waters; hanging vines & spiders the size of my hand, or spun webs the size of my mosquito net. Well now, Nicky boy...ask & you shall receive. Or read the fine print...it often helps! I'd sent a bunch of emails out while I'd been looking around the towns for organised tours. It so happened that one had actually replied, but I misread the dates and had dismissed it immediately. Sitting miserable by a computer back in Coca, I went through my emails once again...one wanted $450 for three days, another didn't leave for a week...where the hell does everyone go out here?? I re-read the old one I'd dismissed..."Ohh you bloody idiot!!" I was hoping it wasn't too late; it was perfect!! How did I not see all this?? It was getting late here in Coca, and the tour left the next day from Lago Agrio, a bit over two hours by bus to the north. The thing was, I had no meeting point & hardly any money on me. They better reply quick!! I waited, and waited & BOOM!! There it was! I had a confirmation, and a meeting point! Woohoo!! No night in Coca, one more bus trip & I was set for the next four days!! I packed up all my crap in the Internet cafe, hailed me a taxi & jumped on the first coach out of there!!  

I found all those elusive white folk hiding in the dank confines of a hotel restaurant early the next morning. There were swarms of them! Where had they all been?? A landing plane made a good ol' racket, nearly taking the crown off a nearby building as I gobbled my way through another hearty protein-rich breakfast, and it all seemed to fall into place. There was no way to know which people were in my group; I couldn't even remember what my lodge was called - so I just sat and waited to see where all the young guns flocked. Surprisingly that tactic proved successful enough, I noticed a bunch of girls around my age piling into one of the mini-buses, and thought I'd join them despite. The cheapest choice is often the most fun. Who would want to be stuck on a row boat with a bunch of wilting expats; paying double for their exhilarating company?? 80% of rich old people are shit - a wise chap once told me. Shoot me when it's time. On that note, my lot where a thrill! I thanked someone, far off in a distant galaxy...this should be a fun few nights out in the sticks. There were three Belgian girls, a sexy French couple, this sweet Ecuadorian family of four, a heighty Austrian broad & one nasty German ogre. There was even this Ecuadorian lady who'd ended up settling in Germany, popped out a kid & brought him along to meet her ex-boyfriend...who just so happened to be our tour leader. Sheeeks! Romance was in the air!

Along the Cuyabeno

There were actually lots of things buzzing around in the air, as it turned out! Planting our arses snug into our motorised canoes, we took off down the Cuyabeno; our guide Lewis haunching over the bow, pointing out all kinds of wildlife even within the first few minutes in an unnatural rage of excitement. I thought I had some energy...Lewis took the word to another level. I became excited over little things that would normally never phase a split second of my attention. It wasn't long before it felt like we were days from any form of civilisation. The river curved sharply, in parts so narrow and so vegetated that we were forced to duck under the outreaching arms of falling trees, or lift the motor out of the water so it wouldn't snag on a stump. We spotted giant butterflies, even the orange-tinged Monarch, which migrates across the Americas in three-four generations. There were Macaws, Kingfishers, Falcons, Vultures, Toucans & Woodpeckers, just to name a few. Probably my favourite of all was the decorated Hoatzin, which would flock to the river side in large groups & swing three at a time from hanging loops of vine much like a pendulum. There were also often troops of monkeys, various in character, who would push their way through the upper reaches of the canopy in extravagant displays of flamboyancy. They would leap from branch to branch, seemingly defying gravity. It's like they always knew we were watching & wished to give us a little bit of that show they'd practised for National Geographic.

Hanging birds nest high in a tree

Once we'd all settled into our rustic lodgings, been fed till full with a delicious lunch & had a small mid-day siesta, it was time to visit the lagoon. Lewis kept saying we were lucky to have such good weather (I thought he was full of shit until it poured for the next three days). I felt lucky either way; it was truly spectacular. Trees poked out from the calm waters, tangled & deformed, creating an eerie atmosphere as we passed on by. The sun began to set, on what had been a near perfect day; and there we were - diving & leaping from the boat, splashing about in the mighty Amazon! The lake water was warm, and apparently infested with anaconda, crocs & piranhas...but that did little to spoil our spoils. The night was finished off with a cayman hunt, and we found two babies chilling out in the shallows. Heading back, the skies were ablaze; stars flickered upon me like never before & far off on the horizon we could make out a distant lightning storm. This was everything I had wanted and more. Believe the hype...some places are popular for a reason.

Sunset over Laguna Grande

Had I become one in the same as Michelangelo?? My David was split in half & wearing board shorts...better glue him back together then and fill those cracks with wax. Ohhh, now I'm climbing rooftops with JesseMunnings zipped on cocaine & crashing out at a beach side backpackers somewhere I'd seen sometime before...DREAMS. I was back on the malaria tabs, and couldn't wait to get back off them. The Doctor had asked me if I suffered from depression; does that mean they'd still make me depressed even if I didn't?? And my restless nights had become all so the more entertaining of late. My head's already fucked up enough as it is!! An early rise. There were two American girls I'd befriended hanging about at breakfast; Rambo/Elvis had taken a liking to one of them & had tried to lure her up into the bird tower last night. "I'll be your Tarzan, if you will be my Jane..." Arrghh, shit!! I wish I could come up with pick up lines like that!! We were soon off into the forest once again, this time up on solid ground. At least it began that way! After Lewis passed on some handy tips of jungle survival & native medicines, we were back squelching through the mud in our gumboots. It was hilarious to watch. One thing I've learnt from my many years of South-West Tasmanian bush-bashing, is how to handle leg-swallowing mud pits. I sat back & plotted my route as the diabolic unfolded before me.

Playing Tarzan

The rains were ruthless that day. There were only a few brief moments of reprieve. Despite the lunacy, we decided to go piranha fishing!! Totting wooden poles & nylon chord, we baited up and tried our luck. I forgot to bring my poncho, and was getting drenched. One of the Belgian girls got a snare and a hefty fish came leaping out of the water!! I wish it had landed in the boat; the ladies would have got a good ol' fright! It turns out fishing for piranhas holds opposite to all other general laws of regular fishing. We were told to beat the surface of the water with the ends of our sticks once we'd placed the hook, and the meat just seemed to disintegrate in the acidity of the river water. There was not much more good fortune, and the downpour became ridiculous. We turned about & headed back to camp. I on the other hand, got my own fair share of luck when we were speeding back. My rod was dangling slightly over the side of the boat, and got caught on a branch, sending it skyward with the hook lodging right into my thumb!! Believe it or not, my thumb is still in one piece thanks to my thumb-nail!! Pulling the hook out left a hefty dibbit. That could have ended a lot worse...I guess I could have told people I'd lost it wrestling crocodiles.

Fishing for piranhas

We all got sucked into the lazy life that night, and became moulded into our hammocks. There would be no night walk, only whisperings of midgets with wooden legs instead. The next day was to be a long one; maybe it was good we took the rest. We left early after breakfast, bound for some local Siona villages along the waterways. At our first stop, we had to walk about half an hour through more mud & rain, until we reached the community. Along the way Lewis picked us out some interesting fast facts. There was this palm that can apparently "wander" so to speak, moving from one place to the next in search of better soil, out of the slush. The roots of this palm kind of look like giant dildos, and the men break them off, wrap them in leaf and offer them as "engagement rings" to their proposed brides. He also claimed this certain type of colourful ginger flower was used by the local women as sex toys. Once in the village, we were ushered into a classroom until the rains eased. It might have merely been 1st grade español scrawled across the whiteboard, but I felt pretty flush with myself for understanding. I have to admit, I was feeling a little awkward in this place, but tried my best not to let it show. I often feel these kinds of things are set up more like a human zoo than anything else, and it feels like I'm taking the piss out of someones everyday living, as interesting and different to me as it might be. I guess it's a way for the people to carve out some extra income, and in that sense I tell myself I'm actually doing some good.

Back in the boat, and we were off to our next destination. This time we were greeted on the shores by an overly friendly pet monkey who made a raping of Lewis' face!! It looked like he was trying to suck out his eye-ball! We had some lunch, complimented by some freshly baked pan de yuca (which we had previously watched being made), before taking our leave once more & heading off further down river. This next stop should be intriguing, I thought to myself as we docked on the slippery banks; there was talk this guy was a world renown Shaman!! Lewis told us he'd once seen him walk right through a ceiba tree!! Or another time, when he'd dropped off some wheel-chair ridden cripple, only to return a month later not to recognise the lady standing healthy in front of him!! Again, I was sceptical, but was willing to be baffled.

Nacho the Crazy Monkey

He started out by ranting through his youth, his fathers prophesy of ascension, and how there were many fake Shamans out there, but he was a real Shaman. Then he started with the cool stuff. MummaEcuador sat on his stoop and got haloed with some kind of tree branch. As he flicked the stuff around her, he sang in some strange tongue & clicked rhythmically. When that was done he called for another volunteer. I had to check this out, and gave myself over to His Majesty. I layed outstretched across the stoop, shirt off; waiting for whatever it was he was planning to do to happen. "Aarrghhh FUCK!!" I couldn't help curse to myself. He was plastering my back with some kind of prickly poison ivy!! He began to chant again as he lavished, my skin began to sting & burn. Despite this I tried my best to relax & had to laugh. When he was done, there were no leaves left on the branch. Someone translated for me, "he says you were filled with much bad energy." Maybe he was right, I did need a good cleansing. To my surprise, within a few minutes the pain had turned to an unusual relaxation sensation, and I did truly feel cleansed!! It was astonishing; my back was alive with welts, but still I felt better than I had for weeks - calmer, stress-free & satisfied. Maybe there really is something at work here out in the jungle. It makes more sense to me than most other crap.

The magic of the Shaman

We had a bit of a fiesta later that night back in camp, to celebrate the end of our jungle journey & the resulting return to civilisation. The Belgians took off into the kitchen at some point to make chocolate bananas as a birthday surprise for one of the other girls, and left me stranded with some freaky NewYork half-woMAN. All she would talk about was her Shaman drug trip & how she felt like she had become an anaconda!! Then she continued about how horny it made her feel & that I should have brought some more back for us to do that night...the ones I get stuck with!! We left the next day, up river in the canoe, taking one last peak at the surrounding jungle. It was sad to leave. If the weather had been like that of the first day everyday, I don't think I would have. Driving back, Rambo/Elvis made a little detour to see the other side to the Amazon no one seems to want to talk about. Not far off the main road (yet surrounded by forest), was a huge oil operation, dumping all its waste products into an adjoining swamp. It was disgusting. The irony being where the properties fence ended, and where the run off was dumped - outside that fenced zone. It made me think back to our first night at the lodge, when the guides had all gathered us together for our welcome. They told us how grateful they were for our visit; for if it wasn't for us tourists pumping international pressure & money into this protected area, there would be no "protected" forest left standing. It put a nice spin on things, but all I could do was thank them. They were the real front-liners campaigning for the preservation of such a special & important area. I hope they keep on keeping on.

Lagoon Reflections

As for me...I'm outta here!! It's time to jet back off into the mountains & make for Peru!! There's been too much sitting around lately for my liking & no one likes a fatty. The Cuyabeno proved it's worth, and if there are more chances to get deeper into the Amazon, I'm sure keen to take that chance!!

Ciao, ciao for now my fellow friends, 
I hope to hear from some of you all soon!!

Also, thanks to everyone at Guacamayo Lodge for such an unforgettable experience!!

I'm off to find me a Jane, 
Much Lovin' Always!!
Tarzan xx