In the rainforest the rain comes down in mad waves, and you are almost always wet.
We left on Monday for the eastern lowlands of Ecuador, a.k.a. the western edge of the Amazon Rainforest, specifically Pastaza Province near the town of Puyo, which is basically as far east as you can get while still within close reach of major roads. East of Puyo there’s another 200 miles or so of solid rainforest before you hit Brazil and the largest chunk of the largest remaining rainforest in the world.
As with Intag, getting there was part of the fun. We descended something like 5000 ft., rambling through tunnels reminiscent of the entrance to Zion National Park and cutting through valleys and around mountain passes next to roaring, curving rivers lined with lush plant growth and verdant fields and farms buried in the foothills. I listened to this song at one point along the journey; maybe it’ll give you some idea of what it was like:
We spent our first two nights at what I believe was an encampment of a nearby community located southeast of Puyo designed for overflow community members and adventurous tourists. We accessed it by taking a small road that—no joke—ended at the community of Pomona (which we unfortunately never saw), and by walking a short distance off the road to the bank of a river, the name of which escapes me but which flowed into the Pastaza River and, eventually, as with pretty much every body of water in the northern part of this continent, into the Amazon.
The guys’ cabin was about as close to the river as possible, and we fell asleep each night to its constant and soothing rhythm. There was also a small open air hut next to the river with a fire pit and benches and a hammock underneath it. There we stayed up late into the night talking, singing and listening to the sounds of the river and the forest. One of my favorite songs among those we sang goes like this:
The river is rolling, rolling and rolling; The river is rolling, down to the sea. Mother carry me, a child I will always be; Mother carry me, down to the sea.During our two days there we took a couple nature walks through the forest, we heard from the son/grandson/nephew of Kichwa shamans (known in Kichwa as “Yachajs”, pronounced “Yáwchawks”) about traditional Kichwa medicine and spiritual beliefs and we had the opportunity to spend one hour alone in the forest.
We also walked to the biggest waterfall I’ve ever seen and swam beneath it. We were led there by Byron, one of our guides. It was in many ways like the first waterfall we saw in Intag: you could hear it before you could see it and, once there, you found yourself in the midst of what felt like a hurricane, with high winds and greats rings of mist blasting upwards and outwards from where the water hit the river. The water launched off a cliff at least 50 ft. in the air into what seemed like a giant amphitheatre with steep, vertical walls, to which thousands of plants and small trees and probably some insects clung and swayed in the wind like raucous audience members.
This photo doesn't adequately capture the depth and power of the waterfall, but that rainbow was pretty awesome. We waded in close to the center of the falls.
Byron directed us to a path that encircled the waterfall and led to a small rocky beach of sorts behind the falls, where we stripped down to boxers or bathing suits and waded in. We were instantly hit with the tremendous power of the water that forced my eyes shut and dried out my contacts. We pushed further and further towards the center of the falls, walking backwards at times so as to protect our eyes, well aware that we’d never be able to reach it but drawn ever closer to this unbelievable force of nature, like moths to a light bulb in the night. Finally we turned back and walked to shore, where we caught our breath and admired what was before us. Emerson said afterwards he felt cleaner than he had ever felt in his life.
Walking back from the falls I fell behind with Emerson and Grant and Byron, who told us about the high rates of erosion besetting the riverbank at some points, which he attributed to global warming. When we reached the main road that connected the path to the waterfall with the path to our cabins, we looked out over the field across the road and, at that moment, saw Mt. Sangay erupting. At first we were so stunned and amazed we just yelled and jumped and watched as a small cloud of ash rose from the top of the volcano. It turns out Sangay does these mini eruptions quite frequently (we saw it erupt twice more during our time there), and has been doing so since it began its third and most recent eruption cycle in 1934. But we were still pretty pleased.
Sangay seemed to do this every day around 6 p.m. Must be its stomach growling for dinner.
It got better.
The next day we traveled upriver to a Kichwa community known as Cotococha, where we learned about their farming and fishing practices. We watched a woman squeeze juice from shredded strands of what looked like sweet potato into a pile of smashed-up yuca (of mashed potato consistency) and massage them together on a low wooden table. She was making chicha, an alcoholic beverage used in festivals and rituals that is made by placing this mixed substance into a vase, covering the opening with plantain leaves and leaving it to ferment overnight. We also got to taste some pre-prepared chicha, which someone said reminded them of Kombucha.
Later a woman showed us how to harvest yuca, the “meat” of which turns out to be in its roots, and how to correctly replant the branches of a harvested tree so that a new tree will grow in its place (the seeds of the yuca tree are stored in small capsules that sit beneath notches along its branches). We also watched one of the older men in the village smash up some type of root with rocks so that it would release a white pasty substance, which the man later dipped into a small river that ran alongside their community. The river turned smokey white with the substance, which apparently paralyzes small fish (for 30 minutes tops) and makes them easier to catch. Finally, just before leaving the community, we played an epic soccer game between gringos and Ecuadorians (most of the Ecuadorians being children). It started to rain towards to the end of the game, but we played on, until finally we called it a draw, waved goodbye to our brief hosts and crossed the rickety bridge over the river separating the community from the main road.
Harvesting the roots of a yuca tree.
Cotococha fishing trap, with the root paste infused water on the right (upstream) and two of the green, handwoven cylindrical traps on the left.
Gringos vs. Ecuadorians. I almost scored a couple goals but I couldn't quite tuck the biscuit.
On Wednesday we took a short canoe ride downstream to our second and last riverside accommodations of the trip, an outrageously beautiful sight along the Pastaza River with candlelit pathways between cabins and a rope swing that would be any summer camper’s dream come true. We went for a evening walk in the dark, during which I managed to see the bright red eyes of a caiman (with Byron’s help), and we sat alongside the river watching the sunset over Sangay. It was beautiful.
Emerson launching off the rope swing along the Pastaza River. We were tempted by the higher swing (nearest), and I swung out and back on it, but we decided against jumping off it.
Our cabins sat at the convergence of two rivers, creating some interesting ripple effects.
Not too shabby.
Oh yea, and Sangay was erupting.
On Thursday we saw several animal species I’d never seen before, including the peccary (which in large groups can be extremely dangerous) and the tapir, the largest South American land mammal (pictured). We also visited a wildlife refuge and rehabilitation center near Puyo, where several abused or threatened primates, birds, weasel-like animals and reptiles are cared for (often by young European volunteers).
The tapir has a short, prehensile snout, which it used to play with us.
One of the monkeys at the rehabilitation center near Puyo.
After spending Thursday night in Puyo, we returned to Quito on Friday. We went out in the city that night and on Saturday we moved in with our new host families, this time in Quito proper. My family seems great so far. They are Paola (45), Luis (46), Álvaro (19) and Martín (15). So far all I really know about them is that they have an even crazier sleep schedule than I do: Álvaro and Paola regularly go to sleep early (around 8 or 9 p.m.) and wake up around 1 or 2 a.m. to study or work. I too was pretty tired yesterday so I fell asleep around 5 or 6 p.m. and woke up around 11 p.m. to write this blog entry, so we’re now all awake in the house, listening to music and working on our laptops at 5 a.m. Ecuadorian time. Since my real mother is Bonnie Katz, I’m feeling right at home.
On Monday we begin our Culture & Development seminar classes (all in Spanish) and our first taste of independent life in Quito. Stay tuned.
-Globally Gallogly
This Student's Life 