A Shaman Cleansing

(11 July)
Rio Napo, Ecuador

Wednesday night offers the opportunity to visit an indigenous shaman for a cleansing ritual, which is supposed to rid the body of evil spirits and impurities. It will cost each person $5 to go, and the catch is that one person must be willing to be cleansed. Harvey, Jason (another Spanish student from Ohio), and I are the only ones who go, and Jason offers to be do the ritual.

Now, this shaman happens to live, very conveniently, a quarter of a mile downstream from the lodge, and shows up once a week - my guess is - to perform more rituals for tourists than for natives (who don´t even live in the close vicinity). I´m doubting the authenticity of this, and feeling awkward about the exploitative nature of viewing a ritual like this out of sheer curiosity, and I imagine the shaman does not particularly enjoy the position of taking money from tourists to give them an exotic little demonstration of what is, for his people, something ancient and sacred, but he accepts the lucrative opportunity as an unfortunate reality of contemporary life here.

...So we paddle through the night until we reach the wooden plank that leads up to the shaman´s hut. It is pitch black except for the stars. Dennis asks us to wait outside as he goes in to greet the shaman. We are signaled up to the hut. We have woken the shaman and his wife, who slept on a thin foam mat in the black night air of the hut.

The shaman shakes off the sleep, picks up a small bottle of something, swishes its contents around in his mouth for a moment and spits it out the door of the hut. His wife hands him a stick of dried leaves. He says he must wait 5 minutes for the medicine to take its effect. He sits on a log stump, and asks Jason to sit cross-legged on the floor in front of him. He asks Dennis to turn off the flashlight. Everything goes completely black. I think of the animals and tarantulas lurking around us in the night, I think of Dennis´machete that he carries everywhere, then I make peace with the blackness, as the deep and ancient drone of a tune rises up from the depths of the shaman´s throat. The song repeats itself rhythmically to the steady swishing of the dried leaves, as the shaman beats them back and forth against Jason´s head.

Drifting back on the dark water, I feel uneasy about the whole thing. I've satisfied my curiosity, but at what expense? So that I can touch the breath of the ancient rites in the black night air, this man comes to perform what he knows is a farce of a request, and in turn, earns the dollars he never needed before to get by in this strange new world. We briefly talk about what we thought of the whole thing. Floating in the canoe, we are drifting souls down a river where we don´t belong, but to which we are compelled by our thirst to know the secrets of the world. On a Wednesday night one week from now, and for many more after, another boat of curiosity-seekers will paddle off into the dark night to visit a hut for a shaman´s cleansing. On the way back, some of them will look up to the stars and search for their place in this complex web of cultural interaction. How are we different from the Texas Oil man on the airplane to El Coca who comes to take the black oil from beneath jungle?

Dos Puntos Rojos

(9 July)

Rio Napo, Ecuador

Our first excursion into the jungle is by canoe the first night. Robin (from Illinois), Harvey (from Florida) our Spanich Teacher, Paula, and our Guide, Dennis, slip out onto the dark water. The brilliant starry sky reveals itself behind the dark curtain of palm leaves and the jungle canopy above. Insects, frogs, and bird calls fill the air. We are looking for caiman. Dos puntos rojos is what Dennis tells us to look for on the surface of the water.

We spot a caiman sitting on the left bank of the river. Our headlamps are on him as Dennis quietly pulls the canoe over to the shore - within a few feet of the caiman. We are a little close for comfort. Suddenly the caiman lurches forward towards our canoe and dives into the water beneath us. Robin jumps and lets out a shriek! The canoe nearly tips completely over! We take in a ton of water. Dennis pulls us back over to the bank so we can get out (get out!?, I think) and empty the canoe. Suddenly I´m standing in the pitch black on the exact spot where the caiman was just sitting, wondering how many more are hiding in the blackness, hungrily conetmplating my ankles.

Welcome to the Jungle

(9 July)

El Coca and Rio Napo, Ecuador

8am flight from Quito to El Coca - frontier town ; launching off point into the Amazon Rainforest. Flight is delayed several times - 1.5 hours in the end. We finally lift off from Quito. I'm seated next to the window. In the opposite window seat, a Texas Oil executive is droning on in his southern drawl about the particulars of his company's oil rig operations in the Ecuadorian jungle to his local colleague. Doesn't seem to speak a word of Spanish, and yaks on incessantly into his cell phone to someone at the home office until the second the plane lifts off. I draw my conclusions about how he callously comes to plunder the precious rainforest for his own profit and greed. I want to ask him how he can bear to make his living in this way, but I know that I live within the system of over consumption that drives this type of exploitation down here and puts his tribe on this airplane with me this morning.

25 minutes over the mountains, and we quickly descend into the wet, cloudy green of El Coca and the rainforest. It is pouring as soon as we step out of the small open air room that serves as the airport. A short ride takes us to the boat landing on the wide Rio Napo - a river that flows on into Peru and eventually flows into the Amazon. We will be taking a 45 minute ride down river to the Yarina Lodge on a small offshoot river of the Napo.

Shoes off, and we are sized for our rubber boots - a necessity for this muddy patch of earth and water. As our boat drops two indigenous passengers at their village landing on the main river, we head off from the Rio Napo and into the depths of the jungle. The motor shuts off, and suddenly the jungle comes to life! We are left with the chorus of sounds of birds, insects, frogs, monkeys, and the paddling of muddy water beneath the green cover of palms outstretched over the river. This is it! This is the Amazon I have always dreamed of seeing!

The Hike to Laguna Quilotoa

(8 July)

Chugchilán, Ecuador




We rise early before setting out and enjoy a bountiful breakfast of yogurt, eggs, cereal, and juice served up by Mama Hilda. At 7:30am our guide, Pedro, meets us at the hostal, and we are off on el camino.






The dirt path drops down quickly into the canyon as we pass group after group of youngsters headed up to the village church in Chugchilán for confirmation preparations. Donkeys, goats, sheep, campesiños - dark-skinned from the high Andean sun, and coated with the dirt and dust of the land. One by one they pass, a Buenos dias exchanged with each passing.



This path of dusty earth their feet know so well, the trail of their existence through generations, centuries, civilizations before them. For us, each step a new revelation - feet groping for the contour of the earth, staring wide-eyed into the fullness of all that unfolds before us. Looking into each pair of eyes as they rise to meet us with a Buenos dias in the crisp morning air. What do they think of these strange-looking, light-skinned lost souls who come to meet them on this morning? I offer my greetings in my attempt to seem natural - as if we meet every morning, and this is my trail as much as theirs. In my attempt to fit into the landscape, I act as if there is nothing strange or foreign about our encounter. The truth is I am completely fascinated by them, and have traveled all these thousands of miles just for this encounter - to set my feet upon their trail and look into the eyes that pass before me on this very morning.



We cross a footbridge over the Rio Sihui. I ask Pedro if we can stop and rest in the sound of the river below. We sit on a high perch above the river, and Pedro asks if we'd like some music. He pulls his small Andean pipes from his pocket and begins to play. The music mixes with the sound of the rushing water below, and rises into the air, where it settles into the landscape of its making: mountain, stream, burro, llama, eucalyptus. Vincent posits a theory that perhaps the pipes served a physical purpose - requiring the player to take short in and out breaths, which aids the flow of oxygen in these high altitudes.






We move on and face the steepest incline of the climb - up the opposite face of the canyon, and the high ridges beyond. At nearly 4,000 meters, every step becomes a physical ordeal. I quickly become intimately acquainted with my level of physical fitness (or lack thereof). Pedro does not show the slightest hint of tiring. I make my way: STEP... STEP... (Racing heartbeat)... Gasp for air (no oxygen)... STOP and REST... REPEAT.

Our hike goes on for about six hours. We pass through high Andean villages, where smoke rises into the thin, crisp air; cemeteries of brilliant white and aqua blue - where los muertos make their final rest in the Andean sky.

Pedro assures us that the hardest part is behind us, and that in un poco mas we will reach el plano - the flat portion of the trail. This conversation will take place at least fifteen times before the trail actually flattens out (which is when we reach our truck at the end of the trail). Poco mas by poco mas, we climb higher and higher, up what seems to be a never ending series of ridges - each appearing on the horizon just as you expect to reach the top. I grow so incredibly tired and oxygen-deprived that I barely take a step each minute.

At long last, our efforts are rewarded with the grand prize: breath-taking (literally!) views of, and a circular loop trail partially around the Quilotoa Lagoon - an alkaline lake formed in a volcanic crater 400 meters below us.

The Bus to Chugchilán

(6 July)

Latcacunga - Chugchilán, Ecuador

*NOTE: Since I was away from civilization in the jungle, I will be updating posts from the last week to fill in the gaps. Posts and photos from the jungle are on their way!

Bus, Latacunga

We board our bus for Chugchilán at 11:30. It´s more of the real deal than the one we were riding on from Quito. Packed to the brim with campesiños, crates, sacks of grain and beans, potatoes, produce - all stuffed in the aisles, on the roof, and in every free square inch. Vendors climb aboard and push their way up and down the aisle - selling every type of fruit, drink, and ice cream imaginable. The bus takes off, and one by one they drop from the front door to the pavement to run to the next departing bus. A fight ensues when one drink vendor gets stuck in the bus and the driver keeps going. She fights her way to the front and finally jumps off several blocks from the station.

Windng through bumpy dirt mountain roads... the bus stops (slows down to be more exact) every few miles, as people jump on and off with sacks of food and luggage. The rickety door opens and closes, and the bus fills with the aroma of tangerine oil and the dust of the unpaved mountain roads we bump up and down on for several hours.

Finally we arrive at Chugchilán in front of Hostal Mama Hilda, where we are staying for the night. We are shown to our rooms, looking out over the spectacular mountain vista and the deep canyon below.

Walking in Chugchilán

Ricarde, a member of the Hostal family who was on the bus with us, and his younger cousin, Andres, take us out for an hour´s hike down to the canyon rim before dinner. The food that Mama Hilda cooks up for dinner is exquisite (yes - she´s real! And she´s the mama of the family who runs the hostal). (NOTE: Hostal is a Spanish word used for Bed & Breakfast-type inns that are run by families in South America. They are different from what we call a hostel in English. They usually have private rooms, and often serve meals) We turn in early to get ready for our long hike in the morning to the Quilatoa Lagoon.

Chugchilán

Latacunga Market

(6 July)
Latacunga, Ecuador

Latacunga Market

We stop in Latacunga to change buses en route from Quito to Chugchilán in the Central Highlands of Ecuador. I am traveling with Janake from Holland and Vincent from England. We have a couple hours to wander through the Latacunga Market - bursting with tropical fruits of every variety and highland market foods. We try a sweet fruit like nothing I have ever tasted (whose name I promptly forgot), and maíz tortillas - thick patties of corn meal with oninons and cheese cooked over a hot fire... incredible! Many varieties of bananas and plantains - verdes, maduros, guineaos.

Maduros, Latacunga Market

Latacunga

Tortillas de Maíz, Latacunga Market

Latacunga Market

Spanish!

Instituto Superior de Espanol, Quito

In Spanish class with my teacher, Maria Elisabeth

...So I´ve been studying Spanish for five days now, at the Instituto Superior de Espanol in Quito. I get up around 7am, have breakfast, and walk down the hill to the Institute, where they have outings exploring the city in the mornings with the other students. There are students from the US, Canada, Britain, Sweeden, Haiti, and Holland this week. Some are staying for a number of months, others, like me, are studying in different spots. I have my classes from 1:30 - 5:30pm. Four hours per day, one-on-one is pretty intensive. My Spanish has progressed more in five days than it ever did in a year and a hslf in college.

The routine goes something like this:

Maria Elizabeth goes over a sheet with about 150 irregular verb conjugations. I recognize some of them from when I studied in college, I know some from their silimarity to English or Italian, I mix some up from their similarity to English or Italian, and I get some completely mixed up with words in Korean.

She then drills me on them and gives me reading and speaking exercises, when I have to use them. For good measure and style, I intersperse a number of different ways of saying that I have no clue:

Yo no recuerdo.

Yo no se.

...and my favorite:

No tengo idea.

Sometimes I take a wild stab by using the English word and throwing a vowel on the end:

Es una booka.

It´s been good fun, and the school is really professional and organized. The teachers know what they are doing, and the directors go out of their way to accommodate whatever needs or interests you have, and make it all a good fun time!

Tomorrow morning I am going on a two-day hiking trip down in the mountains to a lagoon formed by a volcano a few hours south of Quito (organized by the Institute). I´m going with one other student from Holland and a guide. Early Monday morning, I will be flying from Quito to the Amazon for my second week of Spanish courses at the Yarina Lodge on the Rio Napo.

I´m guessing I won´t have a great deal of opportunity to jump on the Internet in the middle of the jungle, so this may be my last post for a while.

Below are some photos I shot this morning walking around the Old Town area of Quito this morning with one of the other students.

Michael