byChrisWhite – 2015

There I lay, staring at the ceiling in a fit of humid frustration, tangled in sheets that refused to behave themselves, and contemplating my second consecutive night of sleep without the sweet salvation of air conditioning. This, they tell me, is supposed to be vacation. I’m hot, I’m sticky, and somewhere in the deepest folds of my mind a voice asks, “Who sold me on this idea again?” Sun-scorched, mosquito-bitten, and otherwise stewed in the juices of my own discomfort, I pondered the age-old question, where exactly did I take the wrong turn?

It wasn’t supposed to be this way. Oh no. This was Ecuador, a land of adventure, a bucket-list extravaganza of Amazonian escapades and picturesque landscapes. Earlier that day, we had taken a balsa raft ride through the white-capped Napo River, where I thought for a moment I might die a rather poetic, albeit damp, death. Later, a tarantula the size of a dinner plate decided it would be charming to join me in the pool, my one sanctuary of cool, chlorine-soaked relief, just before dinner. And somewhere amidst all this splendor, a pack of wild jungle chickens had the run of the hacienda, tidying up ticks with the nonchalance of feathered custodians. It all seemed fitting, absurd, bewildering, yet strangely delightful.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not here to write my obituary just yet. I jest, perhaps a little too glibly. Sure, Ecuador offers many an opportunity to meet an untimely end, what with piranhas, river caimans, and a local menu that featured something called “Iron Palm” pork, but none of that compares to the potential disaster of my own indignation. I’ve realized I may be showing my hand as a spoiled, modern traveler, grumbling over two sweltering nights out of an otherwise lovely fortnight, in a place that, all things considered, has beauty enough to pardon even my sarcastic soul.

For the most part, Ecuador’s climate is a kind of perpetual spring, owing largely to its lofty altitudes. You see, while the Amazon basin can serve you a climate so sticky it leaves you wondering whether the air might be drunk through a straw, the rest of Ecuador, with its blessed highlands, remains rather temperate, a truth that should silence my complaints, but rarely does.

Now, if there’s one universal truth to these travels, it’s that the jungle will certainly leave its mark. I’ve acquired enough bug bites to form a sort of Braille map on my limbs, a memoir of this trip that’ll perhaps be useful to future generations of my bloodline. Who knows? Maybe my grandchildren, yet unborn, will delight in tracing these welts and inquiring after tales of their grandmother’s swashbuckling journey to the jungle.

Of course, the jungle, for all its dangers, can also offer its share of endearing surprises. Take, for instance, Emily’s newest friend, a grey-winged trumpeter that decided to imprint on her during our visit to a jungle animal rescue center. There she was, deep in the Amazon, followed like a mother hen by this oversized feathered devotee. It seemed content to toddle behind her, all the while scaring off snakes, which, if you ask me, made it the best kind of companion one could hope for in those parts.

Our new friend Rita from Hong Kong, on the other hand, had her own solution to the jungle pests. She wore some sort of “bug patch,” a Chinese contraption that seemed to render her impervious to bites. Not a single welt. Meanwhile, I was essentially marinating myself in the strongest repellent I could find, the kind that came with warnings about skin contact, and yet the Amazonian insects merely found me amusing, a Yankee delicacy. Perhaps we Americans need to stop worrying about rockets and 5G towers and focus instead on cracking China’s code for insect-proofing. After all, what’s the point of modern technology if one can’t enjoy the Amazon without becoming a buffet?

It’s worth mentioning, if bucket lists are your thing, that the Amazon is as thrilling as advertised. And Ecuador, well, it turned out to be far more than I bargained for. This place is a tapestry woven from contrasts. It’s not Europe, there are no grand cathedrals around every corner, no cobbled streets steeped in ancient lore. Instead, Ecuador offers a different kind of marvel, a land where every journey is its own spectacle, and where each destination, though often simple, carries the charm of authenticity untainted by mass tourism.

The roads here wind through landscapes of such beauty that it’s almost absurd, volcanoes loom like ancient sentinels, river canyons yawn at the horizon, and mountainsides are quilted with patchworks of fields in seemingly impossible patterns. Of course, this postcard-perfect scenery is punctuated now and then by collapsing homes of concrete and cinderblock, a reminder that the splendor of nature often goes hand in hand with the starkness of human habitation.

The city of Baños, for instance, sits at the feet of an active volcano, its residents carrying on their lives in blissful defiance of the fire-breathing giant above. A waterfall cascades near the main square, and the entire town seems cradled by sheer, verdant cliffs, like a jewel hidden in the palm of the earth. And, I dare say, a fair share of its inhabitants have been known to make impromptu roadside pit stops. biological needs met without the burdens of porcelain or privacy. It’s a custom, I suppose, that has its place, a uniquely Ecuadorian protest against the stinginess of public restrooms.

If you find yourself in Ecuador, you might also notice, as I did, that nearly every home and structure has an elaborate clothesline strung between posts, adorned with the daily laundry of its residents. It’s as if the entire country decided that the clothesline, not the cathedral, would be its most enduring landmark. Bright fabrics wave you into every village, rainbows of cotton and alpaca, a cheerful sight that gives the impression of an entire nation airing its linens in solidarity. I’ve come to think that perhaps wardrobes are out of fashion here, why bother with storage when the whole village can appreciate your collection of undergarments?

Despite all my teasing, I’ve found that the Ecuadorians are a warm, kind, and wonderfully patient people. They indulge our touristy curiosities, even when that means being photographed like exhibits at a petting zoo, and go out of their way to welcome us. They are a varied group, tall, short, dark, fair, all of them hard-working, all of them striving. It’s impossible not to admire their resourcefulness, even if the language, musical as it may be, is mostly unintelligible to me.

And, of course, there are the public conveniences, or rather, inconveniences. Many restrooms come with a small “tipping fee,” in exchange for which you receive a few modest squares of toilet paper. It’s an economy of scarcity, I suppose, one that encourages creativity in the face of digestive misfortune. Perhaps that’s why so many Ecuadorians seem perfectly content to relieve themselves in the open, a communal shrug in the face of inadequate tissue.

I would be remiss if I didn’t mention the Panama hat. Yes, that famous headwear, it’s not from Panama at all, but from Ecuador. Like so many things in this world, it’s a victim of mistaken identity, a hat that went home with the wrong parents, so to speak. And while we’re on the subject of misnomers, I must tell you that traveling here as an American is remarkably easy, their currency, after all, is our very own U.S. dollar. The familiarity extends beyond money; Ecuador has decent roads, representative democracy, national healthcare, and more fresh fruit than you could shake a stick at.

If you’re the sort who dreams of the exotic, of floating on a balsa raft, scaling an active volcano, or witnessing a monkey ride a chicken through a town square, then Ecuador is where you need to be. I know some of you may wonder, “Why Ecuador?” I say, why not? Where else might you find a monkey astride a chicken? There’s a joy in the absurdity of it all, a joy that makes the bug bites, the heat, and the hardships entirely worthwhile.

And so, dear reader, I raise my glass to our tour guide, Javier Estrella, an impeccable shepherd to our flock of curious, irritable, and endlessly spoiled travelers. He bore it all with patience, humor, and a mother-hen’s devotion, qualities essential when leading a ragtag group through fourteen days without air conditioning. Should you find yourself ready to brave the wonders of Ecuador, Javier’s the man for the job, you’ll find no better companion on the road to discomfort and discovery.