Welcome to my new Fading Light blog!
The topics on this blog will go along with the chapters in my memoir. But I'll share with you some of the background content that won't go in the book. This first entry takes us halfway around the world to South America, to explore Ecuador's dark and leafy interior jungle--thick with mosquitoes and some queen-sized termites. You'll hear the screeches of monkeys, see the colorful toucan, and hear about the killer ants, all of which Antonio, my guide, points out. Grab your waterproof raincoat because it's the rainy season and the frequent, sudden downpours are merciless. This journey stands out among other travels because something happens to me that I've never experienced in the past. Come meet my small eclectic group of companions as we settle into our rustic hut, at the start of our go-native jungle tour...
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| A little map to give you an idea how far Misahualli is from Quito, the capital of Ecuador. The journey to interior jungle took several hours by taxi to get there. |
Wide and curvy, it lay far below the embankment where our crude jungle hut sat, surrounded by clusters of coconut trees and tangled vines. The palm fronds dripped rainwater onto the cool, moist ground. Steam rose in the humid, saturated air. I shivered. I am in the jungle.
Mark smirked. “Technically, it’s the Napo River, a tributary to the Amazon.”
Joe called from inside the hut, “Where’s the toilet?”
Antonio, our guide to the interior jungle, shook his head. “No hay baño.”
“No bathroom,” Mark translated and grunted. “I suppose the jungle’s our toilet.”
“You got it.” Antonio grinned. “You bathe in the river.”
I eyed the steep cliff overlooking the river. How can I be such a chicken-liver? I just have to get down without killing myself.
“I will bathe first tomorrow morning,” offered Marie, the French girl, in the same way she might say, I’ll take the first crack at the bathroom. Her casual declaration struck me odd considering the unusual nature of our “bathtub.”
“I'm sure you can handle it. But if you need any help, I will be more than happy to assist either of you to the river.” Mark bantered.
I thought it best to ignore his jibe.
He continued, “Amy, how tall are you? Are you tall enough for this ride?”
I thought it best to ignore his jibe.
He continued, “Amy, how tall are you? Are you tall enough for this ride?”
“Huh? I’m five-one … and a quarter. What ride?”
He laughed and slapped his thigh. “The ride you’re gonna take to the river if you attempt to get there on your own.”
I colored slightly, having let my guard down. Was I that transparent about being nervous of the hike down?
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Okay readers, there's something you need to know about me. I was teaching English in Colombia at this time so I used my holidays and breaks to travel around Colombia or go to other South American countries. At this time, it was toward the end of summer break, so with a few weeks left before the new school term, I thought I'd plan a trip somewhere. With other teachers not yet back I decided to strike out on my own. The two teachers who lived in my apartment had raved about their trip to Ecuador the previous Easter. So I decided to explore that country. Fluent in Spanish, I had no qualms about getting around by myself. I knew I’d meet up with other travelers. The jungle adventure grew out of the following encounter.
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In Baños, I met two European gals who said they lived in the interior jungle. Students on a six-month study tour through their local university, they were researching the medicinal properties of the plants in the tropical forest.
“It’s very simple life,” the taller of the two emphasized. “We wash our clothes in the Amazon.”
I caught my breath. I almost wanted to wash my clothes in the river—except I couldn’t imagine myself pounding cloth with a rock or heaving it out of the water, wringing it out and laying it flat to dry on the bank. Still, the idea of going native appealed to me. After talking to these travelers, I decided on-the-spot to change my course and explore the jungle myself. Later, I stepped into a hole-in-the-wall travel office and inquired.
“Sí, why not? But no can go alone. You find five persons. Come and pay…” he rubbed his thumb and forefinger together to indicate the money. “…we go.”
Disappointed, I went off in search for more gutsy travelers. A few days later at a crowded vegetable market back in Quito, I met some expatriates around my age. With the Amazon adventure in mind, I convinced them to take a dive into jungle life with me. In their early twenties, Joe and Mark came from San Francisco. Nineteen-year-old Marie came from the French countryside; a lone traveler trekking through Ecuador on a longer trip around South America.
“Oui,” she said when I invited her along on our Amazon expedition.
Now “we” had arrived.
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To read more, go to http://amybovaird.com/jungle/
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