KILL OR BE KILLED IN GUAYAQUIL

We took a van yesterday with 15 friends from Gualaceo to Guayaquil on the coast. We went from wearing coats and scarves to sunglasses and flip-flops in four hours. The air was sticky with humidity, and it felt great after being so cold for a whole week. When we arrived everyone went their seperate ways and I was  picked up by my friend Jennifer from Wisconsin, now living in Libertad, Ecuador for more than eight years. She´s 31, six feet tall, blonde hair, blue eyes and sticks out like a green pickle in a blueberry patch. The only thing that puts locals at ease around her is her perfect Spanish. We take a taxi to the home of a family she knows in Guayaquil and we eat rice and beef stew together well into the wee hours.

           If Cuenca was the Paris of Ecuador, Guayaquil is the L.A. , unfortunatley also including the crime rate. But you can´t help but to love it for its own uniquness.There are  palm tree-lined  boardwalks with young people roller-blading, ice-cream stands on every corner, fancy malls and an Imax theatre, and tons of families walking around taking in the picturesque views of the port city. Jennifer and I left the house today around noon and took a taxi to the Malecon, the boardwalk over the river where all the action happens. We hiked the 500 steps in 100 degree heat to the lighthhouse where from there we could take photos of the  entire city. On the way back down, we ran into my new van friends from Gaualceo , as well as my old Spanish teacher! It was a wonderful family reunion on the riverfront.

      Jennifer and I toured all of downtown Guayaquil, it seemed, until our feet were throbbing. We even toured an iguana park. Yes, it´s literally a park with ponds and fountains just for all the iguanas and turtles that live there. Then, just for fun, we bought ourselves new jelly shoes like from the 80´s for $5. We found a salon to get pedicures, but they were booked, so we just went grocery shopping instead at the local Tia to bring food back for the family we´re staying with. After a huge typical late supper, we´ll all head back out near the Malecon for ice-cream that Jennifer swears tastes just like Cold Stone. I hope so!

MALL DEL RIO

8am: breakfast was fruit salad, pastry, coffee, juice

9am: on the bus headed to the Cuenca bus terminal with Joe and Christina. I get to hold a random baby the entire ride.

10am: catch a city bus to go to the Mall del Rio

11am: I order a burger and fries from TropiBurger because for some odd reason I miss American hamburgers. Note to self: TropiBurger is not American. Ick.

12noon: We eat at a fancy restaurant in the mall called Crete. I just order locro de papas soup

1-4pm: We shop mainly in a store called Coral which is like a mini Wal-Mart. The clothing shops are higher than European prices. I buy shampoo and mousse. 

4pm: take a 45 minute city bus to the main terminal in Cuenca

5pm: take the main bus back to Gualaceo

5:30pm: I eat dinner by myself at El Paso because Joe and Chris aren't hungry. Grilled chicken, rice, beans, patacones, side salad =$2

6pm: I take a taxi to get myself some ice-cream

7pm: wearing pjs and slippers, sipping on Valerian tea

Question of the day: How can I do so little and be so tired?? Must be the altitude, the rain, and the cold weather. Wednesday we leave for the coast and I can't WAIT to see some sunshine again!!

FRIENDS, FRIENDS EVERYWHERE

Over the last few days I've been to Cuenca, surrounding towns, and tomorrow back to Cuenca. In comparison to untamed Tena, Cuenca is the Paris of Ecuador. I went to Madrid, Spain last year and Cuenca is nearly just as beautiful and sophisticated. It's also nearly as expensive. There are cafes, restaurants, museums, and boutiques on every corner. There are men in Bespoke and women in Prada and children in Ralph Lauren. It is a city I was very happy to visit and also very happy to leave. I guess deep in my soul I'll always be a country girl.
       Lately I  haven't had the time to get to the internet cafe because I've been with different friends the whole time. It has shown me once again that a friend can be anyone you let be one. It can be a stranger who carries your heavy suitcase up two flights of stairs for you, another lost traveler you share a tourist map with, a smiling face you share a table with at a crowded restaurant because there are no other seats, a friend of a friend you exchange email addresses with and vow to keep in touch, or dear friends that literally run to hug you like you are family. The latter is who I'm staying with now in the small town of Gaulaceo.
       If Cuenca is the Paris of Ecuador, Gualaceo is the Buffalo, NY. It's freezing cold, rainy, people aren't that nice, and there's absolutely no reason a tourist would ever want to come here except to visit someone he knows.  That said, I'm having a wonderful time here with my friends and have met many more friends through them. I also got to eat at a yummy restaurant that the lunch comes with a tasty hot soup, the main course, and fresh squeezed juice for just $1. 65.  Today we toured a little pueblo nearby named Chordeleg. It was maybe 4 streets big but every store was a jewelry store. And what jewelry it had! I've never seen such gold, silver, and precious stones all on one block! It was gorgeous handmade things, but the prices reflected the work that had been put into it--very expensive stuff. These people may live a whole hour from Cuenca, but they are still basically Cuecaneses, as one young lady told me as she was washing her new SUV.
    Tomorrow we are going back to Cuenca to tour some big fancy mall. Tuesday we are getting ready to travel to the coast and I may get a $2 haircut here in town. Wednesday we have rented a van and are traveling with 15 other friends to Guayaquil. There we will hook up with more friends, some new and some I have known for several years now. I'm truly blessed with friends, friends everywhere.
     I hope to blog more entries when I arrive in Guayaquil, but if not, it's because I'm with...friends.
        
        

HOT2COLD

This morning I was wiping beads of sweat off my head in the jungle city of Tena. Tonight I´m wearing a coat in Cuenca and wish I had thought to pack my scarf.  
    My hostel for my last night in Tena, Los Yutzos, was a dud. It was noisy, musty, and the "free" breakfast was coffee and bread. You had to pay for any extras like an egg or piece of ham. Lonely Planet guide books are liars. But I woke up to a gorgeous cloudless sky and all was forgiven.
         George the jungle driver pulled out of traffic when he saw me on the street with my suitcase. There was no way he was going to let me walk to the bus terminal. He insisted he drive me there in his truck and give me a proper send-off. It was kinda nice having someone say goodbye to me in front of everyone at the terminal. The ride was a short four and half hours and when we arrived in Quito the sun had followed us.
        Quito is where the airport is, so I walked up to the window at Aerogal and bought a ticket for a flight that would be leaving in 3 hours. It all worked out very smoothly and before I knew it, I was on flight 1725 flying high over snow-capped volcanoes. It was an unusually full flight for a Wednesday evening-- me and the whole Cuenca soccer team!!!! I got to sit next to one of the players and on the other side of him was one of the coaches. A little girl walked up to our row and got their autographs. I wanted one too but I was too shy to bug them. When we landed and I was riding to my hostel here in Cuenca I heard the announcer on the radio say that the team had just landed at the airport returning from Quito. I wanted to grab my taxi driver and say "I was on their flight!!" Then I remembered that Julia, the Angelina Jolie look-a-like from my jungle hike, got to ride in the elevator with Enrique Iglesias in Guayaquil. Her story beats mine.
        The driver dropped me off at Hostel Tourista del Mundo on Calle Larga in a very popular and central area of town. This is a place not in the guidebooks and I like it a lot. The owner,Wilson, is super friendly and gave me my own set of 5 keys to different doors and the grand tour which consists of two huge buildings. I have to share a bathroom with one other guest but the hostel is just $6 a night and I could roller-skate in my room it´s so big. The fourth floor affords beautiful views of the city.
    After figuring out what key went to which door I decided to go out for a small bite to eat. After walking to just the next corner and getting more stares than I cared for, I realized what the locals were staring at. First of all I looked raggedy from all the traveling I´ve done today. Secondly, I was still wearing my flip-flops and a necklace made out of jungle seeds and animal bones that I bought in Tena. Ecuadorians from the mountains are very formal with some of the men actually wearing suit pants and women wearing dress shoes and elegant wool wraps. They stared at me like I was wearing the animal bone necklace through my nose. I immediately went back to my room and put on something more appropriate.
      I ended up eating at some weird Ecuadorian version of Applebees. I didn't want to venture too far from my hostel since it was dark. My waitress, who never even looked me in the eye, pointed to some strange contraption in the middle of my table. It was like a remote control or the buttons you push when you need the stewardess on a plane. "Push it when you need something or the bill", she said. She brought me a cold nasty piece of pizza and the wrong drink. I pushed the button and she never came back.
      I miss Tena...


      

LAST HOURS IN EL ORIENTE

Today has been kinda sad for me. It´s my last day here in the Napo province. I started off with breakfast at Cafe Tortuga where everyone knows my name. Then I went back to the hostel to pack. Unfortunatley the place I´ve been staying at this whole time was completely booked for tonight so I got kicked out. Guido put me up in his other hotel, Los Yutzos for $15. It´s supposedly more fancy, but now I don´t have a river view and my windows don´t even have screens so I doubt I´ll even open the window for fresh air. It does offer breakfast though, which will be nice before I head out early tomorrow on my 5 hour bus ride back to Quito, land of the criminals, people here say.
               After changing hostels, I had lunch at a very happening joint that was so packed with locals I had to share my table with two other women. I was excited because I was about to get served something other than chicken or fish, but my smile faded when I realized it was pork, which is something I just won´t eat in a third-world country. The usual sides of rice, beans, plantain, and that wierd onion salad tasted ok though and held me until dinner. Dinner was a hamburger and fries at Cafe Tortuga. I put the left-over fries in my purse for a snack for later. After all this walking and hiking and horseback riding, you never know when you´ll get hungry.
          After lunch I went back to Archidona to visit my new friends. They were happy to see me and I stayed just long enough to chat a bit and be offered some chicken. I declined. By 4pm I was back in Tena buying a few last-minute souvinirs. I might keep what I got for myself though. The heat here between 4 and 5:30 is pretty stifling when there is no cloud cover, but by 6pm the town cools off very nicely and people come out of the woodworks like ants to a picnic to hang out in the streets, eat icecream, and whistle at passersby.
         Noone is whistling at me, but people I have met over the past week have been stopping me in the street to give me a hug goodbye. I´ve known them hardly a minute, but they all act as if they will truly miss me. Lisbeth, the owner of Cafe Tortuga, gives me her personal cell number and tells to me call if I ever need anything. A free dinner would have been nice, I thought. Some Kichwa guy and his cousin, whose names I didn´t catch, even invited me to his sister´s wedding if I could stay a few more days. I still can´t totally grasp why this town has welcomed me like a long lost relative, but it sure has felt nice.
           The sunset was gorgeous tonight. Lights are now twinkling way up in the mountains in areas where I swore people couldn´t live. I´m so sad this part of my adventure is over, but it´s now time to go on to the next. I have an evening flight tomorrow from Quito to Cuenca, in the south of the country. See you there!

EUROPEAN MODELS AND A MYSTERY HORSE

    Sunday evening after returning from visiting new friends in Archidona I passed by Jens, the German owner of the company which I did my 5 hour jungle tour. He asked me how I was enjoying my stay in the Tena area. I told him how fun it´s been and how beautiful the trees and rivers are here. He told me I haven´t seen anything yet-- just the run-of-the-mill stuff that is quickly becoming polluted and ruined by tourists and unsanitary habits of the locals. Oooook....But it was still pretty, I said.    For $15, he said, he could take me to a place where no tourists has gone before, an indiginous community where he sends only volunteer European college students to help with reforestation projects. It is an area closed off to tourists, for now anyway. He said the volunteers were going up the mountain tomorrow at 9am and if I´d like to join I could. I quickly forked over the $15 and went straight to bed to rest up for another adventurous day ahead of me.
       I was just sinching up my belt at 8:30am when the phone buzzed in my hostel room. It was Guido, the hostel owner calling to inform me that my ride was already here. He had gotten there too early and in my rush to leave, I forgot my camera and bathing suit in the room. My driver´s name was George, and older Kichwa man in a Yankees baseball cap who was very enthusiastic about teaching me some Kichwa words. We drove 20 minutes up the mountain and then stopped to pick up the 6 volunteers--5 girls and one guy. They were all about 21, from Germany, Switzerland, and Austria, and all looked like Abercrombie models. One girl in particular named Julia, looked like Angelina Joile with long dark hair, a butterfly tattoo on her neck near her left ear, and a grey tank top on that showed off her killer body. I was extremely glad at that point that I had forgotten my swimsuit.  
                     You can just borrow my other bikini, she said. 
So....nice of her. I wanted to hate her for her beauty, but she was just as kind as she was gorgeous. 
                 You can borrow my camera too and I´ll email you the pictures, she said as she licked her perfectly natural pink lips.
      We drove for another hour up winding dirt paths as George the driver cranked up the tunes through his USB such as Def Leopard, Stone Temple Pilots, and Bob Marley. We had fun singing the words in ENGLISH! Our last stop was to pick up our jungle chef, Karen and her 6 yr old daughter Kelle, and my personal guide, Oswaldo. We then were about to go over a long wooden bridge that swung above the wide river. George made us all get out of the truck while he drove and we walked over it. He thought with all the weight we might snap the bridge in half. On the other side, Jens and George dropped us all off in the middle of nowhere with huge bags of food and supplies and said they´d pick me and Oswaldo back up at 4:30. The volunteers and the cook would be staying the night in the jungle in some simple cabins Jens had built up there. Up there....somewhere... I could see nothing but dense jungle on all sides of me. I had to go to the bathroom...
          Oswaldo put some of the heavier supplies on his horse. (I´m not sure where the mystery horse came from but I´m sure he wasn´t in our truck) The male volunteer, Jaques, took the heavy bag of bananas from my hands and he carried it for me. I´m pretty sure I forgot to say thank you. He was just as good-looking as Julia with spikey blonde hair and emerald green eyes. Ready to go, we began what would be an hour and a half hike into virgin forests. Within minutes all the young European volunteers had passed me by a mile. Oswaldo had passed all of us on his mystery horse. Kelle, the 6 yr old, kept running circles around me showing me where to step around the thick black jungle mud. Karen the chef would stop and pretend to breath hard with me when I kept having to stop because I couldn´t breath for real. It was a humid strenuous hike, mostly uphill with so much mud at one point it sucked in my rubber boot like Jello going down a garbage disposal. The 6 yr old pulled me out.  Kelle and Karen the Chef  were no newbies. Karen had lived here in this jungle with her Kichwa family her whole life and when it came time to cross the knee-deep river during our hike she picked up Kelle like she was a parrot feather on one hip while she had cooking supplies on her other hip. They had made it to the other side already while I was still on the other putting one toe in to test the current first.
              Around noon or so we FINALLY made it to the small clearing of cabins. Oswaldo and the European models were aleady there laying in hammocks with their shoes off playing the guitar. When they saw me they all cheered for me and told me I could wash the sweat off in the cold clear creek nearby. They said Jens had told them the water was so clean up here it was safe for drinking since few humans live in the area. I washed my face, my hair, and took a few licks of the water. It was indeed clean tasting and sweet. But I didn´t drink too much. Americans always play it safe, I thought. What if this river water gives me the runs?
                 Just as I had pulled my socks off and was cooling down a bit, Oswaldo grabbed my hand and told me Jens had put him in charge of me while the volunteers worked. The volunteer´s work consisted of reading books in the hammock, playing cards, and smoking a couple cigarettes. I, on the other hand, was forced to hike some more  being shown every leaf and seed in the jungle and what their medicinal properties are. I wanted to strangle both myself and Oswaldo. I could feel the trees, mud, and vines smothering me. I wanted so bad just to swim in the river, even if I had to wear Julia´s tiny bikini. An hour passed and as Oswaldo was trying to interest me with stories of his Uncle, poisonous jungle animals,  and Shaman ritutals, I rudely blurted out it was time to eat lunch. Seriously.
       When we got back the European models were almost done eating lunch. They laughed at my sweaty, haggard appearance and fixed a plate for me. Jaques poured my juice. I´m sure I forgot to say thank you. After practicing our Spanish together and Karen fixing us coffee, we headed to the cabins to change into swimwear. Julia handed me a rainbow striped string she called a bikini. I stood in the darkest corner I could find and put it on while her and Farhina changed into other, smaller bikinis. I kept my tank-top on over mine. We grabbed towels and our rubber boots and hiked 5 minutes further to the large part of the rushing river. 
          The water was freezing cold but felt good in the sticky heat of the jungle. There was no way to ease into it like the pool at the Country Club. The current would knock you down without hesitation and sweep you into areas where it seemed bottomless. There was no way I´d be doing this unless I was with a group of people--- Americans always play it safe, I thought, as Jaques did a Greg Loughanis-style back-flip off a large rock into the crystal clear water below. I finally got the courage to go down a slippery natural rock waterslide---three times. Julia took pictures of me. I was smiling at her as much as I was shaking. It was great.
      All too soon, it was time to give the bikini back, exchange email addresses, and hike the hour and a half back to the main road where Jens and George would hopefully be waiting to drive us back to Tena. Just me and Oswaldo would be going back.  The European models gathered candles and matches while I was pulling on my heavy boots. It would be very dark soon and it´s all the light they would have.  
            Five minutes into the hike Oswaldo determined I was walking way too slow for his taste and he opted for us to ride the mystery horse. It was waiting for us, tied to a random tree. At first Oswaldo assumed I was going to ride it alone and he would walk behind me. But he read the pure fear on my face and decided to ride with me.  When the horse would get to trotting too fast on the muddy cliffsides and I would scream a bit under my breath and shut my eyes, but 40 minutes into the ride I was an old pro. We rode through clouds of butterflies and through clearings of palm  and cocoa trees. The sun was filtering though the greenery and skipping on splashes of the river below us. At that moment I thought I could never be afraid of anything else ever again. I had conquered all my worst fears, from drowning in roaring rapids to riding untamed wild horses to being inches away from a boa constrictor. I let out a laugh in the face of danger as a touched a spider web that we gallopped under. Oswaldo laughed too.

FISH OR CHICKEN?

Breakfast is certainly the best meal of the day here in Ecuador. Cafe Tortuga served me up some great fried eggs, ham, bread, fruit salad, real coffee, and strawberry juice. After that, it´s downhill from there. Yesterday I ate grilled chicken both for dinner and lunch. Same side-dishes and everything: rice, yucca, beans, and some wierdo onion salad. Food options in Ecuador are minimal and here in the jungle it´s even less. Hope you like chicken or fish because that´s all that´s on the menu. Every day. No matter what.
      The best part about the jungle here in Ecuador, or El Oriente, as they call it, is the people. Everyone in town is quickly learning my name and everyone wants to sincerely be my friend. A taxi driver I had met four days ago pulled out of traffic to shake my hand like a bicycle pump and talk to me. He wondered why I hadn´t called him to be my personal driver and do I want to meet his family for lunch later. No. I already had plans with other Ecuadorian friends I had met earlier. 
               We walked to the corner store together and purchased dinner: live tilapia from a fish tank. With flapping fish in a Zip-Lock bag we took a taxi to a bus stop and I accidentally left my umbrella in it. I´m pretty bummed about that still. Then we took the bus to a town 20 minutes away called Archidona. It´s a small pueblo with a great view of the Andes mountains in the background. Most of the natives are Quichwa, the indigenous people. The women carry their pocketbooks from long straps on their heads. They smiled toothless smiles at me. I smiled back and gave them a greeting in Kichwa.
         At my friend´s house, the women scaled the fish, beat them in the head with the knife handle, then gutted them. Eerily, they still flapped around. The men built a fire and peeled the yucca. I helped make that terrible onion salad. The owner of the houser, Tito, asked me to go around the corner and buy a 3 litre Coke. When I came back with the Coke I heard one of the women whisper it was the wrong Coke. I determined that Coke means any kind of soda and next time I should ask what kind. DUH! 
     David wrapped the fish in banana leaves and cooked them on an open fire. He saved one of the leaves to wrap chicken in also. Chicken surprise, mmmmm. As we ate they explained that I was eating a meal only typical of the jungle. Yeah, right, I wanted to say. I wonder what I´ll eat tomorrow. Fish or chicken?

TODAY IN TENA...

This morning I went down to the waterfront where there are a few restaurants geared more for tourists. I went inside German-owned Cafe Tortuga where I discovered pancakes with Aunt Jemima syrup and real coffee. The rest of the day I´ve either spent walking around the town trying to get a better feel for it, or back at my hostel reading my Kindle to avoid the midday heat. A cloudburst cooled things down a bit, but only for about 20 minutes. Thers´s a million more jungle tours or kayaking or rafting adventures I could take, but I think I´ve had my fill for now. Maybe later this afternoon I´ll head over to La Isla Amazonico to see a little zoo of jungle animals on the river. Other than that, not much to report. All quiet on the jungle front.

THE DEATH HIKE

In April I thought I had already experienced my one and only death hike when K made our group walk the entire Vegas strip 12 times in a row. That was nothing compared to today.
       I was to meet Darwin poolside at 9am for our hike to the waterfalls. Cascadas de Latas, they´re called, which basically means waterfalls in a can. Don´t ask. Anyway, he finally shows up at 9:30 with no excuse why he´s a half hour late. What he does explain, however, is that his family can´t go to the falls with us and niether can he. No excuse as to why, but he does offer up his 13 yr. old brother who can guide me up the trail to the falls. Oooook, I say. We ride his moped across the street to pick up his little brother who´s name just happens to be Stalin. Stalin is not much taller than my waist, has a mustache, and mumbles inteligibly. 
   The three of us ride the moped up the road for about 15 minutes and Darwin drops us off. The entrance fee should have been $3 for the two of us but Stalin gets us in for $1.50. We have now entered the secondary jungle which has trees younger than the primary. There are two trails. One real, marked trail and the one Stalin decides would be more scenic. At one point we were hanging onto measly vines while trying not to slip off the cliffside into the rushing waterfall below us WHILE AT THE SAME TIME fighting off swooping bats. Apparently someone before us had the same stupid thought that this  trail¨was a good idea but had fallen off  the cliff leaving his hat behind as a memorial. Stalin decided he wanted that hat, so he climbs down the side like a monkey to retrieve the hat. He calls from way down below that he thinks he´s discovered another way to get to the second waterfall. I tell him there´s no way I´m going to follow him that way and to get me the heck out of here. We have to backtrack the entire way because the fake way he took me dead-ended into another batcave. Imagine that. By this time, I was drenched in sweat and it was litterally dripping onto the ground. Stalin mumbles something about girls not usually sweating like that and he can tell I´m not Ecuadorian. I´m really losing my patience with this little man.
        All in all, the hike took about two hours. Stalin made us jump across one narrow part of the stream so we could pick up the REAL TRAIL! From there we reached the main falls in about 20 more minutes of wading through mud and more slippery rocks. The whole time I just knew it wouldn´t be worth all this trouble, but as we rounded the last bend and I saw the huge waterfall with the sun beaming through it, I decided it was worth it.  I had my bathing suit on underneath my sweaty clothes so I threw them off and jumped in the deep emerald pool with the other 20 tourists or so that had used the CORRECT trail. Stalin never got in the water but instead guarded my clothes and shoes for me. 
         On the way back we used the real trail and I only slipped and fell into the mud twice. Now I looked Ecuadorian. Back at the entrance Darwin  and his moped were waitng to pick us up. We rode into town and I bought Stalin some lunch for being a good guide watching my things while I swam. Darwin had to go back home. Come to find out, he has a son he was taking care of today.
        Stalin and I ate our lunch together in mostly silence. I can´t understand two words he says but I do gather he doesn´t like what I  bought him for lunch. The fish is too dry, he says. Nothing but bones. Goodbye, Stalin. And tell Darwin thanks for nothing. I´m hot and tired and ready to leave Misahualli.
                   I take the bus back to Tena. Tena is again full of people shopping, eating, playing, dancing in the streets. Although it´s only 45 minutes away and a 60 cent bus ride, it feels like a different planet. One that has a hot shower that I so desprately need.

DAY TWO IN MISAHAULLI (MONKEY-TOWN)

Everyone is so friendly here. Just walking into town the neighbor near my hostel invited me inside ¨just to chat¨ as I passed by. She was about 90 years old and lived with her paralyzed sister-in-law. I sat in her welcoming but sparse kitchen as she served me sweet rice pudding. I pretended to eat it but in my heart I felt like I was Gretel at the gingerbread house. She didn´t exactly turn into a witch, but she did ask me to donate some money to help pay for her sister-in-law´s adult diapers. I explained that I don´t carry cash on me but she simply stated how easy it would be for me to take some cash out of the ATM for her. Time to go, I said. She hobbled on one leg that was shorter than the other and asked if I wanted to at least finish my rice pudding. Sorry, no.
        Another friendly man saw me looking for a place to eat lunch and made a suggestion. Then he let me hold his parrot for free. Families on the beach let me hang out with them as we all watched the monkeys play together. A man sold coconut drinks from his cart and there was a long line of customers all under the age of 13. The sly monkeys would secretly wait in the high limbs until the unsuspecting kids walked a bit, drink in hand, then would jump the kids, slapping the cups from their hands and quickly drinking the escaping liquid before anyone knew what had even happened. It was funny enough for me to watch it over and over for about three hours. I sat on a large piece of driftwood and reviewed the pictures I had taken thusfar on my trip. About ten minutes later I realized a small monkey had been sitting on the log with me and was looking at my pictures too. I looked at him. He looked at me. Within that two seconds of mutual mystery, the monkey had decided he wanted my sunglasses and reached up to steal them. I beat him down like I wasn´t afraid of no flea-ridden tree rat and he ran away.
           The rest of the afternoon I spent in a hammock back at the hostel reading my Kindle. The bartender, who claims he is really 21 although he looks 14, came over and asked if I´d like a glass of wine or anything. Sure. We ended up talking for a good hour or so and he has invited me to go hiking and swimming at a nearby waterfall with him and his family tomorrow. When I tell him I´d think about it, he adds ¨For just a small tip, like $3, if you´d like to give it to me.¨ His name is Darwin.
        Tonight more guests are coming to France Amazonia. Darwin tells me he will make a big bonfire tonight at eight. I tell him I´m looking forward to it, as well as our hike tomorrow.

TWO NIGHTS IN A JUNGLE HUT

I woke up this morning to the sounds of the river Napo and surrounding life it supports. I hadn´t slept much. My bones ached and I was freezing cold. The damp night air left me feeling like I had camped outside on a wet bathing suit. I was in a thatched-roofed jungle hut in Misahaulli with only screen windows to keep the biting insects from my flesh. And some had holes.
            I fell back onto the damp mattress covered with one musty blanket and thought of the prior day when I had hiked in the jungle. So cool!  I had eaten heart of palm straight from a stalk in the ground, chewed on cinnimon leaves, and held butterflies the size of a football. I had fallen in love with the Amazon and wanted to get to know more about her and her host town, Misahaulli. So after a stuffed avacado for breakfast at La Tortuga in Tena, I hopped on a 45 minute bus and checked into Hostel France Amazonia. 
    The bus dropped me off on the dusty two lane road and I walked up to an 8 foot wooden door. The sign instructed me to ring the bell that was hidden behind a venus fly trap. A tall French guy about my age wearing navy Keds cracked the door to peek at me. He smelled like sun-tan lotion and lemons. He was the owner. He opened the door just wide enough for me to get my luggage through and then led me through a secret Garden of Eden, complete with a fresh-water swimming pool, bar, and sand pit for bon-fires. This heavenly discovery would set me back just $20 a night. Now, considering how poor the beds are, I wouldn´t want to pay much more.
              His Asian wife led me to a cliff on the river´s edge where my room is. She gave me a padlock and key to the door and said to ring a brass bell at the bar if I needed anything. I changed into my flip flops and walked into town five minutes away. I was determined to see some monkeys. And monkeys I saw.
         The day before, Hanibal had told me that the monkeys hang out at the beach. So I walked to the small sandy area right past the Ruani restaurant. There they were, in Monkeylandia, stealing drinks and chips from the tourist just like Hanibal had said. I grabbed a empty bottle from the ground and offered it to a baby monkey that was walking by. He took it from my hand but then slammed it down and huffed off after realizing it was empty. I continued on to the water´s edge where other Ecaudorian families were swimming. I took my flip flops off and walked in up to my ankles. The water was cool and clear, much cleaner than any river I have ever seen. 
       By now it was about 1pm. It was around 85 degrees and the sun was beating down on me. I´m in the rainforest but still haven´t seen it rain once. This time of year, Hanibal said, it mostly rains just at night. I walked up to the bar where I had eaten breakfast with that family thr morning before and ordered a glass of juice. She fixed me a fresh pitcher of tomate de arbol, tree tomato, which is sweet like orange juice but thick like a smoothie. Their son rode his bike in circles around me while I cooled off. He´s on his summer vacation. His mom left the bar to tend to something else and I ended up having to pay the kid. He said it was $1.25. I´ll never know if he lied or not, but the juice was good. Then I walked over to another outdoor eatery and had a wonderful chicken lunch overlooking the river. After that, I treated myself to an icecream sandwhich and ate it in the main square where other locals sit all day and play cards, drink fresh juices, and stare at tourists. Besides this, the actual town of Misahualli offered nothing. And I wasn´t bored.
               Back at France Amazonia I decided it was time for an afternoon dip in the kidney-bean shaped pool. I had it all to myself and I reveled in the warm sun and cloudless sky. Yellow birds took turns diving into the deep end, just enough to get their hair wet. Huge dragon flies buzzed around my bangs and whispered in my ear ¨Go get a drink at the bar¨. I dried off and rang the huge brass bell on the bar. A young Ecuadorian boy, maybe 17 years old, fixed me a piña colada and then left me to go make a fire in the sand pit. I followed, cold drink in hand. Inside I was still squealing with delight that I had this mini gated paradise to myself. Near the fire are hammocks and low canvas chairs. My ice melting now, toes in the sand, reading my Kindle, and occasionally looking up at the river, I sat there for countless hours. A few other guests arrived, but none made enough noise to disturb my peace. Before I knew it, the moon shone like a polished silver platter over the Napo and the fire was now just glowing coals.
               I was hanging up my wet bathing suit this morning when I heard someone ring the brass bell. It was the French guests and they were ready for breakfast and piña coladas. Although tired from a cold restless night I went down to the bar to join them. The owner brought me breakfast to my private wooden table: papaya, fresh strawberry juice, croissants, scrambled eggs, 3 types of home-made jelly, and real hot coffee. By then the French guests were already drunk and splashing in the pool. They were here to party. I was here to go back to bed.
        

WELCOME TO THE JUNGLE, BABY

When I last left you,my dear readers, the sun was setting here in Tena, Ecuador. I was walking back to my hostel when all of a sudden I hear a ´tsss tsssssss! Jungaal tur??¨ I look over at a skinny Ecuadorian who´s enjoying a cold Pilsner with two of his short goofy-looking buddies. I show a bit of interest and negotiate a price of just $25 for a full day jungle hike including lunch. When I have a bit of trouble with the language barrier, out pops a tall white man from the back of the room. He´s the owner, a German named Yens, who´s been living in Tena for 14 years. He finalizes the details of my trip for me and  before I turn to go he insists I eat at his friend´s restaurant on the riverfront. 
        Dinner on the riverfront was a bit comical. There I was, the only diner in the whole restaurant, eating a whole pizza alone by candlelight. I misunderstood the menu. I thought I was ordering one slice, but alas, it could have fed 13 people. I also had ordered a salad, which in itself was another meal. People walking by on the streets passed my open-air table and laughed at me. I thought of my sister, and laughed too. She would have found this pretty funny.
         I settled down for the night in my hostel by 8:30 and finally dozed off to the sounds of the rushing Tena river and sounds of the jungle from the other side of it. I was awoken around 5am by sounds of screaming ciccadas and other strange creatures that hooted, howled, trilled, cried, and whined. I thought I also heard some roosters for a few minutes, but then they were quiet. Perhaps they got eaten. By 6am, the town was alive with human sounds and ¨Boots with the Fur¨ played on loud-speakers in the next building. It was time to get up.
            By 9am I was in a town 45 minutes away called Misahualli. (Mee-sa-wa- YEE) There I met my tour guide from the night before with his two goofy friends. His name is Hanibal Lektor, he says. He laughs, but his real first name is indeed Hanibal.They took me to a small shack where they served breakfast. The owners, a couple with an 11 yr. old son, looked at me and then at Hanibal. ¨Will she eat what we eat or does she want an American breafast?´ said the dad not knowing I understood him. I opened my mouth to say ¨American¨ but Hanibal beat me with the words ¨Make her what you have ready.¨ I was served scrambled eggs with fried banana and onions. It was delicious.This town is famous for monkeys hanging out everywhere, but I didn´t see any at all. Hanibal explained they were all at the beach stealing picnic lunches while unsuspecting tourists swam. 
               We met up with two German couples for the hike. They both had two kids, so there were us 5 adults and four kids. We all changed into knee-high rubber boots and were whisked away in a pick-up truck to the middle of nowhere. Hanibal revealed his machete and gave us an evil laugh. We all looked at the sharp edges and gave him a nervous laugh, yet we followed him into the Amazon jungle. The first 30 minutes, no lie, was paved. There was a narrow sidewalk right in the middle of the rainforest. I was rather put off by that and wondered why we even needed these stupid boots. Another hour later, Hanibal´s two goofy friends were hacking new trails for us with thier machetes. The mud was almost a foot deep and there were biting or poisonous bugs everywhere. I never got bit once. 
                 We hiked though the primary jungle for FIVE full hours. The highlights were swinging on jungle vines like Tarzan and climbing a 50 foot ladder up a 600 yr. old tree to a platform with amazing views. Then we hiked to an open pasture where there was a covered picnic shelter. It had an interior kitchen and Hanibal and his two goofy aquaintances disappeared behind the swinging door to cook lunch for our group. I wasn´t really sure what to expect, but when the kitchen door swung open and there stood one of the goofy guys holding a bowl of plain spaghetti noodles, I was about to cuss him out. I was hot, sweaty, tired, covered with mud, and absolutely starving. I did NOT want noodles!!! But Hanibal followed behind him holding another bowl. It contained a delicious chicken stew that was to be poured over the noodles. They also brought out a cucumber salad and fresh-squeezed lemonade.There we dined overlooking a view of the tree-tops.  It was a luncheon I will never forget. It was the kind of day that will never again be repeated in my life and I treasured every second. Tena and the surrounding area is starting to grow on me like a wart on your face you eventually accept as a beauty mark. 
                As the sun set I walked alone to catch my bus back to my hostel. A lone female monkey named Petty (¨because she like to be pet¨, a man told me) came up to me covered in beach sand. Thus ended an incredible day.

EVERY DAY IS A WINDING ROAD

 Or so says Sheryl Crow on my headphones. I´m trying to drown out The Jaun Pedro Jose Fausto Garcia Band playing on my six hour bus ride to Tena, Ecuador as well as the movie playing on the tv above my head, Redemption. The ride should have been only five hours, but due to some random road construction, we wait another hour while a bridge was being built. While we wait for the construction project, I get off the bus with a few other women to use the bathroom in the woods. Yep, this is Ecuador; the land where oatmeal is considered a cold drink, not a hot cereal. 
        The chaos began the moment I landed. After being delayed and bumped off of two different flights, I arrived in Quito. My luggage did not. There are two bus stations in Quito. Carcelen is for travelers going north, like to Otavalo. I had to take a 45 minute taxi ride to the Quitumbe station for travelers going south. I was headed to Tena which is east. I guess that counts as south too. The bus headed out of the city and soon we where in the middle of nowhere and the paramo grass mountains made the landscape seem we were bussing through Mars. And yet the busdriver still made stops and picked up more passengers. Where the heck did these people live? There were no visible houses, or grocery stores, or shops of any kind. Maybe they lived under rocks, I thought. But there they boarded... women carrying little reddish babies, men holding large buckets of Lord knows what, teenagers with baggy denim jeans and cell phones.Yeah, there definitley wasnt a Verizon store here, or any cell towers for that matter. I really got a good laugh when about an hour later, still in the middle of nowhere, the bus had to slow way down. We were behind a parade. Where it began and ended, I´ll never know.
                Closer to Tena we started passing small peublos with about 12 people each. In these little neighborhoods graffiti rules. Well, at least Bart Simpson, Pac-Man, and misspelled cuss words rule. Finally we arrived in Tena, a city in the Amazon rainforest. Except there´s not a cloud in the sky and the sun is beating down on me like I´m again at the Grand Canyon. I looked up for circling buzzards. I hailed a taxi to take me to my hostel, but a kind man said it was in walking distance and to save my dollar. He gave me the directions in Spanglish. Six blocks and pouring sweat later, I figured it was worth a measly dollar.
             I like my hostel. It´s small and simple, but my room is on a veranda and overlooks one of the rivers that flows into the Amazon. Pretty cool. The owner, a handsome older gentleman, gives me my room key and a tour of the 8 room hostel. He has kind brown eyes and you can tell he is a wealthy Ecuadorian. He owns two other hotels. After a quick change into shorts, I take a taxi to a guidebook reccommended restaurant and order chicken over rice. It came with french fries and one random lettuce leaf. I wouldn´t have recommended it. 
             The sun is about to set. It never rained once. The air feels warm without much humidity and I feel like walking slowly back to my hostel and windowshopping at all the jungle tours this town has to offer. In the few hours I´ve been here, all I´ve seen is cement block buildings, glass windows, honking trucks, and ice-cream parlors in a town bigger than the one I live in the USA. Am I really in the jungle?