Final Day and Final Thoughts

Check blog below for pictures from the last few weeks.

My last night in Quito was Saturday night. I was watching Columbian soap operas about inter-cartel romances with my family when I decided I would go to the Mariscal for a few final drinks with friends. I began the night with my gringo friends, international enough to represent a G20 conference, and drunk enough to get kicked out of it, but inevitably I ended the night on the street with wild group of Argentinians who were touring the continent on motorcycles. After a round of tequila, and several slaps on the back, I loudly declared, “I will see you all next year in Buenos Aires.” My drunken promise of return.

The next day I sat in the Teatro Plaza and watched an indigenous group perform a set of traditional songs and dances from the Central Andes region. The music was fast and the dances were filled with twirling ponchos and layers of colorful felt skirts that spun in perfect fluttering circles, a beautiful illusion of women sprouting from colorful spinning tops, men with black greasy hair dancing around them in smiles. I could think of no better superlative for the dance, or my entire experience in Ecuador, than “most colorful.”

Afteward, I walked through the Centro Historico (central historic district) and everything reaffirmed that fact. The noise, the street performers, the pedestrians, vendors, buildings, the life itself, and I marveled at how much I have seen while also marveling at how much more I had not seen, but yet still remained dazzled.

When I said goodbye that night to my family, they made me promise to return. It was the question of every Ecuadorian I talked to. After telling them I was leaving, they all asked with intimate smiles, as if coordinating the warm congeniality in an effort to win me back, “y cuando regrasa aqui?” “And when are you coming back?” They never asked if I was coming back, only when.

When I left the house, my latino mother, Nelly, stood in the window with a worried frown, the daughter in the doorway, and the father on the street, all waving goodbye to me. I kept my head down and got in the car of another family I knew in Quito, trying to keep myself from becoming emotional. At the airport, my other family friends hugged me and wished me good luck, and like the others, made me promise to come back with that smiling question, one that seems to say to me, “you love it here, and why wouldn’t you love it here, so when are you coming back to see us?” I promised to return, a drunken promise coupled with a sober one, and both worthy of keeping.


Halfway through my trip, while sitting at a sidewalk café in Mindo, I wondered why I felt a daily compulsion to record so many details in my notebook. Even worse, when I wasn’t writing on napkins, in margins of books, or whatever paper was available, I was writing in my head, translating images into words, filtering my experiences into something expressable. So often, what I really wanted more than anything, was to take you all (although not all at once, of course) with me. To show you what a jungle river feels like, the current fighting your strokes while monkeys run along the beach next to you. To smell orchids in rainforests, to dance on a beach until sunrise, to climb a hot sand dune at high noon in the desert or surf Peruvian Pacific waves, but since I could not take you with me, I stored as many details as I could in my books and memory, and have tried to express them at a fraction of the quality possible. I hope you have felt some of these places, and that my descriptions and enthusiasm were sufficient enough for your imaginations. Many times, my posts were my way of saying “I wish you were here.”

It has been a pleasure to write, to take notes and reflect, but it has been an even greater pleasure to have readers. By reading my blog, you have kept me company, and I am interminably grateful because of it.

I have many reasons to work harder on writing as a craft, and one of the greatest reasons is that I might have one day have more readers, and therefore more companions when I travel.

Because this trip began as a dream I thought of several months ago when I was youthfully restless and working for little money as a volunteer. The trip never seemed real until I was on the airplane, looking down at the city lights of Cuba below me at night, wondering what goes on down there, or what goes on at any of the places reflected in grounded electric stars thousands of feet below me that night, before finally descending, the opportunity to discover one of those lit places. A friend of mine (from the blog Free Country, cited below) once talked about the difference between tourists and travelers, the difference laying in the method of journeying, the uncertain idea of destination and purpose, and I hope and believe that I am the latter. Because while this began as a vacation, it seems like the possible discovery of a new lifestyle. I have met many travelers moving in different ways, some for several years now, some far more adventurous and courageous than myself. And I think that many of you who have traveled understand its joys, the vitality of the road, the liberating uncertainty through mobility, the natural high of seeing something new everyday, and the social pleasure of ephemeral, or sometimes more longlasting, friends everywhere. To see the world is a dream many people have, but having realized one small dream already, I think it seems too good, as well as possible, not to pursue and work hard towards a future in it.

Which brings me to another point of purpose in my blog. I admit, I have been guilty of trying to inspire jealousy in you. It is true my trip has had its moments of frustration of travel and its empathetic images of poverty and hardship that were hard to swallow, but these are not the experiences I wanted to convey because they were overwhelmed by other daily wonders. I do not dwell in negativities, not anymore, nor do I think they have any currency worth sharing here. Instead I wanted to express what was real and colorful, to take you there, and to make you jealous enough to inspire you to travel, too, if you are not already. Not to make you feel bad, or to help you resent your office space or study cubby or winter weather, but because of what I had said in the beginning, of wanting to show you these places, and also because I know many people who want to get up and go, but don’t, because they aren’t sure where, when, or more importantly, how. My trip in South America was very easy and safe. Most of the mild dangers I experienced were ones I imposed on myself. It required a relatively small budget, little preparation, and more than anything, a sustainably enthusiastic and eager dispostion. If at any point while reading this, you felt you wanted to be there, too, then do not be afraid to consider it more seriously. Such trips are, in many ways, risks, but I am starting to believe risks are the necessary foundations of any valuable journey, maybe of life itself.


Once again, thank you so much for reading. It has meant a lot to have you with me on the way. If you ever want to talk more about Ecuador, Peru, or the trip, or anything at all, please e-mail me at sfwnelson@gmail.com. If you enjoy reading South American blogs, below are links to friends' that I recommend, most of them very insightful, photogenic, and often more adventurous than my own. Also below are links to other items of interest to those interested in more. Thanks again, paz, amor, y brazos, Samuelito.

Free Country with wonderful pictures
Two Wheelin’ Texan, riding a bike from Buenos Aires to Houston
Eyes on the Andes, including lots of graffiti looks

For Spanish-readers
Crazy Argentinians riding motorcycles across South America


Links
http://www.ecuador.com/
https://www.cia.gov/library/publications/the-world-factbook/geos/ec.html
http://www.lonelyplanet.com/ecuador

Que Tan Lejos, a beautiful Ecuatorian movie with typical landscape scenes

Photographic Highlights

These are some photographic highlights from the trip. Most of the photos are from the last couple weeks, but a few favorites from earlier are sprinkled among them.


Tubing in Mindo


Ziplining in Mindo, "The Batman," I had to turn around to not hit my head on the platform



A very common dish, potato soup flavored with chicken feet



My gringo friends in Quito



A last cuy, made fresh


My one and only travel partner, at the ecuator together

Alpaca

Rooftops of Central Historic Quito, above and below

Sunset in Huanchaco

After surfing in Huanchaco

The famous reedboats of Huanchaco, fishermen paddle them out in the morning and after catching their morning load, they surf back on them to shore

Huacachina, Peru's desert oasis, and town of 95 residents

The lagoon at Huacachina

Mancora, beach town resort in Northern Peru

Cow head in a market in Cuenca, Ecuador

Guayas, a sweet peruvian fruit in a pod

The rocky beach in Miraflores in Lima, Peru

Catedral Nueva, Cuenca, Ecuador

Peruvian friends, who slept in the dunes at night, and sold craft jewelry and drank beers with us in the day

By The Numbers

With only two days left in South America, I confess that my overwhelming emotion is fatigue. It has been accumulating with each trip, and it has finally overcome my enthusiasm for the adventure. Sarah left early this morning, and I am again staying at my Ecuatorian family´s house in Quito, choosing respite and reflection over any last thrilling activities that might drain the last of my energy and spirits. I have had my fill of adventure and novelty, and despite my ambivalence about leaving, I feel very much ready to return home to both comfort and meaningful work. It has been a beautiful trip. Here are some numbers I have been keeping or compiled recently.

151 hours of bus rides
66 hours of private Spanish lessons
3,400 dollars spent (includes airfare and lessons)
19 cities I have spent the night
26 different hostals
38 towns or cities I have stepped foot in
9 beaches visited (I swam in 6 of them)
14 waterfalls played in
10 modes of transportation taken (includes taxi varieties, e.g. motortaxi, rigshaws, chivas, etc.)
1 bottle of water stolen by monkeys
3 guinea pigs eaten
6 new extreme sports attempted (canyoning, surfing, swing jumping, sandboarding, rafting, ziplining)
1,700 pages of read literature
121 pages of travel notes
11 days in Peru
66 days in Ecuador

An unrelated anecdote:
It seems that everyday in Quito there is a protest. Today several thousand workers marched for Labor Day, protesting lack of rights and jobs. Marchers posted a sign everywhere saying, "Pais con despidos, Pueblo sin derechos" (Country with lay-offs, town/people without rights). They filled the streets of historic Quito, not just marching in a single direction, but filtering multiple ways and covering several blocks, like a flood moving downhill and filling all the outlets on the way.

Yesterday Sarah and I were riding the Trolé, one of three electric trolley lines that runs north-south (in an effort to combat traffic in a bottle-necked city), when all traffic stopped. They opened the doors after awhile so we could escape. Further up we discovered twenty to thirty high school students standing in front of the cars and trolleys on 10 de Agosto Avenenida. They were armed with small stones in each hands, but they were not menacing anyone, just standing and chatting, disallowing traffic to move forward to protest the rising costs of sugar and milk, a price influenced by the government . No cars honked. Nobody yelled or appeared angry with them. Pedestrians passed through as if not noticing, and everyone waited patiently. We sat by the curb and watched, wondering when something would happen. A vendor selling candied coconut sweets stopped to talk to us. She laughed and threw up her arms, "¿Donde está la policía?" (Where are the police?) The police were standing next to us, watching and casually chatting, waiting like everyone else. After twenty minutes, half the students left, and the force of traffic, like hot air trapped in a bottle, burst forward and past the remaning students. Someone later explained to me that that the police only intervene in serious, more threatening protests, to avoid violence for small disputes, especially with high schoolers. I liked this. It seems like a reasonable exchange, or lack thereof, resisting the trade of violence for the end of small disruptions. Every big city I went to in Ecuador commonly had protests, demanding rights, demanding better water, demanding the president step down (I always lingered at the fringes, it is illegal for foreigners to participate in political protests here). The indigenous are particurarly well-organized and protest often, since they are a group often disadvantaged despite their significant population percentage (approximately 35% I think). It makes me wonder if our American government had not killed nearly all of our Native American tribes, and in turn, if they constituded similar population numbers and political will, then what would American politics look like today? What do you think?

Thanks for reading (well, I hope you are still reading), and putting up with my lack of pictures and declining quality. Stay tuned for a final post, complete with final thoughts and pictures sometime in the next few days.