Uwihint community

These (rubber) boots were made for walking





Hiking to and from the Uwihint community is possibly one of the most physically challenging things I have done to date. At a steady pace, it took 3 1/2 hours to travel 7km up and down craggy and slippery trails, through the undergrowth and across rivers in the dense midday humidity. At times I felt as though I could not go on, as when we climbed up steep hills thick with wet clay my head went dizzy and my hands and arms swelled with pressure, but my legs moved on as if disconnected from my body, pulling out of the ground and finding the next foothold.


When we got to the top of each climb and could walk straigh or downhil for a while, my breath would return, until the next climb.

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I am sat on a bark ledge upstairs of the Shuar house we are sleeping in for the weekend. Immediately in front of me is a small hill of plantain trees leading down to a small rocky river on the left and the Uwihint school house on the right. Behind that, and on the horizon all around us, is primary rainforest.

(The picture above is the view described above, and the second picture is the view from the river - if you zoom in dead centre you will be able to see the house we stayed in)

To the left of the tin-roofed school house Carlos the horse is grazing, a little respite after carrying bags of rice and sleeping mats throught the steep rainforest where he slipped and fell heavily more than once due to the tough terrain and exhaustion. There is a fire lñit in the community space, a tin roof supported by tree trunks, and a couple of boys kick a football around in the late afternoon light.

Very suddenly, as I write this, the air changes and thunder approaches fast from the east. The trees start to bend and a strong wind moves closer, winding around us on all sides. I climb down the stepladder to the ground and stand with Ramon, the president and founder of the Uwihint settlement, who points and follows the path of the wind in the forest aound us with his finger. It draws in, and pieces of thatch from the house are pulled up and dark spots of leaves and thatch float in the air above us like a cluster of strange shaped black butterflies.

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We eat a dinner of plantain, rice and peas under the tin roof of the community space. The small cooking fire provides some light, and also a couple of the candles that we brought with us.

After dinner people gather around the fire, and two women bring their small children to the shaman to be healed. The woman sits next tot he shaman by the fire, her child wrapped in her arms. The man pulls a couple of embers from the fire and crushes them out quickly between his palms, and then rubs the ash first on the baby´s head, and then down his back. Afterwards, he ties some leaves tot he top of one of the trunks that support the roof.

A little later everyone gathers in the school building, and we carry the infant chairs we are sitting on with us. Ramon speaks first, welcoming us three volunteers and the two Peace Corps workers who will be conducting a seminar on ecotourism on teh next day. The speaches are long and repetitive and the community, sitting on the floor at the edges of the school room, chatters over them. The four older men of the community take it in turns to welcome us and talk about their desire to encourage visitors to the community, the need to develop ecotourism in the community to provide an alternative to cutting the forest, what their community has to offer by means of traditional Shuar culture, the need to preserve their culture and the importance of protecting the rainforests. The we are given a demonstration of what the community has to offer to ecotourists, in the form of a performance of Shuar dancing. Jorge plays the pipes which four young men and girls in traditional costume dance for us.

The next night (Saturday) aftrer another dinner of plantain, rice, and peas, some boys come in from the forest carrying a watusi that they have caught. Watusi is a large rodent, not dissimilar to rat except for its size. The women immediately get to it, first synging the fur and scraping it off, and then carving it into smaller peices (head, spine, and all), and popping it into a pan of water for soup.

Looks appetizing, doesn´t it?

And the poor dog that caught the watusi, exchausted and covered in grime from the hole it ratted it out of, didn´t get any of it.

Some details

You have seen the picture of the volunteer house. On the right is the window to the room I am staying in. There are two bunk beds. I am staying on the top bunk of the bed closest to the window, and Brita (from New Jersey) is on the bottom bunk of the other bed. There is a line between the two beds to hang our dirty and wet clothes on (clothes are always dirty and wet).

The front door opens to the dining area, and to the left is the kitchen. There is electricity, although it goes off after there has been a big storm. Directly oppostite the front door on the other side is the back door, which opens onto a cobbled dirt path to the toilet and shower. The shower is a large bucket bin with a smaller tub for rinsing. The water comes from the river up in the forest, and has to be boiled before drinking.

At night the crickets chip, the frogs court each other and the dogs come out to bark. The moths are large and sometimes there are bats in the air, like the night in the picture below. The cockrels begin to crow at 4am, and soon after the reggaeton music starts to play (which is the one benefit of losing the power after a storm).


There are three of us volunteers. Me, Brita, and Uly from Salzwedel. We all agree that the food is boring and not very nutritious. White rice, beans, pasta, potatoes, sometimes soup but very rarely fresh vegetables. Today we have come to Puyo, the nearest town (an hour and a half bus ride away) to use the internet, have a hot shower and sleep on a real mattress, and (which I am looking forward to the most) eat in a restaraunt. Tonight I am going to try ceviche, an Ecuadorian delicacy which is basically raw seafood marinaded in citrus juices. We have been recommended a place that does excellent ceviche by a girl we met from the Peace Corps. If my stomach can cope with watusi (I´ll explain that later), it can cope with anything!

I am still getting my head around the work that we are doing, so I will write about that another time I think.

Tsuraku y Casa Jatun Sacha

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This is the Casa Jatun Sacha on the right. The boy holding the rifle has just walked out of shot on the left.

The three small children of Natale, the guy resposible for us two volunteers here at Tsuraku (amongst many other things), play in front of the Casa with toy pistols. The little girl sits on a rockholding the amunition pellets in a plastic bag, and the small boys come to her for refils.

This is the pond in the back of the house. I tried to take pictures of the different coloured dragonflies, but they were too fast.

This is the view from the nursery I helped to paint yesterday. A little to the right is the new house that is under construction (temporarily delayed due to lack of funding). Yesterday afternoon I used a machete for the first time to clear the pampas from the grounds. The ground was damp, but I didn´t realise how damp until I fell thigh deep into a small rio that ran under the pampas.

Men at work

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I am holding a large cooking pot full of yellow paint, passing it between the two men when their rollers run dry.

It occurs to me that as I am taller than the Shuar man, Miguel, perhaps I would be able to reach the high points he leaves unpainted, but never mind.

The difference between the way Miguel and Ulli (the German volunteer) work, is markable. The Shuar start a task, but don´t really think about the logisitcs of it. Miguel´s painting is all over the place, and when he can´t see how to do a tricky bit, he doesn´t bother, and starts something new. Ulli is meticulous and efficient. He takes a little longer, perhaps, but his work is neat. It frustrates Ulli that the Shuar are disorganised, but he accepts that the education levels here are incredibly low.

Another aspect of this though (I think) is part of the post-nomadic culture. The Shuar only began to transition (out of necessity) from being a nomadic people in the 1960´s, and I think that, to them, painting to the edges of a wall is not really a matter of priority. The important stuff always gets done.

A couple of hours later the nursery is fully painted both inside and out, and looks fantastic, regardless of wobbly edges. And it wasn´t Ulli or I that got the job done.

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As I began to write this in my notebook, crouched on the foundation timbers of Casa Jatun Sacha, a black headed parrot (Loro Coroninegro) landed on me and nestled in the curve of my neck. It nibbled the corner of my mouth, and then stuck its tongue down my ear. I am glad that I had my camera in my pocket. That wouldn´t have happened if I had been sat inside writing efficiently and ergonomically at a desk, would it?

On the Puyo bus

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About 4 hours into the inding journey around the Andes we suddenly go though a very dark and narrow tunnel. When we come out hte other side I wonder why we are driving so dangerously close to the side of the mountain. I look out of the window on the other side of the bus, and there is a sheer drop of about 1,000ft down the Andes about 3ft away.

I know a couple of people that would hate this. My sister, for one, would be crapping herself at this height. My only fear, however, is that I am going to wet myself, as my bladder has been giving me pain since about 30 minutes into the journey. Culpa mea for trying to prevent getting dehydrated, but at least it provides a constant distraction from other dangers.

Adios

I will probably not be able to post anything for a while, what with moving to the Amazonian rainforest tommorow and all.

Have left my passport and bank details with Daniela at Jatun Sacha, if anyone needs them. That should mean that in the next few weeks I have a fully registered visa and a flight booked to San Cristobal, or it might mean that soon there will be another Amazed travelling around the world and spending my overdraft for me. Time will only tell...

Anyway. I´m off to the ballet, my dears. Now, should I wear my boots, or my wellies?


Please keep in touch. I miss people already.

The excitment

Isn´t my life just so exciting?

Today I have been to the bank. Woo.

Yesterday I went to register my visa at the Direccion de Extranjeria.

I got a taxi from my hotel as soon as I had dropped my bags off. It seemed like a dodgy area, but who can tell since I didn´t know exactly where I was, and most of the buildings in Quito are patchy and dusty and poorly signed and bordered my huge roads filled with non-stop traffic. There are a few purposeful pedestrians, and then a couple of people hanging out here and there, looking at the foreign girl. What made me think that this was a particularly bad area was that the taxi driver, bless him, got out of the car with me, made sure I held my bag properly, and gave me a look which said ´be careful´.

Well, that put the shits up me, for a start. So when i got to the building that had old white paint saying that it was the right place, and was told by the man with the gun (and uniform, thankfully) that it had moved to a different address, I was confused. It took a while for me to understand what he was saying, and my Lonely Planet had said this was the address, and there was a sign. Argh.

So I quickly hailed another taxi (this is definately a taxi city, especially when carrying important documents, minimal spanish and crap map), making sure that the man in the uniform (with the gun) was still in sight, and headed for the second address.

This was the right place. Even more people hanging around on the street outside. They seemed friendly, but now I am totally paranoid that I have ´rich foreigner without a clue´scrawled across my forehead, and just want to get stuff sorted and get away. Nobody speaks English (why should they, I don´t speak Spanish?), but they tell me that I need to open a bank account (and deposit $10) before I can register my visa.

Where´s the bank? Just round the corner. What, that corner there? Over that big road? And all the people hanging around? All right then.

I walk to the big road, and look at the street I think I am supposed to go down... And hail a taxi back to the hotel.

Please bear in mind that I had been travelling for 17 hours and had all my money, documents, copies of documents, and camera on me. I wasn´t feeling too brave.

This morning I get a taxi to the Banco Internacional at 8am, and am told (in Spanish) that I can´t have a bank account as I am not registered. I need to go to the Direccion Extranjeria first. Argh.

No, I don´t understand. I need a bank account to register my visa. They wont let me register without a bank account. We go round in circles for a while, and eventually the bank man (Jorge, I find out later) says ´Vamanos´(lets go).

As we walk round the corner (it is, literally, a three minute walk) to the visa office, Jorge explains that he has a brother in London, and would hope that someone would help him too if he needed it. Jorge speaks about three words in English (´my brother´and ´london´), but we get by with only small confusion. We go in to the visa office, and Jorge speaks to the guy with the uniform (and gun), and then we leave.

He says that it would take until at least tomororow to open a bank account, because he would need to authorise it with his superiors first. But I am travelling first thing tomorrow. I will have to delay my travel. No. He says that my visa is already valid, that it doesn´t need registering. It is ´sufficiento´. I still don´t understand, and am not sure I believe him. I get a bit teary (how embarrasing), because I am sacred that I am doing something very wrong. He says there is no need for melancholico, I don´t need a bank account, and my visa will be fine, and eventually it gets through. He gives me his number in case I need any help, and we shake hands and part.

Thank you, Jorge Bonius. Somehow we managed to communicate, and you reassured me when I was close to panic.

I´m still not sure if I believe him, but what´s the worst that could happen? I can´t be incarcerated for too long for having an invalid visa, before the British Embassy rescue me, can I? Surely they´ll be able to see that I am just an incompetent traveller, and not a diplomatic risk?

Anyway, I have my orientation with Jatun Sacha this afternoon, so the story may change yet...
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But these petty worries just don´t compare to the story I heard last night.

I met a man in the hotel bar after dinner who told me that a couple of days ago he any his party of thirteen were held up at gun point, tied up and robbed at a retreat just a couple of hours north of Quito.

He´ll be dining out on this story for years to come, but right now they are all really shaken. A counsellor was even flown out by their tour company to talk to them (he was on my plane, funnily enough). Nobody was seriously hurt - there were some cuts to the wrists from being tied up, and the tour guide was hit with the flat side of a machete a few times, but the aim of the raid was to rob, not hurt, thankfully.

Apparently these things are incredibly uncommon. Bandit raids are just not something that happens anymore. Robberies are more individual nowadays. The party are continuing on their travels, and I hope that the rest of their journey improves their memory of Ecuador.

I am trying not to think about he fact that the last reserve I am working on is just a couple of hours north of Quito.

Puts a stressful trip to the visa office into perspectiva, don´t it?

Getting here

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The couple that had been sat next to me since Amsterdam got off in Guyaquil, so I shifted along to the window seat.

It felt like we were flying directly towards the sun, as I could feel the hot rays touch my cheek through the thick glass and air conditioning, and we flew over miles of green and brown peaks.

Then suddenly there were snow capped mountains, in the middle of all this heat and verdure. Giant peaks, iced and steaming.























































This is a truly beautiful country, but how a city like Quito, bustling and smoky, has grown amongst these mountains is amazing to me.



















Quito frightens me a little. I am finding it hard to find my feet here, and feel shaken as soon as I get out of a taxi onto one of the city streets.

I need to register my visa, but in order to do this I have to open a bank account. Today, after 17 hours travelling, I just didn´t feel comfortable wandering the streets looking for a bank whilst carrying all of my most important documentation.

I have between 8am and 1pm tomorrow to get a bank account and register my visa, and then I have my orientation with Jatun Sacha at 3pm.

It will be a busy day.

I am seriously looking forward to being out of the city, and working on this incredible land.

!Adelante!

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Manchester Airport don't provide mules, do they?

!Hasta luego!

xx

There will be changes

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Some things just will not be the same again.

Some views will not exist anymore in September, because the city will have grown, and the village will be 'developed'.

This view of The Palace, from Sackville Street over the old car park, will disappear.

Like this, other parts of my old home, my old life, will become unrecognisable with time.

People will move on, forget and be forgotten. Babies will be born, and lives will change in all sorts of unpredictable ways.

But when I come back to Manchester, I know that I will be able to say hello to Alan. His nails might be painted a different colour then, but he will be there, in the shadow of new buildings.

There are some things in my life, some people, that have always been constant, even when I have not been.

I cannot find the right words to say how much I love you, and will miss being able to call on a whim. To know that you were there has always been a constant reassurance to me, and I just can't wait until our next random chat.

Take care of Manchester for me, will you please?

My life in boxes

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Ok, so I haven't packed the furniture up, but it's surprising into how small a corner all my worldly possessions can be packed.

I imagine that on my return I will not have missed quite a lot of these things, and the car boot sale/ charity shop will beckon, but there are a couple of things that I will really miss. These include pretty dresses and shoes (although I have managed to smuggle one light weight dress and a pair of heels into my hand luggage!), my special bag, a suitcase full of photographs, and my reference books (including the brilliant Virgin Film Guide Vol 8, of which I have never grown tired).

There are also a few things that I have assigned to people, should I not return for whatever reason. This is not comprehensive, or favouritist, but just a few things that I know should belong to certain people if they do not belong to me. It does not mean that I don't love anyone not on the list (Helen S, for example), but rather that there just happened to be a few items of 'stuff' that had a natural match.

In no particular order:

• The Handbag (those who know me know which one) fits Julia. It just does.
• The goat table is Stuart's.
• The orange sheep skin rug would look very styish at Maxine L's.
• The stripy dancing dress looks best on Becca, and the Nutcracker on vinyl goes with it.
• My sister Helen can help herself to any of my shoes and clothes, and all the rest can be divided between those who want them and Oxfam.
• Lawrence might like some of my books.
• Rachel will provide a good home for Claude (the Cheshire Cat).
• My jam and button collection can live at the Culshaw's!

It's not much, is it? But they are my nice things, and I want to make sure they end up in the right place. If anyone has any requests, let me know, but just wait until I don't come back before making your claim, will you?

I am planning on coming back, just so you know.

Today's mood - philosophically practical.

Dust

I think that there is something very sad about an empty bookshelf.

The journey of a mind's life can be traced through the spines of books.

The well cracked spine of old favourites. The nearly new but now dusty installments of an adolescent phase. A fat doorstep of a classic with the faded post-it note still stuck on page 20. Forgotten fancies and simple time-fillers sat alongside memorised poems and passages, and margins filled with a hunger to understand.

Now the shelf stands exposed, an inch of thick dust at the back. And an old stray sock.

Checklists

I must have written about half a dozen lists in the past couple of days since I have had the time to think properly about the practicalities of actually leaving the country for six months on Monday. I have even managed to tick a few things off.

Money:
After a sleepless night panicking about how to arrange my money I now have that sorted.

I was worried because I had heard that traveller's cheques are next to useless outside of large towns and cities, because I didn't want to carry six months' worth of cash on me, and because I suddendly worried that I don't have a credit card and would I be able to make payments with my card?

As it happens my card should work as long as I inform the bank that I will be using it abroad (otherwise they might think a fraud is being committed), and I am taking one month's worth of cash ($1/5/10 dollar bills - anything larger is to big to change), and the rest in traveller's cheques that I will change when travelling between stations.

Arrival

I have booked a quite nice hotel for my two nights in Quito.

I decided that I have too much else to think about. With having to register my visa at the Direccion General de Extranjeria and having my induction at the Jatun Sacha office, and what with still not being overly confident with my Spanish, I wanted to make sure that I am somewhere reliable in a safe area.

Hotel Quito is four stars, and at £48 for two night's is expensive by Ecuadorian standards, but I am volunteering, not backpacking, and the reassurance their competance has given me has been worth double that already.

They have arranged for a taxi to pick me up from the airport (one less worry), and have said (in good English) that although check in is not until 2pm I can safely leave my bag with the porter when I arrive at 9am, leaving me free to go to register my visa.

When I booked the room on Expedia, I also booked tickets to the Jacutinga National Ballet for my second night in Quito (when all administrative worries have passed, I hope). The dance is a mixture of classical and indigenous styles, apparently, and it will be a true luxury before heading to work.

Languages

My Spanish is rubbish. It is shameful. Even now that I have finished work there have been too many distractions to sitting down and studying. I have been listening to my linguaphone, but keep stopping at the same point. I will try harder, although this last week is filled up with tasks.

I will be taking my linguaphone with me for on the plane, in Quito, and when I get a chance on the bases, and I will be taking grammar books and dictionaries as well. But I think that if I manage to get to the first station safely I will certainly pick it up very quickly. A person who likes to natter as much as me will be forced to learn in no time. And then in any case, it may do me some good to have to think before I speak a little.

Equipment

Have:

• Sleeping bag
• Head torch and hand held torch that doubles as a radio and phone charger
• A great pair of walking boots that fit well, boot treatment cream, and knee length gators
• Wellies
• Water bottle and water bladder
• Binoculars (that I don'tknow how to use)
• Camera

Need:

• A discreet/ invisible zip money belt
• Moquito head net, or a mosquito net for the head
• Waterproof camera case
• Spare batteries
• Ziplock bags
• Pocket knife
• Travel pillow

Health/ hygene:

Have:

• Malaria tablets
• Ginko - for altitude sickness
• Some high DEET insect repellent, but not enough. DEET frightens me, it is so caustic/ toxic. Apparently it dissolves synthetic fabrics, destroys the quality of cotton, and has killed at least on camera. Surely a mosquito bite can't be as bad as what this will do to my skin?
• Cortisone, antibacterial cream, antiseptic wipes, antiseptic cream
• Ibuprofen, antihistamines, oral rehydration powders, immodium
• One bar of Kendal Mint Cake
• Washbag
• Scissors and tweezers

Need:

• More DEET
• Biodegradable soap, shampoo, deoderant, detergent, toothpaste
• Tampons (can't find my moon cup, so the yoghurt weaving stops here)
• Sun screen
• Chocolate and energy bars
• bandages/ gauze
• Safety pins
• Permethrin-containing insect repellent for clothes and sleeping bag
• Iodine water purification tablets
• Chocolate with a high cocoa content (for the altitude sickness, of course)

Clothing

Have:

• 2 x really good fast drying and hard wearing work trousers
• 1 x nice trousers for the ballet and evenings
• A few short and long sleeves t-shirts (light colours, to detract mosquitos, cotton, for the sweat and DEET)
• Warm pyjamas (jogging bottoms and t-shirt)
• Short and long socks
• 2 x long sleeved shirts
• Swimming costume
• 2 x pairs of heels (you never know)

Need:

• Sun/ rain hat
• Strappy sandals
• More socks?
• Cotton underwear
• Fleece/ warm top
• More long sleeved shirts - to ruin while working
• White cotton long sleeved t-shirts - several

Personal

• Notebooks
• Books
• Address and date books
• Playing cards
• Photos

To Do:

• Write out malaria tablet schedule in my diary - I am skipping a few weeks when I am in places that are low/no risk, because the tablets were so expensive, and very chemical.
• To start taking ginko one day before departure
• Put the possessions I have accumulated over the past seven and a half years in the flat into storage (a spare room)
• Learn Spanish
• Clean camera memory and upload photos as needed
• Copy itinerary and important documents, visa and flight details to leave in Britain
• Confirm flight and ballet booking
• Phone bank to tell them I will be using my card overseas
• Get a photocopy of my passport and visa documentation to carry with my at all times in case of spot checks while in Ecuador
• Print and copy all emails, information and confirmations from Jatun Sacha

Have I missed anything?

Exits, followed by bear

It was my last day at work on Friday. It was alright.

In some ways it was like many other days, much like spinning plates. Desperately running around trying to make sure things are finished in time, knowing that there isn't enough time and something is bound to be missed. But there were also some small closures, a couple of jobs well done, and some really sweet goodbyes from some of the ladies and gentlemen that have become a large feature of my job, even if some of them still can't get my name right.

I was still frantically typing my 'out of office' message when staff members started shuffling in for leaving drinks. It was nice that people showed up, and were interested in what I am doing. All friendly faces that have been a real presence in my life over the past years. I went through the 'Ecuador', 'Six months', 'Conservation work', 'Well, a lot of digging, I imagine', 'No, I haven't had time to get excited yet', and 'Oh, I'm sure it will fly by' spiel about a dozen times, and could feel myself getting less and less demonstrative each time. It had been such a physically and mentally exhausting week that I was just so tired of performing, tired of saying goodbye.

Nevertheless, I had wanted to say goodbye, and many kind and encouraging words were spoken. I was given some fantasically useful presents, as well - sleeping bag and socks, head torch and kendal mint cake, and a bite extracting device. I had been mulling over what I might say if called to speak at this point, and I think that it is fortunate that I had a moment of uncharacteristic coyness. My thoughts of that building, that company, and the people are so varied and loaded with meaning that I could have overflowed with grief, or bitterness, or gratitude depending on the direction of the wind.

By five the crowd had died down, ready to move on to someone else's leaving drinks. I was already tipsy, having worked during lunch, and was relieved to have the attention shift away. Then there were more drinks downstairs, and then four of us went on to a bar opening, and later there was some crazy dancing to northern soul music - flinging ourselves around with abandon and twirling 'till we couldn't see straight. What joy!

In the morning I discovered that I had ruined my lovely (relatively) new shoes. I loved those shoes - they were beautiful and stylish and fit me like we belonged together. I will be sorry to see them go, but sometimes one just has to let go of the steps and dance like a wild thing.