Home

.
With mixed feelings, I will be back in Manchester on September 7th.

I am truly excited to see my friends and family again, and am looking forward to taking a long hot bath with a glass of Cotes du Rhone and the Guardian Weekend magazine. I want to see a play and walk in the great hall of the theatre in the dark. I want to play scrabble and eat a 16" pizza.

Some things, some people, I can always rely on. But still I am very nervous. Aside from the fact that I will be swapping the mist, mud and monkeys for cars and concrete, some other things will have changed for certain. More to the point, I have changed. Just how much I don´t yet know, but some things are already different, and make my stomach flip in anticipation.

The first major difference is that I will not be moving back into my appartment. That epoch is now over. When I first arrive I will be hosted by one of my favourite people in the world, so it´s not that bad, but neither is it long term or secure. I need to find a new place, which leads to another worry.

I have no money. Galapagos wiped me out completely. I need to pay back some money (rather a lot of money, as it happens), and I also need to make some money rather sharpish to be able to live and to be able to get back to Ecuador.

There are three points to consider. One, I have no job. Two, I don´t really want to get a serious career job if I am heading back to the jungle to write a book and make my future happen. Three, I want to get back to the jungle in time to observe the mating season, and that will not be possible on minimum wage.

.

What do I do? Will Ebay cope? Make mine an agua, por favor.

.

Suggestions are welcome.

.

The other concern is physical. My body is now a temple, don´t you know, and I don´t want to desecrate it. Seriously though, except for the skin fungus, scars, and parasites, working in the jungle does wonders for the health.

I will not be surprised if many of my clothes no longer fit. Without consciously making it so, my body has changed. Less for the aesthetics of it all, and more for the way I feel, I don´t want to get slack again. Will walking to town from Chorlton and back every day be sufficient substitute to hiking up to six hours in a day or working with a machete from 8 to 12 and 2 to 4?

Also, I have not smoked one single drag for almost a month. Here, I don´t feel any need to pick up a cigarette, but will I fall back into bad habits in Manchester?

The blog will change too. It will have to document how I cope with this new life. To explain how I find my way back to the forest and how the book is going.

I am looking forward to finding out.

But for now I think all that I need is just to make the most of the beach while I am still here.

Hasta pronto!

Footsteps fading in the moonlit sand

Last night was a full moon, and the clouds above the Montanita beach parted at times to light up the sea like daytime.

We shared a bottle of Castillo del Diablo with glass cups borrowed from the hostal, took self timed photos balancing the camera on Antonio´s flip flops, and chatted round in circles, about silly things and about life, until just before dawn.

It was my last night on the beach in Ecuador, my last evening of vacations before the final stint in the jungle. It could not pass without a hint of sadness.

I don´t want to leave, I said.

You have to get used to the fact that you are going home, he said.

I know, that´s why I ´m thinking about it. And I am happy to go and see my friends and family, but it will be so difficult to come back. I want to be here in December, when the season is different in the jungle and the birds are mating, but the flight is so expensive I don´t know how I can do it.

Why don´t you extend your visa? You could get a job here. There was a volunteer from Germany who did the same thing last year. It´s possible.

Perhaps it is possible, but it would be very difficult. And now I don´t have any money, I wouldn´t be able to live. I could get a job here in Montanita, but I don´t want to live here. I want to live in Bilsa, and I can´t earn money there. I have to go back and work, at least until I have enough money to come back.

Well, that´s life. Now stop moaning and lets dance.

Hasta luego

Sorry, I did warn you that I wouldn´t have time to detail everything before I run off into the trees again.

So here are some edited highlights from the last couple of weeks...

• Eating an Argentinian grill in a Chinese run restaraunt in Loja
• Consumption - coffee, cakes and clothes
• Consumption - Sexo en la Ciudad
• The colonial influence - Ecuador with a European flavour
• The hippest hostal in Cuenca
• Inca ruins and alpaca socks
• Sharing a box of wine on the steps to the river, double dating Cuenca style
• Talking philosophy and phonetics with a fairy
• Classic cinema and sign language
• The best laid plans - communication problems, the social politics of guide searching and tension amongst travel companions
• Trying to break a spell without breaking a heart

And now I have a few things to do here in Quito before leaving for Quininde in the morning. Not very interesting.

So tomorrow morning Felica and I will part ways, for good this time, which might be a bit strange. Then I will head to La Ye from Quininde (hopefully without livestock in the camionetta this time) and look for Winter, who is hanging around with a broken foot unable to work at the moment. He says he is waiting for me there with ´una de ron´ (a bottle of rum). After a night in La Ye, probably staying in the house that Winter is building for himself, Don Armardo says he´ll be there in the morning with a mule for me. For my bags, rather, because I am hiking the 3 1/2 hour muddy road to Bilsa in my faithful rubber boots.

When I get there, after I have said hello and dropped my bags in my room, the first thing I plan to do is to go down to the river for a shower. Then I will wash the city off, wash away the dirt and smoke and dry air, and breathe only the sounds and smells of the forest.

Ciao for now.

Snow holiday

When I first flew into Ecuador it was such a clear morning that I was able to take phorographs of the mountains from the plane window. One of them was Cotopaxi, the third highest active volcanic mountain in the world, at just under 6,000m.

After having lots of practice hiking the muddy trails of Bilsa, a while ago Felicia and I decided that to climb the mountain would be a fitting achievment to seal our time in Ecuador. This became the primary goal of our travels together. Everything else was flexible, but making this climb was a detirmination, and so yesterday was the last opportunity to head to the mountain.

The altitude got to me straight away. We had driven up to the last access point and hiked an hour up to the refuge. My breath was thin and laboured throughout, and I was weak and light headed when we arrived. I put it down to the fact that we had not had chance to get breakfast before meeting our guide at 7am, and any worries seemed to clear that afternoon after we had had some lunch and gone out into the snow for an hour to learn how to walk in crampons.

After dinner we went to bed at 6pm. Felicia had a headache and was given some coca tea by our guide, and I sipped what she didn´t want more out of curiosity of trying the coca than as a precaution. I was relieved that I seemed to have gotten over that strange patch earlier.

But I was confident too soon. Between 7 and 11pm, while the forty or so other people in the room relaxed before the climb, and while I could hear Felicia sleep in the bunk next to me, I fought with a new headache and a weight on my chest that felt like my lungs were crushed to a third of their size. My heart raced like it was about to flutter its last. I tossed and turned in my sleeping bag, trying to find a balance between maintaining some body heat and being able to breathe.

I slept for maybe 20 minutes before it was time to don our gear and eat a little midnight breakfast. I told the guide about my chest pains, and he said that I needed to decide whether I would be able to make it or not. After a few minutes I decided that the headache had retreated enough, and I didn´t want to give up at this point.

So we went out onto the cold midnight mountain. We went slowly, and though I was tired my chest felt alright so I was happy to continue. And so we did, for four hours.

And so it was that I was to be found at 4am this morning, crying weak tears of frustration and exhaustion on a dark and windy mountain, as my guide clipped my harness onto another couple heading back down to the refuge, so that he and Felicia could continue to the summit without me.

I didn´t look back.

Being led by a rope down a mountain, stumbling in the snow like a toddler on reins, I was relieved to see the train of headlamps down the mountain ahead of me, of people who also couldn´t make it throught the cold and wind, and who had turned back even before I did. I had made it to 5,400m before my jelly legs could lift no more, and am happy that I made it that far.

What a fool I was to compare mountain climbing to hiking in the jungle, and to underestimate the effects of altitude on the body*. Jungle hiking has its own challenges, of course, but for me they are overriden by the benefits of being able to watch the wildlife and smell the flora. Lugging myself up the mountain in the dark, only able to see the snow directly in front of me and to smell my own laboured breath inside my balaclava, there were times that I really did wonder why people bothered to put themselves through this, for a hobby? Of course the mountain was beautiful when it could be seen, and when Felicia returned to the refuge later that morning with photos from after the sun had risen, I was so pleased that she at least got to see the true magnificance of the mountain.

But I know that it is not the climate for me. The jungle beckons.

* As a measure of how the mountain messes with your body, one American girl who came down before me was taken to hospital from the refuge because of all the fainting and nose bleeding, and a Swiss woman from our group (who had already climbed Ecuador´s other peaks), came down from the summit without her sight. When we last saw her she could see light and bright colours, but no definition. Hopefully it will be better in the next day or so.

So I feel no shame that I didn´t make it, just really proud that Felicia managed to hoik herself all the way to the top without doing herself an injury.

Tilting at windmills

It happens sometimes that you bump in to the person you were only just thinking about, but how bizarre that I had an encounter with Quixote in Loja?

Perhaps I too am tilting at windmills, and the dream of an idyll from former times is seen as little more than eccentricity. Perhaps my perception of what is real life is different now, and perhaps I prefer it that way.

Of course, I am looking forward to coming home.

I am looking forward to seeing my family and friends and having a long hot bath with a glass of wine and the Guardian magazine. I am looking forward to going to the theatre and having free reign in the kitchen again. My mouth waters for a pint of Guinness and some Marmite on toast (not necessarily at the same time), and I can´t wait to prance about in a selection of pretty clothes. I am looking forward to Radio 4 and Sackville Park, and I am looking forward to my books.

But I will still be aiming at that distant windmill on the horizon.

The flight to Cuenca

The flight took around about an hour. It cost $68.

And for that we travelled over the Andes, down from Quito towards the south of Ecuador.

Between the sun and the clouds and the earth; the mountains sprawling accross the horizon like a rumpled sheet, we could see every town, every pueblito, every casa along the way.

Update: Galapagos photos

I have managed to get my pictures up onto a computer, so if you want to see some pictures from Galapagos, scroll down to Now this is Galapagos.