Goodbye Altitude!

I guess they’ve determined that we should at least do a little classic-style work while we’re, so they saved our last week on the mainland for research papers, presentations, and of course, a final (Wouldn’t it be nice if all we had to do for finals at Beloit was write a few pages about what we learned and incorporate a list of words). So, I spent the vast majority of my spare time this week reading, writing, and talking about factors affecting determination of altitudinal gradients in the tropics, and how they affect biodiversity.

On Wednesday night, my family took me to a narro, winding street in the middle of the old city called la Ronda, lined by houses 300-400 years old, inhabited by the super-rich. Directly along the street are little shops selling earrings and necklaces and food vendors, the majority of whom sell a hot, sweet drink called candelazo, made from thick naranjilla juice and a strong form of alcohol, meant to be consumed at night to keep from getting chilly.

There are some things that must be done in Quito, because if a person parcipated in said activities in the states, he/she would most likely end up in jail. Therefore, in celebration of our last day of class on the mainland, we rented a Chiva on Friday night. The chiva is an open-backed bus that looks like it should be in the circus. Little benches run along the waist-high side walls. The back consists of a few rails. Rope handles hang down everywhere. There’s a minibar at the front, from which candelazo is handed out for as long as it lasts. There are disco lights mounted on the ceiling, as well as balloons, and loudspeakers at both the front and the back. And of course, in the middle of the floor, a pole. For two hours on Friday night, the Chiva lurched through Quito as the 45 of us crammed onto the floor went through the supply of candelazo, passed around bottles of who knows what else, and danced to a mix of modern, old, english, spanish, good and really terrible music before ending up in la Mariscal (the part of town dominated by bars and dance clubs). We had wanted to rent a double-decker Chiva, but apparently they’re no longer run because people kept falling off the roof.

Saturday we hit up a soccer match between Liga, which most Ecuadorians will profess to be the best in the country, and a Peruvian team. During security, they let me keep my water bottle, with the water in it, but took away the cap so I wouldn’t be able to toss a heavy projectile at the players. However, we later discovered that the following commonly made it through security: fireworks, fire extinguishers, and thousands of rolls of paper that inevitable ended up on the field. Our general seating tickets, which were bought outside the stadium for $6, landed us in a section of benches directly behind one of the goalposts, complete with cops in riot gear who spent the match lazing against the fence, watching the action on the big screen behind the crowd, shields set aside against the wall and helmets tucked under arms. We proceeded to watch Ecuador decidedly kick Peru’s ass over the course of the game, coming out with a score of 5-0.

Also, there’s a photo album up at http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=50130&id=1456470082&l=8d5f5d6dde. You all should be able to access it, whether or not you’ve been lured over to the dark side.

Into the Wild

Several steps must be followed in order to reach a little set of trails, screened rooms, a dining hall and a 40-km network of trails nested on the banks of the Tiputini, in the middle of nowhere in the Ecuadorian Amazon. So, bright and early Monday morning, we met at the university to take a bus to the Quito airport, where we cought a 30-minute flight to the town of Coca at 8:45 am. My carry-on bag contained (among other things) a bottle of deet, a juice box, a large tube of sunscreen, and two bottles of water, and my shoes had not been parted from my feet since I left my house. After setting down in Coca as the only plane in the airport, stepping out into Hot and Humid, and having our bags tossed on a bench in front of us through the walls of a windowless waiting area, we hopped on another bus for ten minutes and arrived at a dock. The men proceeded to stuff our luggage into the front of a little boat, we all climbed aboard under a canopy made from a tarp, turned our plastic chairs around to face the outside, ditched our life jackets, and we were off. We spent the next hour and a half “speeding” down the Rio Napo, passing a few oil operations and Kichwa in dug-out canoes, more often than not carrying loads of bananas and in the process of bailing out the tiny vessels. We eventually arrived and disembarked at the dock of an oil operation, after having put our life jackets back on as we came into sight. After passing through security equivalent to that of the airport, we lazed for an hour or so in the sweltering shade of a large sheet-metal structure under supervision of the oil company’s security before cramming into a safari-type truck with absolutely no legroom for a two-hour drive through the jungle down a network of oil roads. Finally, we stopped at a bridge, climbed down the bank to another waiting canopied boat, and traveled for the next two hours down the considerably smaller Rio Tiputini through pristine jungle to the Tiputini Biodiversity Station, our home for the next four nights.

During the mornings, those of us who were motivated left at 5:30 with our guide, carrying sack breakfasts, to climb a 150’ tower to a platform in the canopy of a 400-year-old emerging tree and proceeded to spend the next couple hours surrounded by bromeliads, looking out over the canopy to watch birds, monkeys, and the sunrise before heading back for class.

More often than not, class consisted of “hikes” through the jungle. However, there was so much to see and talk about that we rarely got very far. There were more species of trees than I could have ever imagined, many of which I saw only once. Vines hung from every available surface. Birds called constantly, but we rarely saw them due to dense foliage. Pitcher plants grew on a vine along the walkway by my cabin. We found a little white spider with brown stripes that appeared to be a flower; our guide told us he had seen three in 15 years. Strangler figs were one of the most common trees we saw; they grow down from where their seed is deposited on branches in the canopy, sending out tendrils around their host tree that grow into a kind of network of a trunk, sink roots into the ground, and eventually cut off the host tree’s nutrient supply, killing it and remaining as a hollow web once the original tree has decomposed. We found walking palms, which move up to several meters throughout their lives as they follow available light. And we found huge bullet ants, both in nests and patrolling the tree that the canopy tower sat in, whose stings are said to be as painful as being shot, with pain and fever lasting at least 12 hours and up to multiple days. Lucky we got the one that landed on my head one morning with a fat plunk brushed off before it made its way through my hair. We found tracks from giant armadillos, tapirs, pacas, and other mammals. Butterflies of all imaginable sizes and colors were omnipresent. We also climbed another tower to a network of walkways in the canopy, spending an hour or so walking between trees and being graced by a scarlet macaw that flew by about 30’ away. A few of the species we saw included: Scarlet macaws, Woolly Monkeys, Huatzins, Paradise Tanagers, Spangled Cotingas, Pacas, Saki Monkeys, Amazon Kingfishers, Dusky Titi Monkeys, Many-banded Aracaris, Dung Beetles, Piping Guans, Mealy Parrots, a Black Hawk-eagle, Caracaras, a Laughing Falcon, Red howler monkeys, Spectacled Caimans, Dwarf Caiman, and Blue-and-yellow Macaws. Google image the awesome.

Due to extreme heat and humidity, we resorted to swimming in the Tiputini River to cool off. The water of the Tiputini is warmer than most swimming pools. It is so thick with sediment that you can only see four inches into the water, and the current is deceptively strong. Therefore, while swimming at TBS, we contented ourselves with floating in circles around an eddy, inevitably crashing into a hidden tree limb less than a foot below the surface on every lap. We also contented ourselves with knowing we shared the river with piranhas, catfish, snakes, caimans, pink river dolphins, and a certain species of catfish that likes to lodge itself in urethras if it can follow a pee trail to its source. Therefore, we made a point of not peeing in the river.

Evenings included varying activities. One night consisted of a night float on the river, which turned up a paca, some herons, and several caimans. The next evening included a night walk in which we managed to find a molting cricket, several tree frogs, a wolf spider, a paca, walking sticks, a katydid, and a few tarantulas, among other stuff.

There is only electricity for 3.5 hours in the evening at TBS, cutting out at 9:30. If it’s a clear night, the stars shine brightly down, framed by the trees that rim the clearing where the cabins sit. Orion and the Pleades were out every night.

We also spent some time talking about the indigenous people of the Ecuadorian Amazon. Short and simple explaination: There are two “tribes,” the Worani, who live at higher elevations and hunt mainly meat, and the Kichwa, who live along rivers and hunt mostly fish. Since missionaries first contacted them in the 1950s and the oil companies have set up operations in the area, a corrupt relationship has formed between the cultures (especially with the Worani). As young Worani aspire to be like people from the city, they lose knowledge of traditional ways and instead seek women and alcohol. Unfortunately, they lack the enzyme to process alcohol, so one drink sends them over the edge. They have been given houses, cars, schools, guns, soccer fields, and free transportation by the oil companies, who are well-aware that the Worani can hinder their operations at any time they want. The Worani use this arrangement to sell wild meat every week at the market, and therefore hunt exponentially more peccaries, pacas, and monkeys than in the past. As more oil roads are constructed, the Worani move in and settle, clearing forest and overhunting. And although they want money, they don’t necessarily understand the meaning of a work day… or what to do with it once they have it.

However, humidity and depressing stories of overhunting aside, I managed to expand my biology vocabulary, which was sadly lacking, survive on oreos for four days in the middle of the jungle, and come out of it with only three bug bites to show. The Amazon is awesome.

Toucans. Enough Said.

The house I live in sits on the edge of a cliff, overlooking the cordillera toward the eastern Andes. My host mom, Monica, is a self-employed travel agent. My host sister, Maria Jose, is 20 and studying medicine. My host brother, Juan Francisco, is 28, an artist, a slight bit insane, lives in his workshop, and loves weed. Monica has one other daughter who is married, lives nearby, and has a two-year-old daughter Isabella. There is a cleaning woman, Marie, who lives in a room off of the kitchen with her son, Daniel, as well.

Last saturday, we took a class jaunt up to Palugillo, a páramo reserve on the eastern branch of the Andes. The bus dropped us off at the divide bewteen the watersheds in which rainwater drains toward the Amazon or toward the Pacific, at ~4200 m (13,800’). For all you Oregonians, that’s 2500’ higher than our dear Mt. Hood. Although it was right around 50°, it was a horrible saturating cold– I had more clothing on than I have ever worn to ski. For the next 5.5 hours, we proceeded to hike ~4.5 miles down a semi-existent, muddy, boggy, rocky path, around numerous lakes, through alternating rain and mist, in the direction of the amazon basin. Terrain shifted gradually from bare land punctuated with low-lying vegetation with small, waxy leaves to tall, broad-leafed shrubs and trees at lower elevations. Highlights included cushion plants, pretty meadows, lakes, hills, hummingbirds, and hot springs waiting for us at the end. I do not remember ever being so exhausted in my life... damn elevation. By the time we finished I had taken off three layers; My Aussie housemate, however, still had on six layers including my heavy down vest and two sets of gloves and remained miserably cold.

Thursday we headed in the other direction, west and down to the cloud forest reserve of Maquipucuna on the western side of the Andes, at ~2200 m (7200’), right at the elevation where the clouds hit the mountains. The dirt road into the reserve was twistier, narrower, and bumpier than I would be willing to take anything other than my AWD Honda on, but our tour bus driver navigated the hairpin turns and ditches with absolutely no reservation. (Then again, he regularly passes semi trucks and other tour busses as we speed around blind corners. Moving on.) In Maquipucuna, we were greeted by more giant, vibrant flowers, vines, insects, bromeliads, and hummingbirds than I have ever seen in my life. Sorry Belize, you just got booted. We spent the aftrnoon searching for invertebrates in the river that ran alongside our hostel and later hiking through the forest. In the morning, those of us who were motivated were supposed to go hiking and search for birds and see the sun rise at 6:00. Unfortunately, in the process of setting my alarm the night before my watch managed to fast forward an hour, so I woke up bright and early and got myself all ready to go before realizing it was just hitting 5:00 in the morning. But, we still saw awesome birds and a sweet sunrise over forrested mountains shrouded in clouds.

Later Friday morning we were supposed to go on a hike up the river, through the cloud forest, and to a waterfall with a cave behind it. Unfortunately, less than a mile in, some unfamiliar bacteria in my stomach decided to make itself known and strongly demand that I return to the hostel. So much for the waterfall. However, all said and done, highlights included a bright blue-purple and yellow butterfly with a wingspan of ~12”, tree ferns, toucans, orchids, leaf insects, a booted racket-tail, being able to breathe as we hiked uphill, and hot showers.

Yesterday we took a day trip up to the village of Otovalo, next to a volcano, where an indigenous artisan market is held every Saturday. After hitting up the market we visited el Parque Condor (the Condor Park), a raptor rehabilitation center near Otovalo, where we saw a lot of familiar raptors and a few new ones, including the Andean Condor, the male of who proceeded to repeatedly flap and run noisily back and forth along the edge of his enclosure while one of our posse did his own personal best interpretation in tandem from our side of the fence.

In other news: So far, two of our group have had cameras stolen and at least two have been pickpocketed. It’s still warm and sunny, I’m not sunburned yet, after I get home I will never eat stale white bread for breakfast again, and our classmate who managed to contact meningitis on her first day here is out of the hospital and again contributing to the collective awesome.

Welcome to Latitude 0º 0' 0''

So, we had our first real day of class yesterday. After navigating my way through campus to “Casa Blanca,” a little white building tucked behind almost every other structure in the university, I find my way through a narrow hall, down a twisting, constricted flight of steps, around several corners, and arrive in room 105b, which happens to be tucked in the basement, graced by a single window that leaks light from the courtyard above. I sit down to pull out pen and paper, our professor, Esteban, arrives and begins hooking up his computer to the projector... and the electricity promptly cuts out, leaving us in the dark. So much for the powerpoint. Esteban leaves the room, eventually returning with two dying dry erase markers with which he proceeds to spend the following hour and a half attempting to illustrate his entire powerpoint on the white board. Welcome to 2-5 PM in Ecuador, which just happens to coincide exactly with the time slot assigned to Tropical Ecology.

Ecuador is experiencing a slight bit of what we like to refer to as an energy crisis, due to an absence of rain during October’s rainy season. The subsequent lack of water buildup in the soil of the Páramos (Andean highlands) led to a lack of groundwater, resulting in low levels of water in streams serving as sources for Ecuador’s hydroelectric dams, which produce right around 60% of the country’s energy. Ergo, when the generator decides not to work, we take notes and pee in the dark.

We live less than a mile from the university. Unfortunately, catching the bus to class requires crossing a curvy, overoccupied four-lane cliffside highway during rush hour. So, in an effort to preserve our lives, we call a cab. To get home, we catch a bus a half-block from the university. After lurching to a stop at every point the bus is hailed through the next few blocks, we speed onto the highway to Quito. Half a mile from our house, we stand up, stagger our way to the front of the bus, pay the driver’s assistant and receive change as we make our way up the hill, and hold on for dear life as the driver slams on the brakes in front of our gate. (During orientation, we were informed that guys will most likely end up leaping from a moving bus. For girls, however, the driver will almost always come to a complete stop.) In my experience the bus not only comes to a complete stop but the assistant also jumps out to help us down.

In other news, water actually does drain in the other direction on opposite sides of the equator. Hummingbirds are ubiquitous on campus, huge, and bright turquoise. Vultures roost in the tree next to our house. “Wine in a box” is given a whole new meaning in Quito supermarkets. Juice is made by tossing whole fruit, sugar, and water into the blender and thereafter draining it into a pitcher. USFQ believes in fresh, edible, well-balanced meals. What a notion. I have been happily enjoying 70+ degrees and sunny for the past five days. And, I can hold a conversation entirely in spanish, for the most part… although I had the people behind the counter at the pizza and beer joint we dropped into the other day entirely convinced I was a complete idiot. Go me.

The Lowdown

Whenever I come home, I inevitably end up in a position I commonly refer to as the GOLDFISH SYNDROME. It goes a little something like this:

• I come home. More likely than not for some hyped-up holiday designated for some event in which a heap of people died.
• There's a great big party, with tons of people, and I get to fill the part of Shiny New Toy.
• One person barrages me with questions: "How's school? What classes are you taking? How about next semester? What, you're going abroad? Where? How long? What're you going to do? Are you excited? Are you scared?" And the list goes on... Until I manage to extract myself from the clutches of Well-Meaning-Relative Number One and walk straight into the clutches of Well-Meaning-Relative Number Two. And the list begins again, and again, and again...

Although this is new information to everyone else, I have news: I have more than a 10-SECOND MEMORY. And although I appreciate your interest, I often feel like the little fish trapped in the bowl with all the cats staring in at me, scrutinizing EVERY SINGLE DETAIL of my life. I've often seriously considered typing up an essay, printing 30 copies, and handing them out at the door (I don't care whether I'm the host or guest).

So, here's the lowdown: Last semester sucked. All I can say is, Organic Chem was my easiest class. I like to say that last semester was about the work, and this semester is about cashing the check. Because at the moment, I'm sitting in the Houston airport, about an hour from boarding a plane to Ecuador, where I will sit my butt on the equator surrounded by awesome for the next six months. I'm studying abroad on a program at GAIAS (the Galapagos Academic Institute for the Arts and Sciences), which is run by USFQ in Quito. The track I'm doing is entitled Ecology, Evolution, and Conservation in the Galapagos. My first month-ish I'll be studying in Quito... with side trips to the Amazon, etc. The next three + months, until the semester ends on May 10, will be on the island of San Cristóbal. Studying at a campus literally across the road form the beach. Chilling out with the sea lions and snorkeling and playing frisbee, etc. I then plan on finding myself a public health internship in Quito until the end of June, at which time I will return to my humble abode in the great PNW. I plan on climbing a mountain, getting SCUBA certified, and other fun stuff along the way. Yes, I am excited. No, I'm not nervous... anymore, thanks mostly to a wonderful email from my Quito host mom and in part to (not so thankfully) losing my iPhone to the magnificent Joe's Doughnuts and subsequently realizing that I DID have the Spanish skills to explain my somewhat complicated predicament to some Spanish-speaking strangers.

This blog may or may not be successful. It is an attempt to type up essays and print those 30 copies for all y'all to read from 2,000 miles away. It has a purpose. Please, PLEASE read it so I can maintain my sanity when I return home this summer.

Also, I may be candid, but I love you all.