Little House on the Prairie Meets European Space Age

Otherwise known as the Netherlands. Which are pretty cool, because as you come in to land you don’t fill out a single piece of paper, and there isn’t actually anyone stationed in customs. And then once you hop on the smooth, shiny double-decker blue and yellow train from the airport to the city of Den Haag, you pass crazy leaning geometric buildings covered in glass and two minutes later you’re going through fields of sheep and miniature houses and roads filled with itty bitty, fully equipped cars, some with built-in multiple-bike bike racks that pull out from the back bumper. Can you say badass?

So my friend Amber picked me up from the airport and we headed back to the city of Den Haag where she’s staying in her aunt’s house, where I promptly crashed for a while before we spent the next few hours walking in sporadic rain and dodging bicycles– from the house to the (car free) shopping district, through downtown, into chinatown (designated by tacky plastic red lanterns hanging in the streets), past the royal stables, the parliament building and the Working Palace before heading back to the house for late lunch. After sleeping for another few hours we nuked some (amazing) tiny pancakes called poffertges, slathered them with butter, powdered sugar, strawberries and whipped cream and called it dinner before heading out to take a late walk on the beach as the setting sun shone crimson through the clouds on the horizon. And we found giant sand sharks and turtles and dolphins to play on. I know. We’re dorks. But it was fun.

Today I slept in. On accident. So, we got a super late start and made it down to Amsterdam by 12:30, give or take, and emerged from the colossal, ornate, gold-leafed brick train station into the rain, straight over a canal and onto a covered boat tour. Which was awesome. We went through the locks, under old brick bridges (one of which had an old built-in prison), past house boats (made from real converted boats), giant old merchants’ houses, old warehouses, the mayor’s house (with the dirtiest curtains on the block), leaning houses (built on failing pilings), the skinniest house in Amsterdam (1 meter wide), giant churches, the music theater and a giant, twisting, three-story bike as big as a good-sized parking garage. Which was full.

The architecture was beautiful, with tall, skinny, brick buildings built wall-to-wall, topped by hoisting beams and ornate gables high above the street. (Oh, and side note: the bathroom and the toilet are two different rooms.)

After disembarking and finding Shawarma we wandered the streets for an hour or so, passing a sex museum, cafes (where they sell food), coffee shops (where they sell weed), chinatown, and a street full of sex shops (where we crossed to the other side) and a square where Darth Vader greeted us next to an old lady in a wheel chair feeding a flock on pigeons in front of a massive cathedral.

Upon our return, Amber’s aunt Petti took it upon herself to drive us through town and give me a rapid tour of the Queen’s Palace, the Peace Palace and some other landmarks before returning to the house. Where I checked into my flight and claimed myself a window seat and am now hitting the sack before completing my Journey to the Equator on the Other Side of the World. See you then.

Party in the Jungle

I know. This post is about 2.5 months late. Sorry about that.

I loved when groups came who didn't speak Spanish. It meant I got to translate, which meant I got more jungle walks with the guides. Which was pretty much a day full of awesome. Which was the majority of what I did in my last full week. On Saturday we walked the half kilometer to the canopy tower, encountering a group of chorongos (wooly monkeys) and a couple spider monkeys along the way. Once again the tree was alive with activity in the sunny morning, tanagers and arasaris and honeycreepers flitting among the branches- fearlessly venturing close to snatch tasty morsels from the twigs. A certain green honeycreeper nicknamed Pepe (which is funny, since I'm pretty sure Pepe was a she), approached to within a meter in its quest for ripe fruit. An Amazon violacous trogan perched in the far top branches just above us. And then another group of chorongos appeared out of the trees, following one after another after another as they made their way through the canopy surrounding the tower. Chorongos travel in groups of up to 30 or more- they take a long time to pass. After watching the first few cross the exposed branches of an adjacent giant white tree and make flying leaps into nearby vegetation, some carrying babies on their backs, I descended 10 or 15 meters into the canopy. They were everywhere. Branches crashed against each other as they sprung up, relieved of weight as others dipped low under their new burdons. Three passed directly by the stairs, pausing to perch pensively in the crook of a twisting vine five meters or so from where I stood. In the afternoon we returned to the tower and canopy bridges, where I monitered the students' ascension up a super sketchy ladder to what we refer to as the “Crow's Nest,” a platform in the highest branches of an emerging tree just large enough for one person to sit on as the ground sways below in the breeze, inducing a somewhat nauseating vertigo. We were graced by the presence of a family of tamarins scrambling through the vines hanging down from a clump of leafy trees, a giant (1 m) earthworm, a white-throated toucan, a plumb-throated cotinga, a yellow-headed vulture, and another group of chorongos passing below the tower platform followed by a spider monkey swinging rapidly through the branches.

Sunday I woke up to squirrel monkeys passing through the branches just outside my window. On the hike I accompanied we found a green manakin (Look up moonwalking bird on youtube. No, seriously.), nunbirds, another family of tamarins and a dusky-throated antbird, almost invisible as it lay on two eggs in a nest made of leaves in a short, broad-leafed shrub next to the path. After lunch, as Bess and I worked on rain data input, a group of paradise and green-and-gold tanagers swarmed into the branches outside our window.

The river hit a low point at 2.7 m, down 4.5 m from when we first arrived. Funny, since it was the rainy season. In theory. Subsequently, huge muddy banks were exposed on the afternoon river float, giant root systems plastered against the muddy walls, windblown appearance cemented by the river's ceaseless flow. It was like a party in the jungle: we saw three species of hawk (black, gray, and roadside), three species of kingfisher (green, ringed, and amazon), sungrebes, two species of cotinga (plum-throated and spangled), river dolphins, squirrel monkeys munching on insects among the flowers, a caiman, nutrias, bats, a palm tanager, anhingas, vultures, flycatchers, swallows, and a sun bittern­ one of the most beautiful birds I have ever seen. When standing on the bank, it appears a simple mottled black, brown, and white. When it stretches its wings to take flight, however, giant orange, black and white sunbursts are revealed. And, in the very top of a slender tree on the water's edge, wrapped around a fork in the highest branches, a three-toed sloth hung as it slowly pulled down leaves and scratched its stomach.

The evening's river float turned up a multitude of caimans and pacas.

Monday morning we made trail markers. With a can opener. After we taught the kitchen staff how to use it. It was fantastic.

The week’s hikes abounded with monkeys. Huge groups of chorongos greeted us almost everywhere we went, morning or afternoon. At one point we encountered a group of squirrel monkeys moving through the branches and vines over the trail accompanied by two timid (but vocal) capuchins and a solitary chorongo who trailed them in the canopy. Objects falling on our heads alerted us to a spider monkey sitting in the top of a palm, peering down at us over its belly as it gorged itself on fruit. A shaggy gray saki monkey took a morning to laze in the trees surrounding the canopy tower, accompanied nearby by a family of restless spider monkeys. The antbird’s babies hatched over the space of two days, pinfeathers appearing over their wings with astonishing rapidness.

Monday afternoon brought a long, hard rain. Coonsequently, the river started rising. Two meters. In the first day. And the second day. And then it decided to settle down, topping off at about 8.2 m after the third or fourth day. Huge masses of debris floated by the station, branches as long as the river was wide holding together twigs, boughs, grass, downed trees, and vines as the water propelled them around the river’s bends. No mud was visible on the Wednesday river float: to the contrary, overhanding boughs that had once held spectacled owls high above our heads now stuck out at eyelevel. The water was smoother, unmarred by branches punctuating the water’s surface, now lurking unseen below the surface. Vibrant green, grassy banks no longer gave way to dark, muddy, root-covered walls. Creek channels filled as the river rose, forcing water back upstream. And at the end of our unusually tranquil float we spotted a Harpy eagle, far in the distance, sitting out to dry in the fork of a leafless tree after the light rain that had accompanied us.

Sidenote: Harpy eagles are downright badass. They are the largest raptor in North or South America and they swoop through the canopy, snatching up monkeys and sloths. If the food is too big for them to carry, they’re known to dismember and devour it on the spot. They almost never come into plain sight. And they’re ridiculously rare. So, holy grail: Check.

Thursday afternoon we took the canoe upriver ten minutes or so to the mouth of a (unnamed) blackwater river, then a few hundred meters in to the confluence of the waters. The water extended past the banks into the jungle, making it difficult to determine between shadowed whitewater and blackwater swirling together beneath the branches. Here, the guide Ramiro unwrapped a hunk of beef, cut slices with a machete, and handed out sticks wrapped in fishing line and hooks along with the bait. We proceeded to drop our lines in and wait for the pirahnas to bite, attempting to jerk them to the surface before they stole our meat, while parakeets flashed overhead. Our (unfufilled) goal was to catch dinner. Instead, we caught and released several babies back into the river.

Thursday night, I shot up a girl with expired epinephrine and an opened syringe after the kitchen staff neglected to mention that the soup they were serving contained peanuts. In response for saving her life (and the research station’s ass), I got the ok to stay an extra three days. Go me.

So, Saturday afternoon we took a nice walk along the river and over brimming creeks to the lake, where bright white flowers with purple streaking their middles hung down to the water from vines that wound through the spiky prehistoric palms. From the vines hanging in dense clusters along the trail emerged a pair of Dusky titi monkeys, crossing silently above before concealing themselves onece again among the vines.

Sunday was tranquil, as well. We took a long hike, starting along the river and moving further back into the hills before looping back along the less-maintained research trails, encountering tamarins and checking for the last time on the baby antbirds. On the afternoon float the river was brimming as the sun shone through a sudden downpour, creathing brilliant shafts of gold as it splintered through the breaks in the trees. Our evening nightwalk to the tower revealed strange, moving lights floating above the canopy in the distance that turned out to be flares from the oil station. But seriously, they were creepy. Like UFOs, but weirder, because we were in the middle of nowhere. In addition, we discovered a tree snake draped across the leaves to the side of the path and were accompanied by the rustles of night monkeys above before we returned to relax and enjoy homemade guac in the lab.

Sunday I left Tiputini, feeling incredibly lost as I sat on the prow of the boat, face to the wind, and did my utmost not to choke up. I don’t think it worked. Our truck picked up Worani waiting for a ride on the side of the road as we traveled back to the oil station. Including one guy with a gigantic rifle. Used for hunting either monkeys or peccaries. I didn’t ask which. Who later, at the oil station, excitedly complimented a dog for catching himself a “Gringita” as I scratched his belly. I mean, really. You’re objectifying me to a dog? I returned home to an empty house in Cumbaya to receive a text that my host mom had lupus, had been in the hospital for 10 days, and to make myself at home.

So, Tuesday was quiet, and involved packing and returning to the university to discuss the possibility of entering their masters program. Which Yes, would mean spending two more years on the equator, and Yes, would involve eight months of research in Tiputini.

Wednesday I got up around 6 am and made my way to the bus station in northern Quito, where I met up with a guy named Rommel who had been in one of the classes who came through Tiputini. From there we caught another three buses, which (after a couple hours) took us to the bus terminal at the southern end of the city, where we got on yet another bus. We wound our way South through the cordillera until we reached Latacunga, a small town with a vibrant central square and market, where we boarded our final bus. Aside from the two of us, the bus was filled with Quichua men and women in traditional dress: dark hats and ponchos with white pants or heavy skirts with shawls. Once aboard, we started winding our way up into the mountains, passing pastures filled with sheep and cultivated fields lining the road from where we could look back down into the cordillera, extending beside us. After leaving the cordillera, twisting and turning beneath rocky crags, offloading people and picking up others upon request, making our way through a valley filled with golden grass, and climbing yet again, we arrived at the cold, windy rim of the caldera of Quilotoa, a 12,841’ volcano that is sacred to the Quichua, filled with a green lake believed to be bottomless. Well, the bottomless part isn’t true- it’s about 820’ deep- but still. It was beautiful. The rocky crater walls sloped steeply beneath green shrubbery and expanses of golden wildflowers down to the lake, sparkling emerald unter the sun as it emerged between the clouds, set beneath a backdrop of the rocky crags of the Andes stretching into the distance. As we walked down the twisting, sandy, slippery path, we encountered tiny yellow flowers plastered against the rocks as well as blue-purple lupin-like flowers growing in sheltered nooks and crannies. We ate lunch on a grassy knoll overlooking the lake before continuing to the bottom, where we found bright green algae growing along the banks and extending into the lake as water lapped gently against the shore.

The walk down the 400 meters took a half hour. The walk back up took well over an hour. I felt like I’d been robbed of all lung capacity. Welcome back to the real world. Along the way we passed a young Quichua girl who claimed to be 12. I think she was around eight. We returned to the rim of the caldera just in time to see two idiots begin an attempt to ride down on motorbikes. We didn’t bother to stay until they made it down; it was highly improbable impossible. We then backtracked our way to Quito, starting with a pickup (we missed the last bus), where we contented ourselves with shawarma before I returned home to a full house, including a host mom home from the hospital, my host sister, my host brother (who drove me to the atm before going home to check on his birthing cat), and the maid (who had taken it upon herself to wash all the clothes I had laid out to pack, thinking they were dirty… and they don’t own a dryer). I left in a taxi at 3, made my way through checking baggage (which involved lightening my bank account due to changed restrictions), immigrations, security (where I turned into a person of interest, due to my favorite knife hiding in the bottom of my backpack), and to the gate (where our bags got searched yet again, all food and liquid was taken away, and I got the honor of going down below while they hand-searched my luggage) before finally boarding the plane. Which, thankfully, managed to get in the air sans further complications.

Here ends The Adventures of Gavrila in Ecuador.
The Adventures of Gavrila in Kenya will commence shortly.
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In the meantime, here are the other two albums I’ve posted from the equator:

• Galápagos: http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=61114&id=1456470082&l=5dedd2ee0a
• Baños, Tiputini, and Quilotoa: http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=66163&id=1456470082&l=34cb939ef1

Also, I wanted to take a moment to talk about oil in the Ecuadorian amazon, because there are a few interesting things happening. First, it should be pointed out that although Ecuador has a lot of crude oil, they have no means of refining it. So, they ship it to other countries where it’s refined and then they actually have to buy it back. It’s expensive, and it’s a dumb setup. Just saying.

The second has been happening for a while, actually: it involves Texaco, which drilled in the Ecuadorian amazon for a good 30 years, Chevron, who Texaco merged with, and the local indiginous tribes. Because, you see, Texaco trashed the amazon. Then Chevron bought them out. Then the tribes brought a giant lawsuit against Chevron for trashing their land and making it unsafe for them to live there. And Chevron decided that they aren’t accountable for Texaco’s actions because Hey, $27 billion is a shit ton of money you want from us. Here are a couple links that more clearly define the issue:

• Recent NYT opinion article
• Straightforward, objective, recent explaination
• Old NYT opinion piece

Now, here’s the third (and somewhat nicer) intriguing issue that has come up in the Ecuadorian amazon, dealing with the ITT sector- a section of the amazon that contains a huge portion of the country’s undrilled oil. Ecuador has made an offer to leave the oil undrilled if the developed countries of the world paid $5 billion to Ecuador- about half of what the country would earn by extracting the oil. It is the first time something like this has been suggested: recognizing and rewarding people for what they contribute by leaving oil in the ground and turning to the development of alternative energy instead of simply rewarding them for using less oil once it’s extracted. It’s a really good notion. And the time limit is running out fast. Too bad no one’s done anything about it.

• ITT Initiative
• Tiputini camera trapping and the ITT sector
• And last but not least, I give you the moonwalking bird