In The Amazon Basin
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| Our dining room |
We were introduced to our guide for the evening, Victor, he
was lovely and even though he only spoke in Spanish we mostly understood
him. As darkness fell (rapidly as we
were on the equator) we got back in the boat and went along the river shining
our torches and picking up the red glow of the eyes of caiman, nearing the
lodge we saw a large caiman (or black alligator) lazing in the water. On other evenings when we were out on the
river at night the black alligator was in the same spot, we decided it wasn’t
real, just a huge plastic model especially as Marc pointed out that, unlike the
rest of the caiman, it’s eyes didn’t glow in the dark when lights were shown at
it.
The following morning we were introduced to our new guide,
Parajito. We’d loved Victor, we didn’t
love Parajito but we were prepared to give him a chance. On our first walk he
told us his nickname was ‘little bird’ as his speciality was bird and animal
noises, he was very good at mimicking bird and animal noises he just wasn’t
very good at being a guide. He had hissy fits when we didn’t do as we were
told, he stormed off and left us in the jungle when we were laughing instead of
being quiet, he had no concept of time and would tell us to meet in half an
hour and then ten minutes later he would appear and harangue everybody for
being late. He was rude and unhelpful and we didn’t get to see any animals, not
his fault admittedly but by the end of our stay we were ready to blame him for
anything and everything.
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| Looking for wildlife |
For our night walk we were told to meet at 4.30. At 4.15 I was filling my water bottle when he
appeared, shouting at me for being late, like a naughty school girl I scuttled
to the boat, forgetting to go back for my torch. He was disgusted ‘Madam, never go into the
jungle without a torch’ he said and repeated this at frequent intervals. I walked with Alex, following the light of
his torch, initially through deep mud climbing and crawling over branches and
overhanging trees. Then upwards through the jungle pathways where Parajito
frequently stopped abruptly causing all the rest of us to canon into each other
in the dark, hence the laughter. Terry
was a better insect spotter than Parajito he managed to see all sorts of
strange creatures and we started calling him Terry Nutkins much to the
puzzlement of the American and Swiss contingent (they were also puzzled about
us calling rubber boots wellies). He
spent most the walk calling to bull frogs, when I suggested he replied with the
female call he said ‘the females are silent’. ‘Exactly’ I said but he didn’t
take the hint. When he thought we had a
laugh too many he steamed off back to the boat leaving us to find our way back
through the paths and the difficult climb and crawl through mud and trees in
the pitch black night. We all helped
each other through (although I was more helped than a helper) and arrived back
on firm land. I did suggest we switched
off our torches and kept quiet to see if he came back for us but we didn’t
because we were hungry and wanted our dinner.
But it was on our last day, the day we walked around the
dried up lagoon that he surpassed himself.
After a morning shout at Terry and Susie for being late for breakfast
and another mix-up with meeting times we set off. We were looking for anacondas, they hung in
the trees and we were told to spread out and look high up. He did his usual act
of charging off through the jungle leaving us in trailing in his wake, for a
while we thought Debra and Joanna had been lost for ever but they found the
rest of the group. Then he went across
the centre of the lagoon where the runnels of water were in deep mud and he
marched on ahead leaving us to find our own way through the quagmire. Susie got
completely stuck, the Swiss girls abandoned their wellies and waded through
barefoot and Parajito disappeared. When
we eventually caught up with him (except for Susie who was firmly stuck in the
mud and Clare who was helping her) I voiced the opinions of all the group that
he shouldn’t just walk off making bird noises he should take responsibility for
the group and see that we got through difficult terrain safely. ‘It is not my temperament’ he said. ‘Then you’re in the wrong job’ I replied.
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| Susie after the first mudbath |
‘Stephanie, no longer wants to look for anaconda’ he said,
turned on his heel and we went back the way we came through thick mud. This time I got stuck, leant forward and
fell, so I was up to my waist in mud, this time he did come to help, along with
Marc I was hauled out. I got stuck a
second time and again him and Marc hauled me out. The third time I just stood
knee high in mud, no energy left in my legs and said ‘I just can’t go any
further, leave me here’ Terry and Clare said ‘OK, been nice knowing you’ then
Clare had a change of heart and said ‘She is my Mum so I better help her’ I
stepped out of my wellies and ploughed through the mud in bare feet and she
went back to retrieve them. We did get
back to the boat, our entire party was covered in mud, in retrospect it was
funny in fact as soon as we were all clear of the mud we found it funny it was
only when I was likely to be left to die in The Amazon Basin that my sense of
humour left me.
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| Muddy but happy |
Back at the boat we found we had to paddle home. Motor driven canoes passed us, all the
passengers clean and sweat free while we paddled for all we worth in the
mid-day heat of the Amazon, the perspiration stopping the mud drying on our
hands and bodies. Parajito lazing in the
back occasionally adjusting the boats direction, after nearly an hour of this
he said ‘only another hour to go’, luckily his sense of time was, as usual,
totally wrong and after ten minutes we rounded the corner and saw our lodges hove
into view.
There was a plan for a short bird-watching walk in the late
afternoon. I couldn’t face anymore mud,
Susie had feet embedded with thorns so we stayed behind, lazing in hammocks,
drinking cold beer, reading our books and keeping a wary eye on the resident
tarantula curled up on one of the easy chairs. It was supposed to be a short
and easy walk, he’d told them they could wear shorts and sandals and then when
they turned up in shorts and sandals he made them all go back and get changed
into long trousers and boots. Only Alex had a torch because it was only going
to be a short daylight walk.
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| Our resident tarantula, curled up on the chair asleep like a little furry kitten |
As darkness fell the other groups arrived back from their
travels, showered and sat down for dinner.
Our group hadn’t arrived. Susie and I wondered where they where. The
other groups had finished dinner, our table was still set waiting for us. Susie and I were starting to get concerned,
wewandered down to the landings, no sign of them. After about fifteen minutes a boats engine
could be heard, it came towards us in the dark, then passed on by. We were worried,
they should have been back two hours ago.
Then we could hear another boat engine, this time as it came nearer we
could also hear the sound of laughter ‘That’s them’ we said. It was. Our illustrious guide had managed to
get them totally lost in the jungle, if it hadn’t been for our lovely driver
Hector setting out to scour the riverbank for them they would still be there
now.
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| A mud free day visiting the Shaman |
Yet despite, or maybe even because of, the hapless Parajito,
we had a wonderful time. We hardly saw
any wildlife, we got hot, dirty and tired.
We visited a local community and met the Shaman, we had a go at using a blow-pipe, we ate well, drank too well and laughed too much. I thoroughly enjoyed it.
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Looking for the Volcano
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| Volcano over Banos - not my picture! |
The bus left on time and stopped half an hour later when we all
had to get off and have our passports checked.
We got back on, left and then half an hour later we were stopped again
for passport checks. After that the bus
made good progress to Quito which was a pity because we would rather have
snoozed on a warm bus than wait for a few hours in a cold and draughty bus
terminal. And it was cold in the bleak,
modern bus terminal, local people obviously used to travelling were wrapped up
in layers of clothing and alpaca blankets. After the heat and humidity of the
Amazon we were feeling the cold and the altitude was hitting in again making me
breathless. The coffee seller only sold sweet milky coffee but at least it was
hot. The bus left at 4.40pm and got into
Banos at 6.30 and we set off to look for accommodation, the three young and
energetic members of the party striding ahead through quiet streets, me
trailing behind bleating ‘can’t we stop for a coffee’. The second hostel we stopped at had rooms and
breakfast was served on the roof top terrace with a view of mountains and waterfalls
and rooftops and they had lots of coffee. Blearily looking at the people
arriving I spotted a distinctive pair of pink trainers entering the breakfast
room, it was Olivia, a fellow resident from the Secret Garden and the Samona Lodge.
We breakfasted together and Alex, Marc and Olivia decided to walk up (only a
climb of about 1,500 metres) to ‘the swing at the end of the world’: a swing that swung out over a 3,000 metre
drop. I decide to amble around Banos,
Clare decided to amble with me. We found
a café that sold English language books, a good place for dinner, booked
canyoning (but not for me!), visited market stalls, decided not to partake of
spit roasted guines pigs and visited the main church. The church was of the ornate variety and in
addition there were large oil paintings around the walls depicting the miracles
of the Virgen de Aqua. It appears that
over the centuries one quick prayer to the Virgen saved the town from
earthquakes, volcanoes and the plague and saved countless citizens of Banos from
tumbling down waterfalls and gorges and a whole family from being smashed
to death against the rocks when a rope bridge collapased. There was also a picture of a horse and rider
falling into a gorge, presumably the rider miraculously survived but I wonder
if the horse had the sense to utter a quick prayer on his way down thereby
avoiding being smashed on the rocks below.
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| The church by night |
The hardy party climbing up to the statue of the Virgin,
which overlooked the town, and then onwards and upwards to the swing came down
a lot quicker than they went up. The
local volcano Tungurahua unexpectedly erupted while they were up there and
there is nothing like shaking ground and a volcano spewing steam and ash a few
hundred metres away for hastening the progress down a mountainside. In the town, at the base of the volcano, we
only heard the loud boom, people stopped and stared in the direction in the
direction of the volcano but its summit was behind a ridge and not visible from
the town only the billow of ash could be seen rising gradually skywards.
Tungurahua, meaning Throat of Fire in the local language,
became very active in 1999 and the town of Banos was evacuated, after two
months away the residents discovered that the Civil Guard who were meant to be
guarding their homes had been looting them.
The residents forced their way back home. That evening as we ate dinner at a very good
and atmospheric Mexican restaurant other diners said that many of the bars and
restaurants in this little tourist town were closed as the owners wanted to be
with family in case of evacuation. On
our maps the route that tourists should take in case of evacuation was clearly
marked.
The next morning Clare, Marc, Olivia and Alex were off to
dangle down waterfalls on bits of wire so I decided I’d look for the ‘volcano
viewing area’ across the river. It’s
easy to find I’m told just cross the main bridge and walk for about ten
minutes. I cross what I consider to be
the main bridge and meet up with three snarling dogs so turn around and come
back. Further down river there is
another bridge, maybe that is the main bridge.
I stand next to the river looking up at the bridge, suddenly there is a
scream and a body passes by. The body
stops, bouncing up and down on a piece of elastic a few feet above the rocks of
the riverbed. Banos is the extreme
sports centre of Ecuador. Puenting, or jumping off bridges, is popular with
young people after they have finished risking life and limb white water
rafting, climbing down waterfalls or abseiling across gorges. Maybe I’m still
at the wrong bridge. I can see another
bridge in the distance, I do my own bit of extreme sport by walking along the
edge of the busy highway towards it. The next bridge looks more hopeful I
follow the road along a river bank, cross another bridge, say hello to a pair
of tethered llama looking balefully at me, climb a steep hill and suddenly I’m
back in the centre of Banos. I give up volcano hunting,
meet up with the canyoning group and go to the market and have a large plateful
of chicken stew and a wonderful smoothie all for the princely sum of £2.
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| Our market place lunch |
As I haven’t had much luck seeing the volcano, which is
still booming away overhead rattling windows and depositing a fine layer of
dust on parked cars, I decide to book onto a night-time volcano viewing expedition. It leaves at 9pm, the bus climbs wheezily to
the volcano viewing area going in totally the opposite direction to the one I’d
followed in the morning, no wonder I couldn't find the viewing area, and dumped us high above Banos. The volcano was noisily invisible behind low
cloud. ‘You should have been here last
night’ the guide told us ‘the sight was spectacular’ Hundreds of people had
gathered to watch the night-time pyrotechnics of Tungurahua but as it was
hidden by cloud they watched a street performer doing acrobatic things instead.
Marc had a good idea the next day we would take a taxi up to
the swing at the end of the world and walk down. He said we would get a good
view of the volcano but would be safe because a deep gully separated the
volcano from the pathway back down to the town. I forbade Clare to get on the swing because it
was too dangerous.
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| Clare on the swing |
We got there, the volcano was shrouded in cloud and we
couldn’t see a thing. It rumbled away
behind it’s cloud cover like an old man having problems with his bowels and
occasionally there was the boom of an internal explosion but the spewing of ash
and fire was invisible. We walked down the mountainside, about a two hour walk,
back into Banos. For people, like me,
used to flatlands walking down steep hills is almost as hard as walking
uphill. That night I soaked my muscles in
the hot and crowded thermal pool but my calf muscles hurt for the next five
days.
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| About half way down the mountain |
The next day I actually saw the volcano in all it’s
glory. We were on the bus leaving Banos.
Tungurahua loomed above us, smoking malevolently with it’s grey lava flows
spilling out over the road. The acrid smell of sulphur penetrated the nostrils
and in Ambato the town downwind from the crater ash lay on the roads and
vehicles.
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