November 12, 2009 by pecoskid.

( Writings from my South America travels )

Over the course of my journey to the Ecuadorian Amazon, I manage to shed the layers of civilization with each transitional form of transportation: first the hectic Quito taxi ride, then the flight that traversed the ecozone extremes, from the snow-capped Andes to the sultry lowland rainforest in a mere 30 minutes. Next, two hours on a brain-jarring gravel road, the same road that accommodates the infamous oil industry’s pipeline.

Reaching the river dock, I bid adieu to the last remnants of civilization, as the local Ecuadorians at this Amazonian outpost gather above the muddy river bank to watch us depart. Our motorized canoe boat was loaded with people, belongings and supplies. As we lathered ourselves in mosquito repellent, a distinct citrus aroma arose, intermixing with the humid tropical air that engulfed the region.

Once underway, I could sense that around the first riverbend, through a kaleidoscope of green and brown colored shades, the heart of the Amazon awaited.

Our serpentine portage through the murky jungle river went deeper and deeper into the rainforest. Soon the journey would become extremely interesting….

Surprising us from higher ground somewhere in the thick tree foliage, Amazon women, easily fifty feet tall, let loose with an arsenal of spears in our immediate direction. Their spears whizzing past our heads, we managed to outmaneuver their unprovoked attacks.

Around the next bend, the river narrowed. Enormous tree vines hung down to the river’s edge. Clinging to the vines were dozens of slithering anacondas, dangling precariously close to our heads as we passed. The Dutch children on board were nearly whisked away by the largest of the anacondas, a mere six meters in length. Our swift response with our supplied machetes prevented the children’s abduction.

Further down river the air filled with the sounds of a hundred bees or so we initially thought. The buzzing noises were in fact poisonous darts aimed at us by unfriendly natives hidden in the forest. Fortunately their cursed darts missed their intended marks.

A brief respite from harm’s way was abruptly interrupted by a boiling frenzy of activity in the waters ahead. The source of the frenzy was a thousand piranha hungrily looking for an afternoon snack. We pulled our hands and toes out of the water, steering through their frenzied madness. They continued to chase us down river, as did an armada of fast moving hungry caimans.

Our mantle adversarial tested, we managed to prevail, and after two hours of such Amazon encounters, we finally reached our destination, Cuyabeno Lodge, which rested along the Laguna Grande. Now our adventure would really begin….

That’s one version of what happens when you travel in the Ecuadorian Amazon. Now, here’s another…

The boat journey was actually a very calming, peaceful experience. There were certainly creatures in the tall trees that we encountered. There were four different species of monkeys as well as a blue and yellow macaw, and a toucan flirting about the tree tops. The pervasive jungle fisherman, the kingfisher, guided us down river. Only one small caiman came into view on a sunny river bank and he gave us little notice.

To our surprise, the blacken waters of Laguna Grande were safe for swimming, and we swam every day. The piranha meanwhile swam in the shallow, brackish estuaries downstream. Magical experiences happen in that lake as well. A gloriously dramatic sunset cast pink, gold, aquamarine and sienna colors off the developing storm thunderheads and the placid surface water.

The rare fresh water pink dolphins were also present for the show. Quietly we watched a mama dolphin and her two babies surface and resurface in the still river waters. After sunset, a group of us staying at the lodge ventured into the now darkened rainforest; nighttime is when the Amazon’s inhabitants really come to life, big and small.

We were equipped only with our senses and a flashlight. The stillness was incredible. Point the flashlight…tarantula on a tree…point it again, a small light green frog under a leaf. What were those big eyes that glittered off my beam!?

The short return boat ride across the lake was also dramatic as the earlier developing thunderhead let loose with its stinging patter of raindrops, the rain and lake vegetation illuminated by our boat’s searchlight and the distant flashes of lightning.

The next night Laguna Grande offered a spiritual portal to the immense twinkling universe above. So clear was the sky and so free from civilization’s lights that every star in the universe shined that night. So close were they that if you stood on the boat’s bow, you could just touch them.

Earlier that afternoon, we fished for piranha with fresh chunks of meat as bait in the river’s murky waters.
The Amazon’s jungle silences and sounds are spellbinding. The humidity, especially as you walk deeper inland away from the cooling effect of the open waters can be stifling yet no worse than my days living in Florida.
Further down river we visited a small Amazon indigenous Siona community. The days of loin cloths and nose pierced bones were gone here. If you venture deeper into the Ecuadorian Amazon you may still find members of the Huaorani tribe in more traditional appearance.
The jaguar and the anaconda are certainly in the jungle, just more elusive than our perceptions of the jungle would lead us to believe.

The oil industry in this region has certainly inflicted ecological damage upon the otherwise pristine Amazon jungle. In the ’90s, the Ecuador government applied a tourniquet to the environmental damage hemorrhaging by creating the national park Cuyabeno Reserve, which encompasses Laguna Grande, impeding the oil industry’s encroachment. Ownership of the land was first given to the indigenous tribes in the region, with the assumption the tribe elders would deem priority protection for the land. However, even indigenous man can behave with avaricious intent for some in the community decided to resell the land to the oil industry, slightly defeating the legislation’s original benevolent purpose. So, a political adjustment was made, declaring the land a national park, with the tribes given free lease, not ownership, over the protected land.

At my open-air thatched roof hut my only nighttime encroachers were three curious cockroaches while the neighboring monkeys and caimans kept their distance. My bed was equipped with mosquito netting which fortunately was not too tested. I was little bothered by mosquitoes during my stay since the neighboring lake produced an algae which deterred mosquitoes from laying eggs.

The five days I spent in the Amazon just flowed peacefully, naturally, like the waters and the inhabitants themselves. Returning to the alleged civilized world was difficult.
Ouch! Was that a small dart that hit my neck!

To view my travel books or more of my photography, please visit www.michaelmcguerty.com

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September 8, 2009 by pecoskid.

(Writing excerpt from my South America travels)

What I did on my summer vacation….
Completing my sixth week exploring Camp Ecuador, I decided with one week left before returning back to the States to venture north to Columbia….Camp Columbia.

An auspicious beginning, the border crossing was painless. I left the Ecuadorian border town, Tulcan, early Sunday morning by minibus, covering the few remaining kilometers to the border. A naturally defined border, a bridge traverses an Andean river overlooking lush surroundings. The Ecuadorian side had no immigration line, so with a quick passport stamp I nonchalantly cross the bridge to Columbia where I as effortlessly received my entrance passport stamp, quickly exchange money, and begin my journey into Columbia.

In Ecuador, the massive Andean mountain range forms a singular spinal column up the country’s midsection. Upon reaching Columbia, the Andes splits into three separate mountain ranges. The tumultuous division is dramatically illustrated along the road to Popayan, a colonial city some 200 hundred miles north of the Ecuadorian border.

The journey’s first phase is defined by verdant mountainous terrain and chilled air. As the range begins to formulate its divergences, wider, deeper valleys emerge as the road begins its descent. Soon, deep valleys transform into dramatic, plummeting gorges, the landscape now barren and desert-like. Villagers set up modest restaurants to serve passing travelers, their worn structures perched precariously on the mountainside edge.

The road continues weaving downward to a river crossing, suddenly rising precipitously back upward, then downward again, continuing this rollercoaster ride for many more miles as buses and trucks steadily strain their gears.

I must have dosed off during this rollercoaster ride for I soon awoke to discover a sharply contrasting tropical scene outside my window; tall jungle growth encroaching the edges of the pavement. Here’s where the journey gets interesting.

As the bus approached a small village a roadblock impeded our advancement. A half dozen men dressed in guerrilla camouflage fatigues waved our bus to a full stop. They identified themselves as members of the guerrilla group FURC, a benign offshoot of the more notorious group FARC. They were looking for people to volunteer themselves as hostages. I was the only foreigner on board. Seeing my hesitation they quickly announce that tonight back at the guerrilla camp they were having an outdoor showing of classic Laurel and Hardy movies, popcorn included. The enticement worked…. I volunteered.

A covered truck was waiting for us. To keep their whereabouts secret, I allowed the men to blindfold me. The journey seemed an eternity, bouncing around in the back of their truck. Finally we stopped and my blindfold was removed. Squinting, my eyes slowly adjusted to the dim jungle light. The compound was modest in size. My nostrils stung from the pungent odors of farm animals and human sweat. Fortunately, the aroma from the freshly buttered popcorn mollified the less pleasant odors.

As I started to sit down on a log to watch the movies, I saw her: caramel-colored skin, statuesque and garbed in jungle camouflage, the Columbian woman introduced herself as FURC’s leader. The moment was lust at first sight. While the FURC men were preoccupied laughing and eating popcorn, we snuck into her large canvas tent and made passionate love.

The next few days flowed lazily like the tropical heat. Good Columbian espresso in the morning followed by volleyball games between the guerrillas and the hostages. The guerrillas had mistakenly taken as hostages, two champion volleyball players; one Brazilian and one Swedish. Needless to say our hostage team kicked ass!

Finally Friday arrived and although nobody in the outside world had paid my dollar hostage ransom I told the FURC members I had to get back to Ecuador. The Columbian woman reluctantly agreed. Since the group had cunningly confiscated a helicopter from a military installation many months back, they hoped to use the helicopter to haul a lavish jacuzzi from a prominent political figure’s residence back to their compound, to help them entice more volunteer hostages. I told them to e-mail me when they do.

I thought to mention that, as a possible alternative income source, they might consider getting on the ecotourism bandwagon by creating FURC tours. They pondered this new idea.

After saying our goodbyes, they retied my blindfold, we jumped into the truck and returned through the jungle to civilization.

That’s one version of what happened during my Columbian visit. Now…here’s another.

One of the joys and challenges to traveling is separating fact from fiction, the truth from the myth. Though far from completely safe, guerrilla encounters along the major Columbian travel routes have diminished considerably in recent years. My journey to and from Popayan went very smoothly, without incident.
The occasional bus robbery does occur, primarily at night. Are they FARC influenced or just the criminal habits of thieves and thugs. Who knows?

FARC does wield considerable influence in the outlying countryside and villages near Popayan however no tourist, from what I’ve heard, has been bothered. All travelers I’ve spoken with had not encountered any problems and were thoroughly enjoying their travels through Columbia. The usual safeguards and cautions to traveling certainly still apply, especially in the big cities.

Popayan is a very easygoing city, especially in the old town’s colonial section; Whitewashed buildings, wrought iron balconies, churches around every other corner. Popayan had been the seat of power several centuries ago while the region was still under Spanish rule. Power later ceded to Bogota and Popayan, probably to its benefit, has maintained backseat status ever since.

After suffering a devastating earthquake in 1983, within the last ten years, Popayan has gone through a complete renovation, resurrecting itself to surpass its former glory.
My first night in Popayan I experienced a 6.8 magnitude earthquake while sitting in my hostal. The epicenter was over 150 miles away deep below the Columbian coast surface. No damage done in Popayan, just a wild rolling sensation.

A university town, the cultural amenities in Popayan are plentiful as are the beautiful women. The cafes are plentiful as well. Their interiors speak volumes, alluding to a rich colorful history; old, dark wooden chairs and tables, hard wood floors and balconies, cracked stucco and faded cultural posters.

Sipping my espresso I gazed toward the open door and the passing crowd. I can imagine militias and guerrillas running past, protesters marching by, workmen moving their horse drawn work carts and colorful villagers moving their produce on the backs of llamas. Was it yesterday or was it two, three centuries ago. Not too much has changed here in Columbia. And, what great coffee!

To view my travel books and see more of my travel photography, please visit www.michaelmcguerty.com
Also, please feel free to comment on this post and other articles of mine. I appreciate the feedback!

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December 8, 2008 by pecoskid.

The following travel essay is an excerpt from my travel book South America - Pictures, Prose, and Poetry.

I had a good conversation with a Peruvian gentleman on the bus to Puno, Peru. Sharing a common birthday we naturally struck up a quick friendship.

He was a traveling salesman returning to Lima, where he lived with his family. He had a particularly favorable opinion of the Bolivian women in Santa Cruz. He established distribution contacts for the company Nestle throughout Bolivia. He was formerly an engineer recently downsized to make room for cheaper trainees. He said multinational corporations have been conducting this management cost measure of its employees for the last few years. On a macroeconomic level, Peru’s economy and standard of living have improved within the last ten years, now reaching a level near par with Chile.

However, these statistical improvements tend to shine brighter on the accounting ledgers for those in the glass offices. The reality of improvements for those within the middle and lower class ranks tended to be less distinct and measurable.

While our bus waited outside a village marketplace, I pointed out to my gentleman friend the enormous bags of pasta to which he did a surprising facial double take. He explained to me best not to say the word “pasta” when in Peru for the word may get confused with a similar Peruvian word that means “cocaine” and official ears could get nervous.

Within this region of South America all roads north lead to Cusco. Wonderful fellow travelers I’d met as far south as Ushuaia, Argentina and all points in between weeks ago would reappear on the city streets of Cusco. Our origins covered the globe yet we shared a simple lust for life and a yearning for healthier, happier roles for ourselves within life’s intricate web. Some contemplated relocating themselves in South America, utilizing their skills in ecology and biology.
One Brazilian I met was from Porto Alegre, Brazil, where the World Social forum was held, a humane based forum established to counter the gathering of the world’s powerful in Davos, Switzerland. His band had performed for this year’s gathering and he was was currently traveling through other South American countries to learn new styles of music.

Other travelers include the various Motorcycle Diary adventurers who were spotted along this Andean Gringo Trail circuit. Throughout these human encounters the global dialogue exchange was always revealing, extremely informative and vastly entertaining.

The journey from Puno to Cusco is extremely scenic, especially through the lush, verdant mountainous terrain and river valleys that to lead to the ancient Inca capital.

I wish I could have told the bus driver to stop so I could take photos. The rural scenery is always the most picturesque, the passing people, livestock, adobe abodes and beautiful landscape. Along the drive we did stop at some interesting Inca ruin sites and some baroque Spanish churches. Conducting the observations via tour group style is just not the same however as when I have a freer independent approach to my observations. Maybe I should rent a motorbike and conduct my own motorcycle diary journey.

The Spanish colonial churches that were established along the former Inca trail bear a heavy, oppressive, spiritual load within the darkened confines of the church. Dark wooden crucifixes, brutal Biblical scenes and ominous looking saints and bishops, all draped ostentatiously in boastful gold trim, seem to send signals other than love, peace and tranquility to its parishioners.

The Catholic followers who enter the cathedrals and churches are quick to create with their index finger the sign of the cross in a very nervous, stressed manner, fearful of the alleged consequences if they don’t.

Nestled within the Andean highlands is the town of Cusco. The downtown section is quite stunning, especially at night when the plaza, cathedral and neighboring smaller churches are illuminated. It evokes memories of Old World European cities at night. Many of the church structures have kept the older Inca stone walls and foundations both for their durability and cultural appeasement value.

Adjacent to the churches, above street level, are restaurants each with wooden balconies that offer excellent viewing while you’re sipping your coffee. Traditionally dressed men and women still carry their wares on their backs through the plaza on their way to market.

One Friday morning, a group of protesters came marching in solidarity through the plaza. A dose of reality that was refreshing compared to the robotic atmosphere of the street peddlers or the incredibly boring military parade last Sunday. Their chants were in Spanish, but the tempo was strangely familiar, strongly resembling the anti-globalization protest rhythm as in Seattle and Prague. No doubt the subject dealt with either indigenous land rights or better working conditions for local laborers. The political climate in several South American countries, of late Bolivia and Ecuador, is turbulent yet somehow swiftly civilized and bloodless, going through presidents at a rapid pace, almost between coffee refills.

Presidents and revolutions may come and go, but the little boy who sells you finger puppets in the streets still continues as before…

Fortunately, in Cusco anyway, the wave of theft that used to occur has been dealt with and conditions for tourists, as well as for local Peruvians, are quite safe. This has occurred in part due to the past government’s crackdown on the notorious rebel group, The Shining Path, which had wreaked havoc upon the poor villagers of the Andean highlands.

As far as my observations, whether in Bali, Peru, or Costa Rica, the new world economy of tourism within the pristine and culturally stimulating locales of developing countries has led to an overproduction of commercialism, obviously promoted by large corporations.

The usual methods of mass marketing techniques such as television, shopping malls and brass neon signs does not apply in these locations. To adjust, large corporations recruit a legion of locals from these communities to distribute the goods and to personally promote these goods at a more direct level to the public. Often the sales are conducted just as dispassionately as by the multinational’s top executives, and with this emotionless unspoken assumption that all tourists must consume, all items, all the time.

True, there are supply and demand needs being met and overall individual income levels aer being raised, though not as proportionately as the levels of the multinational corporations. However, could there also be detrimental personal impacts upon the developing countries’ population…perhaps some moral value and /or spiritual questions that should also be addressed?

For example, what happens to a community or society that becomes over-dependent on a certain intangible economy, or what becomes of a new generation within these developing countries that is learning a questionable value system i.e. the dollar is everything.

Of courser, environmental issues, such as non-biodegradable products, have become another recent, grave concern since the rise of the new tourism economy, and the proper disposal of these products. Fortunately, there are people trying to address this problem like a couple I met in Copacabana who are introducing a recycling program in their town. And fortunately there are admirable individuals like the inquisitive Peruvian college student who sought knowledge from me, the outside world, in order to better understand his evolving world. I’ll sip to that.

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To see more of my South America photography or to peruse my other travel books, please visit my site www.michaelmcguerty.com

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