Although the Spanish language has far fewer words than the English language, it still has a plethora of terms for mud incluing barro, fango, and lodo. And, following recent trips to Nangaritza and Vilcabamba, I understand why. During the rainy season in Ecuador, everything turns to mud and, it appears, I will neer have white socks again.
As we did not have classes at the end of the first week of February, several PCVs and I trekked to Nanagaritza to spend the night in the rainforest along the Peruvian border. It seemed like it would be a simple trip; catch a bus to Guaysimi in Zamora and hire a camioneta to take us to cabins in the village of Las Orquideas about 1 ½ hours beyond Guaysimi. Yet, our plans were derailed soon after leaving as the rainy season had created new rivers crossing the dirt road. The camioneta we had hired in Guaysimi could not pass. We had no choice but to pay the driver and abandon the truck and continue on foot. Thus, we forded the river on foot (in spite of our reservations after years of dying tragically fording rivers in Oregon Trail), carrying our food, backpacks, guitars, etc. above the swirling water. Although it was a bit nerve wracking to walk through the quickly moving current, we finally made it across and contiinued until we arrived at our cabin and briefy settling in before trekking through the vegetation to a beautiful waterfall.
Early the next morning, we borded a boat on Rio Nangaritza in spite of the pouring rain. For the next couple hours, we cruised past Shuar communities only accessible by canoe en route to El Laberinto de Mil Ilusiones. Upon arriving we began a relatively short hike through knee deep muck and towering rainforest greenery to the caves.
In spite of the muddy uphill trek, it was a worthwhile journey with a rather jarring end. Soon after encountering the caves, we wandered upon a faded warning sign alerting us to a surrounding minefield. Only a couple decades ago, Ecuador and Peru were briefly at war over the province of Zamora-Chinchipe and its immense mineral wealth. During this period, the Ecuadorian government laid minefields along the border (and, presumably, the Peruvian government did the same in its territory). Although the war soon ended, the minefields remain and, according to our local guide, continue to kill. Only last year, a man was killed by a landmine only a few yards from the trail. Given the remote location and impoverished population, I suspect that the fields will never be cleaned—an extremely costly and dangerous process and will continue to leave all at risk. Ironically, Ecuador retained the land and the precious metals beneath it, but, in the process, made the land much more perilous for all. Moreover, most local populations will not benefit from the mines, the largest of which are not even operated by Ecuadorian companies but by the Canadian multinational corporation Kinross.
A few days and about four bars of soap after leaving Nangaritza, I was traveling once again albeit only for a brief interlude. On Superbowl Sunday, I trekked to the village of Vilcabamba, famed for the longevity of its population and the large number of gringos seeking immortality who have moved there. In the morning and afternoon, I once again spent hour sludging through the mud while hiking. Once again worthwhile, although I've had to spend far too much time scrubbing my clothes on my piedra recently. After the hike, we ventured to the lone restaurant showing the Superbowl. A local PCV had persuaded the owner to show the game; as he used to live in Boston, he agreed to open his restaurant which is normally closed on Sunday nights and allow us to watch the madness. It was a great game; until the final minutes when the Patriots lost anyways, and we thus headed back to our sites mourning the loss as we prepared to resume work the next morning.
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