Getting to Ecuador from Hong Kong is not easy, your prime requirement is a reinforced butt. We left HK on a UA flight, 2 days after a UA passenger in Chicago had been forcibly dragged from his seat so as to accommodate a UA Staff Member. The incident went viral, especially here, as the passenger was ethnic Chinese, and UA’s share price fell through the floor. Needless to say, everybody was extremely polite and the flight was pretty good except for the food, which was pretty awful. 13 hours to San Francisco, with all the joys of US Immigration, followed by 4 hours to Houston and then 6 hours to Quito, with all the bits in between. We arrived in a zombie frame of mind but were met by our Happy Gringo rep who drove us into town to our hotel. We were to get to know this road in intimate detail over the next 4 weeks. Arrival in Quito Old Town centre at half past midnight gives as good an impression as you are going to get. Graffiti, dirty yellow sodium lighting, pot-holes and shady characters. There is a frisson of danger on these dingy streets. There is little sense of comfort. It’s a cold hard town. Our hotel is on a steep narrow street and we have to wake up the night manager to let us in, but we feel safe behind the big wooden door and soon check in to our rooms where a hot shower and big bed await.

Day 1

Morning arrives with a good breakfast and Andrew, our Happy Gringo guide for the City. We walk down through the Old Town as Andrew continually reminds us to keep our valuables safe.

It’s Good Friday and this being an old Spanish Colonial City, there will be mobs adoring graven images and, mingling with the mobs, will be pick-pockets with skills to be envied by Romanian Gypsies. This is the Champions League of thieves. Our first stop; Guess? No prizes, it’s a Church.

Fancy that! With lots of bloody Jesuses (Jesusi? What is the plural of Jesus?) Weeping Mary’s, bones of Saints you’ve never heard of. Guaranteed, for sure. They came from the Vatican and everybody knows that those guys don’t tell fibs. And Gold. All the Gold that the Spanish didn’t find the first time round because, if those guys found it, they stole it. But don’t complain, here’s a bone for you to venerate.

This was followed by about 5 more churches and the Palace, where dudes, dressed like Toy Soldiers in a Panto, guard El Presidente.

We also get to see the Holy Week procession (Be still my beating heart) where sweating guys and gals in purple KKK outfits accompany about 15 Jesus lookalikes carrying their crosses and with enough ketchup on their heads to baptise a Big Mac. We head out of town to see the Equator Park. A bunch of French Cartographers came here in 18somethingorother to establish the exact location of the Equator. They had 3 goes before settling on the exact location and building an enormous monument.

Sadly they were about 3K off the mark but didn’t find out until many years later when a team of Brit Engineers checked their sums, but it was too late to move the monument and so, in true South American style, they decided to Ignore The Truth (ITT). We then went to see the real equator where somebody has placed a sink so that you can watch the water go straight down the plug hole. What would have been really cool, would have been a sink on either side, so that you could watch clockwise and anti-clockwise at the same time but, just maybe it’s not quite that accurate. However, I did manage to balance an egg on a nail, because seemingly, Gravity is perfectly aligned at this point. For no apparent reason, the New Equator exhibit also has a shrunken head which, in the great scheme of things, turned out not to be the scariest thing we saw.

Back in town, we went to see the Giant Mary statue that stands on an overlooking hill. Giant Mary has her foot on a giant snake with a Dragon’s head and Giant Mary has really weird wings and I don’t remember any of that from Sunday School. Giant Mary is also made of patches, like a quilt, but actually more like a skin suit stitched together by a mass murderer.

All things considered, Giant Mary is pretty scary. That night, in penance for my many sinful thoughts, I ate Lamb of God stew and listened to profane music performed by a really great guitar duo.

Day 2.

We drive from the dry side of the Andes to the wet, with our guide Viktor. We head for Mindo, a small town nestled in the Equatorial cloud forest. First stop is a wild orchid reserve with all sorts of non-commercial varieties and our first humming birds. Word to the wise – Do not bother using a zillion shots trying to photograph humming birds. Either; (a) Kill one of the hyperactive little gits and photograph its beautiful corpse, or; (b) Leave it to the experts and photograph the postcard.

Second stop is a Butterfly farm. More orchids, more humming birds and a billion beautiful butterflies inside a tent. Also a hundred hyperactive ADHD brats, flitting about with the same mannerisms and attention span of an Amazonian Blue. Except that butterflies don’t scream. Well, not very loudly anyway. We don’t actually stop in Mindo because it’s become a hot spot for local tourists grinding their bums down the river in inner tubes and it has got pretty gash, so we head out of town to the Sachatamia Lodge, where we drink coffee and watch birds. We then head off down into the cloud forest where we see absolutely bugger all until, suddenly, Viktor stops in his tracks, visibly trembling with excitement. High, high in the tree tops are 4 Long Wattled Umbrella Birds. Extremely rare. 3 males are trying to score a shag off a single female. Nothing rare there then. But Viktor almost spoils his pants in excitement and, with his 50X zoom gets his Nat Geo shot.

Result! We celebrate with a great lunch and a good bottle of wine, Argie. Ecuadorian has subtle overtones of paint stripper. It’s a hard drive back to Quito, but it would be a hard man who would choose to spoil Viktors’ moment of glory. We return to an average dinner and an early night.

Day 3

Early, because we have to be up at 4.00am for our drive to the airport and check in for Galapagos. Liz is pulled up at security check because she has a Passion fruit included in her breakfast bag. Appeals from her to just put it in the bin are met with stony silence, she is fingerprinted and photographed for the International file on environmental terrorists. I ate mine earlier and do not tell them of my intention to poop on an island. Our plane traverses the Andes and then tracks South to Guayacil, where we are asked to change planes at 8.00 in the morning. Great, we think, opportunity for tea and a sandwich. Ecuadoreans make great coffee but, Tea is a foreign drink, where a bag of uncertain origin is briefly dipped into a cup of warm milk, gross. While attempting to drink this, we note that no information has been provided about our ongoing flight and it takes 2 phone calls and the near crucifixion of a passing airline rep, to discover that our flight left Quito before dawn because they needed to undertake runway repairs in daylight. Our connecting flight doesn’t happen until 12.30. Rather than inform the passengers of this matter, Airline Management simply decided to ITT (Ignore The Truth). Eventually, our plane turns up and we fly to San Cristobal and meet our guide, Reuben. This guy has the biggest feet in Galapagos. It seems that there is an entire eco-system developed there. We saw entire islands with less flora than his left foot. We head to the port to meet our boat and are ferried out on Zodiacs to the Eden.

It’s not exactly a Garden of, and it is far from being perfect, but it is going to be our home for the next 7 days and we grow to love it. No sooner have we dropped our bags in our cupboard cabin, than we get to meet the rest of the guests, load up all 16 of us into the Zodiacs and head off to a small island nearby called Los Lobos, for a short walk featuring Frigate Birds. These look like large Pterodactyls, but the males have a bright red space-hopper attached to their throat which they inflate and then sit in the tree tops until some female takes a fancy. We also get to see our first Blue-footed Boobies, which are possibly the coolest dudes in town.

Then it’s back to the boat for a good supper with a couple of beers and sqeeze into to our cupboard cabin. Dori gets the top bunk. Result!

Day 4

Dori is up before dawn and drags me from slumber. There is a Frigate bird sitting on a stanchion right outside our cupboard cabin and as the dawn breaks, rather dramatically, it makes for photo1 of a zillion featuring the local wildlife. After breakfast, we head off for Santa Fe and South Plaza Islands. We land on a small  beach where Sea lion pups frolic in the surf, but we are reminded of the fact that this is Nature and not a petting zoo by the little pup on his own, with his back haunch sliced half way through by a shark bite. This little fellah is not going to be around tomorrow.

There are 300 year old cactus trees with yellow-brown Land Iguanas resting in their shade. These guys are mini-Godzillas. South Plaza greets us with an Iguana hybrid. This is the offspring of a Land Iguana mating with a Marine Iguana. He has the  Marine claws that enable him to climb the  Cactus trees that the Land guys can’t. Charley Darwin would have a fit if he saw this. Atop a cliff, there are beautiful Gulls with red-rimmed, heart-shaped black eyes and White Tropic birds that sail the skies.

Seal pups are playing amongst the rocks while a 3 metre Tiger shark cruises past, looking for a snack. By dinner time, we have sailed to Puerto Aurora on Isla Santa Cruz. This is home town for the boat and most of the crew. It’s a pretty little town with a sufficiency of T-shirt shops and bars and we manage to convince ourselves to stay up until 9.30 so that Dori can get her wifi fix. Baby black-tipped reef sharks circle the pier lights as we head home.

Day 5

We walk through the town of Puerto Aurora and stop at the fish market, which is basically a shelf where 3 ladies chop up fish. A sealion lounges over their feet and cleans up scraps. The air is filled with wings as Frigates and Pelicans fight over guts. We carry on to the Charles Darwin Research and Development Station where the remaining Giant Tortoise have been secluded and are encouraged to bonk. It doesn’t seem like they need much encouragement.

Galapagos is translated from the Spanish for “Intercourse-at every available opportunity”. We are surrounded by giant beasts, who carry their own caravan, humping. The air resounds with “Grunt! Crack! Pause, pause, pause, Grunt! Crack!” ad infinitum.  The act requires the Male of the species to clamber up the back of the Female’s carapace and then, with a thrust of the hips, a straining of the neck muscles, a cracking of shells and a grunt worthy of a WWF wrestler, attempting to make babies. Giant Tortoise do everything slow, so it’s pretty much 4 grunts to the minute. A full bonk lasts about a week and the girls spend most of the time trying to crawl under a branch in an effort to topple the old guy off. In one compound there are only males, so guess what? Yup. Like any other prison, one guy is getting a sore bum.

After lunch, we drive into the Highlands where Giant Tortoise roam the grass, but it really chucks it down and it’s difficult to get enthusiastic. We walk through a Lava tunnel, which is beautiful and I manage to get very enthusiastic about that. That night, as we cruise out of Puerto Aurora bay, I spot my first Hammerhead shark. We sail on to Isla Isabella, the biggest Island which is really just 5 volcanoes joined up. The sea is rough and our cupboard cabin is on the top deck. Dori is in the top bunk and cursing me for some reason.

Day 6

Day breaks in Puerto Villamil where we land in the early morning light and take a short walk to a small lagoon in the mangrove. Here we meet our first, serious Marine Iguanas, but the sun is hardly over the horizon and they haven’t warmed up yet, not that they ever seem particularly active. We take a gentle swim and snorkel around the mangrove fringe where tiny fish dart in and out. Reuben watches. He’s seeing how we handle it so that he can gauge what we are capable of. Seemingly, we pass the test.

A bus takes us up the Sierra Negra Volcano, leading to a good aerobic walk through grass and woodland to the caldera rim. Sierra Negra is quiet now, but not long since, an eruption caused a massive lava flow which was mainly contained. It still steams in places but it is mainly just a vast sea of black, fringed with emerald bluffs, majestic and beautiful. Very Jurassic Park. Contrast this with the beach where the heat hits like a hammer.

There are Marine Iguanas panting in the shade, Pelicans, Boobies and stuff, then another Giant Tortoise research station reverberating to the Grunt and Clack  of conservation. A walk through mangrove takes us to see the Pinkest Flamingoes ever. Imagine you took a flock of 100 Pink Flamingoes and somehow squeezed the colour into just 5 of them, (That’s how many we saw) and this is what you would get, Dayglo Disco pink. Finally we collapse into a bar on the beach where, several beers and a swim later, I am able to get my eco-balance back in trim. After dinner, the Eden rocks onwards to the Punta Essex, innit, wottevah and then Northwards into the night.

Day 7

Dawn wakes us in Punta Moreno, which is the opposite side of the Sierra Negra volcano. Here the black lava flows blanket the miles between the caldera and the ocean, where fields of Pelicans, Boobies and Iguanas fringe the shore.

We land off the Zodiacs and walk over vast plains of shattered black, brittle toffee, with lonesome cacti and fringes of mangrove. There is nothing here but tiny lava lizards that scatter underfoot and then, sudden reed lined pools with fish and dragon flies.

During lunch we sail on to Bahia Elizabeth for snorkeling and this time it’s time to suit up. The water is way cooler, thanks to the incoming Humboldt current, but we get to swim with Green Turtles. Onwards North to Tagus Cove, tucked between Isla Isabella and Isla Ferdinanda. There are rocky islets with tiny Penguins and flightless Cormorants.

Eventually the Zodiacs float into a long, mangrove shrouded lagoon. The sea surface is a mirror and, at the far end, Turtles come to rest. The motors cut and we paddle through glass. Finches and Canaries sing their thing as all around us there is an underwater ballet as Turtles swoop and dive.

Day 8

We start by climbing Volcan La Combre for views over Isla Ferdinanda. Finches and Mocking Birds sing us to the top. Lotsa Lava. Back at the landing zone a huge shark cruises the waters edge, incentive not to miss your step into the Zodiac. As we pull away, a mighty Hammerhead slips past. And this is where we intend to swim, but we suit up anyway. Turtles, Sea lions and the biggest, most amazing starfish I have ever imagined. After lunch, another lava walk with a zillion Marine Iguanas swimming out and surfing back in, then another snorkel to watch them grazing the underwater algae. There are more turtles and finally a group of young Sea lions playing tag with us and comparing underwater somersault techniques. Magical.

We cruise North and at 6.30 cross the Equator as the sun sets. Neptune does not come aboard but there is much hollering and toasting his name.

Day 9

We land on more black volcanic rock, but this is much older so that there is lots of vegetation above the shoreline and the coastal edge is softly eroded into beautiful shapes with rock bridges crossing small canyons that funnel the booming tide into white water geysers. Fur seals, Oyster Catchers, Herons and a different species of Marine Iguana. This one is slightly browner. Whoopdedoo! Excited?.. Not exactly. But the rock formations  are weird and wonderful and the tidal surge is enervating, so I’m happy. Down at the black sand beach, the striated rock has been carved into caves and bridges. Bright orange and red Sally Lightfoot crabs are plastered all over the sheer rock surfaces.

Boobies, Pelicans and Fur seals hang about and a big bull male comes across to check me out when I wander too close to his harem. As if! We snorkel off the beach along the rocky shore. Lotsa fishes and a huge spiral conch with a vermillion snail inside. We sail on to Isla Rabida which, by contrast, is red volcanic rock. It’s not our favourite and pretty boring, except for a beautiful, golden Seal pup, waiting for Mum to come back and fill his belly. We snorkel again and this time there are fields of violet and aquamarine Sea Anemones, gardens of Orange Cups (A coral I have used a lot in tanks, but never seen in the wild), the biggest turquoise Parrot fish in the World and a White Tipped Reef Shark. I am in the water with a Shark and have not filled my wetsuit! Result!

Back on board, we cruise towards North Seymour Island. Half a dozen Frigates surf our slipstream as the sun sets. On the roof, I can almost reach out and touch them, but I would like to keep my fingers for a while longer.

Day 10

We are up before the sun to finish our packing and head onto the Island before the birds wake up. There are frigates embedded in the tops of bushes, black wings extended and their huge red balloon sacks inflated.

Lady frigates swoop in to check out the dudes before shagging ensues. On the path in front of us, Blue Footed Boobies do the Boobie dance. Luminous blue feet are raised side to side, beaks kiss, wings arch and whistles erupt as Boobies make babies.

As we walk around the Island, everybody (Except us) is at it big time. Aaah Galapagos, the Land before time and Wifi where there is not much entertainment other than survival and shagging.

We get back on board the Eden for a last brekkie and say farewells: to the Crew, who have been amazing; to our cupboard cabin which has been surprisingly cosy; and to our fellow shipmates who have been weird and wonderful in equal measure. We had a smattering of childer who were pretty well behaved, although I reserve my doubts about the benefits of a trip like this for the internet generation; we had 3 young couples and several more mature; and a lone, geeky Shanghai dude who sort of became our Team Mascot. Everybody was fit, nobody complained and we handled everything that was chucked at us.

On the rare occasion that we bumped into other groups, it made my blood boil to see fat women with walking sticks and a guy on each arm for stability, trying to waddle their fat-arsed, fat-crippled legs over a lava field. What’s the point?!!! If I had been on their Zodiac, she would have been over the side for shark snacks on Day 1. How dare people like that hold back and restrict a whole boat full of people who have spent a lot of money on the trip of a lifetime? Just because she can’t resist Donuts? This is not Disney with wheelchair access. It makes you question the big picture. I had reservations for years before finally agreeing to go on this trip, I truly believed that it should be off-limits to tourists, but I was worn down by the arguements that it’s good for the local economy and the tourism money helps the economy prevent other forms of abuse. It once was close to pristine and the Ecuadorian Government and various Wildlife Agencies have done many great things to try and correct some of the mistakes and protect and enhance what is left.

But… There is a generation of geriatrics brought up with David Attenborough and they have money to spend. There is a generation of backpackers who are always developing new ways to do things on the cheap. They generate ever increasing numbers of tourists who require more residents to service their needs. Population, both permanent and transient, will grow and increase the pressure on a very sensitive environment. Cows, goats, pigs, dogs, cats, rats and, that most pernicious of vermin, humans, have caused problems that can never be solved and, the more the economy grows, the worse it will get. The Land of Intercourse at Every Opportunity will be suffocated by Disneyfication.

Don’t go. I peed on an Island and will forever carry the burden of guilt for my part in its eventual destruction. We fly back to Quito.

Day 11

We breakfast, pack and meet our Guide for the morning, Christian. He drives us South to Cotopaxi National Park. Cotopaxi is the highest active volcano in Ecuador and, from a distance, we can see its snow-topped peak silhouetted against a beautiful blue sky, steam rising from the summit crater mixing with the clouds. Clouds? Getdaf*&%outtahere!! But they don’t listen, and by the time we get loaded up with Coca candy and essential chocolate supplies and mosey on up to her skirts, her modesty is wrapped in 7 veils. As one flutters down, another rises to take its place – Tease. We drive up to 4,600M and we can see the Mountain Refuge at only 264M higher. Easy Peasy.

The temperature has dropped remarkably, so layers are applied, but I decide to go gung ho and opt for shorts. The trail zig-zags up a slope of unstable ash and I hit The Wall before I have let go of the car door. Fortunately, the Coca kicks in and we traipse slowly up the trail with Dori and Jack Frost nipping at my heels. This is head down and feel the burn stuff. After what seems like Scott’s Antarctica expedition, we round a bend and there is the edge of the Glacier and the Refuge. My fingers just manage to get off a couple of photos before my oxygen starved brain screams at me to “Get Real!” and we stumble into the Refuge, where US$2 for a mug of hot chocolate served by an Ecuadorian Sherpa makes absolute sense.

We recover, but by the time we are ready to head back, the wind has risen to Force 10 and shards of icy hail are whipping into our faces. The only hope is to get down as quickly as possible. 2 young Aussie lads have pushed bikes all the way up and are now attempting the descent, only to discover that their brakes don’t work, the ash is too unstable to be able to steer and, somebody forgot to pack any gloves. I make a swift, emergency decision and… push them out of the way. They are young, foolish and Australian. Abandonment is the only sensible option and we careen ever downwards through the ice storm until we tumble back into our nice, warm car. We then drive to the native restaurant where Ladies in bowler hats serve steaming bowls of amazing soup. Only then, after my belly is swollen with hot food, do I spare a thought for those 2 intrepid idiots, possibly frozen to their saddles, a sort of Banksy sculpture for future generations of climbers to place votive offerings.

Christian transfers us to another car and driver and we rumble off to Rio Bamba and a really fabulous hotel owned by a young English guy and his Ecuadorian wife. The Santa Isabella is an absolute gem, especially as there is only one guy (Marcel, a Cuban Engineer) running it, along with an assistant cook. Rio Bamba could also be a gem, it gets pretty close at times, but everywhere just oozes “We got no dollar”. I hope it can find some. Someone left the back door of the Town Hall open and we innocent Gringos wandered in to a full scale Orchestra practicing with a choir of Native Indian Women and Girls in shawls and bowler hats. The sound is weird, wonky and wonderful and we are totally uplifted.

Day 12

Marcel greets us at 4.45 with an amazing breakfast. When does this guy ever sleep? By 5.30, our new driver Milton gets us into the car, bowling along to Alausi. Volcan Chimborazo can be seen rising majestically above the power lines to 6,310M.

Due to a bulge in the Earth’s crust at the Equator, this peak is even further from the centre of the Earth than Everest. So why doesn’t all the air here, slip off to Nepal? Eh? Bit freaky that. As we drive, Milton gets a phone call, it seems that there may have been a landslide on the road we need to take after Alausi. Maybe. Maybe 10 cars got swept away. Maybe some people died. Nobody can be sure because it’s Ecuador and time for a little ITT. We won’t know until we find out for ourselves. The road we are on is quite beautiful, running through incredibly green valleys, where old grass thatched shacks with breakfast smoke seeping through, are still dotted between their newer and less charismatic neighbours. Fields 10 metres wide and 100 metres long, climb the lush mountain sides, some at 5degrees off the vertical. I imagine the farmer climbing to the top and jumping off, using his hoe as a sort of ice-pick to plough a furrow as he abseils down. There are reed lined lakes, but not much in the way of wildfowl. We stop for a quick look at the first Catholic Church in Ecuador which stands close to one such lake.

It’s very pretty, in contrast to the adjacent gas station and the Pan-American Highway and there might be a couple of houses nearby, but bugger all else and the question; “Why here?” goes unanswered.

At 7.45, we roll into Alausi, buy Empanada con Pollo and clamber aboard the train to El Nariz del Diablo. The Devils’ Nose. This is a 3 carriage tourist experience that starts in the middle of town and rattles through a few streets before escaping into the countryside and snaking its way down 500M of elevation in less than 12K of canyon wall. At times, the view over the edge is pretty scary and you can see 2 other levels of track below and below that, the river hammering through the gorge. But the sun shines and fluffy white clouds dot a brilliant blue sky over emerald mountainsides, which, in numerous places, have slipped down to kiss the river. Not today, please.

We have the last carriage to ourselves and through the back window have a great view of the Brakeman who spends the entire journey down leaping from one side to the other, screwing down the brake and pouring water over it so that it doesn’t melt. After 45 minutes and several changes of direction, we squeal into the lower station. A gaggle of local dancers, each no taller than a Pigmy’s armpit, dressed in white, red and green  with white bowler hats, are twirling skirts and flapping ponchos in welcome and it is very festive. However, a cup of Te Negre con leche and my Empanada are a priority. After which a snooze in the station sunshine seems like the thing to do, while Dori and Liz go off dancing, of course. They tower over their partners and, somehow, Jon gets dragged in by a Lady whose eyes are on a level with his crotch, maybe that was the selection criteria. I maintain my Zzzzs in an effort to stay out of trouble.

There is a small exhibition in the station that explains how the railway was built to link Quito with the coast. This section was the most difficult and Ecuadoreans were loth to work on it so, they brought in an army of Jamaicans to cut and lay the track. The word “Slaves” does not appear, but the fact that 2,500 of them died, is recorded. Now that is a pretty horrific rate of attrition and is how the mountain got its name. By this time, the engine has been shunted to the other end and, with a toot, we start the ascent. This is the little train that could and it goes back up just as fast as it came down, so the views over the brink are no less scary.

Back in Alausi, Milton is still no wiser about the road to Cuenca. There is no AA or RAC, there is no BBC, there are certainly no Police and so, due to ITT there is no firm information as to whether we can proceed. Bus drivers say the road is blocked. Truck drivers say it’s clear. A Lady driving her pigs to pasture says there is a dirt road that by-passes the landslide, but a bloke plucking a chicken says that road is blocked too, whilst a wifey hanging out her laundry agrees but says that a Cat articulated tractor scraper, 23 tonne, model 835T is being moved in to clear it.

Across the valley and making its way up the mountainside, we spy said tractor and Milton heads off to intercept it. We manage this and tuck in behind him just as he approaches a mile long string of stranded trucks and coast along in his slipstream until we reach the head of the queue. Very naughty. So we shrink down below the window sills and then jump out before anybody starts stoning us, There are a disconcerting number of stones available for this purpose as half a mountain from an upper section of road, appears to have slumped down over our lower section. We can see cars and drivers stranded up there, looking down at the cars and drivers stranded down here. 2 tractors and a digger go to work.

Mud flows of volcanic proportions go barreling, sucking and storming down the drains on either side of the road. Half tonne boulders, buoyed up on pyroclastic mud-flows, tumble and crash past us and this goes on for 3 and a half hours. There is a pause and then the first car comes down, tailgating a dozer and a complete bun-fight ensues. But the guys coming down have the upper hand and we watch in frustration as they ooze into the line behind us. Total gridlock is about to ensue when, suddenly, a gap occurs and we barrel into it. The road is only just wide enough to get through. 3 metre high banks of wet plastic death hang over us. Collective breath is held for a hundred metres until we are through and then, held again as we climb and switchback over the section where the slide fell away. Finally we are through and then, and only then, do we see a car load of Police come to take charge.

But we are out of it. Only we aren’t. As we pull off our dirt road onto the Pan-American, queues of trucks and buses erupt onto the scene and it’s like the Indianapolis 500 as engines are gunned and they all try to bludgeon their way into the space we are evacuating. Then we have to slow to negotiate a crack that’s as high as a kerb step and cuts right across the road. This is not comfortable. It seems that Ecuador is made up of 95% volcanic ash and 5% landslides. At almost every curve in the road we encounter banks of mud and boulders scattered willy-nilly. Oncoming traffic swerves hither and thither because the cloud has come down and people on both sides of the road are focused on avoiding rocks and potholes. Every 2-3K, the road is replaced by dirt and it’s difficult to see the edges. We have 3 and a half hours of this before we finally coast into Cuenca town, where Milton receives numerous hugs  and a well deserved tip. His intention is to turn round and drive that road all the way back to Quito. My intention is to get a hot shower and a cold beer. The tip may have been superfluous  – as we may never see Milton again.

2 days later, we hear that they are still digging out the road. 5 bodies have been found but several people are still missing.

Day 13

We meet our guide, Franco, a cool Cuencano and drive to a spot overlooking the town to get our bearings. Even from up here you can feel that Cuenca is a different proposition to Quito. There is a lot more colour and a lot more money than anywhere else in Ecuador. Franco says that this is due to the fact that Cuenca is so isolated and that Cuencanos have had to be independent in order to compete and survive, maybe. Whatever the reason, it seems to work and a lot of expats now live there. We start walking in a small square at one corner of the town, with huge Bob Marley Stylee palm trees surrounded by simple Old Colonial Spanish houses. One that we visit is the Gallery of Modern Art, but it was originally built 300 years ago as an Alcoholic’s Sanatorium. Is Franco making an astute guess as to the personalities of his guests?

Around the corner, Jon spots a glint in a tiny hole-in-the-wall workshop. Inside, an old Gentleman works in an Aladdin’s cave of mirrors framed in punched metal painted with bright lacquers. They are gorgeous and it takes us about an hour to empty the place. Dori is very happy. Further down the street is a man who repairs hats. All the indigenous ladies wear a white trilby that seems to be made of plaster-of-paris and this guy provides a renovation service. For a dollar, he also allows silly Gringos to put them on and pose for photos.

We continue walking through the Fruit, Veg and Meat market, a riot of noise and smells,  and on to the Flower market, a riot of colour in the shade of the Cathedral which lofts above, it’s 3 blue domes rising majestically above the crowds of flowers.

The cloisters adjacent have been converted into beautiful courtyard offices, shops and restaurants. Inside the Cathedral is quite simple, grand and elegant, proof that Gold does not a spiritual environment make. This place is hardly Catholic at all, which is more than can be said of our hotel, the Santa Lucia. There is a crown over our bed and the walls are adorned with pictures of Santa Lucia herself, holding a plate with her eyes lying on it. Spooky. The central courtyard is glassed over and has a balcony to the rooms running around it and opening to the Reception Room full of gilt mirrors, ormolous, chaise longue, coats of arms, flowers and trumpets. Trumpets?

But the best thing about the Santa Lucia is Felix the Breakfast Waiter. Felix insists that we order everything in Spanish and then patiently-ish, teaches us the words while taking great delight in our incapability.

Day 14

Franco meets us for walkies. He first takes us for a short walk in the local cloud forest, basically he is sussing us out for Stage 2. It’s quite wet and the pretty little glacial lake looks a bit forlorn, but we manage to see some wet Tree Creepers and the Humming Birds sound as if they are gargling rather, than humming. It seems as if we have passed the inspection and so drive on to the top of the pass dividing the Andes. From here we can seeee…. not much. Clouds basically, and so drop back down into El Caja National Park, just below cloud level. We are just South of the Equator but, from the weather and the landscape, we could be in the Scottish Highlands. El Caja turns out to be a real gem.

It’s beautiful, in the way that the North York Moors are bleak and yet beautiful. We hike for 3 hours past crystal lakes fringed with reeds and towering crags, across bogs of emerald cushion grass, through stark twisted forests of amber bark and over bleak mist-shrouded moorland, but everywhere there are diamond bright wildflowers.

Fabulous. On the drive back in to Cuenca, we stop for a very late lunch of local mountain trout and then back to the Santa Lucia for a hot bath, a cold beer and some lukewarm penance.

Day 15

Franco takes us to the airport. It’s an 8 hour plus drive to Quito but the flight only takes 40 minutes. That, of course depends on whether the airline decides to stick to the schedule although, more often than not, ITT kicks in. This time, things go well and we are met at the other end for the 2 hour drive to Otovalo. This sits by a large volcano next to a large lake but Otovalo largely ignores them both. This town is famous for its market and the girls are champing at the bit so, on the way to our hotel, we stop for an hour. This is a huge disappointment. Chompas, ponchos and blankets from Peru. Dreamcatchers from China. That’s pretty much it, but Jon scores the deal of the trip with a hammock which must now wend its way to Phuket. We move on to our Hotel, or rather, El Hacienda Pisaqui.

Imagine a classical Spanish Hacienda with stables, a front courtyard of majestic pines, whitewashed adobe walls, noble galleries of 19Century European art and furniture, orange trees on the balcony and horses wandering between giant Auracaria and Palms. Then, imagine that it is called Fawlty Towers, only it is managed by Manuel. Nobody has touched this place since the last Fascisti passed away. I think he might have used our bed. The Manager looks like he might have a black shirt and riding boots tucked away somewhere and he won’t look me in the eye. There are actually 5 Management staff, but only one waitress, one cook and one chambermaid. Our room is cold and damp.  The grounds are a mess. There is supposed to be a walking trail, but it is overgrown with thorn and kudzu. The only trail we can find leads to a burbling stream of sewage. We ask if we can go horse riding. Yes – Normally. But..Unfortunatalissimo Signor, the horses, they have no shoes. No problem, they can borrow mine as I intend to be riding on their back. – Ha ha! Signor is, as you say, a funny man. So, disappointamento, we eat, drink and play cards and then… by bedtime, there are 2 oil radiators, a spare downy and… Hot water bottles!… In little knitted cosy covers! All is forgiven and I sleep like I have not slept in Ecuador before.

Day 16

Our guide for the day is Jose, a cool dude in jeans, baseball cap and black T, but Jose actually knows his way around and is one of the good guides. We go first to the Farmers’ Livestock market. A riot of lowing, grunting, squealing, squawking, quacking, cheeping and Chirruping. The animals are pretty noisy too. This place is very local, people get aggressive if you take their photo, but the entertainment value is very high. Dori almost wets herself laughing as one enormous squealing hog drags half the populace round the field as they try to load it on a truck. Cows, ducks, pigs great & small, hens, rabbits and guinea pigs are being traded and trussed.

We stop the van in a small village where it seems everybody and his auntie have turned out for a wedding. All the guys must have been staying at the same hotel and stolen the free slippers.

Then we head back into town where the main market is held. It is 5 times bigger than yesterday but, unfortunately, it is not 5 times better and we buy… nada. Jose takes us out of town for lunch and then a walk down the main street of a town called Cotacatchi. Very famous for leather. He is cool enough to leave us to it and there is no pressure to see the best leather shop in town run by his “cousin”. Maybe this is why we are both confused and end up buying beautiful suede jackets. Then up another mountain to another volcano lake, but it is very pretty. They all are. We return to the Hacienda for more Fawltiness.

Day 17

Another driver, another drive. Back to base camp in Quito, but on the way we stop at Cochasqui. A set of mysterious grassed pyramids dating back from before the Inca invasion.

Nobody really knows what they were for but they hope to start work on them soon. What they do know is that originally, they were stepped but that they used a volcanic rock and a glue made of mud and plants that quickly eroded to create a grass covering. One of the pyramids has large lunar and solar calendars on top and a flood that cut through another exposed 600 human skulls. The Boss was a Lady who fought off the Incas for 20 years before finally capitulating and the Incas held it for 30 years before the Spaniards arrived and killed them all in their search for Gold. We carry on to Quito which illustrates quite well all the benefits that Catholicism has bestowed upon indigenous cultures. We collect our laundry and re-pack for the Amazon!

Day 18

We fly to Largo Agrio. Take off has been re-scheduled for an hour later than on the ticket. So it’s not late, it’s just re-scheduled. ITT. Anyway it’s a cool flight up the Andes and then down into the top end of the Amazon basin, where it is hot and humid. We are met by our guide, Luis T, from Seona Lodge and loaded onto a bus upon which are the rest of our fellow guests for the week. They seem a grumpy lot but then our flight took 40 minutes and their overnight bus took 8 hours before waiting 3 hours for us to show up. So I guess that grumpy is pretty reasonable really. The bus is a big gas guzzling wreck but we have the back to ourselves and, within 500metres of the airport gate, the brakes squeal us to a halt. “Monkey!” shouts Luis and we back up to where a family of tiny Marmosets cling to a tree trunk.

“Monkey!” shouts Luis and, over to the right is another species, Monk Saki and we get a full lecture on species diversity in the Secondary Forest. Everybody is prying cameras and binoculars out of bags, but after the cold of Quito we are into the humidity of the Amazon and everything fogs up and we are all cursing and wiping and cursing. The bus lurches off and screams to another stop. “Sloth!” shouts Luis and this time we are all herded onto the roadside to get a better look. “Where? Where?” we plaintively cry. “There! There!” shouts Luis and manipulates a dozen Gringos into a variety of positions to see the Sloth. It’s not like they move very fast. Then somebody says, “Oh-there!?!?” and suddenly we can all see it, exactly where Luis has positioned us.

This is the way it’s going to be for the next 6 days. Luis is the Guide of guides. Short, stocky, no neck bullet-headed. His eyes are on gimbals. It is scary what this man can see and we can’t until he contorts us into impossible shapes. “Look! Look!” and suddenly out of the mind boggling shapes, colours and textures, an animal appears. The bus careens on for 2 hours through roughly farmed and roughly populated landscape, with one or two stops to keep us on or toes, until we reach the fringe of the Cuyabeno Reserve. Bags are transferred to canoes as we eat a basic lunch in a basic canteen. Then, we get divided up into 2 canoes, handed a rain poncho and a life jacket and tear off down river. Around the first bend, the canteen disappears and that’s it, Civilisation has come to an end. This is primal. “Monkey!” shouts Luis and the outboard grinds into reverse. No change there then.

The river snakes through Eden, or is it Hell? Stuff grows on stuff growing on other stuff. There is hardly room to breathe, but there is so much oxygen here it just seeps in through your skin along, with moisture and alien spores. We are already as wrinkled as a 3 hour bath and mushrooms are erupting between my toes. The sky is a strip of blue somewhere overhead. The jungle screams “Compete! Live! Decay! Die! Do it all! Be reborn!” There is no space left, so do it on top of someone else. If that fails, do it inside of someone else. It’s a bit freaky. We are on a 2 and a half hour waterborne motorbike ride, banking left and right between solid walls of green before the river opens out into a huge lagoon which takes another 20 minutes to cross. “Dolphins!” shouts Luis and, in the middle of the lagoon a herd of grey-pink slugs break surface. Flipper they ain’t. River Dolphins are not glamorous. There doesn’t appear to be a firm edge to most of the lagoon, it just sort of disappears amongst the trees. Stranded, stunted loners, stick up out of the water, dripping mosses, epiphytes, bromeliads, ferns, cactuses and other jungle stuff.

The engine cuts, the pointy end penetrates the foliage and there is a small pier. Welcome to Siona Lodge. 3 staff, 2 guides, 3 boatmen, 16 guests and there, just where you are about to step off the boat, a 2.2metre White Cayman called Pancho.

We step, gingerly, onto the pier and receive a welcome drink and then we are shown to our rooms. There are 8 bungalows split into 2 rooms, each with its own bathroom and balcony. But the walls don’t extend to the roof and this will not be fun for the Foxalls who are about to be exposed to my rudimentary digestive system for the next 6 days.

There is a communal dining/lounge area and a small verandah down at the waters’ edge. I introduce myself to the other guests by slipping on the first step down to the verandah. My feet fly up in the air and my back cracks across the step edge. My right forearm helps to cushion the fall by sacrificing the skin which is grazed away from elbow to wrist. The blow to my pride being softened by the agony of the blow to my back. I am helped back up, painted from head to toe in Mercurochrome and shown the sign that says, “Slippery Steps”. Luis asks if I am okay and I reply, “Of course, thank you. I am English”. This is greeted with a smile which acknowledges the unspoken words, “We are not American,We don’t sue”. This is the Jungle after all.

Anyway, it didn’t break my spine and it did break the ice and we are soon on first name terms with our fellow guests; 2 young Brits, four “Mature” Spaniards and half-a-dozen Septics. However, in this climate, my arm is the most likely candidate to become the latter. What’s more important is that the bar is open and the Cerveza is cold, which serves to numb the pain and loosen the tongue. At dinner, Luis provides a commentary/reminder on everything we have seen on the trip down. He then announces a night walk. Nothing like getting into the jungle while it is pitch black. We are issued with wellies and marched off into the sucking mud to see frogs, spiders small and spiders Tarantula, ants (Everywhere), snakes and a variety of other, nightmare inducing critters. At one point Luis makes us turn of our flashlights and listen to the Jungle. There is a 75 piece Orchestra of noises and underlying it, the sound of 16 Gringos whimpering. We return to our huts and spend the next hour inspecting them before we dare get into our beds. Dori spies a movement up in the rafters and I am dispatched to Luis to report a very large Tarantula. “That’s good”, replies Luis. “They eat the roaches”. The lights go off at ten, the Jungle sounds are loud but, weirdly, they provide a lullaby that puts us all into Dreamland until the sudden silence of dawn wakes us up.

Day 19 to 23

It may seem a cop-out to condense these days but, without wifi, phones, radio and T.V., Life in the Jungle melds into a single breath. It is really fabulous. There are continual boat rides and hikes so that an after lunch siesta, in the hammock on our balcony, is a thing of beauty. Squirrel monkeys troop past, so cute and so mischievous as they parade from tree to tree on a twice daily basis. There are birds and animals everywhere, but it usually takes Luis to spot them.

One day we trip downriver to the nearest village where a local Lady shows us how to harvest, peel, grate and squeeze Yuca (Cassava – Manioc) to make a flour from which she makes a flatbread on a terra-cotta plate in the fire. We eat it with pineapple jam and it is delicious.

We meet the local Shaman, weighed down by beads and teeth and with a hat of parrot feathers that would give Dolce and Gabbana something to think about. He is a very smiley man and we all get a shot on his blowpipe, with a reminder that it is important to suck in your breath before you put pipe to mouth. There could be consequences otherwise.

In the evenings we sail into the middle of the lagoon to watch incredible sunsets and swim in and area that Luis defines as “relatively” safe from Black Caymans and Piranha. The water is like glass and the Jungle fringe loses itself in its reflection.

Double rainbows decorate the enormous skies above, turning from pink to violet with silver sparkles.

There are Stinky Birds everywhere. Turkey sized, punk dinosaur birds that clatter about the riverside trees.

Giant Red Macaws, Huge Toucans, Red capped Cardinals, Kingfishers and many, many more. Monkeys of every shape and size, Sloths and Snakes, brightly coloured Poison Frogs and Metallic Amazonian Blue Butterflies like electric flashes across the greens.

One day, Luis showed us a small bug from which a mushroom grew and then proceeded to freak us out. The spores of this mushroom float on the breeze and, if they happen to touch a bug or an ant, they can attach themselves and penetrate its exoskeleton. The spore then releases neuro-toxins that take control of the bug and make it climb a plant to a height of about 300mm above the forest floor where the bug attaches itself between the hours of 11.00am to 2.30pm. This gives the spore ample time to grow, using the bug as fertiliser, and then fruit so that its spores can be released on the afternoon breeze and, hopefully, catch another bug. Zombie Bugs! We are not sure whether to be fascinated or freaked out. What exactly, am I breathing in?!! Of course Luis has to embellish it with tales of Giant Tarantulas that he has found with mushrooms sprouting from their eyes and mouth. Aaaargh!.

Having been out in the Jungle all day, we would return, exhausted, physically and mentally. On one such evening Dori beat me into the shower. There was a knock on the door and there stood Luis. “You have another visitor”. I looked behind him at the Manager. “Not him. We need to come in”. I let them pass, Luis had a big stick with a hook on the end and shone his torch up into the rafters. I could see a slight movement and a flash of Gold. He slowly pushed the hook into the thatch and started to pull out our visitor. I called Dori out of the shower and we watched as Luis teased and eased 1.8metres of Golden Boa Constrictor into our room. That was an incredibly beautiful animal. Not really dangerous to the likes of us but, if he fell on you, he might be tempted to bite.

So we didn’t really need to go into the Jungle, it seemed that the Jungle was prepared to come to us and I had to make sure that there was no extra room charge for the wildlife displays, as Pancho the Cayman seemed to have taken up residence just off our balcony. Our fellow travellers were getting rather jealous of the Safari coming to our room. On our last night after dinner, there was a review of our visit and an impassioned speech about all things conservation. Just then another huge Tarantula sauntered through the room, right past our feet. I think it was scripted to see if we could handle it but, after 5 days in the Jungle, we all just smiled.

Day 23

We were up at dawn for a last recce, but the weather Gods had decided to show us why it is called the Rainforest and this one was wet and uneventful. We then packed our stuff into a canoe covered with a big tarp, said goodbye to all the staff, donned our canvas ponchos and stuffed waterproof bags with dry clothes between our legs and roared off, back up river to “Civilisation”. The rain bucketed down. If you looked up, it lashed your face. With your head down, it seeped around your hood, no matter how tight you cinched it. Within seconds, we were soaking. Was the Jungle crying to see us go? Nope. It was just doing what it does and we had been lucky to get the window that we did. A very bedraggled outfit clambered out the other end, but our dry bags had held and we were able to get as comfortable as the humidity permits.

We rumbled off to the airport and then said farewell to the denizens of the 8 hour bus back to Quito. Good luck with that. Watch out for mushrooms! Quito was still Quito and, after those days when oxygen had been heavy in our lungs, the rarified atmosphere at 3000metres made you a bit dizzy, but nothing that a long hot shower, a glass of wine and wifi won’t fix. Only they don’t, they are last things that you should have, unless you are intent on getting dizzier. But the thing that really makes you swoon, is your stink. The minute you open your bags, the room is enveloped in a miasmic funk. You have to shower. You have to open the windows. You have to spread everything out and then leave the room. You have to buy plastic bags to seal it all back up. You might never be able to wear those underpants again. The temptation is to light a bonfire in the courtyard. But you slip into a sleep punctuated by traffic noise. The Lullaby of Poison Frogs belongs to another time.

Day 24

Our last day in Quito was all we thought it would be, only much better, because the Casa Gardenia allowed us to keep our room until a very late checkout. This is not the finest Hotel in Quito, there are some real Colonial Beauties, but El Casa Gardenia has to be one of the best, friendly and accommodating. Clean and comfy and a cracking breakfast. We spent the day doing our final shopping, mainly Chocolate by the plantation load, but also another mirror for the Missus and a terracotta pot for me. It’s a copy of little pre-Colombian fat-bloke with a willy that has now made it back to Hong Kong to offend our guests. When rested, re-packed and ready, we began the 30 hour trek home.

Kudos to Cristina and everybody at Happy Gringo for doing such a bang-up job. They controlled everything that could be controlled and our Drivers and Guides were Universally fabulous. Thanks to Ecuador whose attempts at ITT were annoying but insufficient to stop us having a brilliant time.

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