Into the Jungle, Part I

In the book "Abroad," the author laments the death of "travel" on the order of Ernest Hemingway and Robert Byron, which has been replaced by tourism. Perhaps nowhere is this more observable than South America, where hordes of gringos are shuttled to this place and that, and hundreds of thousands of people earn their living from this industry.

When Brian and I decided to go to the depths of the primary rainforest in Ecuador, it seemed a good way to escape from this, however briefly. However, as rugged as it may sound, it's still tourism through and through: meals and drinking water provided, bilingual guide, cabins with comfortable mattresses, tight itinerary.

The first leg of our journey was a night bus from Quito to the oil town of Lago Agrio, 7 hours away. The bus left at 11 P.M. and we promptly set about finding a comfortable position to attempt some sleep. About an hour away from Quito, I was drowsing when there was a scraping noise and a BOOM! The bus began tilting, tilting... People were shouting, shaken from their sleep, and for a single impossibly long moment, we were perfectly balanced, suspended between two eventualities. I had enough time to think, This is it, this is where it all ends. And then we shifted the other way, all wheels landing firmly back on the ground. Everyone was awake now, staring straight ahead, and the bus rolled on in shocked silence.

After that incident, we soberly continued on our way, but now there was an odd sound coming from under the bus. We pulled over, and all the men filed off the bus to have a look and offer their opinions (and also to urinate). Brian went over to talk to one of the men.

Brian: "Is it the transmission? Transmission no bueno?"
Man: "Transmission, yes."
B: "Fuck."
M: "Yes, fuck. A fuck and a shit!"

At that point, it was midnight and we were off the road somewhere an hour from Quito, and it was pitch black all around. Somehow the only thing I could think about was whether we would get our money back if we didn't make it to Lago Agrio by morning. Luckily, it turned out to be only the exhaust pipe dragging (probably shaken loose by our earlier acrobatics). After it was fixed, we once again continued toward the jungle.

Sometime around dawn, after a night of restless sleep, we pulled into the ugly frontier town of Lago Agrio. Although not much to look at, it was a beautiful sight for us.

Lago Agrio

Although today we will return to being tourists, last night on that bus there were no tourists, only travelers. It's not an experience that I would wish on others, but I feel that at least I have had a little adventure, a story to tell. Of course, I hope the rest of our trip goes more smoothly. Part II to come in a few days when we are out of the jungle.