Mama Killa with other Andean adventures

Cotopaxi Landscape

Adventures continue here in Ecuador. Both in the physicality of this life, and in the spiritual processing of what it is to journey, to see special people flow in and out of your life in meaningful ways...to know what it is to really be by yourself, I mean really be by yourself, and attempt to be comfortable in that discomfort. 

Speaking of discomforts, my digestive system  ain't loving the flora of Ecuador this past couple weeks. Of course I will spare you the details, but on the positive end of things, I will say that my physical body was overjoyed with my recent jungle and waterfall 70km bike ride, that saw me seriously singing in the rain, and my 2 hour long paddle in the headwaters of an Amazonian river, over class 4 rapids. Oh joy, I love the forest, the river. 

And I also love the moon. I've felt that ever since I was of 'adult' womanly age, I feel a pull, a draw, and an utter mysterious fascination with La Luna, the moon. This makes sense really, since every woman's menstrual 'moon' cycles can be intimately tied to the moon. So when I was in Cuenca, and was stopped by a scraggly looking young artist whom wanted to create a piece of jewelry for me, right in front of me, and I submitted, I was excited to hear why he announced how much he loved my name Kayla. He told me that in the north of Ecuador, where he spent some time with Quechua/Kichwa people (a pre-Incan Indigenous group spread out around the Andes mountains of South America), he learned about Mama Killa or Mama Quilla (pronounced the very same way as Kayla!) Mama Killa is Mother Moon. She is the goddess of lunar cycle, of marriage and of the menstrual cycle. She is considered the defender of women. I gratefully accepted the treble-clef shaped wire earring that this street artist from Venezuela made me, giving him a small offering of money, and smiling as I continued to walk on the river path. Not really because I had a beautiful piece of jewelry, but because my identity as 'Kayla' felt affirmed. 

Other meaningful times I've had lately was a night spent out in the brisk-ness of mountain air. I spent a full day wandering, slowly hiking at altitude, and enjoying the insane views of Cotopaxi Volcano - the second highest in Ecuador at 5 897 meters. I camped the night with this giant, which is potentially active, but has not had a big eruption since 1942. It's so high, that even at this, the consistently warm equator, there are glaciers that hang off the side of this mountain, starting at 5 000 meters. I camped a bit lower, preferring to appreciate the majesty and power of this thing, this earth power, this intense giant from around 4200 meters, but still really grateful for a campfire, and 5 layers of clothing! Though the wind was intense, and the landscape quite harsh, I loved the strange beauty of what this park was all about. So oddly beautiful, with its low brushy bushes, single yellow and red flowers, wild horses, llamas, and cows... 

It really is amazing how many new people from such a variety of places that I interact with when I am travelling. Like, the Kichwa woman who sells me a huge barbecued plantain for 50 cents on the street, to my absolute joy. Or the Senor who directs  me by walking  along with me to el Mercado, and then wishes me to be safe and careful on my journeys. Or the Aussies travelling for 8 months on their honeymoon. Or the woman my mother's age from the Netherlands who is a Reiki and Shiatsu healer, whom has no home and lives from her backpack, and who I end up hiking the stunning Quilatoa loop with for 4 days. 

Speaking of said "Quilatoa loop". I think this has been the highlight of my ambling adventures around Ecuador (achem, with Vilcabamba a close rival). An area in the high central Andes, this area is popular for hiking and exploring, while it is home to many rural Kichwa farmers. I walked from the Quilatoa crater, to Chugchilan, to Inislivi and then to Sigchos. In all of these towns, very small (around 2oo people for the first three towns mentioned), I experienced an enormity of Ecuadorian hospitality. This hospitality was a window in to Kichwa life. The family's that had small hostels or posadas, warmly welcomed me, and my older hiking partner, fed us delicious dinners and breakfasts, pointed us in the right directions on the maze that was our journey, and shared with us a bit of what their lives were like in this rural, high Andean mountain countryside. I amazingly received no funny looks when I exclaimed "yo no como carne, y tambien, yo no como pan..." and instead was fed delicious 'bolon de verde', 'huevos omlettes' with generous portions of beet, avacado, lettuce salads, and always always delicious soups (think - cream of cauliflower, the iconic Andean quinoa potato soup, warm and nourishing after a sweaty, but chilly mountain hike in these parts). 

And the hiking was beautiful, challenging and fun. It was definitely a human altered landscape, with patches of light and dark green covering the steep mountainside, with dots of colour visible on these slopes as they hand hoed their vegetables. Usually, my inclination is that I don't find anything that is extremely human altered beautiful, for example I don't often find city scapes beautiful. They may be captivating, and stunning, but beauty I feel is a thing left for the natural, for Pachamama to create. But this, somehow this landscape I found quite beautiful. Partially, I believe it was so beautiful because there were mostly no visible roads, as everyone whose home was on these mountainsides traversed by foot or by horseback. It was beautiful because we meandered up and down gorgeous river valleys, through tiny towns with colourful churches and tiny schools, visible in valleys from high above. We tramped on pathways only farmers take, got confused as to which fork to continue on a hundred times, and nearly got eaten by farm dogs only twice. The sky was mostly overcast, but I still got a sunburn because of the elevation. There were warm wood stoves that waited for us, and hammocks to swing in at the posadas we stayed at. There were many old farmers who we crossed paths with, looking curiously at us, but energetically pointing us in the correct direction...as they continued on their way to hoe their crop, or move their sheep from patch to patch. I could go on...

As I mentioned before, it's amazing how many people you meet while you are travelling. Some are uber interesting, others have a poor sense of respect. Some people enter an open heart quickly, touching me deeply. Others I pass judgement on and others make me miss my sisters, parents, friends. Some couples I meet see me craving consistent companionship - in travel and in life. This woman that I hiked the Quilatoa loop with, was mistaken for my mother more then 3 times. This made me dream of my mother. I reflected (again) that I am spending so much time while I am travelling investing in brand new relationships and encounters, rather then with those that I already have in my life with deep connections. A few insights arise for me with regards to this. The first is that these people I'm encountering while travelling are currently desiring the very same thing as me, while my family and friends don't desire that very same thing - perhaps it's just bad luck or bad timing? Another insight. Every person, whether nice or not so nice, special or a casual small talk conversation, usually results in me learning, or realizing, something about this world or about myself. A third insight. While I meet all these people, I'm still alone. I need to know what it is to be alone so that I can in turn realize the interconnectedness of all people. I live alone, yes, but I need people, community, to thrive. When I meet these people, they are all representations of those I hold near to my heart. Were all the same. all just trying to follow our paths in this life. 

If you haven't already felt it through my last words, I miss you. In an it's okay kind of way, I miss you. 

Quilatoa Volcanic Crater - at the beginning of my Andean trek

Water Water Everywhere

What a precious resource water is. 

We all know this, in theory. But in practice, do we treat water with the respect it deserves? After all...we are mostly water. Honestly, I have taken water for granted so much in my life. Growing up in the Great Lakes Basin, before I began my travels abroad, I took water for Granted.  I was used to seeing freshwater lakes that looked like oceans, accustomed to water magically appearing, clean for the drinking, out of a sparkly metal faucet, and never thought twice about putting my human waste in fresh drinking water flushing it to an unknown place.  

And then, I began to travel. And I learn and see how fresh water is valued or not valued in other countries. How in most places, water does not appear from a tap ready to drink, and often doesn't even appear from a tap. In the place where I am at the moment, Ecuador, water concerns are far more talked about, far more important, and far more controlled by the people. 

I recently stayed for 3 weeks in a valley which at moments is lush green, at other moments dry and de-forested to make room for grazing cows. There is an abundance of naturally flowing rivers, where you can comfortably dunk yourself in the frigid and fresh mountain fed waters, invigorating your every cell.  Because there is less development in the mountains near the Vilcabamba Valley, and the Podocarpus National Park is near by, the headwaters of local rivers are clean - they haven't yet had an opportunity to be tainted by human impacts. 

The people in this valley are hyper aware of their water. This is largely because the water systems that they have running to their homes, is entirely owned by a collective community co-op. This model intrigues me, because all of the members have a strong stake in how their system is designed, how the water is treated (or not treated) and they also assume the responsibility when water lines are broken (as nearly all the lines are above ground and there are also some aerial runs). The water that I was drinking and bathing in while I was at my friends farm in Vilcabamba was a part of this collective system. This system serves both drinking water (filtered by a physical filtration system only, meaning that no chemicals like fluoride or chlorine are added to the water) and agricultural irrigation water (which is more turbid, filled with fine particulate), gets water to about 300 people. Every few months there are community meetings, where members must attend, otherwise are fined. They have one employee who walks the 11km stretch of pipeline, to ensure that it is in fine shape. Often, when it rains heavily, landslides are common, and water lines can get broken. In Ecuador, repairing these line breaks take time. Sometimes, this can mean days, or weeks without water, while the one employee along with other volunteers, hike out to the location of the break, with tools and repair materials in tow, to fix the stretch of pipe that holds life for so many.

I feel like the people on this collective water system are more aware of their life-need for water. More aware about how much they use, because, sometimes for weeks, they have no water but the 1000 liters in their cistern (if they even have a cistern). Otherwise it's a hike to the river and a potential sick stomach. I really believe that (generally-but not for all) there is a disconnect in Canada and the United States. We tend not to have any concept of what it takes to get water clean to us, think nothing of putting all sorts of weird wastes in our water, and further, have no control over what chemicals local governments choose to 'treat' our drinking water with. 

When I'm in travel mode, carrying my trusty UV filter with me, I am so much more mindful of the water I consumer and the way it makes me feel.

Today, when you sip that sip of fresh water, no matter if you are Ecuador, in Canada, in a remote African village, or the Cambodian countryside, take a moment to be grateful for it, and consider ways that you too, can be conscious of the water you use, consume, pollute, play in, and ultimately, are composed of.