Omain
One main road snakes its way down into Ecuador’s Oriente, or Amazon Basin, from the highlands, and that’s how our bus went. We left the mountain town of Banos in the late afternoon and began descending immediately. A massive cliff loomed just outside the bus windows. The sight of it only added fuel to the worry-fire that had ignited when we saw the murals in the Banos church depicting angels rescuing vehicles falling off cliffs. Soon after the bus began moving, we noted that the local passengers were leaning into the hillside at regular intervals and wondered what that was all about. Then, one of our group members looked out their window and saw little more than hundreds of feet of thin air separating our bus from the river far below. At that point, we realized everyone was leaning into the hillside to keep the bus on the road.
The trip down to the city of Tena, our night’s destination, typically takes about 3 hours, but on this trip, it took us more like 4 or 5. Sometime after dark, we drove up on a vehicle logjam on the road. Big trucks, buses, and cars were trying to go in each direction, and traffic was at a standstill. We weren’t quite sure what was happening, but there were a lot of headlights and people milling around, looking at something we couldn’t see. We figured it was probably just a short third-world delay that would soon be a thing of the past. As we were beginning to feel comfortable with the situation, our driver decided he could move forward and squeeze past the bus facing us. There was no mistaking the ill feelings of the crowd, much less the opposing bus driver, as our bus proceeded. All was well until it wasn’t. Our bus’s side mirror was not the breakaway type, and it screeched and scratched its way down the side of the other bus until ours was free and clear.
I was relieved that neither of the vehicles was mine. And I concluded that, if nothing else, the situation made for a good story. But then, I felt our slow pace become even slower just before we abruptly stopped. At that point, our driver said something that none of us Americanos could quite understand and opened the door. The other passengers got up and began filing out as though it were another expected, regular occurrence. We followed suit, though we had no clue why. It was utterly dark once we got outside, but at least it was muddy and only raining slightly. Somehow, word got to us to avoid wandering very far from the bus because a section of the road had washed away. Our driver intended to cross to the other side of the temporary road patch and didn’t want any passengers aboard while doing so. So, we were to walk across to the other side, following the bus and staying safely behind it. I still have questions about that whole scenario, but at the time, we all just fell in line and did as instructed (or at least our interpretation of “as instructed”).
After a short distance, our bus’s engine began to rev, but the rear wheels just spun in the mud, and it was apparent that it was going nowhere. So, we did what needed doing, put our shoulders up against the rear bumper, and started pushing. Slowly, the rear wheels worked their way down through the muck to the solid ground about mid-calf below the surface, and the thing began to creep ever so slowly forward. Within 5 minutes, both us and the bus were on the other side. Soon, we were back in our seats and moving down the road again. Our group was muddy but happy to be beyond the confusion.
Undoubtedly, the bus trip had been “interesting” up to that point. But, as we approached our night’s destination, I speculated that perhaps the chaos of those few hours of bus time was in our past. I was hopeful things would become more “normal” once we reached Tena and our final destination- the Napo River outpost town of Misahualli.
We finally pulled into Tena at about 10:00 pm and walked to the hotel I’d reserved. It was a dead, dark-looking building, but as the owner showed us to our rooms and began turning on the lights, the whole place came to life. As we watched the roaches disappear, it became apparent that no one in our group was interested in spending the night there. And so, we gave the manager a lame excuse for why we couldn’t stay, then just left.
At that point, we had nowhere to stay for the night and needed to find somewhere to bed down sooner rather than later. So, our search for accommodations began, and within only minutes, we walked around the corner and saw a fancy-looking hotel. It looked especially nice and appeared brand-new. “Thank goodness,” I thought. By this time, it was serious bedtime, so we didn’t let the fact that the new place was dark and locked up discourage us. For some reason, despite the locked door, we all concluded it was, in fact, open. We peered in through the glass door, and lo and behold, a person immediately approached. The bellman, or whoever he was, leaned his rifle against the wall, turned on the lights, unlocked the door, and greeted us with a smile as he opened the door and invited us in. He said they were open, and then I asked him about the room prices. I was satisfied with his answer, so I told him we’d take enough doubles for everyone and followed him to the front desk to check in. While he dealt with the paperwork, I pondered the snake in the big jar on the counter, which took my mind off some of the various group-leader details, like which credit cards he took. Within 15 minutes, we were all paid up and finally ready to get settled into our rooms. He informed us that the elevator was not working, so we just carried our backpacks and duffels up the stairs to our second-floor rooms. Once we got up the steps, I saw that everything appeared well-built and nicely done. But I was taken aback by the fact that half of the hotel was simply not there. There was an actual void where the remainder would hopefully someday be, and the clerk had not even mentioned it. By this point, I had decided not to let details like that concern me. So, once I got my room door open, I just went in and shut it on the missing part of the hotel situation- at least for the rest of that night. Thus, our engaging adventure continued.
The following morning, we all got up and began moving early. We had one last bus to catch, and everyone was determined to be on it and ready to go, with plenty of time to spare.
We were packed up and leaving our rooms a bit before 7:00 am. The abrupt transition into the nothingness looming outside our hotel doors was even more imposing (or was it intriguing?) in the light of day. But by then, at least I’d had a night to sleep on the concept and develop a methodology for safely getting back down the stairway.
Our bags slid easily down the walkway and stairs because the construction people hadn’t yet covered the bare cement with whatever they planned to use. And because the building was unfinished, a spectacular tropical sun shone through the open part of the hotel into the hallway and stairway, which helped with our footing. Thankfully, nothing and no one fell off anything.
After a quick breakfast and coffee at a nearby bakery, we located our small bus and loaded our things onto the roof rack with 20 minutes to spare. Miraculously, we were all loaded and driving off into the jungle, and our Upper Amazon/Napo River destination was close to the scheduled departure time. It was almost liberating to be in a smaller and more mobile vehicle.
Thankfully, the 30-minute bus trip went smoothly. Amazingly, the 5-gallon plastic gasoline container with a hose attached that sat on the floor next to the driver did not explode, probably because he didn’t smoke much.
We arrived in Misahualli just before noon and wandered down the main street, looking for lunch and a place to stay. To eat, we settled on the restaurant with “the food here is reality good” painted on its front wall, and decided to let something materialize regarding the lodging. Later that afternoon, we met and hired a local man who was the perfect combination of naturalist and jungle warfare specialist to familiarize us with the area’s nuances. He took us on a hike, showed us a termite mound, demonstrated various booby traps, and led us on an overnight outing to a remote, primitive jungle camp. And to top it all off, he got us set up in a place to stay in town while we were there.
Perhaps the snake in the jar back in Tena started it all. Or maybe it was the tales of man-eating Anacondas which we’d repeatedly heard about, combined with the fact that we were in the Upper Amazon, I’m not sure. But for whatever reason, we were a bit snake/jungle creature jumpy when we boarded the inner tubes for our float down an upper section of the Napo. Our guides assured us that tubing the river was perfectly safe. They explained that the current was too swift for Piranhas, and there just weren’t that many Anacondas around anymore. Even so, I could sense all kinds of doubts among our group as we waded out, plopped ourselves down on top of the tubes, and began going with the flow. A light rain began falling soon after we started. While it added to the surreal nature of it all, it also gave us something to think about besides Anacondas and Piranhas.
I was in the lead, along with one of the group members, Josh. At various points while floating along, we were sure we saw snakeheads out in the water, but each time, they thankfully turned out to be fallen sticks and limbs. Since we were facing upstream and looking back, the two of us could see most of the group. Therefore, I figured I was in a good position to render aid, although I was never clear what to do if an Anaconda grabbed someone. Additionally, our position allowed us to watch other, less terrifying things unfold.
After a few hundred yards of unsettled relaxation, Chris, who was floating alone about 30 feet directly behind us, eased off his tube and dove under the water. David Barrow was with me again, floating another 30 feet behind Chris. As soon as Chris went under and headed in the direction of Barrow, I knew what was going to happen. A few seconds of silence passed before Chris grabbed him from below. Barrow erupted and became virtually airborne as his fight-or-flight instinct took control.
In retrospect, I’m not sure exactly what any of this meant. It wasn’t just our experience in the Ecuadorian Oriente that was full of intriguing events and unexpected occurrences. Plenty of other things happened in different parts of the country that helped make the whole two weeks especially memorable. They’re pieces in the giant jigsaw puzzle that was the trip, and while maybe they all should’ve been included in this story, they aren’t.
I did come away from the expedition with something other than bug bites and the runs. My primary takeaway was the realization that sometimes things make sense at the moment but not later. And in this case, I concluded that if anyone involved still wondered what adventure was at the end of the trip, they were probably never going to know.
