A Poet in Ecuador

Note: My wife, Nirmala, and I participated in a GoAhead Tours group excursion to Ecuador and the Galápogos from February 3 to February 12, 2020. What follows is my account of this journey. Part of a congenial group of 14 visitors, including ourselves, we had a wonderful time. Six haikus, written during the excursion, are interwoven into this brief travelogue.

Since this episode of my blog will go on the internet, I decided, for reasons of privacy, not to state any names of our fellow travelers.

February 3

We left Baltimore’s BWI in the afternoon; we flew to Atlanta after which we boarded a direct flight to Quito, Ecuador. The flights were pleasant enough and on time. A minor disappointment: we ordered Asian vegetarian meals. What we got was a cold sandwich consisting of 99% hot dog bun and 1% vegetables. It was as Asian as the statue of General Beauregard that had been a major Confederate monument in New Orleans; it was removed in 2015. Good taste should have removed the sandwich as well.

February 4

We arrived shortly before midnight, Our excellent guide, Fabricio, was waiting for us; we soon left by bus for the Mercure hotel in central Quito. (My brother-in-law, Walter, and his son, my nephew, Roger, who were part of the group, went to the hotel by taxi).

The colonial area of Quito is a Unesco World Heritage Site. Groggy from lack of sleep, we took a walking tour of Quito with Fabricio as our cicerone. We stopped first at the Metropolitan Cathedral of Quito, which was built in 1906, one year before Ecuador officially became a secular country. (Unlike in France, churches in Ecuador do not receive government support for maintenance, as a defense against the lack of support on the part of  French Catholics). It is a huge Neo-Gothic edifice, too recent and too derivative to be considered historically significant, but beautiful in its own right. (One day it will be considered historically significant; recently built old-style cathedrals, especially elegant ones, are things of the past).

Next stop was a visit to the very historic Baroque/Rococo La Compañia, a Jesuit church largely dating back to the 17^th century. The whole interior was “plastered” with gold, which was pillaged from Indians, who, as slaves, labored on the church’s construction. Yes, the view was impressive. But…

Sometimes, I imagine the soul in a cathedral to be a sprig of green floating ecstatically in a vast space, much as a nucleus of an atom. These lines of e.e. cummings come to mind:

all in green

my love came riding

on a horse of gold

But that was not how I felt in these gaudy surroundings. My soul felt like a lonely, wounded bird in a gilded cage.

The 16^th century Franciscan church, which we visited next, was the real thing.

We were very tired from the late-night flight. I wanted to see the monument of the equator, but was too fatigued to do so. We managed to visit the Museo Nacional, however. The paintings were so-so, and there weren’t many examples of Pre-Columbian art, the objects I wanted to see.

There was an outstanding example, however:

How wonderfully otherworldly! It is a depiction, I assume, of a shaman in deep meditation; he has assumed what Hindus call the half-lotus position. Notice that his mouth is covered. He is a mouni, a man of silence. Notice the head that rises from the shaman’s head; this I interpret as the shaman’s vision of inner reality. Notice that this figure wears some type of royal headdress; also notice that its mouth is covered as well, signifying that this reality cannot be put into words.

When William Somerset Maugham traveled to India to meet the great sage, Ramana Maharshi, he was tongue-tied. After a period of silence, he left without saying a word. An attendant thought this was rude; Ramana replied, with a characteristic smile, that “silence is also conversation.”

That’s how I felt when I observed the great silent communication between these two figures.

February 5

The next day we took a tour to Cotopaxi National Park to visit the eponymous volcano. It was a majestic sight indeed. We were scheduled to climb up to a panoramic view, but I only made it about 80% of the way. It is some 16,000 feet above sea level. When I reached as far as I got, my heart began to race and I also had a brief episode of atrial fibrillation. On a fairly recent tour of Spain and Morocco, I was incapacitated by atrial fibrillation for most of the trip. I did not want to repeat that experience. Discretion was indeed the better part of valor; I returned to the bus.

February 6

Early (very early) on February 6, we took an airbus flight to the Galápagos Islands. Here is a diagram of our itinerary:

The vessel on which we cruised, The Legend, was excellent; the staff could not have been better.The food was quite good as well, as were our accommodations.

In the afternoon, we made a “wet landing,” that is, we had to jump off a dinghy that came close to shore. We landed on Mosquera Islet, which, according to our guide, “is located between North Seymour and Baltra Island and is one of the smallest islands in the Galápagos.”

We walked along “sandy, barren lava rock-covered terrain” which supported abundant wildlife. What most amused me was a mama seal, lying on her side, and trying her best to sleep. Her child, already a few hundred pounds, was in the process of being weaned. Tell that to him! He kept on trying to suckle, but each time he was whacked away by mama’s flipper. She didn’t fully wake; she just kept whacking him whenever he tried to feed. Translation to what some humans convey to their grown kids: “You’re eighteen, Buster--the days of milk and cereal are over. Get the hell out of here and get a job!” Independence must come to both son and seal; it’s the way of the natural world, as well as with our rather unnatural one.

Near a pair of oyster catchers, which have long bright-red bills, I took this picture of a Sally Lightfoot crab, the subject of my first haiku. (All the haiku in this travelogue follow my adaption of the rules of Japanese prosody: that is, the first line consists of seven syllables, followed by a five-syllable line, concluding with another seven-syllable line. Traditional Japanese haiku is slightly different: the first and the last line consist of five, syllables while the second line has seven).

Ruddy crabs crossing lava

rocks: they look ahead,

while moving backwards. Like us?

February 7

After another wet landing, we explored the southeastern portion of Santiago Island. It was here, I believe, that I observed an alpha male sea lion intimidating two younger males, out of which experience another haiku came into existence. Before this trip, I read a book about chimpanzees, whose society of is male-oriented, like that of sea lions,  and very hierarchical. The stress of “alpha maleing” often results in premature deaths. In bonobo society, which is female-oriented, the males actually live much longer. This haiku can be viewed as portraying the cycle of life; the word “male” in each line, however, gives another perspective. Will we learn something from the bonobos?

An older male sea lion

barks—younger males flee;

the oldest male’s dead.

Well, I tried to snorkel and failed miserably. Everyone else snorkeled—What’s wrong with me? (Give me a break, please, I haven’t snorkeled for over sixty-five years!)

As Shakespeare didn’t say: “Failure comes not as single spies, but in battalions.” The next day, I decided to swim—I could do that, no? The current, however, was strong. I had to be rescued by our excellent guide, Emil Lugo.

February 8

Neither Nirmala nor I snorkeled, so we selected our “Plan B’’—an excursion on a glass-bottom boat. We saw many marine creatures: sea urchins, star fish, a lovely sting ray (gray with pattern of white polka dots across its body), a shark, sea turtles and many types of fish. A fish that particularly impressed me, was the Mexican hogfish, an ugly name for a brightly colored animal. Yes, time for another haiku:

Mexican hogfish, turtles,

fill the glass-bottom boat

with amazement! No I.

(Whenever we’re absorbed by something—subsumed in something might be a better way to put it-- we lose our ego, our “I”, our sense of separation, for as long as the experience in question lasts: like a good night’s sleep).

Another wet landing, this time onto Isabela Island, the largest island of the archipelago. Our morning walk was a pleasant climb up the slopes of the Alcedo Volcano, the habitat of giant tortoises. These giant beasts, part of nature, are naturally lacking, thank God! in the intricacies of human etiquette. This one blocked our path, but we were amused, not mad. (Like the proverbial cow in a parking lot: when we discover that a human has taken our space, we rage at the driver. If a cow has taken our space, however, we smile).

We learned from our excellent guide, Emil, about the recent death of Lonesome George (El Solitario Jorge), a giant centennial tortoise, apparently the last of his kind. (Recently, close relatives of Lonesome George have been found on another island; his genus, Chelonoidis abingdoni, might not be extinct after all).

Lonesome George, the tortoise, is

dead. “Couldn’t care less,”

says the volcano.  We do.

Yes, nature is indifferent—which is just fine, for her. If human beings become indifferent, however, they’re well on the way to becoming monsters.

After lunch, we took a dinghy ride along Tagus Cove, where the scenery was exquisite and the amazing blue-footed boobies, were, well, blue-footed. (Our group, for purposes of assembly, was called "The Boobies." We had a lot of fun with that designation!).

February 9

This time a dry landing—onto Espinosa Point, “formed by lava flows over thousands of years.” The walk on the sometimes quite slippery lava rocks was often quite dicey, but I, along with the rest of us, managed not to fall. (Did I walk slowly? You betcha!)

Iguanas! Thousands of them!

Minus at least one: we watched a Galápagos hawk tear one apart in the distance.

In the afternoon, we saw from our dinghies penguins and sea lions, among other animals.

We soon docked, and thereupon climbed up to the Vicente Roca Point, where we delighted in a splendid view of a lake that filled the caldera of a volcano which erupted at least a million years ago.

“The shades of night were falling fast” during our dilatory return to the ship. The view of the mountains and the water at dusk was breathtaking. (You can see our cruise ship in the background).

This sublime experience became the subject of my penultimate haiku. This one takes a little bit of explaining.

I was, I think, the oldest of the group. My grandfather bought a TV in 1949. The next year, the Kate Smith Show, a half-hourly variety show, began. (You remember Kate Smith, famous for her rendition of Irving Berlin’s “God Bless America.”) I watched it avidly. The theme song of the show was “When the Moon Comes Over the Mountain—which Smith co-wrote. It is not a good song.

The view of the moon coming over the mountain, which we experienced was, however, awesome-- perfection! Kate Smith, and by extension, all of us, are part of nature as well—so we’re perfect, too!

Moonrise, Galápagos

(“When the Moon Comes Over the
mountain”—a bad song,

Kate Smith!) Perfection. You, too

This, perhaps the weakest haiku, is now followed by perhaps the strongest. I imagined that it was night and rough weather. We were being tossed about in our dingy. In a patch of clear sky, we saw the constellation of Orion, still, quiet, and as distant as God.

Once again, furious waves

punish my small boat--

Overhead, Orion’s still

(Here is the best poem of our trip to Chile and Argentina, January 2019. At the end of our journey, we traveled to the famed Iguazú Falls, the impressive waterfalls on the border of Brazil and Argentina. At one viewpoint, we were under the falls--water churning and roaring just inches away. Our guide told us that a few times a year, a visitor commits suicide by leaping into the falls--no survivors, ever).

Suicide, Iguazú Falls

Jumping is the easy way
to become one with the world;
my way is harder

February 10

Filled with indelible memories, we disembarked. Before boarding our plane, we walked through the giant tortoise nature reserve, located on Santa Cruz island:

Once we reached Otavalo, a town in the Andes, we boarded a bus and headed for a hacienda, about 50 kilometers away, where we spent the night. The hacienda, centuries old, was magnificent. Our room was about the size of a floor of our house. We felt as if Simon Bolivar occupied an adjoining room—by the way, he actually did spend time at the hacienda.

In the evening, we were entertained by a group of indigenous musicians. They were so-so musicians; being a so-so musician myself, I gave them a good tip. After this, we all enjoyed a delicious farewell dinner.

The next—and last day—we were off to the market town of Otavalo. We had lunch at a local café, after which we had a good time shopping. We bought scarves, blankets and sweaters. We also participated in a demonstration of a master weaver—the old woman who gave the weaving demonstration turned out to be twenty years younger than I—AAGH!

This was followed by a visit to a music demonstration, after which I bought a little pan flute for my friend.

Next was a stop at the equator, where I bought a video and a book. Here is a picture of Nirmala and me straddling the equator:

                                Taken by her shadow, another photo of                                              Nirmala at the equator.

The way back to the airport was tedious, since there was a major accident, necessitating our driver to take a different route. We eventually reached our destination, the Wyndham Airport Hotel, where we enjoyed a dayroom—for about two hours!

We had uneventful flights back to Baltimore. A congenial group; excellent tour guides; unforgettable wildlife in a sublime natural setting—Did we have a good time? You betcha!

Dorsett is a retired pediatrician and a widely published poet.