"I guess you may not pick up this message in time, but just in case, you may like to chat to Christina Chaya in Cuellaje, Christina runs a volunteer project in this parish too, and there's no reason why you shouldn't work with her too.
Otherwise, I'll wait for your call, and come down with a pony to meet you. -Ned"
Ned was right. I didn't receive his e-mail message in time. I arrived in Cuellaje, a small town that serves as a meeting ground for the seven parishes nearby, amidst the crowd of church-goers and vendors. The sun was already sinking behind the mountains.
"I guess I'll lay my bags down here for the night," I thought. I paid for my $6 hotel room, and walked to the village square to see if I could find a landline to call Ned and ask if he could meet me in the morning so we could travel together back to his house in San Antonio, wherever that was. But he had also said in earlier e-mails to feel confident with arriving in San Antonio on my own, so at this point I wasn't the least bit worried.
Momentarily I was distracted by a shirt vs. skin volleyball game in which the players were using a flattened basketball, and I became a spectator while I munched down my street-side papas fritas (french fries).
But Ned didn't answer. Instead I thought I'd engage in this networking game, so I tried to find Christina. After asking locals, I found her house, and yelled her name from the street (an Ecuadorian custom), but she never appeared. "Ah well, I guess I'll walk around and become more familiar with this place."
As I was walking, I ran into a Danish man who had come here to work as a forest ranger with the National Park Service. This man was all mouth and no ears, but he had some interesting things to tell me. From our conversation I gathered that slash-and-burn is unacceptable, eco-tourism will be established here within a few years, stricter property rights and land allocation need to be written into law, the government needs to take an invested interest in compensating farmers economically for not cutting down their forest, cities are for satanists, and the town of Cuellaje is ghostly and boring. (I will expand on these issues in later posts.)
"You know, I don't usually talk to foreigners. So consider yourself lucky. If you ever want to come say hi, I live in that house over there," he said as he pointed his wavy finger at some general direction.
"Alright, thanks," I replied, knowing fully well that I'd probably not see him again.
I retreated back to my hotel room and tried to read before I fell asleep, but my mind was speaking too loudly. The transition into isolation from the outside world had begun.
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