San Martin

It all started with a fork.

Alone and sick in Cuzco and being forced to move to a new hostel, I wasn’t feeling particularly social. I journeyed down the hill and found a small comedor where I ordered something to go, determined to hide in my room. But the comedor didn’t have any plastic utensils, so when I got back to the hostel I sought out a fork from the shared kitchen area and promptly crept up the rickety stairs back to my room.

Overcome with exhaustion, I decided to just go ahead and pack first thing in the morning rather than that night, but figured washing the fork and returning it to its rightful place would be the decent thing to do. I headed for the sink in the courtyard outside the kitchen, and that is where I encountered Martin.

Tall and lean, his North American accent hid his true origins – part Argentine, raised in Colombia – as he kindly offered to wash my fork for me. And then, so naturally that I can’t even begin to trace the thread, we crafted a discussion about life, the universe, and everything.

Martin does not believe in coincidences, and he does believe in God. Some time ago, a pivotal event in his life was the catalyst that led him to dispose of his belongings and focus his efforts on truly living one day at a time, with intention, with connection.

By and large, I find myself a bit awkward around very religious people, as I had very little religion in my own upbringing and therefore feel out of my element. One of the remarkable things about Martin, however, is that I found his discourse on spirituality not at all discomforting, and so when he and his Colombian travel companion, Joel, offered to share some tea with me, I gladly accepted, and found that in this moment a cup of tea was not just a cup of tea. It was too perfect that I had just finished the book Three Cups of Tea; of course Martin would say that these things happen for a reason. Somehow, I had the vague impression that this was not the first cup of tea I’d had with Martin and Joel, and I do not think it will be the last.

The girl in the striped skirt

It's funny that Adriana was the girl who stood out to me our first weekend in the small indigenous community of Los Naranjos. We had just arrived from Quito to begin our month-long homestay and reforestation project with the people here, and that Sunday morning we all made the trek to the community school for a special ceremony honoring the national flag. All the girls arrived in their tuná, the traditional woven brightly colored skirts of the Tsa'chila tribe, and there in my line of sight was Adriana, looking pensive.

Fast forward a month, and the community came together once again, this time for our going-away party (despedida). Here was Adriana again, and inexplicably - her family didn't host anyone in our group so she had very little direct contact with us while we stayed in the community - she was quite attached to us. It was hard not to fall in love with her again as she wrapped her arms around my waist and informed me that she was really going to miss me when I was gone.

I suppose that might seem a bit strange, since this was the first time I had ever talked to her, but it was an enlightening moment to see that our presence in this community, though only lasting a month, and perhaps really only comprising a few moments, left many deep impressions.

Whoa, Nelly

I have to admit that the moment she started talking to us, a tiny seed of suspicion planted itself in my brain and sprouted the question, “what does she want from us?” I also have to admit that the sprout is still sitting there, but at the end of the day it will never become a full-grown tree.

Nelly is clearly a woman who gets things done, and she made no mystery of the fact that she was fishing for information and connections. Then again, when we saw her several hours later, while still waiting to see the doctor at the Santo Domingo hospital, she also went and tracked him down and made sure we were the first ones in his office.

Our first conversation started out like so many do when I’m traveling in developing countries; Nelly walked up to us and asked us where we were from in less-than-fluent English. It turns out that English came from her living in California for a few years, where her son was born. Nelly also shared with us her mission in life: to start a foundation in Santo Domingo that provides support and education for people with diabetes. That wasn’t the only thing she shared though; she also invited us to drop by her house for coffee any time we were in the city. Now here’s a woman you want in your corner.

A beautiful view

Marcelo is one of those people whom you might meet and discover that the cynic in you is thinking he is too good to be true, but then you quickly realize that he is the real thing. He is energetic and passionate about his work and his community, and I found that we fell into an easy rapport. It’s not all that common to find someone so easy to talk to, let alone someone so easy to talk to in Spanish. He was an immensely gracious host and adept teacher; thanks to Marcelo I experienced one perfect afternoon in what was otherwise a series of unfortunate events.

A combination of factors, including the timing of the national police force strike in Ecuador, led to Marcelo being introduced to me. He is a veterinarian who spent years doing research in the Galapagos but, upon returning to his home community of Bellavista on the coast of Ecuador, realized that there was much he could do for his community. Thus Bellavista began to earn its name in two ways: by literally improving the view through projects such as community-wide beach clean-ups, and by forming a vision of Bellavista as a sustainable community that works to protect its surroundings and reduce the environmental impact of both the small community and the larger neighboring town of Bahia de Caraquez. And what a beautiful vision it is.