It’s Alive!

First Impressions of Ecuador are repeatedly about its inhabitants; everywhere you go you see them. They are fantastic in number and variety. Here are a few as way of introduction.

You step out onto the beach – two doors down from your apartment. You step out into the surf and beneath your feet you feel as if you are standing on top of little pebbles. A quick glance confirms that you are standing on top of little creatures. You instantly try to step back so as not to crush them but then you realise that they are all along the water’s edge as far as you can see. There are thousands – hundreds of thousands – tiny sea shells, each extending moustache-like white tendrils as the waves recede into the sea, to filter the tiniest nutrients.

You marvel at the sheer volume of these little beasties as you stroll along the beach. You see a sand-dollar and squat to pick it up for closer inspection, it leaps out of your hand and you realise for the first time what they look like alive and why they have their peculiar configuration of holes. Each one a micro pump lined with filaments again filtering away in the surf. As it hits the sand three more emerge from their hiding places directly underneath it and then all are swallowed by the sea. As you look up at the sun reflected in the surf withdrawing you suddenly notice dozens of them; all being exposed by the water’s retreat and all popping up into the air for a brief moment as they are spun over. Like bursting bubbles on top of fizzy pop.

Further down the beach you stop and inspect more critters; there’s a tiny paper thin black worm hovering in its own cellophane encasing. There are little translucent-white guys that look halfway between a see-through woodlouse and a fossil – about the size of a fifty-pence piece. There are even miniature blue jellyfish-like inflated guys with stinging tendrils like in South Africa.

Your gaze is frequently drawn out to sea to the area 100 yards out where the waves start their break. Along this line in formation fly bands of pelicans; sometimes alone, more often in groups large and small. They seem to be doing endless laps up and down this invisible sea-line; observed haughtily by the less social frigate birds – truly the most evilly-aerodynamic silhouettes around; all caricatured angles of mischief. The pelicans will swing up and loop before adopting dive-positions, tucking their shoulders in tight, head-down and plummet straight into the sea looking for fish. Over by the rocks you spend a good twenty minutes watching a slender egret with brilliant yellow feet wading around hoping to catch it in action but it’s obviously had its fill, either that or its suffering performance anxiety.

When you swim out into the water, it is too turbulent to see any fish, too much sand. And the current is too strong to venture out past the breakers until you have a little more local knowledge. But the river that feeds out into it is delightfully calm and still. Over the brackish surface you see little flutters of silver as a dozen little fishies take flight. The mangroves and reeds along the sides seem a home for countless birds but you can’t catch sight of any – just their playful calls.

There are countless dogs roaming the beach; some with collars, most without. There seems no correlation with their shagginess or behaviour – all healthily sized, they are obviously in the right place to scrounge for food. They seem to have their own little gangs – and in the best tradition of gangs, they fight, play and well... dogging gets its name for a reason.

The dogs take up their positions in town at night; mostly benign, but one or two a touch menacing in the yellow light from the street-lamps. Wandering the town by day, you see the birds. Beautiful little grey fellas with blue wings hop through the branches. A red-headed woodpecker scales the telegraph pole. Hummingbirds flit in and out of gardens and around the banana trees. Beautiful orange-chestnut birds the size of pigeons perch atop walls and everywhere you see cocky roosters parading their turf. One morning you see a rooster sprint the entire length of the football pitch in the middle of the village dodging the three donkeys slumped in the box before crowing on the goal-line.

One night at the bar the heavens open, torrential water cascades and the street becomes rivulets then streams then... well ‘wet’ springs to mind. The barman grins and says to my companion, “You know what this means right?! grillos!!” I do not know what this means, nor do I know what grillos means, but the following day when I open my front door it is illuminated for me. There are about 15 crickets hopping around and chirping away in my front room. I try and sweep them all out the front door and am relieved that they are foolish creatures and easily outsmarted. Waking up to one flying around inside my mosquito net is less relieving. And when three join me in the shower the next morning we all just have a grand time jumping around to the innate rhythm of the surprised. No matter how many I sweep out the front door... “And stay out!!” there’s always a few more house-guests by the time I get home. 

Eventually you just get used to them being in both the kitchen and bathroom-sink and do a quick sweep with the dustpan before showering. They seem quite excitable during my trumpet practice and often try and join in. Which is infinitely preferable to the mosquitos that wait until I’m concentrating on a tricky bit and then jump me all at once. My current favourite flatmate is Gordon – the gecko; who waits for me in the shower-room to say a speedy hello before darting off into the cracks to start his day.

Waiting at the bus stop... ahem, the side of the road, you can see all these guys strolling out between the cars and motorbikes, first two donkeys, then a few dogs who take umbrage to a pickup and try and chase it down, then a few heifers. Just don’t forget to flag down the bus.