Noah's Travel Journal - South America, First Entry

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My departure from home and arrival in Ecuador

The early morning excursion to Portland's airport was accompanied by farewell wishes from my parents. I went from the embraces of those who hated to see me leave, into the clutches of those who were geniuinely unpleased with my arrival at the terminal. I was informed that the in-depth security checks I recieve every time I get my boarding pass are random, but if I could beat the same odds anywhere else, I'd move to Vegas. Looking slightly dismayed that my syringes weren't accompanied by the appropriate contraband, the security personel waved me on with the magnetic wand I had gotten to knoiw so intimately.

I bounced down the concourse walking taller than I could have imagined. Surges of adrenaline or some other fantastic bodily chemical hit me along with the realization of what was now underway. Glamorous three course meals of yoghurt, raisins and a granola bar, followed me from Portland to Denver, and again to Miami. Due to mechanical malfunctions, the flight to Quito, Ecuador was wisely delayed until the next morning. I watched as chaos reigned over travelers with itineraries lacking a margin for error. The futility of stress didn't escape me as I ate $20 of free food in my complimentary five-star hotel room. Thank you American Airlines.

As I dosed myself up with insulin on the plane before breakfast, my Ecuadorian seat partner informed me of her newly diagnosed diabetic brother. The epidemic is alive and well judging from the two Ecuadorian stewardesses with relatives who also penetrated their abdomens with needles on a daily basis. The extended layover proved fortunate because our flight cruised into Ecuador in broad daylight. The agitated airline patrons were soothed by unobstructed views of the apocalyptic volcano Cotopaxi, a patchwork quilt of agricultural plots, and mountains whose lush, grassy tops were as unmarred and perfect as a newly felted pool table (on only a slightly larger scale). I was led away from the airport by two men in sunglasses, leather jackets and wide-brim hats. "Welcome to the equator, Mr. Moore. We must move quickly as they are on to your alias, Funky Diabetic," the tall one informed me in a broken Russian accent.

The two ex-patriots turned out to be none other than my younger brother Zan, and his college friend, Wes. I slid into the city with as little splash and turbulence as a ten-point dive. Before I knew it, my two tour guides had whisked me to a hostel for a jam session on guitars and a makeshift water jug drum, and then out for a foot tour of Ecuador's capital. My tour guides took my lungs' condition very seriously and decided that a 12 mile jaunt up into the hills containing the city's largest park, was just what I needed for acclimating to Quito's 9,200+ ft. elevation. After jumping down a downhill BMX course we returned home to quiet my screaming lungs and bang out more rhythms on the drum, conveniently sold in every store in the city.

My second day in Ecuador and the sickness had already found me. We escaped the city by bus hoping it couldn't follow our tracks. We were halfway up a hike into the nature reserve of Papallacta when it grabbed my brother who had dropped his guard only for a moment. Thankfully we were crossing a bridge, so at least the fish could extract some nutrients from the lunch that was lost to the river. After the hike I was led to a heavily guarded gate enclosing a multitude of thermal pools. I paid the entry fee while Zan insisted on doling out another generous helping of lunch to the small forms of life living in the dirt next to the ticket booth. The soak in the pools supplied enough energy for us to hike to a main road and catch a bus back to civilization. Upon arrival, Zan guarded one of our hostel beds while Wes and I braved the onset of fatigue and went dancing. Feet throbbing, we felt confident that we'd balanced out our bus travel time with an obscene amout of physical activity, and called it a night. Exercising all day, every day works wonders for balancing blood sugars out, as well as conserving the precious supply of life-sustaining insulin that is all but non-existant away from the largest urban areas.

A late lunch, compliments of my brother's host-mother Susana, was the first Ecuadorian meal served to me that spanned all food groups and was also prepared with purified water. Again, my insulin injection fostered conversation of diabetes in Susana's family lineage, and forced me to dig deep for my Spanish medical vocabulary. I logged some much needed time on a skateboard before we shouldered our every possession, well-packed and mobile, and boarded a bus for Latacunga. Our one night stay rendered Wes as sick as the dogs roaming the streets around our hostel. Two down, one lucky diabetic to go.

The next morning we stocked up on fresh fruit and veggies at a huge open-air market with every type of Ecuadorian delicacy imaginable. By far the most impressive sight were the papayas larger than a robust infant. The bus to our hiking launch point, Isinlivi, was overcrouded to the point of suffocation, but the number one rule of thumb for Latin American public transportation system is: there's always more room. The bus driver was happy to accomodate the crazy gringos who consciously volunteered to make friends with 20 chickens tied together on the roof. Many wind-blown feet of vertical elevation later, we hopped off and headed to the local hostel where our trail originated from. We made it half an hour down a slope before sickness halted our progress by a stream. We ultimately constructed a shelter out of two army ponchos (indispensible for adventuring) and prepared for a bone-chilling evening.

I was roused out of a nightmare by a rather severe bout of hypoglycemia. The catch was that I felt too ill to eat. I cautiously ingested a pack of Skittles and hallucinated while I waited for my aching body to stop shaking. The dilema was this: to spew or not to spew. My normally cast-iron stomach was desperately in need of a pressure release valve, yet I still needed to leach the sugar out of the candy to ameliorate the dire-betic straits I was in. I finally got the one second warning and lunged as far away from the shelter as possible. And then there were none. Over the next many hours and lunges, I ran the well known gammut of illness: 1) Thinking you're dying, 2) Wanting to die, 3) Realizing you can't die no matter how bad you want to. If I could duplicate at will the abdominal muscle contractions I experienced, I could join a sideshow circus and have 2x4's broken over my stomach all day long.

Sunrise was so beautiful I refrained from vomiting for at least 30 minutes. We eventually hiked back to Isinlivi and tried to recuperate. We did some gardening for the hostel before sunset, with the most unbelieveable mountain scene as a backdrop. Warm food, fresh mint tea and a raging fire made me so relaxed that Scrabble became a real chore.

Pretending to feel up to par, we set off once again for the village of Chungchitlan. Admittedly we had weighty packs, but being passed by indigenous women hauling babies up the same mountain slopes was a humbling blow to the ego. We arrived at the city with a need and an inability to stomach whole food. The hostel took care of us with plenty of water, soup and bananas while we prepared for the final leg of the Ecuador indoctrination outing.