The dolphins show up pretty much every day, three or four of them at a time, surfing through the waves, not far from the surfers. It still surprises me, to see them so close to the shore. Their presence and behavior suggests their is still fish around here – even though the water is not very clean, sewage spills and beach closures happen quite often – but of course the situation cannot be compared to what is going on in the Gulf right now. I think of the dolphins there, and the pelicans, the fish, and all the little animals that are dying, as the oil continues to flow. I think of BP’s promises “to make it right”. How exactly would they do that? Setting up a bank account for the pelicans, the dolphins and the fish? Sending condolences? This whole business is like letting a serial killer go on, unchecked, just because he cleans up nicely after himself or sends a check to the victims families. No amount of money can ever bring back whole ecosystems for a catastrophe like this. No amount of money could bring back the ancient redwoods that have been cut or the rainforests that have been burned to the ground. The logic is all twisted here. Let’s allow these companies to do their business / poisoning the environment, clear cutting forests, causing cancer in people, in animals etc./ and then maybe ask them to set up an account for compensation and declare it a victory when they pay a few million dollars for the damages they caused. They continue to claim that what they do is safe, and that their technology is so advanced now, nothing bad can happen…Funny, with all this advanced technology, for months they still cannot figure out a way to stop the flow of the oil. There is a very good article by Naomi Klein(the author of Shock Doctrine and No Logo) on the subject of the oil spill,

(this is the link to the article) in which she points out, that contrary to our beliefs we have very little control over the processes in nature: “This Gulf coast crisis is about many things – corruption, deregulation, the addiction to fossil fuels. But underneath it all, it’s about this: our culture’s excruciatingly dangerous claim to have such complete understanding and command over nature that we can radically manipulate and re-engineer it with minimal risk to the natural systems that sustain us. But as the BP disaster has revealed, nature is always more unpredictable than the most sophisticated mathematical and geological models imagine.” You think that this would serve as a lesson of some kind, but apparently, no. There is still a push for more drilling, even in those states that are affected by this disaster. “The flow of denial shows no sign of abating either. Louisiana politicians indignantly oppose Obama’s temporary freeze on deepwater drilling, accusing him of killing the one big industry left standing now that fishing and tourism are in crisis. Palin mused on Facebook that “no human endeavour is ever without risk”, while Texas Republican congressman John Culberson described the disaster as a “statistical anomaly”. By far the most sociopathic reaction, however, comes from veteran Washington commentator Llewellyn King: rather than turning away from big engineering risks, we should pause in “wonder that we can build machines so remarkable that they can lift the lid off the underworld”.” ( Naomi Klein) Yes, we are really awesome.

And then last night I stumbled upon an article by Mike Kaulbars  (you can read it on newsjunkiepost ) who spins around the question, and asks: What if there had been no spill? What would have happened if the oil had gone into the tankers and onto their destination to become fertilizers, solvents, gasoline, plastic products? Where would it end up eventually? Pretty much at the same place. In the ocean. In the bodies of animals. In the bodies of humans. “The extraction of oil is a catastrophe whether it goes as according to plan or not. We are not talking about whether we save the Gulf or not – we are quibbling about whether we get to use the oil before it kills off the oceans. That is the only thing that is at issue. Either way we destroy the Gulf, so can we please stop pretending otherwise?”, says Kaulbars and he is right, of course. The real catastrophe, which he is drawing our attention, is the continued use of oil and our unwillingness to change our habits, our lifestyles, our consumption.

As we turn right onto the Rio Yasuni we spot a pink dolphin, which I take as a good omen. Alongside the river there are some clearings and settlements. After a while we get to the park entrance. There is a small house with a park-guard who seems genuinely happy to welcome some visitors. We pay the entrance fee and get some nice posters, showing the some of the animals of the park. It creates a little bit of a logistical problem (what shall we do with them, where to put them?), but then we continue down the river. After like two hours or so we get to a little “bay” where we unload our stuff and put up our tents. Sandro puts together a whole kitchen in a few minutes. I go down to the river and the first thing I see is a brown nose poking out of the water just a few feet away. Then it blows some bubbles and disappears. A manatee!! A call out to the others but we don’t see it again. Instead, there is a whole family of giant otters playing and hunting noisily across from our place. As soon as they notice us they hide among the vegetation.

giant otter in the Yasuni, photo by Ralf Darius

After our first meal we pile into the boat and go for a little ride. As the sun is setting down we see more and more pink dolphins surfacing. It is such an eerie sight – the water becomes almost pinkish with the sunset and then the dolphins, exhaling forcefully as the come up…amazing.

What is strange that we meet a boat inside the park and the family is fishing – as far as I understood, this is not allowed. Later we see more fishing nets at different locations and we hear quite a few gunshots in the distance – somebody is hunting…

Of course we try to do a short night walk around our campsite but the number of mosquitos is staggering (I think it is a new world-record) and we cannot take it too long – even though we are both wearing gloves on our hands and buffs to cover our heads and part of our faces. We see a few nice insects and spiders, like these:

leaf insect, photo by Ralf Darius

spider, photo by Ralf Darius

Then we climb into our tent, kill all the uninvited mosquitos and fall asleep.

During the next few days we explore the neighbourhood in, which usually starts with a boat trip and then we continue on foot.

the "road" is covered with flowers (photo by Ralf Darius)

photo by Ralf Darius

photo by Ralf Darius

It is funny – we are far away from every human settlements and I am eating some of the best food ever. Sandro is a really good cook and can whip up a fantastic dinner from 3 or 4 ingredients (maybe the secret is that little chimichurri that he puts into everything).

A few times we have a huge storm in the afternoon with some serious rain, but our tent is staying nice and dry. I sleep really good here, even though I have never before camped out in a rainforest and I was a little hesitant about the whole idea first.

our tent in the park

There are only a few shops around with some basic supplies. I crave some fruits, but only find apples and bananas and something else, which I do not recognize. The young guy from the hostel is eager to practice his English so he volunteers to show us around.  There is not much to show, though..We end up at the school field, where the some of the locals are playing basketball and volleyball, while some others are cheering on. One lady is walking around with a wooly monkey on a leash.

For dinner we are invited over to our guide, Sandro’s house where his mom makes us a delicious turtle-cayman-rice dinner. I opt for the rice. The fresh mango juice is fantastic, as always. It is raining hard as we walk (run) back to the hostel.

After getting adequately cleaned up I set up the mosquito bed above my bed and read for a few minutes. The room next to us is occupied by the young guys who work and live here, and they are extremely loud as they chat about girls, parties, and everything else that teenage boys can boast about. Around eleven I get fed up, jump out my bed and knock on their door. “Chicos”, I say “basta!” (My Spanish vocabulary is pretty limited). Fortunately my tone of voice is more than enough to put an end to the chatter and we all go to sleep.

Giant otters in Yasuni, photo by Ralf Darius

If somebody is not familiar with the issue: on the one hand, according to a few studies, Yasuni is one of the most biologically diverse place on our planet. And, on the other hand, it sits on nearly one billion gallon of oil. In 2007, the Ecuadorian Government announced a plan, to forgo oil development in the ITT (Ishpingo-Tambococha-Tiputini) area. “In exchange for forgoing the projected revenue from oil exploitation, Ecuador has sought financial commitments from the international community to support its transition toward a more sustainable economy”. Germany already offered around 73 million USD per year for 13 years, and seems like Spain and Belgium are also in the talks with Ecuador about a trust fund. If the project goes through, then the eastern part of the National Park would be permanently off-limits to oil-companies.

While during our Ecuadorian trips we spent a few weeks here and there, close to the Yasuni, for me Yasuni means that week that we spent camping inside the park with a native guide, Sandro. That was the first time that I stayed in a tent in the rainforest, far away from any human settlement, and it was one of the most memorable trips that I have ever taken – partly because of that 12 hour boat trip, that one has to take from Coca to Nueva Rocafuerte on an overcrowded boat (just kidding…well, not really. It is an awfully long ride.)

So, the starting point, as with so many other trips, was  Coca. We were trying to find a local guide, and at one agency they recommended us a guy, who had a restaurant, not far from Hotel Auca. We met him that afternoon, and he immediately started organizing a trip for the two of us – since the boat to Nueva Rocafuerte was leaving the next day, (on Thursday) we could start immediately. We met our guide, Sandro, and went for shopping – we needed to get our basic supplies for a week in Coca, so we bought meat, vegetables, fruits, oil etc. The next morning, at 7 we got on the boat – with a few dozen other people and their belongings, mosty products that they bought at the market and were taking back home. We got squeezed into a tiny corner – there was a very young looking girl with a baby opposite of me – she did not seem to be older than 14, but she was a very patient mother – or the little baby was an exceptionally good one, because the whole time she did not cry once (sometimes it strikes me, what a huge difference there is between European babies and babies in Ecuador, Peru or Madagascar. They seem to be so much more patient, not to be fussy at all – long rides on buses or boats do not seem to faze them whatsoever.: no crying, no hysterical fits…of course, I might be overgeneralizing…but I am not the only one. Jean Liedloff spent more than two years with a venezuelan tribe, the yecuana, and wrote a whole book about (among other cultural differences) how they treat and raise their children – it is called The Continuum Concept- In Search of Happiness Lost – a very interesting read on this subject – could deserve a whole new blog entry….)

As we slowly make our way down on the Napo River, there is not much to do, just to watch the riverbank (close to Coca quite a few settlements, then after Pompeya their number is dwindling down..) and our fellow passengers, who, after finishing a boxed-up meal or a soft drink, drop the trash into the river with no hesitation. Although, of course, what can they do with a plastic bottle? Take it home to their village and…burn it? bury it? let nature work on it for a few hundred/thousand years? Of course it is much simpler to get rid of it by letting it float away…(to be continued)

But putting definitions aside, I feel like experiencing withdrawal symptoms – not getting enough sunlight (ok, it is winter in Europe), not seeing enough wild animals (occasionally the calls of wild geese penetrates the gloomy November afternoons, as they fly over the city, but most of the birds are gone or stay silent), not being surrounded by wild forest, not being able to see the sunset because of the tall buildings …And I wonder: what does it do to our psyche? Is there a “nature-deficiency syndrome” that most of us suffering from without even recognizing it? We did everything that we could to protect ourselves from the whims of weather, from the chance encounters with wild animals, to break free from the natural cycles of days and seasons, and now it seems that in the process we succesfully cut ourselves out the tapestry of life. How can we keep that sense of connection to the web of life in an urban setting? How do we fight the feeling of floating around in an artificial bubble? How can we keep the passion that we feel toward the forests and all of its inhabitants when we are so far away from it? Lost in distractions, worried and depressed, how do we find what is real?

Getting information about the park or the forest again provided some challenges. We even managed to miss the park somehow…we kept on driving, waiting for an entrance or something, an in the end we had to turn back and ask directions at a little caffee house. They directed us to the Hotel Mladost (which seems to be the only accomodation in the area) where finally a receptionist spoke enough Englisht to give us some info about the park. He  gave us a brochure and showed us some of his own pictures on his computer. No map, nothing. Perucica can only be visited with a guide, and the price was just too high for our limited budget.

There are quite a few warning signs for landmines alongside the road to make visitors think about twice where they step out to take a leak…

The receptionist, that we talk to about a certain hike, mentions the landmines kind of casually – “yeah, I would not leave the trail in that area”. To further drive the point home, somebody, who looks like a hotelmanager walkes by – and he is missing an arm.

Other reminders of the war (or maybe it’s just a local custom?) are the handmade little shrines and memorial sites that can be found even on the most remote places, alongside the road – some of them just a piece of paper nailed to a tree trunk, with a black-and-white photo and a few words, others are made of black marble and a lot more elaborate.

The scenery is beautiful – black pines emerging from the steep rocks, deep canyons, hills covered with forests…

After getting the directions we start driving up the mountain. Despite the fact that we are in a National Park, we encounter two, fully loaded trucks…

First stop is look-out point, from where you can see the Skakavac waterfall (if you really stick out your neck). From there it is still an hour driving (on a dirtroad) up to the top. But what we found there is breathtaking…

Actually, what we first encounter is a serious-looking dog, guarding some sheeps…

The clouds are sitting on the top of the mountains, and as the sun sets, we have an incredible view over the park.

Looking at the map of Europe, it was kind of obvious for me that we should just go straight down, through Serbia or Bosnia-Herzegovina, but Michelin and all the other route-planning gurus kept recommending the Croatian freeway, all the way down to the coast. And in the end this is what we took. It is straight, flat, with lots of restrooms and caffees (and playgrounds – is this a new thing now? every gas-station and rest area has to have a playground?) – very convenient and comfortable. And expensive.

Even on the freeway it took us almost 12 hours to get close to Dubrovnik. (Ok, I admit, we stopped to jump into the sea as soon as we got a glimpse of it). And to take pictures, of course.

along the Croatian coast

The first night we stopped at a camping 30 kilometers from Dubrovnik, and continued our way toward Montenegro the next morning. Along the way we passed Dubrovnik (nice, but seems very crowded and hectic),

Dubrovnik

the Kotori-bay (also nice, except the empty plastic bottles floating on the water). Ah, and not to forget: to enter Montenegro, foreigners are asked to pay a certain amount (15 or 30 euro or even more, depending on the car size – try not to enter with a truck!) as an eco-tax (citizens of Montenegro pay it when they register their vehicles). The money is supposedely used for reforestation projects, prevention and reduction of pollution etc. Montenegro is very proud of the fact that it is the first “eco-country” in Europe – although I think the title is kind of self-created and considering the amount of trash at the side of the roads or the black exhaust fumes that come out some of the local cars’ tailpipes,  it is also questionable.

the trash is systematically placed alongside the road everywhere

The drive up from Podgorica towards the Biogradska National Park takes us into some deep canyons (actually, Tara canyon – with its 1300 meter depth at some places – is the deepes canyon in Europe – who knew?) At the bottom of the canyons there is always a crystal clear river running…as I read in the guidebook, Montenegro and Bosnia-Herzegovina has the cleanest rivers in Europe – most of the water is suitable for human consumption, without any further treatment. Isn’t that how it should be?

driving toward the north

The whole contry is under construction, new buildings are popping up everywhere. What strange is, that they seem to be very different. One house could be something like we would see in Austria or in the Swiss Alps, the other still resembles the communist era buildings, the third is more Mediterranean…like the whole country is still looking for its identity. Traditional lifestyle combined with modernity – next to the new buildings are haystacks, cows, firewood and sometimes a Hummer.

The lack of signs was sometimes disheartening. We consulted two maps, but some villages were not marked on either of them, so we just drove further, hoping that we were on the right road. (We were.)

The National Park itself is not too big, 54 km² and from that only 16 km² is virgin forest. From the entrance (where you pay 2 euro per person)the campsite is still 2 or 3 kilometers on a windy road. The camp is right next to the Biogradsko Lake, which is the largest glacial lake in the park (there are several others at higher altitudes.) It is funny to watch the tourists, as they pile out of the buses and crowd the floating stage.

"the swarm"

They go out to the end, strike a pose – like they are practicing to be on the America’s Next Top Model – go to the restaurant and pile back into the bus. The park is crossed off on their list.

The lake is a glacial lake, which means it is numbingly cold, and normally I would only dip my big toe in there – and even that would be accompanied with some whining and moaning – but the campsite does not have a shower for some reason, just a washbasin and cold running water from the tap – go ahead, knock yourself out – so on the second day I take a deep breath – and at least 15 minutes of mental preparation – and jump in. It is shockingly cold at first, but after a few minutes I get used to it and the word refreshing floates into my mind.

The first few days are about exploring, trying to get information…This is not easy. Only one of the rangers speak a few words of English, the others resort to wide gestures and loud voices. And to pantomimes – one of them shows his five fingers first, then puts both of his arms next to his ears and sways them a little bit. Takes us a few minutes to decode it: at five o’clock in the morning there is a big deer coming down to the lake every morning.

Biogradsko lake in the morning

the lake at sunset

What surprises us is the fact that there is a road slicing through the park and quite a few cars take it every day – SUV-s with tourist groups, old trucks with local farmers, etc.

a huge beech tree

Most of the visitors just walk around the lake – which is an easy, one or two hour walk. The locals seem to ignore some of the basic rules of the National Park – we see some women with huge bunch of rare flowers and most of the big trees serve as a memorial to declarations of love, or just as a billboard, letting people know that Vladimir was here in 1998. What is also strange that when we say hello, they tend to avert their eyes and not to say anything back…

in the forest

We enter the park from the West Entrance station.It is a cloudy day, the sun only breaks through the clouds for a few minutes at times.

on Park Boulevard

If you ever felt the urge to climb up on a pile of rocks, just because it is there, then you will have a field-day in this park. We pull over literally at every minute, because “Oh, I have to climb that one, too!!”

A pile of rock opposite the Hall of Horrors

Insights occuring to me during the climbs:

1. “It is not the top, it’s the climb.”

2. What goes up, must come down.

3. It is sometimes easier to go up, then to come down.

the view from one of our conquest

In some brochures they refer to these piles of rocks as “God’s marbles”, which is funny, because the way they are scattered it looks like God has lost his marbles….

And the trees…The weirdly beautiful, beautifully weird tress…The Joshua tree (Yucca brevifolia) is actually part of the lily family, and here grows together with is close relative, the Mojave yucca (Yucca schidigera) – sometimes in a plantation-like density.

"has seen better days"

It is April, and the desert is in full bloom…

a flowering cactus

wildflowers in the desert

wildflowers

rocks and cactus

growing up under a rock

nature's sculpture garden

Skull Rock

Natural Bridge

We take a detour and go down on Wilson canyon to see the Cholla Cactus Garden – and wow…

Cholla Cactus Garden 1.

Cholla Cactus Garden 2.

Cholla Cactus Garden 3.

Cholla Cactus Garden 4.

The sun is already on its way down by the time we make it to Indian Cove.

Indian Cove

(Still, the underlying sadness remains…It’s solid, like a rock.)

one of the rock formations in Bryce Canyon

The road signs are clear here, too: View point ahead, they say, like every fifty meters. And the view is really something – boundless space carved up by orange colored rocked formations.

looking out at the canyon

another part of the canyon

still life with a crow

The signs of fire are quite conspicuous at places…

a burned hillside

a charred tree

a charred tree trunk

The viewpoints are great, but I have a feeling that they somehow emphasize a certain outlook on things – looking down at natural formations, standing above them – the feeling of superiority…

chipmunks are everywhere in the park

a look into Bryce Amphitheater

So to get a more close-up look at the hoodoos (hoodoo – a pinnacle of odd-shaped rock left standing by the forces of erosion), we take the Navajo trail down towards the Queens Garden trail. (Those tiny speck at the bottom of the picture are actually people.)

starting out on Navajo Loop

Douglas fir on Wall Street

It is hard to watch our steps, because we are constantly looking up at the towering rock formations (the first part of the trail is called – very aptly – Wall Street)..If (for whatever reason) you ever wanna feel really small and insignificant, you can just take a walk here.

down on Navajo Loop

towards Queens Garden trail

Navajo Loop

climbing up on the end of Navajo Loop trail

the view from the end of Navajo Loop