Finding My Flock. Again.

"In the end, we will conserve that which we love. We will love that which we understand. And we will understand that which we are taught." --Baba Dioum

It was at The Black Sheep Inn where I was first moved by clouds. I was moved because they moved. Hurtling swiftly down from their usual heavenly station, blanketing the crumpled and patchworked hills of Chugchilan.

The clouds in Ecuador, I realized in 2005, move in a way I have never seen weather move. Benign weather. Not the fierce, catastrophic movement of hurricane winds or twister funnels. This was a daily change, one that silenced the outside world in a hazy hush, signaling the end of a day, time to retreat to a woodfire, a cookstove, a warm blanket. Edges soften. Light dims. The clouds begin their descent like curling smoke, slowly loosening their bits from the greater cover above, to trickle down as nebulous garland--trimming the mountains; in some places slicing them in half and splitting the view, hanging in the balance between high and highest. And then, suddenly swift, magical mists would unfurl in great sheaves, falling over everything, filling the canyon below, milky dew in a giant green basket.

The clouds were not the only thing that moved me at The Black Sheep Inn. I wrote extensively about my few days high in the central Andes when I first visited this astonishing eco-lodge in 2005. It changed my perspective about what possibility there is to do right by the world, the planet, and the community around you.

The following is an excerpt from an email I sent on June 25th, 2005. Suffice it to say, I was even more impressed the second time around...

"It is a funny thing how life takes you places you never knew you needed to go; how you can come away from somewhere you never imagined being in the first place, and then find it impossible to imagine you could have lived without that place as a part of your past. I feel this way about Columbia Street, about The Red Rail, Ghana, Ecuador, and now, strangely and specifically, about The Black Sheep Inn, an ecologically conscious hotel in a "middle-of-nowhere" village--Chugchilan--high (very high) in the central Ecuadorian
Andes. The hotel itself--meaning the actual structure and construction of both building and grounds--is an inspiration, one that would not exist without Andres and Michelle, a North American couple who traveled to that nowhere village 12 years ago, before there was something such as a hotel to draw them there.

They were a couple in their late twenties, backpackers,¨off the beaten path¨seekers, black sheep if you will, who wound up there and discovered that this nothing village was in fact full of somethings. As I said, when they arrived, this poorest of the poor villages making up what the guidebooks call The Quilotoa Loop, had no hotels and so they knocked on some doors until a family allowed them to spend the night. That night turned into 2 weeks, and that family offered to sell them land.

Michelle and Andres, I imagine, then followed that indefinable sense, that some kind of feeling which defies definition or explanation, and allowed their hearts, minds and imaginations to be free enough, to be open enough, to vast, inconceivable possibilities. Possibilities which are terrifying and fraught with anxiety, but possibilities which have the potential to make one´s life better, if not the best it can be.

They arrived with no intentions or plans to buy land and build a hotel, to make this place, this nothing village with a population of less than 200 indigena mountain farmers, their home. But because of their philosophy--which at the time they didn´t even know was their philosophy--to think widely, to focus on the positives of problems and find solutions rather than hiding behind the obstacles these problems presented, to be stewards of the land--they discovered that they had ended up, by chance or by some divine, unconscious design, exactly where they were supposed to be. And then they seized upon this crazy dream of an opportunity to buy land in a foreign country, to lay down roots in a community which had never seen the likes of them before, to "own their work," to work endless hours, to chance together and commit themselves to a dream they maybe never thought they had. They pushed beyond difficulties, beyond the anxiety and the fear and the unknowns that usually find us coming up with reasons why we shouldn´t or couldn´t do something, rather than looking for reasons why we should and could. They took an enormous risk that had no guarantees of happiness or success, except the guarantee that they could look at each other, and at themselves, knowing that at the very least, they had tried.


Well, The Black Sheep Inn is an enormous success, and Andres and Michelle, since married, have changed the face of Chugchilan in only positive ways. It is still very poor
but they have provided new employment opportunities to the community. Other locally owned hostels have opened up in their wake. They use local guides for horseback riding and hiking, setting a standard of payment and service which in other places is so often abused and manipulated. A cooperative transportation network has evolved, providing much needed income to those in the community who have a truck, and much needed transport to those travelers who rarely do.

The entire structure of the hotel is sustainable, built from local materials like adobe mud brick and straw, without depleting natural resources. They have composting toilets from which they fertilize numerous vegetable gardens and tracts of land where they are reforesting with native species of trees. In the combination greenhouse-bathrooms, you wash
your hands with biodegradable soap purchased in Quito, and rainwater that has been collected on the roof and stored in a cistern. Those sinks then drain into flower gardens in the bathroom which also thrive from solar heat through transparent roofs. Ducks and chickens eat the excess insects which come from the composting, and the eggs they lay are used in the cooking. All meals are organically vegetarian, harvested primarily from BSI's land, and they are delicious! Breakfast and dinner are served family style around a big, rustic farm table in the main lodge, bringing all the guests together where stories are shared, ideas exchanged, laughter erupts, and wine flows.

Every light bulb is low energy wattage and they are hard at work to get off the main electric grid by turning to alternative energy sources like solar and hydroelectric power. They recycle EVERYTHING! The walls of the shower are ¨bottle walls¨made up entirely of used soda, beer and wine bottles, and anything they can´t reuse on site (like paper, empty wine cartons, used tea bag wrappers, all of which feed the fires of their woodburning stoves), they personally take to Quito for further processing. There is more, so much more, like all the donations of funds, books, supplies, electronics, and appliances they have donated to the local school and clinic, or the programs they run with volunteers to teach computers to locals, or the workshops they´ve held on permaculture to educate, encourage and assist other families to preserve their environment and improve their standard of living. They seem to have thought of everything, but continue to evolve, expand, teach and learn as time goes on.

The Black Sheep Inn is not simply a "hotel." It is an experience. It is an inspiration. It is a place where they are committed to doing right by the earth, by the community, and to leaving the land in a better state than when they found it."

This year during my stay at BSI, I was able to ask more deliberate questions of Michelle and Andres, hoping they'd share with me a little bit of their wisdom and creative ideas. I was given a book from which they culled design information for their "gray water" filter--one they built themselves with charcoal, rocks, screens and reeds. I found out about "red worm casings," where to buy these lombris, and how they help make composting low maintenance. I hope to experiment with some of these new ideas at one of the farms
I'm visiting in the next couple of weeks, for the most important thing I learned at BSI is that these sustainable and eco-sound ideas are done with little if any "high-tech" gadgets or gear. These are all relatively simple, homemade, creative and innovative ways of protecting the only planet we'll ever have--one we've already done a terrifying job of screwing up. There are elements in every one of BSI's eco-schemes that we could and should employ in our own homes and in our own daily lives.

At night, after the clouds have settled and it is clear, the sky dims to lavender and trees stand in black silhouette, tall and silent, surrounding The Inn and bathed in this ethereal glow. They are pillars rising as evidence of a commitment to replenish, sustain and protect the natural world. The clouds, the sky, the colors, the mountains, even the compost toilets: I just take it in with all of my senses, even that tricky one which no one can ever really explain, wondering how the place and the land will come to live inside of me and what will emerge from its planting.

A 3rd World Bitch Slap Will Open Your Eyes

"True and serious traveling is no pastime, but is as serious as the grave." --Theroux
"There are no thieves in Ecuador. Only professionals." --Fellow Backpacker

The Linda I knew one year ago would have left. She would have paid to change her ticket and departed a week early. The Meghan I knew one year ago would have convinced her to. Why? Well, on her second day here in this fabulous little country, Linda was robbed by some fabulously talented (perhaps invisible) thieves. We were on a bus to Baños, a route targeted by thieves as it is the tourist destination in the country. I knew this. I was prepared. I gave my lecture about taking special care of her bag. And though Linda had her feet on her daypack the entire trip, they got in anyway, and removed her wallet. Just her wallet, without disturbing anything else in her bag, let alone us, as we chatted and laughed and reunited during the 4 hour journey.



We didn't discover the theft until much later that night, after she was alerted by American Express (god bless 'em) to suspected fraudelent activity on her card. That night was rough. We spent 45 minutes on the phone to the US (and, ironically, India) as she called to cancel her cards, and were informed the thieves had gone Christmas shopping immediately. At that point, the greatest loss was her beloved and handsome wallet and about $160 in cash. I had her passport and most of her cash strapped to my calf, and so once we joked about it and wished the thieves a Merry Christmas, she was really no worse for the wear, only a little bit wiser about the adept skills of Ecuadorian thieves.



Then, 4 days later, after a series of foiled plans, missed reservations, a bout of food poisoning, a headcold, several too-long, arduous, heinous bus rides, and a cold night spent in the Guayaquil bus terminal, the shit really hit the fan. We'd arrived at our first beach stop, one with zero sun and plenty of wind and rain, and on our second night Linda discovered that the checkbook she'd also lost, to which I said, "Oh, no worries, they can't do anything with that here!," had been opened and used, to the tune of nearly $7,000 in forged checks. Cashed no problema at a bank in Quito. Yeah, if we thought the night of the lost credit cards was rough, we were completely unprepared to deal with this on a Sunday night before Christmas. It was kinda meltdown central, but oddly more for me than for her. She needed me to be "a rock" and I was more like ugly mud. I was so angry, so frustrated, so sad, and felt guilty, responsible, all of those things. Linda had trusted me to take care of her, in a way, and though of course she didn't blame me, I blamed myself in many ways, and then felt guilty for making the catastrophe "my" problem. We were terrible company for one another that night. Nothing could be resolved until the morning when she could call home and talk to someone knowledgable at her bank about what recourse she had. This was her life savings, and she wasn't sure if she would be culpable for not reporting the checks stolen, too.



Long story made a bit shorter, Linda was NOT responsible for any of it, and her funds were returned in just 48 hours. And as soon as we arrived at the second beach, on Christmas morning, the sun literally and figuratively came out. The last half of our two weeks together were wonderful. And I am so proud of her--for letting Ecuador strip her of all sense of security, for withstanding and weathering this giant, 3rd world bitch-slap, for allowing this place to consume her in a way neither of us were expecting, and in a way no one should be consumed, but then, for not only recovering, but for thriving despite all of this. Linda truly let herself be here. And she stayed.



I got to thinking it was like Ecuador--or the universal force masking as Ecuador-- was forcing Linda to vacate, in every sense, her life in New York. And I was forced, to see my traveling-self through a friend's eyes. In my over eagerness to show Linda how awesome this country is, how much I love love love it, I ended up even spoiling the scenery. Linda was just so tired and frustrated and angry, that she basically refused to even look out the windows during our ample hours on busses, to enjoy the bountiful and breathtaking scenry as it passed us by. I was too ambitious, and had I been a little more patient, taken a less frenzied approach to her trip here, we may have avoided at least some of the problems we had. I went from being the laid back traveler with no set itinerary, to a mad-cap dasher of a pseudo tour guide with busses to catch and schedules to keep.

I went into my camp counselor mode, my girl scout self. I planned to do and see and go too much. I was so intent on Linda seeing this country as I do, wanting her to love it the way I have come to love it. But how could she? Two weeks is just not enough time. Between the 13 hour plane ride to get here, the less-than peaceful dorm room accomodaton, the altitude, the culture shock, the language barriers, all of it, one needs time to adjust. And I forgot about that. But once we settled into the easy palm tree sway-rhythm of Mompiche's beach, the pace of everything changed. And finally, I think, I hope, Linda loved Ecuador, at least just a little bit



I now remind myself: less is more. Think small. Go slow. It is a good lesson for life everywhere.


Ultimately, what happened to Linda forced us to slow down. And, it forged us yet another bond, found us ending up closer together than where we'd started.

After I left her at Quito's airport on New Year's Eve morning, I caught another bus alongside the highway to head back up to Otavalo in order to celebrate the festivities with my friends. I sat on the right. This was an unconscious decision. Just flopped where I landed, trying to avoid falling over as the bus swerved wildly back onto the PanAmerican. During that drive, I saw, for the first time, Laguna San Pablo--the sacred lake, reputedly a portel to the center of the earth. People had been astonished when I told them I'd never seen it. "But, it's right there, out the window on the bus from Quito to Otavalo," they cried. Maybe I'd never sat on the right before, or maybe I just hadn't paid attention. As I watched it glisten in the late morning sun, I thought of Linda. I cried again, sad to suddenly be without my best friend. And I took stock of how, suddenly, again, my vision was different.

With Linda here, I was awakened to the ugly. I saw the struggle, the discomfort, the fear, the scary parts of traveling. I was more conscious of how long a bus ride could be, how noisy, how bumpy. I couldn't sleep soundly, as I normally do, when we were in a dorm-room hostel. I heard every noise. I even shushed people! Wanting Linda to have a good night's sleep. I was paranoid about our bags being stolen from beneath the bus. (Never before have I jumped off, mid-ride, to check the undercarriage, making the controllador open the hatch so I could be certain our luggage was secure. With Linda, I did just that.) I mean, I knew all of this, but my awareness of these details were intensely hightened while trying to "take care" of my new traveling partner. I don't mean to say Linda needed special caring for, but it's like when you play one of your favorite songs for someone who's never heard it before. You loved it, enough to share it, but suddenly, with a new set of ears hearing it, you become conscious of how it might not be so great. "Is that chorus too cheesy? Does it repeat the same phrase too much? Is the beat annoying? The lyrics cliche? Do they like it?" You begin to doubt what you were so sure you loved. That was how I felt about Ecuador. "Is the scenery not as stunning as I'd thought? Are those clouds just like the clouds at home and not some supernatural phenomenon like I'd thought? Does she like it?" I have stopped doubting my love for Ecuador. It is as amazing as I believe. And I will never doubt my love for Linda. She helped me see.