Sunday (10-26-2008). Machala, Very Disturbing Moment at Puerto Bolivar, Jambeli

Javier´s race was in the somewhat distant town of Pasaje, so we had to choose between four hours of watching cars zip by or going to Jambeli. So under Javier´s recommendation, we dropped our bags off in a secure room at the Loja Ejecutive bus station (a feature we had no clue was an option) and his friend, another fast-driving race-car champion dropped us off at Puerto Bolivar.

$2.40 roundtrip a person got us each a ticket on the taxi boat that drives back and forth from the port to the beach. Despite the less than sunny weather everybody seemed to have the same idea. At least, we thought they did. At the edge of the dock where we waited for our ride, a huge crowd had accumulated. We couldn´t imagine how the 40 passenger boat could possibly fit that many people, so we edged to the front in hopes of getting a seat. As the incoming boat neared, the crowd became a bit antsy. A strange excitement filled the air. That’s when we noticed how many were holding cameras, searching for the perfect angle for some grand moment that they seemed to be anxiously awaiting.

Javier had mentioned last night that the president of Peru was in town. We assumed he must be about to dock. The sudden presence of police-officers pushing the crowd aside to clear a passageway seemed to confirm this fact—but something didn´t sit right. And as the boat docked, an acrid smell came with it and a large black plastic bag with something stuff jutting out at odd angles inside of it. The police lifted it onto a metal platform and carried it through the passageway. The smell and the crowd followed in an expressionless procession. No remorse, no tears. It just was. They seemed to hold no connection to the victim except a morbid curiosity. It was one of the strangest acts of voyeurism I have ever witnessed in my life.

Later we learned that it was a man that had drowned five days ago and had washed up on the shores of Jambeli earlier that morning.

Somber and disturbed, we boarded the boat with the few remaining members of the crowd.
The shuttle boat:

Ryan struck up a conversation with a man carrying a bucket of fish and I watched the scenery. The journey across to the island was not half as long as the journey through the canal that cuts through center of it, but this part was filled with awesome sights and hundreds of cranes that sat atop of trees and caught birds in the river.



Ryan´s new pal, the man with the fish, invited us to dine at his restaurant that he ran off the shore and so we followed him. He placed a bowl of coastal plums in front of us and we enjoyed our freshly prepared seafood, all of which had just been caught. The man who runs the establishment has nine sons, many of whom contributed to the morning´s catch that we now consumed as part of our meal.

Coastal plums:

They also had these adorable cats:



Away from the main playa, the beach was not half as clean. We walked the shore discovering everything from barnacles on milk cartons to numerous very large dead turtles and porpoises in both the skeletal form and the freshly dead.




We also eyed the natives’ wooden homes surrounded by coconut groves.

This rancid sight didn´t stop us from taking a dive into the cleaner portion of the beach where most of the people swam. There was limited sun but the heat was becoming oppressive. In this part of Ecuador, the hottest season is in December.

We ventured back to Puerto Bolivar and made our way via taxi to the bus station where we caught our bus back to Loja—a very long drive through the mountains that despite the darkness still revealed riveting scenery. Everything felt different on the way back to Loja. I am not sure why.