Warning: Nature Overload

I'm a Florida girl, so I've had my share of SeaWorld. My first visit to the theme park was on a chilly November afternoon when I was a wee girl of five. I can still remember watching, enthralled, as "Shampoo the Killer Whale" appeared, hurtling through the glistening aquamarine water and bursting upwards in a magnificent arc.

Unfortunately, nobody told me I was sitting in the Splash Zone. And they should have, because I was a wee girl of five who happened to really, really hate getting wet.

Since that day, I've recovered from my traumatic experience enough to go snorkeling with rays, go scalloping in the Atlantic and even kissing a dolphin. However, I have NEVER seen anything like what nature has to offer at the Kenai (pronounced like "keen eye") Fjord here in Alaska.

I'm happy because I am getting pummeled by the cold wind and not splashed by orcas

My coworkers and I were lucky enough to catch a cruise tour of the fjord on a flawless May day. The sky was bright, the air was brisk, and the wind on deck was like someone incessantly pummeling you with a slab of ice. Luckily, I had a neat little spot inside (next to this cute guy named Blake) and a cup of hot chocolate to which I could return when I tired of having my face frozen.

Blake fell asleep so I decided he was boring and took this totally non-creeper photo

I didn't spend too much time inside, though, because I didn't want to miss any of the wildlife. And boy, was there wildlife. The Kenai Fjord offers a total OVERLOAD of wildlife. It's breathtaking. It's nature's SeaWorld. Who wants to sit in the stupid Splash Zone anyway?

To give you an idea, in this one day cruise I saw orcas, humpback whales, doll porpoises, bighorn sheep, sea otters, sea lions, puffins, auks, harbor seals, bald eagles and a disgruntled black bear. The orcas, whales and porpoises all swam right up to the ship, their glistening sides catching the Alaskan sunlight as camera shutters clicked and people gasped in delight.

Don't forget the landscape, either. Alaska has a beautiful exhibition of awe-inspiring, snow-capped mountain ranges, and watching an orca breaching with those jagged peaks in the background is spectacular. We saw several glaciers and were able to rest in the shadow of one, listening to the distant thunder of ice breaking free and crashing into the gelid water. The crewmen even netted a chunk of glacial ice and hauled it aboard for us to touch (spoilers: it was pretty much like every other piece of ice I've encountered). Glaciers feed nearly all the bodies of water here, and the result is that the rivers and lakes are a translucent aquamarine hue, while the ocean is a deep teal.

Basically, it was unlike anything I've ever seen across the globe. EVERYBODY SHOULD GO TO KENAI FJORD IN ALASKA. Kay bye.

(Now I just have to see a moose!!)

Alaskan Wild

Hi, it's me. Remember how I started this whole blog thing because I was moving to Ecuador? Well, there've been a few changes. You may have noticed the new banner at the top of the page, the new buttons down the side. Ecuatoria has undergone a facelift.

Ecuatoria has moved to Alaska.

You may be thinking, "wait, wasn't I just reading about the Amazon Rainforest?" or "did she seriously just move from the equator to the arctic?" or "I like turtles." Whatever you're actually thinking, it's true that you, me, we all are about to undergo some considerable cultural and climatic changes. Here are the facts:

1) I'm living in Alaska until the end of September.

2) I'm working at a resort lodge nestled deeeep in the wilderness.

3) Seriously, we barely get any wifi out here.

Living in Alaska has been an ambition of mine ever since my family moved to Florida over a decade ago. Now, I love Florida, but it has no mountains (unless you count golf courses), and it has weird seasons (hurricane season, lovebug season, summer, and this weird sunshiny-autumn-spring thing that occurs in the winter months). This inspired in me a fascination of all things Alaska. I checked out all the books on Alaska from our library (this was before the invention of the internet), collected pictures and postcards, talked to anyone who had lived there. And I determined I would someday traverse those wild, rugged slopes that dominated the Land of the Midnight Sun.

Or something like that.

So here I am. It's cold in Alaska. And rainy. Fruit is pricy. We're told never to walk alone because we might get mauled by a bear. There's no wifi. Also…there's no wifi.

However, the wildlife is incredible, the mountain ranges are spectacular (they're much bigger than golf courses), the people are super friendly and tight-knit, and I love it here! I love my coworkers and my job. I love that someone cooks my meals for me. I love that I can step out my front door and find myself surrounded by soaring, snow-capped peaks, or listen to the crystalline river, or watch a bald eagle navigate the cloud-swept sky. Everything here is huge, wild and rustic. The air smells of pine. The sun never seems to set. Welcome to summer in Alaska.

the rainforest is very cool (and very hot)

I grew up with a brother adorably obsessed with all things Amazon. When we were young, he got his little hands on a book entitled, "How To Survive the Amazon Rainforest" (dying in the Amazon, it seems, is not all that hard and requires very little skill). Living in the sandy scrub forests of Ocala, Florida, my little bro and I would act out each of the steps to the extent of our ability––constructing shoddy shelters of palmettos, gathering bugs for food, even brushing our teeth with charcoal (apparently, this somehow heightens your chances of survival and all the cool outdoorsmen do it).

"Don't say anything, but there's an alligator right behind the cameraman."

Fast forward eight years and––bam––my little brother and I are no longer pretending. WE ARE STANDING IN THE AMAZON RAINFOREST. All those library movies about the rainforest, all those hours spent buying things on Amazon.com, all those nightmares I had from that book about that guy who gets lost in the rainforest and almost dies but somehow survives after hallucinating, getting parasites, nearly drowning, being half-eaten by termites and chased by a jaguar (it's a great book and everyone should read it), they all have payed off.

Close your eyes. Envision it. Be in the rainforest.

The air wraps around you. It is thick, wet, heavy with the sweet scent of flowers and rotting vegetation. Spots of sunlight dot the ground and the verdant river that slides across the shadowy bank. The plants grow in layers––tall, slender trees the form a canopy; a middle, sparser group; then thick, thick floor vegetation that brushes your legs and rustles softly as you move, like breaths in and out. Each step flings drops of water, each foot sinks a little into the soft, black ground.

Frogs. The voices of thousands of frogs fill the already-heavy air. There is no wind, but monkeys scramble through the tree tops, causing the branches to shudder. The occasional shriek of a macaw or other brightly-plumaged bird rips through the hum of insects and a yellow tree frog springs across your path. You can see his soft, black eyes rest on you, watch you for a moment, then he slinks forward and nestles beneath a leaf larger than a dinner plate*.

And that is the most important thing about the Amazon Rainforest: it is alive. There is so much life, the forest thrums with it, the river overflows with it, the air sings with it.

*Or your big head.

I'm on top of the mundo!

Take a good, long look:

Look fun? Inviting? Like something you'd care to do? Well, if you enjoy breathtaking heights, breathtaking views, or breath-freshening mints, then the Teleferico in Quito is the place for you! (Okay, liking mints is not a prerequisite for this place, even though you are in a small, confined cable car with several other people for twenty minutes where fresh breath is important!)

The Teleferico is a gondola lift that runs up the peak of Pichincha, a volcano overshadowing the bustling, high-altitude city of Quito. It's a twenty minute ride and, honestly, I wish the cars would move a little faster––now wouldn't that be fun?! :D

About halfway through the ride, we slipped into the clouds and found ourselves surrounded by swirling, undulating gray and white. A little disconcerting, a little cool, a little like a scene from Jurassic Park.

The clouds ended just at the top of the peak and the end of the ride. Now, this place is a major workout for your lungs. Once you step out of the gently-moving cabin, you'll discover that ordinary activity requires a great deal more effort than you've previously experienced. Walking up the slope here leaves you feeling about as agile and energetic as Jabba the Hut.

This quiet shack looks down on Quito's skyscrapers

Oh, just another llama. #nbd

Welcome to the top of the world! You've now gone from over 10,000 ft. to nearly 13,000 ft. It's cold and blasted by a brittle wind. No trees grow here. Nothing lives up here beyond a few birds and Emperor Kuzko's cousin. In the little fog-shrouded gift shop you can find a flavored oxygen bar to help you get some breath back. You can also find some breath mints, in case you forgot those.

Whether you wish to feel invigorated, uplifted, or just plain "fuzzy," we have the stuff for you!

We spent a couple hours wandering the grassy landscape (taking several shameless breaks to stop and catch our breath). Eventually, the clouds began to thin and a sweeping view below was unveiled, the skyscrapers of Quito on one side of the peak, the rugged Andes on the other. 

When the time came to head back down, we complied––a little eager to no longer feel like a herd of slugs sans lungs––but the hour we spent up above the clouds was an hour spent in a different world. A world, far, far removed from any place I'd ever been.

What happens in Baños…

Let's clarify a few things before you start cracking bathroom (baños) jokes. It's a place. In Ecuador. It's called "Baños." Kay bye.

Baños is the theme park of the jungle. It's set at the base of an active volcano––the kind that actually looks like the volcanoes we see in movies; cone-shaped with smoke seeping from the top––and surrounded by the HUGEST MOUNTAINS EVER, which are covered in waterfalls, which are swarming with man-eating piranhas. It's a cool place.

Regan and I decided to be audacious and––despite all the robbery and kidnapping stories we'd heard––took a four-hour bus ride out to the much-aggrandised Baños for our last weekend together. Baños was totally worth the eight hours I spent envisioning what I'd do if robbers jumped onto the bus and demanded all our stuff. Yup.

Roasted guina pig anyone? If not, you can buy some taffy at one of the 5,695 taffy shops in town. Literally, ever other shop sells taffy.

After we'd explored the town a bit, we took a taxi cab around, stopping to view all the waterfalls that plunged into the furious river below. The mountains, swathed in jungle-green and brimming with birdcall, towered above us. I've never felt so small as I did gazing up and around me. They were just…so…big.

Oh. Also we jumped off a bridge. And I'm not talking your boring old jump-off-a-bridge-into-the-creek-to-cool-off kind of jumped-off-a-bridge. I'm talking we-stepped-off-a-bridge-and-plummeted-down-through-the-canyon-to-finally-hurtle-back-and-forth-over-the-crashing-rapids-below.

That kind of jumped-off-a-bridge.

We screamed and we laughed and we scream-laughed as our heart rates increased to astronomical speeds. I felt a deep, warm, honey-sweet feeling at having conquered something like that.

Our lives will never be the same.