Living in Neverland: Working on the Ecuadorian Coast

Two Brits, an Irishman, and an American girl were living on a farm on the coast of Ecuador….sounds like the beginning to some terribly tacky joke, doesn’t it? And yet, this is what my life has been for the past three weeks. My first week in Ecuador was spent living in a hostel on the beach, and hanging out with my friend who came to visit – this experience will be described briefly at the end of this post – but once he left, my ‘authentic Ecuadorian experience’ began.

Prior to my arrival, I was under the impression that this horse operation that I would be working for was 1 – located on/very close to the beach and 2 – that it was a functioning horse tour company and that I would be getting to help take out rides. Within hours of my arrival, it was apparent that this was not the case. While not far (about 14km) from the beach, the place where I was living required two, occasionally just one, hitchhiked rides to reach the beach town of Canoa, and another one or two to return. The farm that I was living on, Rancho San Antonio, was hidden in the tropical rainforest-like area that is a bit inland from the coast and made up of gently sloping hills covered in banana and papaya trees, and endless fields of corn.

my home in Canoa

And instead of an established, formal tour company, I found myself being adopted into a hilarious, loveably disorganized, chaotic, hard-working family. Every day brought a new surprise, a new mini crisis, a change in plans, or some laughable predicament that had to be solved. And Zia and Graeam - the couple that I was living with - did more than just horse tours. Zia was also a baker, sausage maker, runs an animal rescue, and is the unofficial town vet. Graeam is a fix-it man, constantly installing air conditioners, fixing computers, or working on the house, not to mention being a pig farmer. Point being, while my primary focus was the horses, these two constantly had to divide their focus to include a zillion different projects at any given time. Thanks to the massive earthquake two years ago, their house had crumbled and they were in the process of rebuilding, which was turning out to be a slower process than expected. While the kitchen area is fully functional, the rest of the house was basically an open space with an open loft upstairs. This is where Zia and Graeam slept, along with all of the Chihuahuas. I had a deluxe tent outside, including electricity and a proper bed...definitely glamping!

nap time with Bean, Frankie, and Moose

Along with the human family members came 14 dogs, 10 horses, 1 foal, a few pigs, and a cat...I was in my personal paradise! Every time that I tried to sit in a hammock to read or take a nap, my lap was immediately bombarded with Chihuahuas, often three or four could fit in the hammock with me. As much as I wanted the nap, I loved having all of these dogs to cuddle with! As a volunteer, my job was to work with the horses to keep them in shape and remind them of their manners when needed, so that when we had guests to ride them, everything would go smoothly. So, every day the various noises of tropical birds would wake me up around 6:30am, I would lounge around and read for a while as I ate breakfast, and waited to chat with Zia about the day’s plans. Usually, the plan was for me to ride a horse from their house to the ranch where the other horses were kept, switch to a new horse for a 2 hour ride or so, then switch to another horse to ride back home. In total, I would ride about 5 or 6 hours, and work with at least three, sometimes four, of the horses each day. The most convenient ride to do from the farm was to ride down a dirt road and head to the beach. Seeing as how I did this route about 5 times a week, everyone along the way came to know me and would wave as I passed by. Most people were quite friendly, and I was happy for the notoriety and friendly familiarity. However, there were a handful of individuals – all men – who took to calling me “Princessa” and would either offer horse advice or whistle cat calls as I rode by; fighting the urge to charge my horse at them, I opted for the slightly more mature response of ignoring them.

good thing its an empty beach :)

Nemesis and I about to go for a swim

Once you navigated the dirt road filled with people, barking dogs, and an occasional vehicle, you reached this massive stretch of mostly-empty beach. A nearby sign proclaimed it as “the most beautiful beach in the world,” and while this is far from true, it did provide the perfect place to gallop horses along the sand and splash around in the waves. For all the years that I have ridden, I had never gotten to ride on a beach before, so for the first few times, this ride was a novelty to me and I loved it! I think the horses enjoyed it, too; whenever we reached the soft sand, their ears would perk up and they would get some more pep in their step. As we raced along the beach, the horses’ manes whipped around in the wind and their hooves kicked up sprays of water; it was amazing! After we had gone a ways down the beach, I would always jump off, untack the horse (except for the bridle), strip down to my bra and underwear (like I said, it was a mostly abandoned beach), and off we would go to play in the ocean! This was always my favorite part of the beach ride – although not something we did with guests. Seeing as how it was usually blazing hot and fairly humid, this time in the water was a reward for both the horse, and myself. Eventually we would head back to the ranch where I would switch to a new horse and head back to Zia’s house.

another day at 'work'

The ride to and from Zia’s house was my least favorite part of my work there, and I was always thrilled when Zia was able to offer me a ride instead of having to take a horse. The route between her house and where the horses were kept was half dirt road and half paved road. The dirt road was never that bad and always seemed to pass quickly, but the tarmac portion could be brutal sometimes, especially if you were riding back in the afternoon. Riding on that black surface just intensified the heat and was little fun for me or the horse. Sometimes it would be so hot that I would feel bad for the profusely sweating horse beneath me and would get off and walk alongside it. Adding to the discomfort, was the volume of traffic on this road. It was never anything crazy, like what we call ‘traffic’ back home; it was just a handful of large lorries, speeding buses, and noisy motorcycles that would fly by scarily close to you, beeping their horns as they did so. The horn honking was meant as a friendly gesture, but it could be a bit nerve-wracking when it caught your horse by surprise and made them jump. Luckily, all of these horses were amazing and level-headed so they knew not to do anything foolish when riding by the road and we always made it home safely. Reaching the large gates guarding Rancho San Antonia was akin to reaching an oasis in the desert: water and mangoes for the horses and a cold shower for me!

My favorite days were ones where Zia would drop me off in the mornings and be there to pick me up in the afternoons. Not only did it allow me to skip the tarmac ride, but it gave me the ability to ride more horses and go more places. I could easily ride a horse to the beach, take another horse to ride down dirt/grass side roads, and then hop on another horse to go explore the land behind the ranch. This was always my favorite: you were never quite sure what you would find back there. Although a lot of the land was fenced in, to me, a gate without a padlock might as well have a “Welcome” sign on it, at least that’s how I treated it, of course always making sure to shut the gates behind me. On these rides it was not uncommon to hear howler monkeys and numerous tropical birds, see colorful iguanas, or happen upon a herd of cattle grazing in the tall grass. My favorite horse, Nero, was the best for these rides: he would go anywhere! Plowing through grass well over his head, up steep hills, through the tangled forest; it didn’t matter, he would go. He was a bit of a project horse and it made me so so happy to see his progress each time that I rode him. He had come from an owner that was quite rough with him and would intentionally rile him up to ‘show off’ for his friends. As a result, whenever Nero felt scared or confused or unsure, he would lapse into these neurotic behaviors and it was up to the rider to make him feel safe and let him know that he didn’t have to perform these ‘tricks’ anymore. Another horse that won a special place in my heart was Alva. She had been a brood mare for four years, doing nothing but getting fat in a pasture and popping out foals. When I first started riding her, she could barely make it an hour without being worryingly sweaty, and forget about cantering on her. However, every other day I exercised her, and on my last day of work, we put a guest on her and she cantered down the beach with the rest of our horses!! I felt like a proud mom. While I had favorites, I loved all of those horses and saying goodbye to them, and the dogs, was brutal. In fact, it surprised me just how much I had become attached to this place, these animals, and of course, the people that brought me there. I really felt like part of their family and saying goodbye was pretty tough. The feeling of sadness lingered for a few days, but has slowly diminished as I have gotten to experience new places and new adventures.

the reason that Nero is my favorite: he goes anywhere!!

***scroll down for picture of all the animals!***

- - - - - Canoa Town - - - - -

Canoa beach

post first surf lesson

The little beach town of canoa was comfortably monotonous in its day to day life and weekly rhythms. In the week that Tyler and I spent there, it became apparent that this place was the definition of a "sleepy little surf town," at least during the weekdays. Monday through Thursday the town was inhabited only by locals, dedicated surfers, and a handful of tourists that found their way here. Surfing was king. Every hostel and board rental shop displayed tide charts and had daily announcements for the best surfing times. Life revolved around the waves and the ocean: if you weren't surfing, you were in a hammock or on the beach, waiting for the next round of waves. If surfing isn't your thing, then you are out of luck and should probably go somewhere else. Fortunately Tyler and I discovered that we really enjoyed it and were happy to rent boards every day and practice, aka wipe out 10 times then stand up once, repeat (at least for me). The laconic lifestyle almost made you feel guilty, but then you realized there was no need for guilt, this is what you do in Canoa, it's part of the charm. And somehow, even though we didn’t do a whole lot day to day, the time flew by!

Every day we were up and about by about 7am, would walk along the beach or have a leisurely, prolonged breakfast and cup of coffee before heading out for the 11 o’clock waves. A break for lunch, some hammock time, a little siesta, then, if you were feeling it, another round of surfing before watching the sunset from the beach and heading out for happy hour and dinner. During the week days, it is useless to wander the streets looking for people to party with. The place shuts down by 9pm, with everyone tucked away in their homes or hostels, getting a good night's sleep so that they can be ready for the early morning waves. Tyler and I had no idea of this pattern when we first arrived and fruitlessly wandered the streets, pleasantly buzzed from a combination of sunshine and fruity cocktails, and looking for people to hang out with. No luck... until Friday night and the weekend.

On the weekends this place came to life! Hundreds of people flooded in from nearby cities to enjoy a weekend at the beach with their friends and families. While sitting on the beach during these busier days, you are surrounded by children playing in the sand then racing to the water as their dogs stand by, on lifeguard duty; you can make out the silhouettes of diehard surfers, determined to catch the last waves of the day as the sun sinks into the ocean; couples with intertwined hands sit on washed up logs or lounge on blankets. It is a tranquil scene, yet bursting with energy at the same time. While the influx of people was a welcome change of pace, the downside is that since these people did not live here, they did not demonstrate the greatest respect for the beach and by Sunday evening the beach was littered with trash. However, the locals seemed to have system in place and by Monday afternoon, the beach was restored to its cleaner state and the tranquil calm reigned again. During Tyler’s visit, we spent most of our time barefoot, meandering the sandy streets of Canoa in search of something other than rice and seafood for lunch, or lounging in hammocks at the chilled out hostel, Coco Loco, or paddling into the waves on our surfboards, hoping to catch a decent wave. It was a completely perfect week, and a great introduction to life on the coast.

waiting for his human

I took a bit longer to figure it out...

Tyler got the hang of surfing really quick!

Let me just say that surfing is way harder than it looks! At least for those of us lacking balance. During our lesson, Tyler and I each had an instructor by our sides coaching us along and helping us to catch waves, aka the whitewash after the waves had already crashed. Thirty minutes into the lesson, while I was still struggling to stand up on board and battling my bathing suit top, Tyler was popping up on his board with ease. I was so envious, but I just couldn't figure it out. At one point, towards the end of the lesson, I finally managed to stand up on my board and 'ride a wave' in, yelling, "Estoy la Princessa del Mar" (I am the Queen of the Ocean!), as I did so. Then I lost momentum and fell over and was brought back to my humble reality: that I was a terrible surfer. Still, I was not deterred, and after our lesson, we rented boards to go practice some more. Again, Tyler was able to consistently stand up on his board and look like he knew what he was doing. Me, I was floundering. I could paddle through the waves without a problem. I could time it perfectly so that I was sucked up on top of the wave as you are meant to. But every time that I tried to stand, it resulted in a new kind of wipe out. Off the back of the board, the side, the front; head first, feet first, falling like a tree. I invented a million ways to wipe out that day. It was not until the second day - as Tyler is trying to figure out how to turn in the waves - that I finally manage to stand up on my board! Once I did it a few times, I gained the muscle memory and was able to pop up without a problem! Forget turning, I was thrilled to just stand on the board as the waves rushed me towards the shore. Admittedly, I sometimes got on bigger waves than I should have and was a bit terrified at the velocity and power that I felt, and would opt to knee board in in lieu of a rough wipe out. However, during the month that I spent there, I got plenty of practice and gained the confidence, and ability, to actually ride a proper wave. How do I know that I was now a legit surfer? Because after riding one wave that felt like it was 10 feet tall - but was probably only about 4 or 5 feet - another surfer, who I had seen out there every day, paddled over to me and gave me a fist bump, a nod, and toothy grin. Yessssss, I was in! And so this is how I spent my days off from work: I'd hitchhike to the beach, rent a board, catch waves until I was exhausted, buy a batido (smoothie), and pass out on the beach with my book. It was a charmed existence, but eventually had to come to an end as I move inland to explore the Andes of Ecuador.