Carnaval 2K10: If Grace is an Ocean, We’re All Sinking

Carnaval 2K10:

If Grace is an Ocean, We’re All Sinking

Carnaval is by far the wildest, most celebrated holiday in all of Latin America which closely resembles Mardi Gras celebrations in the United States. Of course, we were off from school and while most of our compañeros were livin’ la vida loca and off to party cities like Ambato and Montanita, we soul sisters escaped to the humble little, fishing town of Puerto Lopez.

We took a sweaty night bus out of south Quito and jostled our way to Ecuador’s shoreline. After eleven hours of travel, we emerged to discover a quiet, coastal town with mud laden streets and a distinctly fishy aroma. We checked into our cabana like bungalow and took a quick nap before organic, Columbian brewed beans beckoned us from our bunk beds. We enjoyed breakfast from the top of a grassy hut on stilts, taking guesses at the mystery fresh fruit juice and watching the waves wax and wane upon the shore.

On our first day we decided to explore, La Playita, (a recommended spot from some friends at USFQ) a little secluded beach with gorgeous, eroded cliffs, scampering crabs, and strong currents. We soaked up the sun and enjoyed our pre-packed PB &J. After an adventurous and very scenic crawl over the mossy rocks, we were reprimanded by park police. Apparently, La Playita, is a sea turtle nesting ground and a no trespass zone in Parque Nacional Machalilla (¡whoops! Good lookin´ out guys); we, of course, apologized profusely. Puerto Lopez´s law enforcement officials were blatantly irked, but easily satisfied with our extranjero (foreigner) excuse of ¨oh, we just didn´t understand, lo siento;¨ however, the fully aware Ecuadorian locals who were simply evading Carnaval crowds, took some serious heat. We ended up walking to the next town of Salango where we took in some local color, enjoyed a refreshing Pingüino Popsicle, and caught the bus back to Puerto Lopez.

We enjoyed the day nonetheless!

The next morning we walked the shore to as old men skillfully pedaled rusty bikes with five gallon buckets clenched between their legs clamoring ¨camarones frescos¨ and others balanced sticks across their shoulders with giant flounder bowing at each end. We met our guide and fearless leader, Cherry, and prepared for out maritime venture to La isla de la plata, also known as the Poor Man´s Galapagos. As we loaded our little coast guard cruiser, Puerto Lopez´s fishermen hauled in their morning´s catch, gulls swarmed the air; signaling that a far worse treachery stalked beneath.

On the way, we serenaded the crew with some Taylor Swift and a little Wagon Wheel ¨rock me mama like a wagon wheel.¨ Cherry and the captain replied with the Ecuadorian National Anthem, all three words before they laughed and hummed the rest of the forgotten melody. As we rocked back and forth on the waves and gazed out into open water, I thought about how the ocean is one of my greatest loves and at the same time greatest fears. One look at my broad shoulders lets you know I´m a swimmer who can breeze the 500, but there is just something about the strangling waves that make humankind so powerless. Open water is such an eerie peacefulness. As the black swells that deny entry into an unknown underworld whirled around us, we watched a small fishing boat pull over a hammerhead shark. I´m sure it was an idealistic hope that they would throw him back with all of his fins still attached.

We arrived to an emerald green cove and spent the next couple of hours walking the nearly deserted desert island, disturbing its lone inhabitants. The island has no fresh water source outside of the sprinkling showers, so naturally its residents have wings. We enjoyed the views from the curvy coast and tiptoed amongst the squawking clans. The highlight of course was the chance to admire the very entertaining blue footed boobies and we were even fortunate enough to catch a glimpse of some red footed boobies as well.

We went snorkeling in the crystal water and despite our malfunctioning equipment; we enjoyed the slimy scampering of tropical fish and even got up close and personal with a sea turtle verde in its natural habitat. On the way back we snacked on some fresh watermelon and pineapple and were diverted by Cherry´s stories.

Carvanval is a celebration which derives its roots in Catholicism and definitely carries much more of a sentiment of repentance upon the start of Cuaresma or Lent than I´ve ever experienced in the States. The main tradition is the sprinkling or drenching, rather, of water in the spirit that one should be reminded of one´s baptism before journeying to the cross with our Savior. With that in mind we braved the streets lit by tiki torches and strands of bubble lights and thankfully made it safe, sound, and dry to the Lonely Planet’s top pick restaurant, The Whale Café. The Americanized menu inspired a little nostalgia and the homemade brownie ice cream laden with batter and actual brownie chucks hit the spot. The extensive and diversified book swap was also very fun. It is a well known fact that world travelers are well read and I have yet to find a café or hostel without a burgeoning bookshelf full of languages, sonnets, and tales. The only rule is that if you take one, you must leave one and all of this works off the honor code of course. It’s a fabulous treasure that should catch on in the States.

We tried to be as clandestine as possible when sneaking from the café, but alas we were discovered. I remember sprinting down the malecón , flip flops in hand, sun dress trailing in the sea breeze as the lights danced to the rumba of the pounding salsa. We ducked down off the boardwalk edge and disappeared onto the beach to elude our persistent assailants. With uncontrollable laughter we tried to shake the soaking water from our dripping bodies and untangle the mess of Carnaval foam from our long hair. We decided to just let it all soak in as the sand tickled our feet on our leisurely stroll by the glimmering moonlight. So, the next time a gang of grinning ten year olds accosts you on the street with buckets of mischievously fishy sea water, be cleansed and remember that you are called by name.

Valentine’s Day 2010 we spent on one of the top ten prettiest beaches in the world, Los Frailes. Carly, Jess, and I went ahead as the other girls found an internet café to submit a volcanology report.

We decided to take the scenic route in Parque Nacional Machalilla, two hours and 5 miles later, after an abundance of cacti and some frolicking at a small island, La Tortugita, we reached la mirador and got a sneak peak at the breath taking coastline.

While we splashed in the waves and lounged in the sand, we had deep, meaningful conversations about love, and grace, and what life we think God has destined for us in service to the kingdom.

That evening, three of us caught a gorgeous sunset while the other girls prepared for our special Dia de los enamorados date. Before long we were holding hands and wrapped in prayer, mostly a prayer of gratitude and discernment, a prayer that God would continue to romance us with glorious creation and lovely humanity, that God would tune our hearts to the melody of the harmonious gospel, that we might know a life of reckless compassion.

We were so lost in prayer that the tide rushed in and caught us off guard. We squealed and fluttered off into the darkness to our romantic Valentine’s dinner at a little Italian place followed by some salsa dancing on the beach.

So here’s to letting God romance your heart, it’s the best love story, yet to be written. Oh, how He loves us; what a divine romance.