We’re up at five and
on the move again while it’s still dark.
We drive along unlit
roads to a place with a beautiful view, Bellavista. The parking area is already
full of people fussing with cameras, and lined up along a feeding rail are
seven remarkable brown birds: chachalacas. The guide immediately starts
rattling off species names. Everything is competing for attention, the birds
and the guide, who seems to think I should constantly be looking at something
other than the bird I’m currently watching. This time I decide to ignore him,
skip photographing the chachalacas altogether, and focus instead on a
woodcreeper climbing a bush farther away. Woodcreepers are great. The bird is
so close it only fits into the frame in fragments. Right behind it comes a squirrel cuckoo, then a turquoise jay. Among other things I photograph a great
thrush. The guide immediately scoffs that you can see those in any park. Not in
Estonia.
If you stare straight up with your binoculars for a while, you can stage a kind of street performance: once everyone has pointed their optics in the same direction, you quietly step aside and wait for people to start wondering what exactly they’re all looking at.
After Kalle and I have had our fill of giggling and photographing camera-toting humans instead of birds, Andy finally decides to give us coffee. Today we even get real cups instead of plastic ones. Impressive. Yesterday I expressed my opinion only by pouring juice into a cup that had already been used for coffee. It can be done, if one wants to. We rest our breakfast on the step of a large German expedition truck parked at the edge of the lot. The Germans turn out to be perfectly nice and don’t mind it at all. They’ve driven that vehicle across the Baltics as well. Since 2023 they’ve been roaming around South America, returning to Europe in the summers. The man has taped over the Leica logo on his camera.
After the parking-lot chaos, a view opens up from beside the restroom: the jagged peaks of the Andes, usually hidden by clouds. How on earth did the conquistadors get across those...
Andy slings the spotting scope over his shoulder and we head onto a forest trail. The paths are marked here, and the views live up to the name, bella vista indeed. Forested mountains stretch to the horizon, with mist rising between them. We get sidetracked photographing mosses, leaves, and flowers, which is apparently not part of the plan. Whatever bird it was that justified the expedition, we certainly don’t see it. Still, carrying a scope and tripod uphill in the warming air must be good for Andy’s fitness.
Back at the visitor center, you can sit by the hummingbird feeders. It turns out that the dark green hummingbird can flash their crowns into neon yellow. That alone is reason enough to actually observe a bird instead of just ticking it off a list and rushing on.
We drive on to another place, to Mindo. First there’s a group visit to see a common potoo. An old man knows where it is. The potoo is nocturnal, which means it sleeps during the day, and like most sensible creatures, it usually sleeps in the same spot. On the other side runs a river, with a spotted sandpiper along the bank.
The potoo sits on a branch at some distance and looks slightly less like a stump than I had expected. Every now and then it opens its giant eyes and moves its head.
After that we head to the riverbank, where a fasciated tiger-heron is supposed to be standing guard on a branch. At first, though, our attention turns to two white-capped dippers approaching low over the water. At last! The black-and-white Andean dippers may not be quite as imposing as our common dipper, but still. We get to sit by the river for a while as Andy exchanges experiences with the old man. Then we climb another tower, from which the potoo can be seen from the other side, and where four hefty plate-billed mountain toucans land, their pale bills glowing.
Next on the program is a chocolate tour. We go through the entire process, from roasting the cacao beans to peeling and grinding them into powder. The powder is mixed with hot water. Some people add salt and chili. A very bitter drink, chocolatl, “bitter water.” Europeans replaced the water with milk (latte) and ended up with “bitter milk”, chocolatte, or chocolate. The cacao tree originates from the border region of present-day Ecuador and Peru.
On the way back it’s still light, and you can see the landscape grazed down to pasture and the steep-sided hills. Near our accommodation a black-and-white owl calls and flutters out of the darkness a couple of times to catch insects in the circle of the parking light. In the background, dry lightning flickers.
If you stare straight up with your binoculars for a while, you can stage a kind of street performance: once everyone has pointed their optics in the same direction, you quietly step aside and wait for people to start wondering what exactly they’re all looking at.
After Kalle and I have had our fill of giggling and photographing camera-toting humans instead of birds, Andy finally decides to give us coffee. Today we even get real cups instead of plastic ones. Impressive. Yesterday I expressed my opinion only by pouring juice into a cup that had already been used for coffee. It can be done, if one wants to. We rest our breakfast on the step of a large German expedition truck parked at the edge of the lot. The Germans turn out to be perfectly nice and don’t mind it at all. They’ve driven that vehicle across the Baltics as well. Since 2023 they’ve been roaming around South America, returning to Europe in the summers. The man has taped over the Leica logo on his camera.
After the parking-lot chaos, a view opens up from beside the restroom: the jagged peaks of the Andes, usually hidden by clouds. How on earth did the conquistadors get across those...
Andy slings the spotting scope over his shoulder and we head onto a forest trail. The paths are marked here, and the views live up to the name, bella vista indeed. Forested mountains stretch to the horizon, with mist rising between them. We get sidetracked photographing mosses, leaves, and flowers, which is apparently not part of the plan. Whatever bird it was that justified the expedition, we certainly don’t see it. Still, carrying a scope and tripod uphill in the warming air must be good for Andy’s fitness.
Back at the visitor center, you can sit by the hummingbird feeders. It turns out that the dark green hummingbird can flash their crowns into neon yellow. That alone is reason enough to actually observe a bird instead of just ticking it off a list and rushing on.
We drive on to another place, to Mindo. First there’s a group visit to see a common potoo. An old man knows where it is. The potoo is nocturnal, which means it sleeps during the day, and like most sensible creatures, it usually sleeps in the same spot. On the other side runs a river, with a spotted sandpiper along the bank.
The potoo sits on a branch at some distance and looks slightly less like a stump than I had expected. Every now and then it opens its giant eyes and moves its head.
After that we head to the riverbank, where a fasciated tiger-heron is supposed to be standing guard on a branch. At first, though, our attention turns to two white-capped dippers approaching low over the water. At last! The black-and-white Andean dippers may not be quite as imposing as our common dipper, but still. We get to sit by the river for a while as Andy exchanges experiences with the old man. Then we climb another tower, from which the potoo can be seen from the other side, and where four hefty plate-billed mountain toucans land, their pale bills glowing.
Next on the program is a chocolate tour. We go through the entire process, from roasting the cacao beans to peeling and grinding them into powder. The powder is mixed with hot water. Some people add salt and chili. A very bitter drink, chocolatl, “bitter water.” Europeans replaced the water with milk (latte) and ended up with “bitter milk”, chocolatte, or chocolate. The cacao tree originates from the border region of present-day Ecuador and Peru.
On the way back it’s still light, and you can see the landscape grazed down to pasture and the steep-sided hills. Near our accommodation a black-and-white owl calls and flutters out of the darkness a couple of times to catch insects in the circle of the parking light. In the background, dry lightning flickers.
Add a comment