Contentment

It hit me at a strange time today.  I was smushed between Oscar and Ruby in an un-airconditioned taxi on a stomach-churning "highway."  I felt content.  

I wasn't worried about anything or anyone.  I wasn't thinking about what I had to do.  I was content to be exactly where I was at that very moment.  It struck me, "I never feel this way...aha, this is why I'm on sabbatical!"  If only I could bottle that feeling.

Let me be clear, there were a few things that could have been on my mind.  We had just left a hostal in Canoa run by a friendly Spanish family that had been cramped, sandy, short on wifi, completely lacking in water pressure, and a bit too redolent of toilet for my taste.  We were heading to our next place (found on the internet), an open air "house" on an isolated beach in Esmeraldas with a compostable toilet in an out building, billed as closer to camping than not.  Ruby wasn't feeling well so I had to apply pressure on her wrists to ease her motion sickness, and her nose was dripping like crazy (she was the last to get the family cold).  Oscar and I were playing a constant game of footsie to gain leg room, which was taken up mostly by a violin and various groceries.

But I suppose being in the moment is a form of contentment.  And I was totally in the moment.  Our car ride from Canoa to Esmeraldas was riveting.  Last night marked the official start of the rainy season here -- it poured, a real tropical rain.  I woke up to the realization, duh, that quaint sandy streets turn to mud when they get wet.  (I blame the rain too for the toilet smell in our room, but I have no proof.).  Canoa was looking less than pretty upon departure.

We stopped in Pedernales for groceries and money.  Imagine a busy, non-touristy beach town full of sand/mud streets.  We got stuck in a political rally -- elections all over Ecuador are coming up.  The air was heavy and humid.  At some point we crossed the equator.  Here are some snapshots of the town.

We then drove through a Maurice Sendak lush, tropical landscape.  

We saw a dead iguana on the road.  We swerved to avoid a large snake.  The beach appeared every now and then on the left, as did shrimp farms, skinny cattle and horses, and village after village.  The landscape became dry again, then we hit a humid patch.  The coast of Ecuador is full of micro climates.

Between the administering of pressure on Ruby's wrists and the dispensing of tissues, I tried to follow Neil's conversation with our driver (his coastal accent was very hard to understand).  

We made a small detour for lunch in Mompiche, a famous beach town.  Rain had made its appearance here too.  Mud, more mud, sewage, mud, the scent of patchouli, mud, the sound of drumming, Argentinian backpackers, mud, and some cute guys from Uruguay.  I also saw this creative Xmas display. 

Lunch was fried seafood for the kids and encocado (seafood cooked with coconut milk) for me, Neil and the driver.  There was a bathroomy smell and way too many flies, but that was some good eating!

Leaving Mompiche, I realized that I'm too old to be a backpacker any longer.  (Although we did get a hacky sack in Montañita.)  Happily, our "house" is perfect.  All of us are excited to be "camping" here near Same, for 5 nights.  No other people, no mud, no hippies or backpackers.  We have birds, iguanas, some seriously loud insects, hammocks and a view of the beach.  It feels like a vacation from the sabbatical, the perfect place to work on this contentment thing.