Five Bestselling Travel Memoirs Box Set

by Twead, Victoria

  As disturbing as his life had been previously, he seemed happy now. Every other morning, Toby explained, he was fed an enormous bucket of fruit. He’d been fed yesterday, so this was really just a get-to-know-you (and-cover-you-in-apple-juice) visit. I would get the chance to see that beak in action plenty more over the next few weeks.

  “He’s got a great enclosure,” I mentioned to Toby as we hiked back up the steeply inclined field. We crossed a small stream and climbed a flight of stone steps to reach the main road back to the houses.

  “Yeah,” came the reply. “Doesn’t stop him trying to escape though.”

  “What? Really? When? I mean, how?”

  “Oh, a few months back. We came to feed him and he was gone. He’d walked right through the fence and taken a section of it with him.”

  “No way! But you got him back then? How long was he gone?”

  “Oh, about a week.”

  “Wow! I bet that was a scary time.”

  “Ha! Yeah… well, not really.”

  “You spent a whole week out looking for him?”

  “Nope.”

  “How come?”

  “Well, we could see him the whole time. He’d only gotten to the bottom of the field.”

  “Ah.”

  “We thought we’d give him a decent head start before we came after him. He wasn’t very hard to catch.”

  “Oh.”

  “Trying to roll him back up the hill – that was the difficult part.”

  As we passed back through the circle of cages near the house I spotted one of Santa Martha’s weirdest inmates taking a casual stroll across the garden. The raccoon-like thing was snuffling his way around a very low log fence, probing every nook and cranny with his ridiculously long bendy nose. A few feet away his mate was giving the same attention to a big rock in the middle of the grass.

  “Ah, look!” I pointed at the fuzzy interloper. “It’s one of them… um, whatdyamacallitz!”

  Toby glanced round. “Oh shit! It’s the coatamundis! They’ve escaped again!” He took a long stride over the fence and deftly swept up the first animal mid snuffle.

  Not to be outdone, I lunged for one of the furry critters myself. And I caught it! The beast was either too trusting or too stupid to run away from me. I grabbed it two-handed, by the scruff of the neck and the tail. The fox red fur was thick and coarse. It was my first official handling of an animal! It bode well for the rest of my stay. This little guy was as cute and cuddly as a stuffed toy – and seemed about as intelligent. Definitely my kinda critter. I longed to sit him on my knee and stroke him.

  “Careful!” Toby warned.

  “Oh? Why?”

  “Cause it hurts like hell when they bite.”

  Suddenly I was aware of just how precarious my grip on the creature was. And that he was struggling ever so slightly. His nose was bending up at me as though seeking a target for some unnecessarily long, lethally sharp incisors.

  “Let’s put them back then,” Toby suggested. I was only too happy to comply. He led the way back around to their enclosure and stopped before the fastened door. “Here mate, take this for a sec,” he said, and thrust the second coatamundi into my arms.

  “Woah!” I had to let one hand go on my beastie to take Toby’s off him. I instinctively reached out with my left hand for the new critter, leaving the original dangling by its tail from my right. Toby handed it across by the scruff and I took it the same way. Then I stood there as he worked the troublesome door catch. With a wriggling coatamundi in each hand – one upside down, one right-side up. They clearly weren’t comfortable any more. I could tell because both of them decided to put a lot more effort into their squirming. I was already holding them both out at arm’s length in front of me, but it was suddenly not far enough. How bendy were these creatures? Could they still get me? I had a brainwave, and moved my arms so I was holding them out on either side of me. Better. More balanced. But now I couldn’t see them both at once. I flicked my gaze from one to the other and willed Toby to make the door work. Don’t show fear, I thought. They’ll smell it, and fight harder. Damn these things were heavy! Suddenly I had a desperate urge to scratch my nose. I tried to twitch it violently instead.

  “You alright there mate?”

  Toby had mastered the catch, opened the door and turned around to see me – stretched out like a weightlifter, eyes wide in fear, glancing from side to side and wiggling my nose. In each hand I held a small bushy mammal, and all three of us were twitching frantically.

  I could see him suppressing a laugh as he calmly removed one of the creatures from my grasp. And just like that everything became easy again. We deposited the coatamundis in their cage and retreated back through the troublesome door. Toby got the thing shut again and turned to lean on it, a grin on his face.

  “So how’d you like that?”

  “It was cool!” I was enthused by my victory, and emboldened by my continued survival.

  “So, you don’t mind handling them?”

  “Nah, they were no problem at all.”

  “Great!” Toby exclaimed. He glanced back at the cage behind him and sighed. “Then catch that one again will you?”

  I looked where he was pointing. A small red furball was in the process of making another bid for freedom. Behind it was a small hole scraped in the dirt under the edge of the cage.

  “I’d better fill that in,” he added.

  “Oh shit! They’ll both get out again!” I really didn’t fancy my chances of recapturing them both single-handed.

  “Nah, don’t worry,” said Toby. “The other one’s blind – it takes him ages to find the hole again!”

  True enough, the poor beast was stumbling randomly around the enclosure, testing the air and the soil with swift bends of its nose.

  “Do you have anything here that isn’t shot, blind, fat or crippled?” I asked.

  Toby adjusted his cap and put a mock serious face on before answering. “Well, there’s you and there’s me. At least until one of the above happens to us.”

  “That’s not terribly likely is it?”

  “Wait and see, mate. Wait and see.”

  Cold Comfort

  That night it began to get cold.

  Then it got colder. And colder. Just before my testicles froze solid and snapped off I felt inclined to mention it to Toby. We were sitting in the dining room of the volunteer house (which was really the only room if you didn’t count the bedrooms). His reply was not encouraging.

  “Ah, it’s not that bad really, tonight. It was well cold last weekend. You’ll get used to it though. You only notice it more because there isn’t any heating in the house.”

  “What? No heating at all?”

  “Nah mate. We’re in Ecuador!”

  “So it doesn’t get that cold here? Because we’re near the equator?”

  “It doesn’t get cold in the rest of the country. Here in the mountains it’s frigging freezing at night. This is actually quite mild.”

  “So how come they don’t have heating then? Does everyone just freeze at night?”

  “No mate. They have blankets.” He proved it by walking into the bedroom and returning with an enormous woolly pair of them.

  “Thanks man,” I told him.

  “Nah, these are for me,” he said, “they’re on a shelf on the back wall if you want some.”

  “Oh! Right.” I stood to go.

  “Nah, I’m only messing with you! Here!” He thrust a massive bundle of material at me. “You know what? It does get too cold in here. It’s the only real problem. Can’t do much in the evenings, unless you’re wasted or you do it wrapped in five blankets.”

  “Have you got any booze?” I asked.

  “Nah. We’ll go down to Tambillo and get some beers, this weekend maybe. I need a haircut anyway.”

  We sat in comfortable silence for a moment. My gaze wandered around the sparsely furnished room, from the narrow kitchen at one end to a pair of uninviting wooden chairs at the other
. We were also blessed with a bookcase (which was empty), and a TV – which had to be older than me – was perched atop it.

  It wasn’t hard to figure out how the cold outside made its presence felt inside. The walls were of concrete block – one block thick and painted a cheery yellow on both sides. The roof was also one sheet thick. Whatever that corrugated stuff was, we were staring right at the underside of it from our dinner table. Even the worn floor tiles seemed to absorb the icy temperature and radiate it back into the room. I was suddenly glad there were only two of us to split the stash of blankets between.

  “You play chess?” Toby was studying me as intently as I’d been studying the room.

  “Yeah man! I love chess. Almost no-one I know plays, so I hardly ever get the chance.”

  “You want a quick game?”

  I thought about this for a few seconds. “I’m not very good though,” I admitted. This is a cunning double bluff used by many males of the species, giving rise to two possible scenarios; either losing badly, and therefore being proved both right and honest, or winning handily and being proved both skilful and modest about it.

  “Nah, me neither,” he lied.

  Three rapid and humiliating defeats later I made my escape, pleading extreme coldness. It wasn’t a lie – I was shivering so hard it took quite a lot of effort to place a piece on the right square. How had he won so effortlessly? I had no idea. Clearly Toby was some kind of mutant-genius chess prodigy. Or else he’d been sitting here alone with the chess set for more nights than I dared ask about. In which case he was probably insane to boot.

  “We can play again tomorrow,” he pointed out as I backed apologetically towards the bedroom.

  “Yes, yes, of course. Goodnight now!” I walked into the bedroom, set out like a dormitory with bunk beds lining the walls and a set of shelves at the far end bearing the promised stack of neatly folded blankets. Toby had his own room opposite.

  “Oh crap weasels,” I moaned softly to myself after the door had swung shut behind me. “I’m gonna get my ass handed to me at chess three times a night, every night for the next three months.” There was no denying the gleam in Toby’s eye. I suspected that he’d been waiting for a worthy opponent for some time. And he was still waiting. But that wouldn’t stop him from taking advantage of me in the meantime. Declaring my undying love of the game had not been my cleverest move of the night. I’d backed myself into a corner – I couldn’t refuse to play, or I’d look like a sore loser. I’d just have to smile sweetly and play, and be beaten constantly. At least then I’d just be a garden-variety loser.

  I made a pile of blankets on the top bunk bed nearest to the door and surveyed my new domain. Behind me was a tiny bathroom cubicle, with walls that rose for about six feet then abruptly stopped two feet short of the ceiling. There was a fanlight window above the door with no glass in it, so light from the lounge, and the sound of Toby clearing away the chess set, spilled into the dorm room. There were a couple of windows looking out into the darkness surrounding the house. No street lights. This high into the mountains and with the property bordered by immense trees there was no light pollution of any kind. I could have poked my head out and seen a sky full of stars, if the windows hadn’t been sealed shut and heavily barred on the outside. Rough neighbourhood? I wondered. Whatever the case, it was my neighbourhood now.

  My rucksack was propped against the wall and the bed – I felt that neither one could support its weight alone – so I was as unpacked as I was likely to get. The blankets were already looking inviting. I set the alarm on my phone, which being English was good for sod all else in Ecuador, and hauled myself up into the super-tall top bunk. Why the top? I like heights. Or maybe since I never had bunk beds as a child I still get excited by the prospect of sleeping so far off the ground. My choice was also based on preventing any future volunteers from sleeping above me and it allowed me to pile the bed below with everything I owned, in the hope that no-one would sleep there either. It did require an investment of energy though; there were no ladders and the top bunk was roughly level with the top of my head. If I fell out I’d be in a world of pain, but that didn’t seem too likely. I sank into the mattress with a squeal of ageing springs, then sank some more, finally ending up suspended hammock-like through the frame of the bed. The mattress conformed perfectly to my body shape – rather like the foam lining in an assassin’s rifle case. Where do they get those? I wondered briefly about a hired killer all in black, standing in a marketplace buying foam. Holding it up against his gun to check it was thick enough…

  At last, I was alone again, safe and comfortable. Although I’d probably have to cut my way out in the morning.

  I awoke to the screeching of a rooster. Actually I was awakened by the screeching of a rooster. A quick glance at my ex-patriot phone told me I didn’t need to get up for another hour, for which I was very grateful. The only part of me protruding from the mountain of blankets was my nose, and even that could tell that it was very, very cold out. The temperature in the room was so low it made me shiver just thinking about it. Luckily I could still go back to sleep – if only the bloody rooster would shut up.

  It never did.

  Nor did the temperature increase significantly by the time my alarm went off. The vibrations sent the phone skittering out from under my pillow and straight over the edge of the bed, where it plunged to a violent death on the icy tiles six feet below. Verdict: suicide. It obviously didn’t want to work today either.

  The first item on my morning agenda was to meet Jimmy. Since Johnny was the rich and powerful landowner he had rather more to do with his day than boss volunteers around. Instead, to give us our jobs each day (and hopefully to show me how to do them), there was Jimmy, who lived with his wife Nancy and their two children in the breeze block shack I’d taken to be Johnny’s outhouse. The couple had clearly named one child apiece; their daughter was called Myra, while their son, who was of course under no pressure to follow in his father’s footsteps, was called Jimmytwo.

  Jimmy the First looked to me like the very essence of an Ecuadorian, distilled into a compact, muscular frame. He was wiry and small; his skin was the colour of strong tea, and well-weathered; his age was impossible to guess. Jimmy could have been born with a machete in his hand, already wearing his fraying jeans and sporting a ridiculous tuft of facial hair on his upper lip.

  I liked him. Whether or not he liked me was a moot point. He was to be my boss so it wasn’t really required of him. But for my part I desperately wanted to impress him. Of all the hundreds of volunteers that must have come and gone through Jimmy’s work gang, I wanted to be the one he would remember. He cracked a sarcastic smirk as he looked me up and down a couple of times. ‘This is what you’ve brought me?’ his eyes seemed to say. Nothing malicious, but not overly impressed either. Well, that was something I would have to change.

  Jimmy aimed a question sideways at Toby, without taking his eyes off me.

  “Ha!” Toby replied. “He wants to know if you’re a man,” he informed me.

  “I’m not wearing a skirt,” I pointed out.

  “No, no. He wants to know if you’re a MAN. They have this whole macho thing going on here.”

  “Um…” This didn’t seem like a good time to be hesitant. I locked eyes with Jimmy and smiled. “Si,” I told him.

  At this Jimmy roared with laughter. Was he mocking me? Probably. But I felt like I’d passed muster. Now all I had to do was live up to what I’d said.

  Unfortunately I have a mouth so big I’m sometimes in danger of swallowing my own head. When I put my foot in it, it goes in up to the knee. I’ve gotten quite used to looking spectacularly stupid as a result (and being the envy of yoga teachers worldwide). Why stop now?

  “Yo soy el hombre,” I told Toby and Jimmy. Literally: I am THE Man!

  Jimmy laughed so hard I thought he was going to fall over. Toby joined him.

  “Oh, mate,” he managed when he could breathe again, “you really know how to make
an impression!”

  There were two other Ecuadorian guys on the full-time staff at Santa Martha. Jimmy’s number two was Danielo, a younger, scrawnier farmhand with several missing teeth. He probably thought it made him look tougher – I thought it made him look like he’d been beaten up lots. He was more arrogant than Jimmy, though with less reason to be; he never seemed to wash, yet was convinced that women everywhere were drawn to his charms. Oh, and he lived in a shed.

  The last guy I christened ‘Tractor Driving Dude’, since I never met him; I only ever saw him from a distance driving Johnny’s enormous tractor. I had a theory that he was actually just a torso, permanently mounted on a giant spring in the cab. In three months at the centre I never once saw any evidence that he had legs. But his top half seemed quite friendly. He would wave occasionally, which made me feel better about the guy. At least he had arms.

  And so, with the most daunting chore of the morning over it was finally time for breakfast. Not for us though. For every parrot, monkey, aardvark and armadillo in the entire refuge.

  Then for us.

  Feeding Time At The Zoo

  In the beginning there was The Bowl.

  And yea! We did fill it with yummy things. Overripe fruits and vegetables for which I knew no name in any language, and oats from an enormous bin in Johnny’s kitchen. Toby gave me a running commentary as he went about his carefully practised routine.

  “The softer stuff we cut up, the tougher bits we blend, and some of them need peeling first. Be careful with this one,” he held aloft a fine specimen of a pineapple. “It’s pronounced ‘pin-ya’.”