My Ecuador Life.
Since my first arrival in Ecuador, my experiences have one particular & undeniable description: Fluency- My visits, again and again, to this magical land on the equator, even have me doubting their accuracy, such are the mind-bending coincidences, the life-altering meetings, the logic-defying occurrences and the spirit validating rituals. I have never met a landscape that taught me so loudly, that both screamed and whispered its teachings, that coaxed and clobbered with equal potency. Yes, quite effusive language, only because even this vocabulary falls short. Words, perhaps only in the form of exquisite poetry, could stir the spirit, awaken the senses, quiet the doubt, and soothe the jagged with such reliable fury, with such ubiquitous melody.
My first trip was highly unlikely. I had endured a year of unprecedented hardship: Elllie’s death, my near death, Jeff’s death in Peru, and the ensuing trauma of evacuation and international complexity. I had decided to ‘Say no’ to everything for a year, tending to unprecedented demand to grieve, to cry long and hard and wet, but 6 months later an e-mail arrived from a woman named Alissa which changed my trajectory. She invited me to attend an 'Organic Conference’ in Quito. I courteously declined the invitation and went to bed. Upon awakening I thought to myself “Is this what I need to be tending to? Paying attention to?” So I wrote her back, told her that I had reconsidered (that most reliable ‘sleep on it’ tactic) and that I would love to participate. As the conference was 2 months away, I imagined myself in a conference hall, full of native Spanish speakers, with mostly darker skin than me and I was overcome with dismay; how dare I go across the hemisphere to speak with endemic people and following generations of northerners who have arrived with the illusion of long practiced privilege, This I could not do, but what COULD I do? I immediately got online and found a motorcycle rental company in Quito, the capital of Ecuador. I rented a motorcycle for 3 weeks and invited my ever-ready travel partner Randy to join me so I could ‘travel the country for a month’ before I arrived at the conference. This would give me both credibility but also ‘give good weight’ to the opportunity, to pay it forward in a type of earnest commitment to preparation.
The topography of Ecuador was new to me and as well it was my first ‘equatorial’ travel. I had much to learn. The Andes form a double-track summit rail north to south through the country, this creates a stunning hanging valley in the center. This is the zone of population and agriculture at about 9,000’/2,800m. Amazing to my northern sensibilities that such an altitude would be the Agriculture zone, also the location of Quito, the Capital, and other population centers, north to south. I quickly learned that traveling east to west might mean a 10,000’-15,000’ elevation gain in a single day!!!! We could be hot and sweaty to begin, and later, be in blizzard conditions going over an east/west pass! It was thrilling and put a premium on precision packing as we would go from t-shirts to donning everything we brought, in a matter of hours! Our little rental bikes chugged at the altitude, Randy beating me on the downhills and me, with a bigger motor, victorious on the climbs. We road west to east, north to south, visiting markets, volcanos, jungles, beaches, sanctuaries, and archeological sites. We navigated coastal routes, cloud forest tracks, rainforest corridors, and Andean passes. It was incredible. If you’ve ridden there, you know, if you haven’t, go.
After weeks of travel, the end of our trip was near and the beginning of the conference signaled the next chapter for me. Randy and I parted ways and I arrived at the GPS coordinates of the hotel that the conference had provided for me. The night before we were in the headwaters of the Amazon, in a little hut by the Rio Napo, lit by a kerosene lamp, our beds covered in mosquito netting, by the afternoon of the next day, we were at 9,000’ in a major Latin American capital city. As I pulled up to the hotel it didn’t make sense to me. I was on the MAIN PLAZA of Centro Historico. On adjacent blocks were the presidential palace and the national ministry. There, in front of me and my muddy motorcycle, was the Hotel Gangotena, a historic and opulent destination. Surely this can’t be the place, towering white colonial structure, and fastidious valets, tuxedoed and alert by the door. I rechecked my GPS unit, and yes, this was it. I’d been traveling with the same clothes for over three weeks, through mud and rain and heat and humidity. I kicked down my kickstand, took off my helmet, and walked to the door.
“Do you have a reservation, sir?”
“Si”
“Right dis way”
I followed across the glistening tile of the lobby to the reception desk
“Good afternoon. Welcome to the Gangotena. Under what name is your reservation? She pronounced reservation with an endearing 5th syllable.
“Chris Mathias”
“Yes Mr Mathias, we’ve been expecting you”
I was disoriented. I had become accustomed to $19. dollar rooms and $3 meals, now I was wearing the only clothes I had, and they had 3 weeks of travel on them. Last nite I smelled like Amazonia and it was appropriate, this nite I smelled like Amazonia and I was uniquely fragrant, uncommonly so for this lobby anyway. I followed the valet to my room through the flower-festooned lobby and by various elaborate sitting rooms, all spotless and flowered. My room was on the garden level, with French doors, and a white interior. Once inside, discharging my clunky motorcycle boots by the door, I saw an envelope on the bed ‘MrChris Mathias’. I also saw: slippers, chocolates, and a robe.
I thought “What the hell is happening? Why am I in this luxurious hotel?” I opened the envelope and it was a welcome note from Alissa, the conference organizer. It said the customary niceties and then it said that perhaps id like to contact another guest at the conference, a dignitary from Mexico. We could taxi to the conference in the morning together.
You might recall that I was coming out of my first ‘public exposure’ in 6 months. I had had a shocking departure from most everything I called ‘normal’ and ‘home’. My confusion was high, my confidence was low, my skills at socialization rusty and my Spanish first-grade level. Not the ideal conditions for a confident arrival at an international conference. Nevertheless, I had things to do. I had no clothes for a 4 day gathering so I put on what remained of my ‘civilian’ clothing and made my way to the front desk
“Pardon me”, knowing that fancy hotels will accommodate English with courtesy “I need to go shopping at a mens store to buy clothes for a conference. Do you know where I could go?”
“Angel will take you right away. ANGEL” she calls, and Angel briskly arrives at my service
“Mr. Mathias needs to do some clothes shopping. Please see to it that you accompany him” this is getting ridiculous. I’d grown used to eating with my hands, licking my fingers, sleeping where I could and showering when available, now I was in the proverbial lap of luxury being cared for in a way which was actually uncomfortable.
“A“At your service, follow me, I know the best stores in town” and he did. Every store we went to he greeted, and was greeted, by name.
“My friend Sr Matias needs shirts, pants, shoes, jacket for a conference he’s attending” I added that I also need underwear, a belt, socks, everything. Quickly a variety of garments were arrayed in front of me. I really only needed 1 pair of pants, check. 1 belt, 2 socks but 3 shirts and a grey or blue sport coat, in 45 minutes I was done, pleased, complete and fatigued. Angel and I made our way back to the hotel, quite satisfied with our mission. “Para servile” He said, and I made my way back to my room and sent a message to my Mexican colleague.
The next morning, after dressing, I grabbed the badge for the conference. I looked at it “Puente Foundation” a name I had made up for the conference. The name “Puente” had been held in stasis for a few years, I created it, well, commissioned it, with no particular reason in mind, but I thought that someday it might be useful as my ‘next thing’ so here it was, in play!
I walked to the restaurant, somewhat expecting it to be ‘bustling’ but it wasn’t. In fact, there was only one person there at 7:00am. He, a large fellow, in a grey three-piece suit. A business-like look I hadn’t shared a table with in many years.
“Sr Gonzales?” I said, seeking precision through brevity
“Si. Mucho gusto. Enrique Gonzales.”
“Me llamo Chris Mathias” whereupon he immediately converted to English.
“Please sit, where do you come from?’
I’m always embarrassed when Spanish speakers quickly switch to English in a courtesy of accommodation, of course, but also a declaration of their understanding of my shortcomings, linguistically.
“I come from Colorado, via Mexico, but I’ve been here a month already”
He was curious about my unusual itinerary and continued his inquiry…
“What is your purpose at the conference? Are you an investor?”
“No, no. I’m here as a guest of the organizers and I do not know what I will find here. I’ve been grieving losses for over a year now and this is my first reentry into the public space, in fact, I’m out of practice.”
His ‘professional’ look, overfed, vest protruding like the bulbous bow of a freighter, clean, pressed, confident, i’ve never had that aire. If I am 10 lbs overweight, I know that I am dragging 10 lbs more than I need, requiring that much more energy, and fatiguing me sooner than optimal. Some men carry their weight as part of their gravitas. He was such a man. I thought this might be a long taxi ride.
I was wrong.
We signed our check and left the restaurant, our taxi was waiting out front. In the back seat, we settled, seeing the likely pace revealed. Rush hour, city center traffic had pedestrians passing us easily, our taxi in a constipated state of repose, they, walking purposely past with barely a glance. I began my inquiry because I know it is generally better to be interested than interesting. I can almost always be interested, but interesting requires an uncomfortable orchestration that produces not much more than fatigue, and frequently fails.
“You here from Mexico?”
“Si, Dee efee” it was the first time I had ever heard DF as a reference to Mexico City, District Federal
“I am the Secretariat of Economy” it struck me with zero uncertainty that here I was, after seven, eight months of solitude, no business dealings, no income, no company, no title, uncredentialed, not much savings, and here I was, staying at the premiere hotel in Ecuador, riding in a taxi with the Secretariat of Mexico, to a conference I knew little about. If ever there was a circumstance of feeling ‘not worthy’ it was now. As we crept through the colonial architecture of the Centro Historic, I learned that he had lived in the US in his 20s, had been a ski instructor at Sun Valley, and had dated a Hemmingway! I asked him what a Mexican was doing ‘teaching skiing in Sun Valley?’ He said “In those days it was more important to have an accent than be able to ski” Wow. The stories grew quicker and more personal as the minutes passed by and before long we were laughing to tears in the back of the taxi, the transition from intimidation to endearment was complete and a total shock that I could connect with someone of his station so quickly, so intimately. We arrived, finally, at the venue of the conference, we exchanged information and pledged to connect later that day.
My first order of business, besides the obligatory ‘registration’ was to find Alissa, the author of my invitation. I asked around and she was pointed out to me across the lobby. There, in a circle of people, she stood, speaking with animation, her longish, light blond hair, healthy complexion, and professional suit, she was a figure of self-assurance. I made my way to the perimeter of her circle, stopping just outside the energetic boundary, but close and clear enough to invite notice. People casually glanced over, eyes dropping to my badge (of lofty intent) though no gesture of welcome was forthcoming. Then, quickly, Alissa looked my way and scanned my badge, and her face lit up
“CHRIS,” She said, in all CAPS “I’m so excited to meet you! Everyone, this is Chris Mathias, who has spent the last month touring Ecuador by motorcycle to prepare for the conference” it was such an august introduction that it surprised me, it did feel good and by the looks in the faces of those present, my stock immediately shot up
“Is this true?” One asked
“increible” another said
Alissa treated me like a celebrity and I was quite surprised.
“Do you like your hotel?” She said excitedly
“Alissa, I must say, it is absolutely over the top. Two nites ago I was in a screened room with a gas lantern in the rainforest and now I’m in the most opulent hotel I’ve ever stayed in in my entire life. Surely you have someone more fitting of this kind of treatment, its really not necessary”
“The city of Quito donated 2 rooms to the conference and we concluded that you deserved one” in that moment a chill ran across my body, much of my life I had ‘tried’ to get into such rooms, ‘tried’ to curry favor to be treated exceptionally, and here, now, I was receiving such treatment through absolutely zero intention, in fact, it was almost pure humility that sent me on this motorized journey. I felt I needed to make a gesture to the people of Ecuador, to the people of Latin America, to the attendees of the conference, who toil and struggle to bring ‘organic’ textiles and foods to the world. I was, explicitly, not willing to follow in the footsteps of prior ‘northerners’ and European descendants, who arrived to tell, but not to listen. It was a crystalline moment of recognition. A turning point, an inflection and an exquisite demonstration of giving first, that which I wish to receive. In the years since I have continued to develop this concept, this behavior, which become trusted habit over time. That that which I wish for can only move into a place within me if I have created a place for it to reside by offering it first to others; be it respect, dignity, honesty, really any currency (defined simply by; that of value which flows). I must not hoard, but I must receive, amplify if possible, and re-express, as pure or purer, as clear or clearer, as strong or stronger and as true or truer.
The first day of the conference, thus begun, was pure magic. Everywhere I went I slowly recognized that Alissa and the other organizers had celebrated me and my journey as one worthy of admiration, and that my trip had seemingly raised the bar of participation and preparation. It honestly had never occurred to me that I might arrive to this place and be enthusiastically recognized for choices made in a somewhat selfish devotion to merely be worthy of the invitation. So be it. It was a great ‘re-entry’ party from my months of hermit-ting, of grieving, of sorrowful reconciliation with permanent loss, and now I was ‘in-vited’ and validated for my choices, which were made in the absence of commercial intent, exempt from enterprise and bereft of ambition. It was clean and pure and right and true. I have not since forgotten that feeling, and in fact, it is that feeling that has become my ‘keel’ in decision making, in choice conjuring, in conflict resolving, and in threat reducing. It is my homing.
I was introduced to two women who had an organic, indigenous apparel company for children. Upon meeting, we were immediately enrolled. They asked if they could take me to dinner that nite “Yes” I mean “Si”
Carolina and Gabriel gave me directions to a place I might never find on my own, a small place, back streets, perfect. I was on cloud 11. I had exploded into a new and vital life, and it was in such great contrast to my prior life owning Catalyst, a multi-million dollar enterprise that had seemed amazing at the time but now seemed curiously 2 dimensional. Anyway, we talked the nite away and they gave me a ride back to my palace.
The next morning, I met Enrique again and we shared breakfast and another taxi ride, this time as friends, quick friends. Again we laughed and shared stories, me the inquisitor, he the story teller.
Arriving at the conference I am now acquainted with the flow of the place and I am accustomed to people ‘knowing my story’ about the motorcycle trip. At mid-day, an announcement proclaims that lunch will be served in the atrium in 15 minutes and to begin making our way. As usual, in an environment where everyone is wearing a badge, it is easy to strike up conversations with whoever is proximal. This happened for me and I began to walk with the phalanx. The person next to me said that he was a banker here in Quito, and was curious about the presentations and companies at the conference. He asked how I ended up there and I decided to tell him the truth
“Well, about 10 months ago my wife (though divorced) had died in an avalanche in the Canadian Rockies, then I came close to death on a motorcycle collision in Colorado, and in October a team member, Jeff, had died in Peru and another had been paralyzed and required an all-nite high altitude evacuation. Upon returning home I decided that it was time to quit my business, sell my house, and go grieve fro as long as it took. This is my first public participation since then”
“All that happened in 6 months?” He asked, incredulous.
“Yes, and now I’m here and I have no idea where this all will lead”
Lunch arrived and we ate and talked about Ecuador. As was customary at this gathering, there was a ‘lunch speaker’ and it so happened that we had the front row table, both of us facing the stage. The speaker was a VC guy from New England. He approached the microphone with polite applause from the audience of 400 or so. His fame had come from completing 30 TRIATHLONS IN 30 DAYS (yes, you read that right) so his aggressive Alpha style was not of interest to me (I had just come from a 30+ year career in the Outdoor Industry, with a surplus of testosterone to go around). His talk began with a polished intro, thanking the people of Quito and Ecuador for their warm welcome and their beautiful country. He then grabbed the ‘clicker’ to begin his presentation. He informed the audience that his claim to fame was the 30 triathlons mentioned above, a truly gargantuan feat. He clicked on the first slide and what I saw I will never forget. It was what they call a ‘flash bulb moment’ when an event so disruptive is chemically burned into your minds eye. There, on a full stage screen, was a photo of my deceased wife, Ellie, riding a Mtn Bike. It was beyond surreal. I tapped my lunch mate on the shoulder and shared “Thats…my…wife…” he looked at me with an unforgettable look of shock “What?” I was actually experiencing a vague dizziness and distinct disorientation
“Are you ok?” He asked
“No.” A tear rolling down my cheek. I rose to leave, from a front-row seat, at the start of the presentation. When I turned I saw and felt 800 eyeballs looking right in my direction as I was in front of the stage. I made my way through the auditorium, zigging and zagging through the obstacle course of tables towards the French doors at the back. As I walked, I resorted to long-established habitual crisis behaviors, these ones trained though not unconscious.
