content marketer | multimedia journalist
On my way out of Cuenca, a university student surveyed me on my tourism experience. What did I like best about the city? Its colonial architecture. How were my accommodations, rated from zero to five, 5 being highly recommended? 5. The food? 5. The shopping? 5 — with $0 left in my pocket.
The top of the hill was in sight. We’d already climbed one seaside peak, ungracefully slipping up the sandy trail, and we were rounding the second one when we saw the old hotel complex. I called out. “¿Hola, hay alguien por acá?” Is anyone there? From one of the cabins wandered a man, compact and spry, gray bristles written across his chest and arms. He smiled.
There’s something about Ayampe. Some say it’s an energy portal. Others say it traps you. As I see it, this Ecuadorian beach village gives out an open invitation. It welcomes you to relax, reflect and, yeah OK, stay a lot longer than you reckoned for.
With cerulean flippers and electric eyes, the male blue-footed booby waddles around in a mating dance, gradually approaching his desired mate. The female evaluates him. If she approves his health (noted primarily in the vibrancy of his feet), she knocks noses with him. And with that gesture, it’s settled. They’re an item — at least for now.
Ayampe — built almost entirely of bamboo and straw — rests only eight hours by bus from the capital city of Quito, Ecuador. But it’s a world away in lifestyle. In this beach town, you wake up with the sun, work and relax and live outdoors. You order a coconut from an old man and watch his eight-year-old grandson chop it open with a machete. You eat ceviche for $3 while hearing the ocean roar. And you spend your afternoons in a hammock, awaiting sunset.
There was one early indication that we’d arrived to the jungle: Above the power lines in Tena wandered a host of monkeys.
I’d like to introduce you to MUTA: a cross-disciplinary, multinational collective seeking to create a sense of place. Let’s unpack that.