“From Mindo to Quito – A Farewell Journey Through the Cloud Forest and the City Lights”

🌳 Mindo Day 3 – A Bird Without Wings, the Breath of Coffee, a Quiet Ending

🕔 05:00–07:00 | Birdsong in the Dark, a Transparent Morning

The forest, draped in darkness, had already awakened—
not with footsteps, but with the soft flutters and songs of birds.
At La Bicok EcoLodge, the air was a brisk 16°C, crisp and quiet.
The silence itself seemed to drink in the rising steam from a warm mug of chamomile tea.
Wrapped in a thin hoodie, I stepped into the garden,
where every blade of grass and flower wore droplets of dawn like delicate jewelry.
I hurried outside to greet them—
each one shimmering, still holding its breath before the sun arrived.

🕖 07:00–09:00 | Birdwatching at the Birdwatcher’s House – Colors Above Stillness

Around the Birdwatcher’s House, the morning mist had begun to fade,
and at a calm 17°C, the air felt peacefully motionless.
Only the fluttering of wings and the gentle laughter of birds stirred the silence,
their feathers rustling like whispered secrets in the breeze.

Each leaf shimmered, wet with dew—
as if the entire forest had just stepped out of a morning shower.
Nearby, a tanager with a crimson chest—larger than a face—
and blue mountain toucans cut through the wind with powerful wings.

Their flight—red, blue, and yellow—wove through sunbeams
falling between the green leaves,
painting movement into a forest that had moments before
felt like a frozen still frame.
In that silence, their color brought life.

🕘 09:00–11:00 | Mindo Coffee Lodge – The Warmth of Roasting Beans

At the open-air roasting space of Mindo Coffee Lodge & Spa,
a soft breeze, warmed by the morning sun, passed gently over wooden tables.
On them lay sun-dried cacao leaves and ruby-colored coffee cherries,
their fragrance rising with the light.
The temperature had risen to a mild 20°C, embracing the skin like a low, steady hum.

In front of me, a handful of beans were ground by a small, palm-sized machine.
The resulting cup—dark and red like deep mahogany—
glistened with sunlight in a clear glass.
The surface rippled with light,
as if the flavor itself were trembling.

The taste was soft and earthy,
like bitter chocolate melting in the mouth,
followed by a full-bodied aroma that lingered gently.
It felt as if the essence of the forest—its leaves, its silence, its breath—
had been steeped into this single, shining cup of coffee.

🕚 11:00–13:00 | Garden Stroll – A Slow Step Toward Farewell

On the path returning to La Bicok,
a blue-speckled bird brushed past the back of my neck—so close, it stirred the air.
The sun had grown warm.
I walked, then paused, then lowered myself onto a bench once more.

Stretching both arms out across the bench’s edge,
I tilted my head back, sunglasses shielding my gaze,
and looked up into the sky—
not just blue, but swirling in a light and cloud-born spectrum
no words could truly contain.

It was a sky painted with colors not of this world—
faces sculpted from light and mist,
floating in silence, radiant, eternal.

Beside me, the towering branches of a great tree reached upward,
its broad green leaves catching the light.
Between those delicate, soft-green layers,
the sun streamed through—
shards of light riding the breeze like drifting fragments of memory.

🕐 13:00–15:00 | Farewell Lunch at Caskaffesu – A Gentle Goodbye

At Caskaffesu Café, soft light spilled in through the windows,
dancing quietly across yellow walls.
Each window was framed with airy chiffon curtains
that fluttered gently, like whispered sighs.

The farewell meal was silent—
a quiet that held no awkwardness, only stillness.

A mushroom crêpe, a warm bowl of carrot soup,
and a single, rich slice of fig brownie.

Because I knew this would be the final meal,
an unspoken aftertaste lingered—
not only on the tongue,
but in the air, in the corners of the café,
and somewhere behind my ribs.

It was a softness that didn’t ask to be spoken—
only felt.

🕒 15:00–17:00 | Packing by Hand, What Remains Is Air

Back in the room,
I moved busily, packing the few things I had brought.

Outside the open window,
the forest’s birdsong and wind whispered together—
and when the breeze stirred the curtain,
it brushed softly against my cheek, like a final touch.

Everything remained just as it had been.
But I was leaving.

As I stepped through the doorway,
something within me swelled—
not loudly, but with a quiet tremble.

It felt as if the scent of the forest itself
was saying goodbye,
leaving behind a presence
far stronger than words.

A farewell made not with voices,
but with breath.

🕔 17:00–19:00 | Leaving Mindo – The Last Green Beyond the Window

A gentle misting rain
fell softly upon my head as I loaded my bags into the private car.

I climbed in,
and quietly, the world outside began to recede.

The lush leaves of the trees lining the roadside—
they didn’t seem to stand still.
Instead, it felt as though they were flying past,
as if it were not us leaving them,
but them running from the car,
their green retreat brushing the windowpanes like memory.

The rain tapped on the glass—
not with urgency,
but like a whisper of goodbye.

I said nothing,
but through my eyes
and my heart,
I offered my farewell.

🕖 19:00–21:00 | Return to Quito – A City Lighting Up One by One

As we drove along the mountain ridges,
the city lights began to flicker on—
one after another—
as if the city itself was greeting the dusk,
gently saying hello while I was saying goodbye.

The scenery of Mindo slowly faded behind me,
and a new world began to appear through the window.

The moon—
not quite half, but more curved and slivered like a silver smile—
peeked through the drifting clouds.
And the stars—
they looked as though they might spill across the sky at any moment,
their eyes wide open and shimmering.

Silently, I offered my farewell
through my gaze and through my heart.

And I knew,
that farewell would stay with me—
tucked deep inside
like a letter folded
and kept in the quietest part of me.

🕘 21:00–23:00 | On the Bed in Quito – The Last Scent of the Forest

As soon as I arrived at the hotel in the heart of Quito,
I unpacked my bags in silence.
Beyond the softly glowing city lights outside the window,
I lit a candle from Mindo—
infused with the scent of tea tree and forest air.

The room was cool at 16°C.
I sank into the silky cotton bed,
its soft touch like a whisper against my skin.

Though the forest of Mindo was now behind me,
I could still see the blue butterfly—
clear as daylight—
brushing past the nape of my neck,
landing gently on the bridge of my nose.

And in that moment,
the sunlight from Mindo shone inside me
as brightly as the moonlight glowing across the Quito night sky.