Letters from a Wandering Soul

🌫️ Mashpi Day 3 – A Farewell Left in the Air 🕔 05:00–07:00 | A Final Early Step Between Shadows of Trees From the terrace of the Yaku Suite on the second floor, the air felt chilly—18°C—with 95% humidity soaking everything. My hair, the blanket, even the breath itself— everything was steeped in invisible moisture. Soft raindrops had been tapping gently on the glass ceiling since dawn. I opened my eyes before the alarm, silenced it, and stepped out in slippers to open the glass door. The forest was saturated, holding back a downpour like a swollen dam. Beneath a heavy fog that hung like a cloud pressed against the earth, my feet met the uneven soil of the trail. Gnarled tree roots burst up through the mud, intertwined with scattered stones. All around—far and near—birds of every color perched on the trees like living flowers. Dripping in morning light and dew, they sang the dawn into existence. 🕖 07:00–09:00 | A Final Cup Beneath the Birds’ Song I stepped i...

🌿 Mashpi Lodge Day 2 – A Day Facing the Forest Beyond the Glass Walls 🕔 05:00–07:00 | Wings in the Dark, A Transparent Awakening Mashpi Lodge, 2nd Floor – Yaku Suite. A hushed, silvery sky peeked cautiously through the headlamp-lit mist beyond the glass wall. With the headlamp in hand, I walked quietly toward the Observation Deck. The breath of dawn passed through the petals and blades, as if the sunlight fragments inhaled by the flowers and leaves yesterday were now being exhaled again—soft, golden, and trembling. A flying Quetzal, a blue Tanager, a red Barbet— each bird seemed to breathe out these same fragments, woven with the quiet breath of the morning. Through the telescope, a pair of green eyes glowed— not with movement, but with a gaze that met mine, softly. The temperature was 18°C. Not merely cool, but just on the edge of chill. The humidity: 94%. My hair and skin soaked in moisture, every pore whispering with dew. 🕖 07:00–09:00 | Breakfast – A Plate I...

🌲 Mashpi Day 1 – Gazing at the Still Forest, Separated Only by Glass 🕔 05:00–07:00 | Mindo’s Final Mist, A Quiet Goodbye I opened the window of La Bicok, and through the veil of mist tangled among the trees, soft birdsong echoed low and far. The temperature was 16°C—cool and crisp from the night. I checked my bags one last time and slowly sipped a chilled chamomile iced tea. Soon, the reserved SUV pulled into the driveway. I opened the trunk and placed my small luggage inside. “Mashpi Lodge, por favor,” I whispered silently to myself as I settled into the car. Cutting through the quiet wind, Mindo faded slowly from view— without a single word of farewell, just drifting away, like breath on glass. 🕖 07:00–09:00 | Nanegalito – The Village Where the Wind Changes Driving northwest along Ruta E28, the car sliced through the wind. From the open window, the scent of wild grasses and the fresh tang of mango leaves danced in the breeze and gently brushed my nose. Th...

🌳 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 ...

🌫️ Day 7 – The Path into the Cloud Forest, A Gentle Transition to Mindo Mindo – Day One 🕔 05:00–07:00 | The Last Sound of the Waterfall, A Quiet Departure The moist fog seeped into every corner, settling even upon my half-asleep body, wrapping around me like a breath soaked in soft dew, gently waking me from sleep. Outside, it was 9°C. The sound of the waterfall, carrying the fading scent of stars and moonlight from the night, broke apart beneath the crystal brightness of the rising sun— and yet it was different in its essence. Just as dazzling sunlight can make it impossible to open your eyes, a waterfall breaking under starlit darkness carries a distinct clarity. It pierces through, wrapping the air in light and scent, soaking the space in invisible oxygen, and resonating through the air. Last night, I had ordered warm cacao milk via room service. Now, in the distance, the lime-green Andes shimmered like a painted canvas catching the morning light. The crashing ...

🌿 Baños Day 3 – The Scent of the Andes, Sweet Earth, and Quiet Closure 🕔 05:00–07:00 | Morning Air in Bed, 9°C – A Quiet Start Unlike the warmth inside the cozy blanket, the air brushing against my face and pushing into my lungs was cold and fresh. On the window frame, dewdrops clung like tiny pearls of frost, countless mirrors hanging the whole world upside down, wrapping it up, as if even the chilly air added a layer of transparency. Outside the window of Hotel Sangay, everything was veiled in a moist mist, soaked in dew. 🕖 07:00–09:00 | Brunch at Café Ricooo Pan – Warm Bread and Tropical Fruit After stepping out of the hotel and walking for about three minutes, I reached the entrance of Café Ricooo Pan. There, the life force of freshly baked wheat with corn butter seemed to erupt and stir the entire street like a fragrant explosion. The nutty aroma of the golden, buttery corn bread, fresh from the oven, rose like trembling mirages in the morning sunlight, wrapping a...

Embracing the Day’s Tremble with Tea and Waterfall Mist 🕔 05:00–07:00 | 8°C Morning, Mist and the Scent of Coffee The sound of the waterfall, which had poured all night and was still falling, felt as natural as breathing. As I woke up and stepped onto the balcony of Hotel Sangay , the mist was drawing a faint rainbow, and everything around me was soaked—quietly glowing with transparent mist and dew. The early morning temperature was now 7°C, and the cold air was filled with gentle moisture. I grabbed my cardigan and a small bag and stepped out onto the street. The aroma of freshly roasted coffee led me through the quiet alleys. Before long, I came upon a place called "Honey Coffee & Tea." Along the ridgelines between the mountain slopes, the morning mist hung like a bridal veil over a bride’s face. Steam was gently rising from the just-baked cheese cherry pie and the warm café con leche , softly wrapping around my face. 🕖 07:00–09:00 | The Sound of My Hea...