There’s a lot to love about Luang Prabang.
Several months ago I got to make a short stop in the old capital of Laos- between cooking classes, a rice farm, and some great dining, it turned out to be a tasty adventure in one of the most tranquil feeling Southeast Asian cities I’ve visited.
Visiting a supermarket is almost mandatory for me when visiting a new country. I’ve been to about 60, and I’ve made grocery visits in about 40 of them.
So which country has the best grocery stores?
Within each country, for the most part, there’s a range of different stores, but if I were to rank them it might go something like…
7. Portugal
6. Morocco
5. South Korea
4. Singapore
3. Estonia
2. Italy
And in my top spot…
“You are a beautiful, talented, brilliant, powerful musk ox.”
–Leslie Knope
I haven’t done a highlight post of recent reads in a while, so here’s a reading recap of the past few months:
Maria Reva
This book was wild! Totally see why it wound up on so many prize lists. It’s primarily set in Eastern Ukraine in early 2022, meaning everything happens against the backdrop of the Russian invasion. Its plots include a scientist fighting to save a snail species in a war zone, a missing mother, and a bachelor-like matchmaking service getting disrupted by war. Has the feel of a heist movie while exploring being under threat.
RF Kuang
As soon as I realized I was reading a book about a magical school where all the alchemy was unlocked through the power of LINGUISTICS- I was in. It hit all the right nerdy notes for me while also addressing the challenges of colonialism and being in a setting that simultaneously exoticizes but demeans your origins. This book was brilliant.
Jarod K. Anderson
A very vulnerable and very well written memoir featuring the author’s struggle with severe depression and the role nature played in saving his life. While it’s always admirable when someone opens up about these struggles, it doesn’t always translate to the most enjoyable read. There are so many beautiful insights and well-worded thoughts here, however, that make this one of my most highlighted reads.
Anthony Bourdain
I picked this as my memoir-read this time around because I truly couldn’t remember if I’d read it or not. I was so familiar with many of its anecdotes, tone, etc., but that may have been from the many Bourdain interviews and documentaries made over the years. Not everything ages immaculately, but this throwback to his grungiest kitchen days showed he always had it as a storyteller.
Ta Nehisi Coates
This pseudo-memoir-slash-essay-collection connects a lot of dots between Palestine, Coates’ travels to the Senegalese Coast, and his home in Baltimore. His writing is sharp as always but it’s his ability to blend personal narrative with global concerns that carries a reminder of James Baldwin in the best way.
Louise Penny
I picked this up because I wanted a read to correspond with my Quebec trip. This was a dive into a genre I don’t typically read much of–mystery surrounding a quirky detective. I loved shows like Monk and Colombo, so maybe I should pick them up more often. This world definitely fit that bill, with an element of time jumps back and forth over several decades to see how different characters evolve. Great character work.
Drew Magary
This book was weird, frenetic, and basically what would happen if you took Alice in Wonderland and then swapped Alice out with a dude going through a mid-life crisis. It’s absurdist, funny, but at the very end manages to tie things together with a little surprise that adds a meaningful touch in an Everything-Everywhere sort of way.
Zoraida Córdova
Another read I picked up in order to sync with my travel plans. This one has a good dose of magical realism in an accessible YA sort of delivery. The world was rich and the plot was interesting, but I often found myself lost in the details. Maybe I just read this too late at night too many times. I still liked it.
Ian McEwan
A bit of a melancholic feeling novel about a couple of friends reunited after a funeral and a trip to Amsterdam. Some interesting bits pop up around a political scandal and other things unfolding, however this one had a fairly bleak and heavy feel– and featured a lot less of Amsterdam than I would’ve liked. Will take recs for books actually set in the Netherlands.
James Cone
This was a long overdue read for me, as I’ve been familiar with Cone’s work through the many theologians and thinkers he’s influenced. Still, it was great to finally go to the source of his main argument– connecting the crucifixion to the lynching tree in Black History, along with figures like Emmett Till and elements like blues and spirituals. Such a profound look at Black liberation theology.
Harley Rustad
This was one of my favorite recent reads– an investigation into the mysterious disappearance of an Instagram travel influencer in 2016 somewhere in the valley of the Himalayas. This book had a really similar feel to Jon Krakauer’s books, and makes direct reference to Into The Wild a few times to acknowledge the uncanny similarities. Also introduces the eerie pattern of disappearances in India’s Parvati Valley which now feel underreported.
Zeinab Badawi
I loved this! While I don’t know if I can ever consider a single book on Africa “fully comprehensive” this is the closest thing I’ve seen! Especially because it’s written to very deliberately feature Africans’ retelling of their own history. This spans the continent well, but I especially loved the highlights on Ethiopia, Tunisia, Angola, and Great Zimbabwe.
There was an author who I used to be quite fond of. As he transitioned from writing thoughtful memoirs to more self-help-style business books, my interest started to fade. Out of curiosity, I looked over some of his more recent stuff.
In both books and blogs, he seemed to frequently ask the question:
“Do you want a remarkable life?”
“You know you weren’t born just to be average… you’re here to do something remarkable.”
“You’ve got to leave your comfort zone, otherwise you won’t live that remarkable life you were meant for.”
It made me question… do I actually want my life to be remarkable?
Remarkable: well-above-average, outstanding, or impressive.
Do I want my life to be above average? I think it’s inevitable for some parts of my life to be above average, only to be balanced out by other parts being below average. I guess it’d be kind of boring to be perfectly average all across the board.
Do I want my life to be outstanding? Within reason, I suppose.
Do I want my life to be impressive? I’d be lying if I said no. But also, I’ve learned that living for the admiration of others is a futile endeavor.
Comedian Zoltan Kaszas has a great bit in his London Fog special, where he pokes fun at people who talk up their desire to “leave a legacy.”
“Or…” he suggests, “You could just die casually. People who want to leave a legacy are probably the same group of people who actually enjoy having Happy Birthday sung to them. The rest of us just smile and wait for it to be over.”
(Go check out that hour-long special, by the way. It’s one of the better ones I’ve seen in a while.)
But I guess my honest answer isn’t one that’ll ramp up excitement in that business/self-help aisle. Do I want a remarkable life? Sometimes yes, sometimes no.
First, let’s talk about the times where a remarkable life actually does carry some appeal.
I once saw this advertisement for a men’s magazine with the text Live The Interesting Life written over a scene of a funeral. Gathered around the casket were presumably the family of the deceased, a rugby team, some Buddhist monks, a mime, a few guys in kilts with bagpipes, a chef, a pair of geishas, and a bike gang. Whoever this guy was, he had a remarkable life. It seemed like he had a lot of fun.
Most people don’t realize it but life often throws us thousands of discreet invitations to go on quirky side quests that we often miss.
I have a tendency to embrace quirky adventures when I get the opportunity. A little while ago, I decided to run a marathon, and then decided that marathon should be in the epicenter of running: Kenya. The goal isn’t to impress others for the sake of vanity. My race splits were definitely not impressive. The goal is often to amuse myself, to see life differently by going way beyond the default, and to meet some interesting people along the way.
The reality is that each of us only gets to use one playable character in our lives: ourselves. Life itself is a pretty wild gift, and whenever you take the time to think of all the crazy and improbable things that needed to happen in order for there to be a universe that could host our planet… a planet that could sustain life long enough for the exact specific combination of your ancestors to meet in order to lead to you… its mindblowing. It never gets old. And it makes you not want to squander that gift.
A book or a movie doesn’t really go anywhere if its characters don’t have any sort of goal or objective.
And you know what? Life gets a lot more depth when you decide to live intentionally.
Whenever you pick a big dream, goal, or mission and pursue it wholeheartedly, so many pieces of life fall into place. It’s like we weren’t just put here to recycle calories and oxygen, but we have storylines and plots just waiting for us. And whether that takes the form of doing something good for the world, something really challenging that inspires others, or some combination, the result is an actually remarkable life.
Okay, but let’s talk about the flip side of that.
Calling some lives remarkable implies the existence of unremarkable lives… and that doesn’t sit well with me.
Once again, the crazy improbable odds of our universe, our planet, and our ancestors setting the stage for ourselves means that every life is pretty remarkable just by virtue of being here.
Let’s be real. So many of the things I’ve gotten to do that might seem “remarkable” were available to me because of a lot of privilege and the work of other people. My parents and grandparents didn’t quite have the same amount of opportunities but that doesn’t make their journey any less remarkable.
Working in rural and remote villages for a decade has helped me further appreciate the things we often look at as plain, simple, and ordinary. I know that some of the most beautiful lives have been lived in very ordinary settings. Those encounters have done the most to remind me of the good in the world. It feels wrong to talk disparagingly about “ordinary” when ordinary can be quite beautiful.
Finally, there have been a few experiences where I’ve seen my “normal” life being disrupted by some sort of crisis. In those moments, you really start to crave normal.
A lot of spiritual leaders have defined enlightenment as the realization that our separation is an illusion.
I think that applies to this illusion that some lives are remarkable and others aren’t. The fact is, it’s all fairly relative. I still often think about a 2019 interview where Conan O’Brien acknowledged: “At this point in my career, I could go out with a grand, 21-gun salute, and climb into a rocket and the entire Supreme Court walks out and they jointly press a button, I’m shot up into the air and there’s an explosion and it’s orange and it spells, ‘Good night and God love,’”
“In this culture? Two years later, it’s going to be, ‘Who’s Conan?’ This is going to sound grim, but eventually, all our graves go unattended.”
Living for the admiration of others is sort of pointless.
You’re probably best off simply living the best version of your life. Whatever that happens to mean. I’m sure it’ll be remarkable.
New Zealand surprised me with its abundance of good places to eat, but the journey wouldn’t be complete without a taste of Māori cuisine.
With the exception of certain cities, it isn’t always easy to find hangi- traditional roasts in underground ovens. Thankfully I found The Hangi Shop in Auckland for a little intro.
It is easy to feel discouraged and simply let go. There is no shame in that. We are, after all, engaged in a struggle that seems, if we look at it using a mainstream political framework and through a mass media prism, unwinnable. On the other hand, if we take a step back, look at things from a broader angle, reflecting on what is happening all over the world and the history of struggle, the history of solidarity movements, it becomes clear, sometimes even obvious, that seemingly indestructible forces can be, thanks to people’s willpower, sacrifices, and actions, easily broken.
–Angela Davis
My run with Plant With Purpose as storyteller and communications leader has come to a close. It has been such a big part of my life for so long, so that still feels weird to say. But when it comes to feelings, gratitude is front and center.
The past decade has been a joyful adventure.
Getting to serve the communities at the front lines of climate change through the work of international development, tree planting, and storytelling through Plant With Purpose has been such a privilege.
First, know that there’s no drama. All I’ve said about the mission these past few years hold true and I’m cheering on my friends and partners still. I finish on a high note. I got to start my last week delivering a sermon on climate justice wrapped up in stories and lessons from the past ten years.
I finish on a high note. I got to start my last week delivering a sermon on climate justice wrapped up in stories and lessons from the past ten years.
At an organization that’s not far from 50 years old, it was always going to be a relay race.
And I get to hand that baton off to some of the best hands. Teammates. Partners all around the world.
I’ve been flashing back to when I received that baton.
Not only did I get the chance to enter the world of international development like I always dreamed, but I wound up at an organization that was doing everything the right way. Treating people like partners not projects. Investing in local leadership. Addressing root causes.
And my job was to put words to it. To tell that story!
I always said that I had the fun job, but that I hoped everyone felt that way about their job.
I’m pretty sure that back when I was interviewing for the role, I used the line “I’d like my growth to happen alongside the organization’s growth.”
And it really happened.
When I joined Plant With Purpose, it was doing great work. But it was small and scrappy I was a one-person department.
I got to see all my teammates level up their efforts.
To see the team grow from 15 to 50 people. To see people hired right out of college turn into senior leaders. To see programs in Malawi and Ethiopia get started. I got to help concoct talking points to make the work irresistible. I rallied for stage time and article placements and podcast interviews, and landed a couple fun ones. Made some videos I’m proud of.
Our audience grew. So did the budget. 325% baby.
As for my growth?
Some of it is obvious.
Welcoming three kids in the middle of the ride will do that.
But there’s a lot that changed beneath the surface too. I’ve grown professionally and personally.
Early on, I swung for the fences, feeling like I had a lot to prove. Lots of energy. Could’ve used more focus.
But I got to learn from partners. Learn from teammates. Learn from experience.
I went from working for admiration to working from love.
I went from doing something new every two years, setting out with a founder’s mentality to learning how to appreciate the joy of being on a team. The beauty of a long obedience in the same direction.
And let’s be real, we had some big adventures.
My Plant With Purpose journey took me from clay houses in Tanzania to the TED Stage. I got to step into hilltribe villages in Thailand and church forests in Ethiopia.
I experienced a rush of hope during a difficult time while standing in a Haitian pine forest.
I experienced healing when I planted the first tree in Oaxaca in memory of a friend.
And I experienced a lot of weird things too.
Accidentally hosting a whole bunch of diplomats in our office who all wanted to talk about cyberbullying. Bringing a David Attenborough impression to our fanciest fundraising event of the year. Doing crowd work in a village using the only 12 Kirundi phrases I knew.
When people would ask me my favorite part about my work, there was a lot to say. I got to do the things I loved doing. I got to do them for a legitimately good cause. And yes, the adventures!
But over time, that answer got a lot simpler.
The people.
I’ve worked with some great ones.
That’ll be the thing I miss most.
My comms and marketing team challenged me to always show up mindfully, strategically, and creatively.
My international partners absolutely wowed me with their courage and spirit of serving others. Some show up again and again. In war zones. In spite of so many setbacks. Some of the bravest stories are ones I can’t even talk about, because of real safety concerns.
And I’ve also been thinking about Kirstie. Durbel. Katie Gardner. People who reminded me that at the end of the day, what matters is that you showed up for others with love.
I’ve livestreamed funerals and adoption hearings with this team. Half of us became parents at the same time.
Next adventures are loading.
I hold curiosity, excitement, nervousness, and all that as I look forward to what comes next. Trust me, you’ll hear all about it.
But before jumping there, I wanted to give the past decade its due.
It was such a good one.
I’m not usually a fan of endings, but If I’ve learned anything from years of telling stories about trees and soil, it’s that nothing really ends.
Sure, things decay and go back into the earth where they started. They get chewed up by worms for a little bit. And then? Something new bursts out made up of the same organic matter of what was.
I’m so thankful for the grace I’ve gotten from everybody I worked with. That grace allowed me to grow.
I’m grateful for all the adventures. So many hilarious moments. So many beautiful ones.
And I’m hopeful the legacy of ethical storytelling, partners not projects, and choosing curiosity and hope will continue.
What a gift.
At the start of winter, I decided to anchor those months around the theme of: FREE.
It’s wild how that played out. December was an incredibly fun amusement park of a month, but then January came–a month marked by endings and death. Literally in a few cases.
February contained one of my biggest life changes in years, since kids, really, and entering a liminal space of transition.
So does that fit the picture of FREE? I oddly think it does.
Freedom is easy to romanticize but it come with a big trade. Though you cut obligations, you lose predictability. Muscle memory that served you well for ages is no longer of use.
I’ve never been the most astrological person, but whenever I’ve read about snake years turning into horse years representing a shedding of old skin, I’ve thought… I can work with that! Let’s break into a run.
Something I’d love to start doing more of this year: paid speaking gigs! I truly love speaking, creating experiences, and connecting with people on stage. Lots to learn about how to make that more of a recurring thing.
Guess it’s time to start putting that out there more often!
(Also, I’ve given a TED Talk but I’m dropping an image of the one and only time I’ve tried stand up comedy cause that’s life!)
During my last week at Plant With Purpose, one of my teammates said that to her a big part of my legacy was to always ‘do the weird thing.’
Say what?
She explained by remembering all the times we wound up dancing for an audience at an Ethiopian restaurant, ordering mystery items from a soup restaurant in Thailand, or ducking from tree branches while in a truck bed on a muddy road.
The things you end up remembering the most at the end of the day are the times you said yes to ‘weird’ invitations.
I kinda like having that legacy.
3/7 – A weekend for the guys.
One of the biggest problems of social impact storytelling, in my opinion, is that it often assigns the exact same personality to all of its subjects.
Kind and sympathetic.
Hardworking but docile.
Struggling and virtuous.
And, sure, those traits are common. But man, the village has way more personality than that! There’s sass and eagerness and playfulness and stubbornness and all of it.
Storytellers, what are you doing to make sure your subjects don’t get a generic wash.
Hey, I’m about to get spiritual in this post! I’m amused. My first two speaking engagements in 2026 include a stand-up comedy set about dim sum, and a Sunday sermon on climate justice. Life be like that sometimes.
It was actually a while back when our lead pastor asked if I’d take on a Sunday sermon. Our church was planning for a several-week thematic series about environmental stewardship. Since my day job surrounds caring for the environment it made sense. I often talk about the environment through a lens of faith. I figured this would be a good opportunity to do that in front of a home crowd. Going to this church for close to a decade meant a lot of familiar and friendly faces in the congregation.
I quickly agreed.
A few months later, I’d get an email pitching several dates, along with the themes and passages of Scripture that were selected. I was asked if I might cover a week when our pastor was away for a retreat, though I could have my choice if another week’s theme really was the right fit.
I had a look at the scheduled message: God rebukes nations that oppress the poor. Environmental justice is a prophetic call that confronts systems that exploit creation and people.
Of all the themes the series would cover, this one was the most confrontational. Likely a different tone than people are used to from me. And of all the topics, it probably looked like the biggest challenge.
The fact is, I often wish that the rebuking of nations that oppress the poor happened a little more vividly. I wish that the way people and nations had to face the consequences for mistreating the poor happened more apparently. More obviously. Because I often question if it happens at all.
This is especially true when it comes to the environment. If only it was as simple as each nation facing its own consequences. The most climate vulnerable countries should be the oil-rich Gulf States, the US, Australia, and Canada. Instead the most vulnerable include nations like DR Congo, Somalia, and South Sudan. These are countries with some of the smallest carbon emissions.
I often have to trust that God’s justice happens on a non-individualistic scale. One my mind struggles with. After all, the borders and labels are things we invented.
Anyways, I took my own struggles with the theme and the passage as a nudge to lean into it. Even though I could’ve easily requested a different topic, I decided it was best not to.
I spent the past couple weeks preparing the sermon. There were a lot of notes to hit. Integrating my work experience, the context behind the scripture, and the earlier sermons. Then came the events of the past week.
Minneapolis. Alex Pretti. Murder committed by the US government against its own people, with no accountability.
God rebukes nations that oppress the poor.
Could we see if that delivery has a tracking number?
There were already complex ingredients going into this sermon. I also knew these events had to be addressed in some capacity.
Thankfully, the selection of scripture kind of already does:
“I hate, I despise your religious festivals; your assemblies are a stench to me.
Even though you bring me burnt offerings and grain offerings, I will not accept them.
Though you bring choice fellowship offerings, I will have no regard for them.
Away with the noise of your songs! I will not listen to the music of your harps.
But let justice roll on like a river, righteousness like a never-failing stream!
–Amos 5:21-24
Amos was a shepherd and fig farmer. He found himself in a prophetic role at a time when the Kingdom of Israel was prosperous. And hypocritical. They had a lot of rituals and activities meant to showcase their religiousness. Sacrifices and pilgrimages, you know the drill. These rituals were completely hollow.
Amos called out the economic injustice, hypocrisy, and moral decay going on.
When I read phrases like “away with the noise of your songs” megachurch scenes come to mind. “I despise your religious festivals” is giving packed auditoriums. Airlifted pastors performing stunts. Smoke machines. The sort of stuff that are all too easy for Druski to parody.
I can’t help but think of all the eagerness I’ve seen behind church branding. Spiritual movements that trap its congregants in a state of euphoria. All while the neighborhoods around them look like ancient Israel. Injustice and exploitation run rampant.
NPR has released so many episodes titled “Christianity is hip now.” All harping on the trendiness of worship music. (Go public radio, but I don’t need this exact same story on every show, guys!)
There’s a common phrase that gets thrown around a lot in evangelical circles: make Jesus famous. It’s such an American mentality around what it means to know and be known.
We’re misled that to know and be known happens through celebrity, brand recognition, and fame. These circles want to introduce people to God the way you’d introduce someone to Radiohead. They’d rather make fans than followers.
Following requires that you welcome immigrants. Following requires that you call out injustice. Following requires that you side yourself with those who suffer.
I’ve seen so many instances of empty worship that I often feel desensitized to it. Times where a weekly gathering brings about noise and no justice. It’s gotten to the point where I’m likely to associate a church’s sleek branding with emptiness than substance. Most of my spiritual growth over the past decade has come via the uncool.
I appreciate Amos. It shows how, as much as anyone, God despises when people apply holy branding to things that are not of God. And if you do too, you’re not crazy.
Where do you even begin? After this weekend in our country, there have been plenty of feelings- lament, rage, disgust- but not so many words.
At least words that haven’t already been said. Said by countless others, by myself for years and years.
Words that don’t feel like either preaching to the choir or talking to a wall.
It is truly sad and disgusting that some people will see five year olds detained in political prison camps or people killed by their own government illicit and immediately look for some copy-and-paste logical argument to defend it, because of a need to stick with their side. To wear team colors.
When it’s only reinforced by algorithms, homogenous social circles, and a closed loop media ecosystem, it really gives people a way to justify any horrible act.
Oddly enough, this past weekend I was asked to give a sermon at church on climate justice. Long before the events of this weekend took shape, the theme and scripture were already chosen, and it’s so fitting.
“I hate, I despise your religious festivals; your assemblies are a stench to me.
Even though you bring me burnt offerings and grain offerings, I will not accept them.
Though you bring choice fellowship offerings, I will have no regard for them.
Away with the noise of your songs! I will not listen to the music of your harps.
But let justice roll on like a river, righteousness like a never-failing stream!
–Amos 5:21-24
A timeless call out of when religious displays don’t actually reorient us towards justice. God ain’t having it.
They’re so strongly echoed by Matt Moberg, chaplain of the Minnesota Timberwolves. Anthony Edwards apparently isn’t the only one bringing heat on that team.
“If you’re a church posting prayers for peace and unity today
While my city bleeds in the street,
Miss me with that softness
You only wear when it costs you nothing.”
“You don’t get to quote scripture like a lullaby while injustice stays wide awake.
You don’t get to ask God to ‘heal the land’ if you won’t even look at the wound.”
I try to routinely read an autobiography of somebody who wouldn’t seem like a very obvious subject for me to dive into. A couple of months it was Danny Trejo, and I’m so glad I went with his life story.
It's easy to get caught up in the pursuit of a dream. It's also pretty common that the path to getting to where we want to be will look completely different from how we imagined it. Put these things together and you have a lot of people living out lives they've always dreamt of without really realizing it. Here's to noticing when you've "made it" so you don't wind up missing it.
The past couple weeks have been something else.
A friend and a colleague have passed away. Another friend is in a hospital in critical state. So many people in my orbit are going through it.
At a macro level, the globe seems even more cruel than usual, which is saying something.
The work is to keep tender.
The key is to keep showing up.
The important thing is the people.
There’s a lot of work to be done
But stay soft and spend good moments with your people.
Ecotourism can be a tricky thing.
In theory, it sounds like possibly the best thing ever. The chance to travel and do adventurous things out in nature in a way that’s actually good for the environment? Sounds almost too good to be true.
In fact, more often than not, it is too good to be true.
I’ve heard of ways ecotourism offerings created a demand for water in South Africa that the host community couldn’t sustain. Ethical animal encounters in Thailand and Bali that were anything but ethical. Cultural exchange opportunities in the Amazon that turned out to be a commodification of indigenous customs.
Because of this, I often default to some skepticism whenever I hear about an ecotourism opportunity.
It’s a good thing that sometimes they come to you in ways you can actually trust.
For a long time, my friend Esteban had been telling me about his home community in Ecuador and how they were aiming to open up to visitors by offering home stays and guided wildlife encounters. His small community sat in a part of the Andes home to some historic hiking trails and plenty of dazzling bird species.
Then about a year ago, he reached out with a simple “wanna come?”
The thing about Esteban is that he’s a true adventurer. While I was training for my first marathon, he shared his casual weekend runs of as many as 50 miles, connecting peaks, coastlines, and other rugged settings. I imagine his Andean-grown lungs took him places. He also worked for a big outdoor retailer and was trained in wilderness emergency response. This was about as reliable of a connection as I could ask for.
He was actually in the process of launching a small operation of offering group experiences of trail running in the Andean Rainforest.
He shared with me some of his packages- a 50 mile trail run (the bear!), a 20 mile run (toucan!), and a casual food tour for those just there for the vibes. (Hummingbird!)
I figured the toucan seemed like a happy medium for me to go with, but Esteban told me that we would just figure things out when I got there.
While Esteban’s town of Yunguilla is a remote village setting in the mountains, it is technically speaking, still part of Quito. This is partly thanks to the way Quito draws a very wide ring around its core to stretch the municipal limits. Flying to Quito has gotten a lot easier now that Copa Airlines services San Diego. From there, all it took was a couple hour drive into the hills of Yunguilla.
I arrived in time for dinner. When Esteban said that this was the village where his family was from, I didn’t realize that meant his family made up a large portion of the village. The combination of a small community and a large family meant that every other house was occupied by some combination of aunts, uncles, grandparents, or cousins. I sat next to Antonio, an uncle of his as we talked about the village.
Of course, this meant that my first dinner would be a nice big family dinner. Lots and lots of fish were fried. I was introduced to so many people.
Over the course of the night, Esteban and various relatives of his would recount the story of how Yunguilla became what it is. It goes back about thirty years, when “18 locos” put forward the crazy idea to link their farming activities to more sustainable and adventurous activities to appeal to ecotourism as an emerging trend.
The fact that they are still known as the “18 locos” might reveal how this idea was originally received.
Nonetheless, their ideas wound up winning out in the end. And thanks to that, my visit would include touring some farms, staying at a local home, and going out on my hike.
After that very satisfying dinner, I went inside the home of Daisy. She was Esteban’s cousin and my host for that first night. Daisy had a really cool house, with second level walkways that made it feel a bit like a treehouse. As we hung out in her living room, we were soon joined by what felt like the entire town. Four men with guitars began playing some traditional music and a dance party broke out right there.
It was a blast, but it had also been a long day, and I was also beginning to wonder where I’d find the energy reserves to hike a good distance the next day.
The adventure at hand would be a two-day hike through the Andean cloud forest. We would be walking on 1,000 year old trails to an ecolodge in a neighboring area. It would be intensive. But first, there were a bunch of community activities ahead of us.
I got up in the morning for some voluntary farmwork. Mostly, I’d be milking a cow with Esteban’s uncle. It was a pretty early morning sandwiched in between a day of travel and a day of hiking, but the view of the sun rising over the hillside farms made it worthwhile. When we got to the top, I got to stop by Esteban’s grandparents’ home and guinea pig farm.
Esteban explained that before the ecotourism activities took off Yungilla was the site of a lot of logging and deforestation. The efforts of those ‘18 locos,’ which included Esteban’s grandpa, not only brought in new sources of revenue to Yunguilla, but it helped curb the demand behind tree cutting. Now that there was interest in Yunguilla as an ecological site, cutting down trees had a competing interest.
The pandemic brought a lot of the tourism activities to a halt. But the people of Yunguilla found other income streams through their farming… dairy in particular. Part of my visit that morning included a stop at a milk and cheese processing plant. We went to visit some garden beds. And since this is the part of the world where potatoes originate, we also stopped by a chip cookery.
It was a lot of activity. A blast, but also, I felt like I had done an entire day’s worth of things and our hike hadn’t even begun. We would start in the afternoon after lunch. We went back to Daisy’s where we would eat a quick meal before departing. I found a fifteen minute gap to excuse myself to my room. I’m thankful that power naps have always worked for me. Sometimes shutting my eyes for as little as five minutes can shake off a whole lot of exhaustion.
It worked, and a few minutes later, I was finishing off a plate of eggs and cassava ready to begin a two-day trek through some rugged jungle terrain.
What sets Esteban’s efforts in his home town apart from so many of the less savory ecotourism opportunities is simply the fact that this is Esteban’s home. It’s all done relationally. At the end of the day, this project is rooted in having a sustained way of supporting the community rather than maximizing profit.
When ecotourism goes right and actually lives up to its promise, it’s a really, really good thing. This isn’t always the case, but being able to do one of my favorite things, traveling, in a way that can generate income, collaboration, and a shared purpose among a community is a real win.
Didn’t I just get done memorializing 2025?
Okay then. 2016 was the year we brought home Beignet, the year I started running, the year I finished grad school, our last full year of living in Oregon, and the year our lives turned into the plot of The Big Sick. Made a big return trip to South Africa and ventured into what was then Swaziland.
Kind of a difficult year, without the rosy nostalgia glasses, actually, and I felt ten years older then than I do now. But it set the stage for some real good things to come.
“Power at its best is love implementing the demands of justice. Justice at its best is power correcting everything that stands against love.”
-MLK
Not just a dream, but a demand.
Drawing in memory of my friend and colleague, Durbel.
