On the road with stragglers, leaping pupils and a rather skinny giant off Baja California

We are almost too late – and we feel it, too. But well, we are only almost too late. Most of the grey whales have already moved on by the time we arrive in the bay of Bahía La Almeja. The fisherman takes us out anyway. To where the sea flows into the bay. On the off chance, maybe one of these whales will show up after all.

The grey whale that is a straggler

During the summer months, the grey whales dedicate themselves to feeding in the nutrient-rich Bering Sea. But they spend the winter months in the warmer waters of Baja California. They give birth to their calves in the bays, because there they are protected from killer whales.

We head out to the entrance of the bay at full throttle. Long ocean rollers stretch along the coast towards Santa Margarita Island. In the middle, you can barely feel the swell, until a larger wave breaks prematurely after all. Our captain is constantly keeping watch – for the whales and for the waves.

Meanwhile, the peak season for humpback whales is in full swing. Along the southern coast of Baja California, splashing and slapping hits the water from all sides. The young calves are learning to leap, and the adults have to show them how it’s done.

Humpback whales can be found in all the world’s oceans. We have encountered them in Central America before, but we didn’t experience a spectacle quite like the one in Baja California there. The days fly by – or disappear with the current – as we look out at the water, constantly keeping watch for the active giants.

The calves, barely five metres long, are still acting clumsily, while the mother, nearly three times their size, literally catapults herself out of the water. A splash that we can still hear a kilometre away on the beach. The exact reason for the whale breaches is unexplained; it could be against parasites, as play, or for communication. But if that isn’t loud enough, they slap their fins. Individual slaps with the pectoral fin or the fluke onto the water’s surface sound almost like a belly flop from a three-metre diving board.

A song without end

Once we’ve seen more than enough from the beach, we venture out onto the water by boat. Ideally, we would have paddled out directly on our own SUPs or something similar, but there was nothing to be found. And there it is again: mother and calf swimming peacefully along with the currents. Every now and then, a male joins them. Mostly, they are tolerated by the mother cows for protection against killer whales. Because orcas simply like young whale calves – their favourite part is the tongue.

Humpback whales are also present underwater. Albeit far enough away that they can’t be seen, they can certainly be heard. Thanks to a specially shaped larynx, humpback whales can reuse once-inhaled air over and over again to perform long songs. Yes, exactly, entire songs – even with recurring verses. And they learn them from an early age, so that the same population sings the same song – despite the annual adaptation of the hit.

The clock that urges us to continue on

For hours – if not days – we gaze out into the water. The whales, dolphins, rays and fish, the sea lions and sea turtles, the seabirds and crabs provide the best entertainment. Boredom never strikes; it is only time that flies by in a whirlwind. The clock is ticking; it is time to move on.

It is with a heavy heart that we leave the beautiful beaches of southern Baja California. We set off in search of other giants, namely those from the world of plants. To do so, we must swap salt for dust. Fortunately, we know that at our destination, a plunge into the cold sea water awaits us once more.

Or a story about the green cow of Mexico.

The air smells slightly musty after the unexpected rain in a place where it rarely rains. The water falling from the sky has hijacked the power lines; there is no electricity. We are sitting at the bar in near darkness, a shot glass and four bottles of tequila before us. The mobile phone torch serves as a lampshade, the cap of one of the bottles sits on top, scattering the light romantically. We feel like we are in an underground bar in a gangster movie – the perfect place to talk about the unspeakable. And so we do.

José sits elegantly in a blue shirt behind the bar, his sombrero cast aside. He apologises for the lack of power and, with a smile peeking out from beneath his moustache, tells us the story of the Tequilería Casa Puntual. Seeing our keen interest, he also speaks of the reality of Mexico – particularly in a municipality where the mayor was arrested for corruption in January 2026, and where cars were set ablaze just a week before our visit following the death of Mexico’s biggest drug lord.

To understand what we are actually drinking, a look at the numbers helps: 900 million litres of tequila are produced annually. That is equivalent to roughly 360 filled Olympic swimming pools.

However, not everything is 100% tequila. Authentic tequila comes from within a 120-kilometre radius of the village of Tequila. About 20 000 litres are distilled annually in the village itself; the rest comes from the surrounding area, José tells us. Furthermore, 100% tequila may only be bottled in Tequila itself. Otherwise, the regulatory council steps in, as the name has a protected designation of origin – much like Champagne. Tequila is no longer just a drink; it is the flagship export of the Mexican economy.

The basis for this success is the agave, a low-maintenance member of the asparagus family. Yet, depending on demand, it can become a test of patience for any farmer: it blooms only once in its lifetime. As soon as its massive flower spike – reaching up to 12 metres in the Agave americana – shoots towards the sky, its fate is sealed. Shortly after, it dies. Consequently, the true art of tequila lies not in the cultivation of the plant, but in the distilling of the spirit.

A question of origin

Is it Tequila or Mezcal? Mezcal is hardly known abroad, yet the distinction is clear: every tequila is a mezcal (a spirit made from the agave plant), but not every mezcal is a tequila. While mezcal, made from various agave species, undergoes a single distillation process in the palenques, only the heart of the Blue Weber Agave (Agave tequilana) is permitted for tequila, and a double distillation is required. Aside from the white Tequila blanco, other varieties mature in wooden casks for up to three years.

But the world’s thirst is now so great that tequila is often diluted. For the pure drink, the bottle must state “Tequila 100% de Agave”. Otherwise, you are drinking 51% agave spirit mixed with other alcohols, distilled from cheaper options such as cane sugar, for example.

The Aztecs already appreciated the agave, though they mostly chewed on the fibres of the heart or used them to make fabrics. It was the Spaniards who brought the knowledge of distillation and began to burn transform the heart of the plant into a liquid.

It looks like the gateway to a calm, serene, sapphire-blue world. A world of the gods, perhaps just as the Maya imagined it.

You seem to glide weightlessly through the caverns. Where the sun’s rays touch the surface, the water turns turquoise. In the glow of the torches, however, it appears crystal clear; otherwise, there’s only total darkness.

No current, total silence, broken only by the mechanical hiss of the regulator. Were it not for the damp cold creeping into the wetsuit, you wouldn’t feel the water at all. And sometimes a small fish reminds us that we have dived into its world.

The beam of the torch cuts through the darkness. The air bubbles cling to the ceiling like silver Christmas baubles, reflecting the cold artificial light. There is no beginning and no end. As if the surroundings were reflected on the surface of a lake – only from below.

What are cenotes?

The older the cenote, the more likely it is that the ceiling has already collapsed, creating an opening to the surface. Younger cenotes are usually still found in caves, of which there are more than enough in Yucatan; estimates suggest there are over 7,000. Although most contain fresh water, at least in the upper part, there are cenotes where both sea water and fresh water are present, yet they do not mix due to their different densities.

The Mayan world is divided into three parts: the underworld, the earth and the heavens. All caves and caverns are regarded as gateways to the underworld, and although it is called the ‘place of fear’, the underworld is simultaneously a source of life, of the origin.

Researches identified the cenotes as sacred sites due to the many offerings they found in the caves, and even today, though rare, ceremonies are still held. Yet although human sacrifices were made, Xibalbá cannot be compared to the hell of the Christian faith.

It is not a hell, but a testing ground. The deceased pass through the nine levels into which Xibalbá is divided until, after trials, struggles and imposed sufferings, they are permitted to leave the place. The most direct route is via the Ceiba tree, Ceiba pentandra, a sacred tree that connects Xibalbá to the heavens through its roots, trunk and crown.

In fact, all the deceased must pass through the underworld; only those sacrificed, those who have sacrificed themselves, and women who die in childbirth travel directly to the gods in heaven.

Yet as awe-inspiring as the history of the Maya is, today’s reality at the water’s edge often looks far more mundane: it is a multi-million-dollar business.

Holy Tourists

Where priests once made sacrifices to the gods, souvenir shops now line the path to the water. The cenotes remain vital to survival, but no longer just for their drinking water; they are now tourist attractions. Unfortunately, things have reached the point where exorbitant entrance fees are charged, and these are constantly being raised. The owners’ argument? The tourists are willing to pay, so if they don’t like it, they should just visit cenotes abroad. There are indeed cenotes elsewhere, but the problem is that most (and the most impressive) are in Mexico.

Since we’re already in the area, we thought we’d go for a dive. We book a dive online. Most diving schools don’t even have an office you can pop into anymore. We opt for the cheapest deal: two dives in the same Dos Ojos cenote for 170 US dollars.

Almost cheap compared to other online offers. And not much less than the Galapagos, although there we also had a boat trip and lunch included. The value for money is really nowhere near justified in Quintana Roo.

In return, we get to spend the night for free at the fire station and leave the car safely parked there too. Definitely well worth it.

Near Valladolid, there’s a little-known gem: a campsite with a private cenote run by two German expats. We headed there – and weren’t disappointed.

This cenote is the complete opposite of Dos Ojos – not a tourist in sight. They’ve also created a unique entrance: down a spiral staircase, through a rock tunnel and across a (certainly not safety-certified) rope bridge, you descend into the earth’s interior.

There it lies beneath us, Cenote Xnuuk, in the middle of a cave. Only two small light wells let a few rays through at midday when the sun is at its highest point of the year. Fortunately, we no longer rely on daylight, as they have wired and lit everything up. The artificial light is what really brings the cave’s vastness to life. Inside, it’s always 28°C – and as it was so cold during our stay, it felt like a proper spa experience.

This is exactly how we imagined it. Drifting on clear water, alone in a cave. Amidst a silence that permeates everything, interrupted only by the splashing of condensed water droplets. As you watch the roots of the trees in search of the elixir of life, you almost feel as though you can see a Mayan god from Xibalbá venturing up into the world of the living.

The snake winds itself beautifully around the tree trunk. Another poses on a lush green leaf, with the Arenal Volcano in the background. Simply incredible, the perfect coincidence – or is it?

We have often wondered how it is that animals in photos always pose so beautifully – mind you, wild animals.

The answer? It’s sobering: the animals are placed exactly where people want them.

The methods behind the photo

With cold-blooded animals, there are particularly questionable methods: when they are chilled, they hardly move. There are even reports of limbs being suspended by threads. A famous photo of a frog riding a beetle was likely staged this way, as the two species are not active at the same time of day.

Bringing a jaguar into the right position in the wild is difficult – if not impossible. To give tourists a guaranteed sighting, providers resort to aids. Feeding stations are far more common than one might think.

We have also been offered a guaranteed sighting of a “wild” ocelot, or taken to a feeding site for tapirs; even the Orinoco crocodile is fed regularly so that it remains within the national reserve and isn’t killed outside its borders.

Feeding stations for birds are found almost everywhere: Bananas and sugar water are popular choices.

As long as tour operators can guarantee sightings, their income is secure. This leads to a dangerous set of expectations. Tourists want “wildlife photos”. In Costa Rica, the practice went so far that sloths, for example, were taken down from trees just for a “wildlife selfie”. The government launched an awareness campaign in 2019. Perhaps it helped. We didn’t experience anything of this sort ourselves, but we read about it.

With snakes, however, we witnessed a different side of the story.

The business of “perfect” nature

In Costa Rica, we came across a particularly negative practice: a photographer told us about providers who carry snakes around in boxes to position them in the perfect spot. We also came across a post on Facebook denouncing this exact practice.

And why? Simply to offer tourists the perfect picture. It would quite frankly be too exhausting to spend the night in the jungle without a guaranteed find – plus, you can’t see the volcano at night.

Unfortunately, this practice is quite widespread – even in countries like Costa Rica, where animal welfare is supposedly a high priority. What can then be expected from other countries that hardly care about it at all?

When conservation becomes a business

Costa Rica boasts pristine jungles, long beaches, two warm seas and hundreds of refreshing waterfalls. It enjoys a very positive reputation abroad as a pioneer in sustainability and the protection of its fauna and flora. In 2024, 25.5 % of the country’s land and 31% of its sea were under some form of protection.

It sounds like an advertisement from a travel magazine.

Some aspects of Costa Rica’s image are certainly true: there is barely any litter, and we repeatedly see animals as we drive through beautiful forests. Yet it is not entirely consistent.

This creates a habitat for wild animals. And the animals are not fearful, but rather curious. They come close, but they do not attack. Costa Rica has managed to ensure that monkeys and raccoons are not fed indiscriminately; so the animals let you get close, but do not attack. We were able to observe Capuchin monkeys eating up close for a while. In many national parks, it is prohibited to bring food and it is strictly controlled at the entrance.

Not all that glitters is gold. Here, too, nature conservation and the economy compete for dominance. Some examples:

Although sharks are protected, they are often caught as bycatch and subsequently sold. Between 2015 and 2020, 14 tonnes of shark fins were unloaded in Punta Arenas, most of which were exported to China. In 2017, the species was reclassified as a commercial animal rather than a wild animal, meaning it fell under fishery law. Although the Supreme Court declared this illegal, nothing has really changed (Mongabay).

There is also a risk that captured animals will be declared as re-exported, meaning the sharks will supposedly come from Nicaragua and only pass through Costa Rica en route to third countries. However, conservationists assume that the majority originate from Costa Rican fisheries.

In September 2025, fishermen took to the streets in San José to protest against a provisional export ban. A month later, the Administrative Court overturned it. Nature conservation, particularly marine conservation, remains a permanent contradiction in Costa Rica – the situation is not as positive as it is perceived abroad.

Are they a delicacy or a protected species? The paradox of turtle eggs

When travelling to Costa Rica, one of the first things you will see are images of freshly hatched turtles making their way to the sea. Turtle season occurs at some point each year almost everywhere in the country. There are hundreds of protection projects as sea turtles are a protected species.

However, turtle eggs are readily sold on the market, albeit not necessarily in tourist areas. The reasoning is simple: in some places, so many turtles arrive that subsequent arrivals destroy the nests. Since these eggs would otherwise be lost, it is better to collect and sell them.

This, however, leads to the eggs being considered a delicacy and being plundered at many other locations. To counter this, countless protection projects rely on volunteers. This creates another problem.

Projects worth the journey: between threats and hope in the Putumayo region of Colombia

We leave Ecuador – a country full of inspiring projects and definitely one of the most impressive on our journey through South America.

In Colombia, we venture across one of the border crossings that are considered ‘dangerous’ into the Putumayo region.

We don’t want to minimise the danger – it exists. Right at the border crossing, a policeman asks us if we don’t want to help him. He is standing in the rain and a little money for a drink would be welcome. We kindly say no – and he lets us into the country anyway. Welcome to Colombia, we think.

Caution and prejudice

There are hardly any other sources of income. Cattle farming, the timber industry and oil production drive the economy – and at the same time the destruction. The jungle hardly stands a chance.

In addition, there is drug trafficking and organised crime. This border area is a central gateway in the cocaine trade to Ecuador – and from there to the big, wide world.

The guerrillas held sway here for a long time. Despite the peace agreement, they have never completely disappeared. Although there are initial attempts to build a tourism network, the movement in the region, and in the country as a whole, is currently heading in the wrong direction: more fighting, more violence, more drugs.

In general, Colombia is changing again – unfortunately for the worse.

Projects worth the journey: brave indigenous women that unite tourism, tradition and conservation

Indigenous and woman… A combination that in itself makes life difficult all over the world. It is no different in South America. According to the Inter-American Commission on Human Rights, only one in ten indigenous girls finishes secondary school in Latin America.

In general, being a woman is hard enough in these parts. Even I, a privileged white woman, often notice it when they explain to me how the world works, when they don’t believe I know how to drive, or when they correct my Spanish because they use a different word here and the one I use is probably made up. Depending on the day, I don’t cope too well with it.

Imagine not having had the opportunity to receive a good basic education, living in a tribe and growing up in a cultural and economic context different from that of the upper caste. In short, you are in the lowest possible status. The realities of the rich and the poor differ much more in this part of the world. But sometimes you come across extraordinary initiatives that seek to change the paradigm somewhat.

The women of the community of San Pedro, in Misahuallí Ecuador, are one such example to follow. Despite being indigenous, and women, they have created their own business from which a whole community lives. And it is beautiful.

Sinchi Warmi Lodge – Brave women

Sofia welcomes us. She explains everything to us, invites us to guayusa tea and prepares some potato chunks, which is what they have at the moment instead of bread, then takes us to the bridge and throws the chunks into the water. Bam! There is a loud noise in the water. It is the mouth of something gigantic. “A paiche of about 2.50 metres,” she explains. It spits out again the potato, the fish doesn’t like vegetables too much.

The paiche, also known as arapaima or pirarucu, is one of the largest freshwater fish, reaching up to four metres and weighing up to 200 kilos. It has large black scales and a huge red tail. Its eyes and tail scales reflect the light of torches at night. It looks like a giant monster approaching with only its eyes showing.

It feeds mainly on other fish, but also eats birds, insects and other small mammals. They hunt them by suction: they open their big mouths and create a vacuum that attracts their prey, which causes that characteristic noise.

At Sinchi Warmi they have three giants, the oldest is about eight years old. The fish accompanies us throughout our stay and, at night, we can hear them hunting as they propel themselves quickly to catch their prey. By the way, it is also a very tasty fish to eat.

Projects worth the journey: an animal paradise on the Pacific side of the Andes

We continue our journey through Ecuador, a country full of contrasts. While there are many private initiatives to protect species, the extraction of raw materials is also booming. The country’s biodiversity is immense, both in terms of species and raw materials.

In 2021, the Ecuadorian Ministry of Energy expected to have reserves of 1.3 billion barrels of oil, most of which are located in the Amazon Basin — and this is just one of the smallest countries in South America! There are also rich deposits of gold, silver, copper, zinc and much more besides. These are all highly sought-after products in world trade.

However, legal mining can also be problematic, particularly in countries where the government does not enforce environmental regulations. Consequently, heavy metals find their way down the rivers into the Pacific or to the Atlantic through Brazil.

While we were in Ecuador in mid-March, an oil spill occurred in Esmeraldas. An estimated 25 000 barrels of oil spilled out when the oleoduct burst and affected 300 000 people in one of the poorest regions of the country. And this happened in an area where the rivers do not still have thousands of kilometres of land to cross.

A bird paradise close to the capital

Isabel welcomed us with a beaming smile and perfect English. She had lived in the USA for a while because her mum studied and worked there. Her parents wanted to turn part of their home country Ecuador into a protected area.

The Maquipucuna Foundation was established 35 years ago. The land had lain fallow for a long time, but the Chocó Andino region of Ecuador, characterised by its biodiversity, had become a second home to the family.

They had reforested much of the area with wild avocado trees. A native tree species. They also began to develop a tourism project involving a small lodge.

The trees grew and the forest recovered, and around 20 years after planting, the first bears arrived. Without realising it, they had created a new food source for the spectacled bear. These animals love wild avocados, but the season is in August and September. So, we were unlucky. We were definitely there too early to see them.

However, the lodge and the park attract many other animals. The area is renowned for its diverse birdlife, particularly hummingbirds, and it is also home to a variety of snakes. That’s why we were there. We were allowed to walk up and down their hiking trails, and they trusted us completely. It’s nice because it’s often forbidden to walk alone on clearly signposted paths. We’re not talking about treks through the middle of nowhere in the jungle.

During the night, we saw giant snails and a kinkajou. During the day, our long-awaited wish was finally granted when we spotted an American lance snake, Bothrops asper. In Ecuador, it is known as ‘Equis’ because of its X pattern. It was curled up right next to the hiking trail.

We walked past it first. My heart stopped for a moment when I looked back: “Michi, there’s a snake right here!” First, we put some distance between us and calmed down, and then we got the camera ready. The snake lay there and watched us. And we watched back.

Yes, I’ll answer the question up front: it’s venomous. It’s also known for causing most bites. However, as we often repeat, as long as you don’t attack the snake or step on it, it won’t do anything. This is the best example. It was less than a metre away, and we both walked pass it really close.

Sumak Kawsay in Situ: Science and tourism on the edge of the Andes.

People are an integral part of any journey. No journey is complete without them. Although people often cause trouble, nature itself rarely does — unless a swarm of insects invades the car or it rains for weeks on end. However, although problems usually originate from people, they also make travelling a special experience.

Encounters with new people, large and small projects, and spectacular hospitality make travelling an adventure. In the Places of the Future series, we will present some surprising and memorable projects, we’ve come across along our journey.

We spend a lot of time travelling in nature and looking out for animals, so most of the projects focus on nature and species conservation in harmony with tourism. These are all places that should be visited, and we hope to revisit them at some point.

Because they all show one thing: there is another way.

The 300-year-project

The property is located at an altitude of just under 1,400 metres on the Ecuadorian Andes. The view stretches from the El Altar and Tungurahua volcanoes to the Amazon rainforest and from Llanganates National Park to Sangay National Park. In the middle of this corridor, unspoilt nature thrives. This is thanks to a private initiative.

At the end of the 1990s, the family cultivated much of the land using traditional methods: They planted lulo, a very popular citrus fruit in South America. However, before they could clear more land to expand cultivation, young Henry approached his parents with a strange idea. What about protecting the forest and focusing on tourism and science? He had clearly been watching too much National Geographic on TV.

Almost 30 years later, researchers and experts from elite US universities come to sleep on mattresses in his jungle camp.

Sumak Kawsay in Situ is a biodiversity paradise, and, unlike in the lowlands of Ecuador, visitors won’t be swarmed by mosquitoes, which is very pleasant. There is plenty to discover. Tourists can bathe in crystal-clear streams, enjoy a clay cure for their skin, listen to a live frog philharmonic orchestra, trudge through the forest in rubber boots in search of animals, and enjoy delicious dishes prepared by Mama Gloria.

Scientists enjoy a prime-location laboratory with a forest view instead of white walls, exploring new paths and repeatedly discovering new plant and animal species. A mere half a hectare is home to 145 different plant species, offering plenty to see. Therefore, the hope of finding the fountain of youth here is high. Nevertheless, it is already a source of life as it is the water source of the Amazon basin.

Tourism is an important source of income for many countries. According to UN Tourism, the industry reached pre-pandemic levels last year with 1.4 billion tourists. With a turnover of over 1.9 trillion US dollars, 10% of the world’s population works for and around tourism.

South America also makes a lot of money from tourism. The state and many families suffer when tourists stay away due to unrest. But not all tourism is the same. There are different ways of travelling. One interesting point is how profit is made from nature tourism. Even more so since the pandemic, as many more people are being drawn to nature for ‘unique’ experiences.

Two weeks’ holiday and a lot of money

This is often difficult for us because we would like to visit beautiful projects, but the prices are often immensely high and disproportionate to the cost of living. Simple tourism is a luxury, especially for the locals.

We feel the influence of ‘fast tourism’ the most. Many people have 2 weeks holiday a year and want to experience as much as possible, no matter the cost. It doesn’t matter that a snake tour with 3 nights in low-budget mode costs a whole 750 dollars per person. A monthly wage in Ecuador is around 470 dollars. A similar offer in Colombia cost 300 dollars for 4 nights – but that was 2 years ago.

Self-organised: Cheaper and more authentic

We try to organise it ourselves, as in Ecuador – luckily we have the luxury of time – and were surprised when we found out the final price at one of the (very likely) lodging places: 65 dollars per night with guide and food. Makes you wonder where all the money goes. Mind you, it wasn’t a luxury tour that we had enquired about.

In comparison, the offer for a resort in the Amazon in Brazil for 250 dollars a night was downright cheap. The same on a farm, where we first enquired with a provider but didn’t book. When we were there, the prices were much lower; and we were very lucky because the invited us to stay for free just before Christmas.

High prices, little service

Our biggest advantage compared to other travellers is time. We can also check for ourselves whether the prices are fair. We talk to locals about this. If the offers are much higher than the minimum wage in the country, you have to ask yourself why.

But if you book from abroad and don’t know the region, it’s difficult to judge and you also want to enjoy your holiday.

Another good example was Colombia. There was an offer for three days in La Macarena National Park for 500 US dollars per person, without doing anything out of the ordinary because the river was not coloured red (wrong season).

Apparently, the price was calculated without VAT as it was still before the season and the municipality had not yet activated the platform where they have to register the information. The only thing that somewhat explained the high price was the payments to the guerrilla, which is present throughout the area. In the end, we drove around the area ourselves and helped the guerrilleros out of the mud.

Two worlds: Tourists and locals

As already mentioned, the realities of the locals and the tourism companies are far apart. The minimum wage in Colombia is 340 dollars.

We have spoken to some new acquaintances about this, they can’t even come close to being able to afford it despite their normal work (nurse in hospital, member of the army). They hardly know their region either. At these places we only meet Europeans or North Americans.

Nature parks: between conservation and commerce

Another important factor in South America are the national parks, most of which charge an entrance fee. Or they are privately owned and can therefore charge a lot of money.

It’s great to see how the locals want to protect nature through such projects, so it’s understandable that it costs something.

But even state parks, which are free in Europe, cost something; even a short hiking trail can quickly cost 4 dollars per person.

We are used to things being different and really appreciate the fact that we in Europe have the privilege of not having to pay for every step we take in nature.

Lots of content, little info

Another interesting phenomenon is the enquiries themselves. Unfortunately, it is often the case that US-led agencies don’t show their prices on the website. That means it will be expensive.

That’s actually not a problem, but when we enquire and explain exactly what we have in mind, it would be nice if they’d give us a price upfront.

Unfortunately, the price only comes after a long back and forth, if at all. This is very annoying and time-consuming. Because if you knew what it would cost from the start, you wouldn’t write 40 emails back and forth when it’s far outside the budget.

We’ve now got to the point where we stop writing when things get complicated.

When tourism changes places

Tourism drives up prices and lowers quality. We generally avoid the tourist hotspots.

True, they are often beautiful places (or were), but they are ruined by a lack of planning. Unfortunately.

In Ecuador, at Lago Quilotoa, we find a small jumble of restaurants and shops by a volcanic crater. The crater is beautiful, but 6 dollars for the same menu, which otherwise costs 3 (and is worse), is out of all proportion.

The many tasteless, quickly built shops, all selling the same thing, also destroy what was once certainly a pretty little village.

Tourism and price logic: the example of Cotopaxi

We also experienced this in Cotopaxi National Park in Ecuador. There, the daily menu in the hut cost 3.5 dollars. In the tourist restaurant it was 21 dollars.

To be fair, the quality was better and one had three courses, the other only two. Our favourite reason for the high price though was that they were so far away and had no electricity.

Well, the hut next door doesn’t have electricity either. And we don’t think that an hour’s drive to Quito, the capital, is remote. We’ve eaten better and cheaper in really remote villages, 8 hours away from the nearest petrol station.

This is tourism

Of course we understand that you want to treat yourself to something when you go on holiday, especially that far away.

Unfortunately, this also means that the price reality is drifting further and further apart. The providers can charge whatever they want – most people pay.

We are also privileged because we have time and can reach many places ourselves – we know that.

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