AUGUST / SEPTEMBER 2019 – DESTINASIAN.COMcontemporary retreat blends stone, steel, and glass in an exquisite
form that would appeal to the most die-hard of design minimalists.
It feels at once intimate and calming, with only 18 rooms and four
suites. My room is elegantly simple, featuring floor-to-ceiling glass
windows with unimpeded views of the forest. Everything about the
architecture at Mashpi, from the two-story-high glass walls of the
dining hall to the metal viewing platform extending out from an
elevated embankment, is designed around one fundamental under-
standing: nature is king here.
Later that afternoon, Gonzalo Espinosa, the lodge’s “explorations
coordinator,” leads me on a short hike to a 30-meter-high obser-
vation tower. We climb up to find the forest canopy awash in the
golden glow of the setting sun, pockets of low-lying cloud hugging
each curve of the primordial mountains.
“See the valley over there?” Gonzalo points to a converging dip
on our right. “Our goal is to create an unobstructed biological cor-
ridor between Mashpi and its neighboring reserves, Cotacachi and
Mindo. We opened with 1,200 acres and doubled that within a few
years. We’re always looking to obtain more land so we can protect
this paradise from human encroachment.”
Later, I join naturalist guide Juan Carlos Narváez for an hour-long
night hike. Combing the foliage with flashlights for chirping insects
and amphibians in the inky darkness reminds me of my adoles-
cence in the woodlands of North America. The fauna, however, be-
longs to a completely different world: we spot Chocó rain frogs, wolf
spiders, and tailless scorpions, as well as the furry tail of a kinkajou
fleeing from our beams.
If nature is king at Mashpi, then the Dragonfly is its throne.
Heights have never been my thing, so it’s with some trepidation that
I strap myself into the open-air cable car with Espinosa and two other
guests, all of us wearing plastic rain ponchos. A dense fog has settled
over the morning and visibility is limited to about 20 meters—just as
well, given we’ll be traveling a dizzying 200 meters above the forest
floor. A light rain dribbles onto our ponchos as the station operator
depresses the button that sends us gently gliding forward.
We pass within arm’s length of bromeliads dangling from the
limbs of trees, and the triangular leaves of the aptly named elephant
ears climbing their trunks. As the cable car zips along, we rise above
the canopy and into the mist, suspended in a sea of fog. Then we
drop below the cloud cover and the landscape opens before us.
Four, six, ten—I lose count of the gurgling streams and waterfalls
cascading below. Wisps of clouds form into being before our eyes,
evaporating from dew-laden leaves. For the next two hours—it’s a
four-kilometer round trip—we watch the cyclical dance of precipita-
tion and evaporation. Long-wattled umbrellabirds issue calls from
lofty moss-covered limbs, bobbing their black heads in a rhythm
known only to themselves. A toucanet perched on a cecropia tree
shakes off a spray of water with a sudden ruffling of its feathers. It’s
so close, the droplets almost reach us.
Quito—you’ve taken my breath away once again.Right: Cloud forest
canopy seen from
Mashpi Lodge’s
cable car; the eco-
resort’s naturalist
guide Juan Carlos
Narváez. Opposite:
A selection of
ceviches and snacks
at Z-Food.