jake lyell photography (blog)

From the moment I walked off the plane to get my baggage in Quito, I was out of breath and a little light headed. At 9000 feet, Quito does funny things to a guy used to living at sea level. It wasn’t long before we came back to a more familiar altitude. After sleeping just four hours at the hotel, we hopped an early morning flight down south to Ecuador’s Loja (low-ha) region.

On this most recent assignment with Heifer, Loja’s airport was the starting point for Christian and me on our journey west toward the Peruvian border. In just an hour’s flight from Quito we landed in a beautiful valley in the Andes Mountains. After taking some breakfast in Catamayo, we set out for an 8 hour drive to the border – five of which hurdled us through bumpy, unpaved backroads that gradually spiraled down the mountains into dry scrub forest.

The destination was a village called Hacienda Vieja, which straddles the border with Peru. Because of the remote locations of homes we visited on this trip, we were able to stay with the families that I photographed and that Christian interviewed. Below, Celia (left) and Monfilo (right), our first hosts, in their kitchen. We stayed in their home for two nights, along with an annoyingly gregarious rooster who seemed not to know the difference between 2AM and sunup.

I much prefer staying in houses and foregoing a regular shower or fancy dinner in order to witness the daily lives of my subjects. The lack of amenities and occasional discomforts are more than made up for in the experience of living life much as it existed in the States 100 years ago. Below, a portrait of Celia and Monfilo made during their younger years hangs on a wall in their home.

Some five hours of winding mountain road away from the nearest town with a market or fueling station, Hacienda Vieja relies on its own means to survive. Farmers here grow what they need to feed their families and use donkeys as the primary means of transport. Unlike many NGOs who operate in areas that are easily accessible, Heifer makes it a point to change the lives of those in hard to reach places as well.

With an average life expectancy of 75 years, Ecuadorians’ longevity exceeds that of most developing countries. Above, Felipa Sarango, is a venerable 107 years old. Unlike the elderly of Ecuador’s cities, she has seen little change in her town throughout her lifetime. While most young people move to urban areas to seek a life outside of farming, the successes of Heifer’s agricultural programs in Hacienda Vieja have helped to keep some of them around.

I wish I were fluent in Spanish, or Castillano, as it’s called down here. I’m thinking of returning to Latin America in the slow time after Christmas to take some lessons. Photographing in Ecuador was a bit more difficult than other places I’ve visited. Usually Christian & I are each provided with an interpreter, but on this trip only one person assisted us both.

As Christian does the writing, it was more important for him to make use of our interpreter, leaving me to pantomime direction where my Spanish skills failed me. Sam, our interpreter (below, left) was an interesting and hardworking gentleman. An American who has lived in Loja for over 30 years, he married an Ecuadorian woman and they’ve raised their children here.

It seems on nearly every excursion I make into the developing world some sort of animal, insect or even human attempts to get the best of me. In the past year I’ve been bitten by a dog in China, contracted Dengue Fever from mosquitoes in Haiti, hacked in the arm by machete-wielding thieves in Kenya and mobbed by monstrous fire ants in Zambia.

Yes, I can genuinely say that I’ve had ants in my pants; and it’s not pretty. Unfortunately, these experiences tend to bolster many an American’s perceptions about the “third world,” and make it appear a more precarious destination than it is. Perhaps the reality is that I’m simply accident prone. I had come to expect some sort of incident upon venturing this time into South America.

In reading up about Ecuador prior to my trip, I found out that there are many a species of poisonous snake that inhabit the trees and tall grass of rural areas. I immediately thought, as bite-prone as I am, a snake bite would get me this time around. Nothing quite so dramatic was to be my fate. As it happened, I awoke in the middle of an otherwise peaceful night itching all over. Crawling out of my mosquito net with my flashlight, I fumbled through my bag for my insect repellent, sprayed myself and the foam mattress where I slept.

By the time I awoke the next morning I was covered in what looked like chicken pocks. Some sort of insect had made a feast of me the night before and left me scratching through the next week. In addition, I would break out in itchy, burning hives on my legs and arms daily for a couple hours before they would subside again. Upon arriving at my next portal to the world wide web I searched through the Wikipedia articles on bed bugs, bubonic plague and the various pock-producing diseases outlined in the heath-risks section of my Lonely Planet Ecuador guide.

If my wiki-diagnosis is accurate, I had fallen prey to a case of fleas-in-the-bed and a subsequent allergic reaction, common throughout much of South America. I should have guessed. After a series of anti-histamine creams and pills, where I again had to use a mixture of Spanish and sign language to communicate with the pharmacist, I seem to be doing fine. As I write this entry in Lima, almost two weeks after the incident, I’ve been hive-free for two days.

From the border, the trip continued back through the towns of Alta Vega and Mangahurquillo, where we stopped along the way further documenting the lives of Heifer project participants. Above, Maria Cacay-Merizalde and Amadeo Cayay-Rodriguez on their farm in the foothills of the Andes. Below, phone booths in the town of Alamor.

The sun was setting over the Rio Zamora on our flight from Loja to Quito, but the trip was not even half completed. We had spent just five days in Ecuador. The next day we’d have part of the day to rest in Quito before flying down to Lima in the afternoon. We’d continue our work throughout Peru for another week.

Stay tuned for Peru…

Copyright 2008 Jake Lyell Photography

Not exactly an assignment, but still mostly a working week, I’ve recently been in Ireland. The occasion: my friends Ryan and Aoife gathered the closest of their friends and family from throughout the world for a week-long convergence in County Wicklow, just south of Dublin. At the end of the week the two bonded in holy matrimony on a hillside near the town of Blessington.
Though we’ve known each other for about 15 years, Ryan and I became good friends when he returned to Richmond a couple years ago after living in Chicago, Italy and Ireland, respectively. A talented web and graphic designer, we’ve collaborated on a few projects as well. He is the architect of this blog and my forthcoming website. Both of us well traveled, we share a love of other cultures and ways of life. Shown above on the windy moors, Ryan holds on for dear life.

Aoife, from Dublin, was studying abroad in Chicago when she and Ryan met. She then studied in Italy and Ryan went with her. Along the way, the pair (shown above) have made friends everywhere they’ve gone, many of whom came to the wedding in Ireland, where at least seven nationalities were represented.

This is the first year that I have begun to take my camera everywhere I go. Not just when I’m in a foreign country but to a party, or movie, or even the grocery store. In many ways, I think it’s changed the way I look at things. For one, I now feel that I’m always on assignment, that I’m always charged with the task of taking interesting photographs, whether or not someone has commissioned them.

As a photographer who seldom takes a photograph that doesn’t include a human being, I concentrated more on the people of Ireland and their environments than on it’s beautifully green landscapes. Here I was able to gain more confidence in approaching subjects to ask if they’ll allow me to photograph them, and seldom was I turned down. Carrying my camera with me at all times forced me to be so bold, lest I return to the hotel empty-handed. Above, a retired man outside his tenement building north of the River Liffey. Below, school kids take the bus from Dublin to Blessington. “Are you some sort of famous photographer?” the girl asks. “Not yet,” I jokingly reply.

To call me a devoted U2 fan would be an understatement. Though we stayed out in the countryside, I made several day trips into the band’s hometown of Dublin, keeping my eyes peeled the entire time for U2 landmarks and even once sipping a pint of Guiness in a bar owned and frequented by Bono and The Edge. U2’s Dublin was a Mecca of sorts to me. Never am I so berated for the love of a band than among my own circle of friends in the US, who constantly poke fun at Bono to annoy me. It was great to be amongst allies.

Though this is the first time I’ve visited, it is apparent that today’s Dublin is not the same city of the 80s and 90s. Although in some sectors it has not lost its working class and industrial flavor, Dublin is in many ways a posh and metropolitan European capital. It is clearly undergoing an identity crisis. Despite being Europe’s fastest growing economy and a top destination for immigrants from Eastern Europe, voters recently rejected the Lisbon Treaty, a European Union constitution-of-sorts that streamlined EU integration and further centralized power in Brussels.

Ireland is dotted with ancient and medieval sites. On a day trip I visited Glendalough along with Bill, Jeremy (fellow Richmonders) and Andreas of Germany. The site of an ancient Christian monastery, it was founded around 600AD and today contains ruins of churches, towers and countless headstones. Above, Bill strolls through the graveyard at Glendalough.

Never without a song when there’s a pint in your hand, the week was peppered with Johnny Cash, Guns N Roses and U2 singalongs. These groups seemed to elicit consternation on both sides of the Atlantic, but became the glue that bound our various cultures together.

At the end of the week, a dapper Ryan (above with the best man, Barry) wore less conventional attire for the wedding, even riding into the ceremony on his future father-in-law’s bicycle.

Above, Aoife walks to the altar with her father. She and Ryan were married in a stone enclosure on a country hillside, where friends and family encircled them. The guests then used bits of rope to tie an unbreakable knot around the enclosure, recalling Ryan’s years of training to be an Eagle Scout.

Every step of the wedding was planned by Ryan and Aoife, and it remained true to form for the couple. Shunning tradition and employing symbolism, Ryan even baked the wedding cake (although with some last minute help from his mother).

I’ve shot a fair amount of weddings in the past. I’ve approached them as any other cultural event that I document -as a story to be told. Lately, however, my schedule has been so packed with overseas assignments that booking a wedding has become logistically impossible (I’m writing this entry from an internet cafe in Ecuador).

Last August I had almost booked a last minute wedding. The bride had even sent in her deposit when I got a call to go to China. It was a difficult decision, but I ended up taking the overseas assignment. I now have to put my time and energy into doing what I have endeavored for years to do and what is now happening – photojournalism.

Ryan now lives in Europe. I hope that during my travels I’ll still be able to visit him and Aoife from time to time. The fact that so many of their loved ones traveled thousands of miles to be at the wedding in Ireland is a testament to the kind of steadfast and upstanding friends that they are.

Good times ahead.