Join Us on This Luxurious Cruise to the Most Fascinating Gastronomic Spots in Ecuador

For centuries, the palo santo tree has been revered by the indigenous people of coastal Ecuador as an important medicinal herb. It is said that the smoke it produces, which smells like pine, citrus, and mint, can cleanse the air and fend off evil spirits. Its essential oil has cancer-fighting properties, and drinking tea produced from its wood supposedly boosts immunity. Some claim that burning incense manufactured from its resin can banish negativity and inspire creativity, making it a popular choice among New Agey types. 

To anticipate so much from just one tree is unreasonable. 

Still, I can attest to palo santo's capacity to evoke awe after sampling just one dish at Bocavaldivia, chef Rodrigo Pacheco's extraordinarily inventive, forest-encircled eatery outside Puerto Cayo, Ecuador. 

On the night of my dinner at Bocavaldivia, Pacheco brought out an appetiser that was supposed to fail. The dish had a manioc blini, a clump of wild mushrooms, a fatty slice of smoked Muscovy duck, and a succulent raw oyster. While harmonizing with one another in a beautiful, unexpected chorus, each component managed to keep its own identity. A palo-santo emulsion served as the catalyst, elevating the earthy components while grounding the marine ones, and bringing them all together in a delectable harmony. 

The aforementioned were all originally from the region. All of the ingredients were either grown or harvested within a 10-mile radius of the eatery, which is situated a shaky, unpaved half-mile from the road that follows the coast of Ecuador. Guayaquil, the closest big city, is three hours distant by car. 

 In the fertile hills, coastal jungle, and estuaries of the present-day province of Manabí, lived many ancient civilizations. These included the Valdivia, whose name the restaurant is derived from, the Chorrera, the Bahía, the Guangala, and lastly, the Manteño Huancavilca, whose chiefdoms had been ruled by the Incas for decades prior to the arrival of the Spanish colonists in the early 1500s. Their little Indigenous groups in Manabí continue to practice their customs because of their descendants. This is where Pacheco and other young Ecuadorians are finding hope for the future. He stated, "The people who carry it on are still here," referring to nature as the true wellspring of knowledge. As he phrased it, the esoteric wisdom is "in their soul." 

I arrived in Manabí province with the intention of exploring a spot that, despite its stunning landscapes, diverse species, and historical significance, has mostly gone unnoticed by tourists. Manabí is located in the flyover country of Ecuador. Before taking a flight to the Galápagos Islands, located over 600 miles to the west, the majority of travelers visit Ecuador's capital towns, Quito or Guayaquil. It's interesting that the most well-known product from Manabí doesn't even have a local name. The locals have been wearing hats made from the toquilla palm fibers for generations, but a wide-brimmed version became popular in Panama in the 1800s and has been linked to that country ever since. 

Pacheco came to the area ten years ago without any knowledge of Ecuador's native soil, having grown up in Quito and had training in Chile and France. He yearned for a life closer to nature. He started restoring a former 124-acre pepper plantation with his wife, Dayra Reyes—the location of Bocavaldivia today. He gained a deeper understanding of the marine, rain-forest, coastal-transitional, and other ecosystems, as well as the wealth they contained, from his Indigenous neighbors. The eatery was inaugurated by him in 2013. 

Pacheco is deeply committed to preserving the "edible forest," the source of all the ingredients used in his recipes, including the bamboo cups used to serve cocktails and the wild mushrooms and plants that adorn them. More than 86,000 acres are presently under his care. To provide room for native species to thrive, he has removed invading ones. Along with his group, he has also established a sizable garden. He and a handful of Bocavaldivia's chefs start each day by foraging in the forest, farms, and ocean in search of ingredients for the evening's meal. 

Pacheco acknowledges that the human element of the ecosystem is equally important in the economically challenged area of Manabí, Ecuador. Indigenous peoples make up the vast majority of his team. In the same way that I tend to my plants, I also tend to my talent. I still haven't gotten everyone on my team past elementary school. On the other hand, maybe they'll end up working as dishwashers. In this case, he clarified, they are sous-chefs. The food I prepare has a function in my life. Money isn't what drives me, however I do need to fund my expenses. 

The wealth of Ecuador's old culinary traditions is something that Pacheco wants diners—and particularly Ecuadorians—to grasp. The restaurant is more of a learning experience than anything else, he remarked. Without the delicious flavor, this would come across as overly formal and sanctimonious. The most remarkable dish was a "bar snack" of mahi-mahi ("no tuna, because we only serve sustainably caught fish"). It consisted of two cured and seared slices and two smoked slices. All of this was set over a heap of "earth's caviar" (black quinoa and amaranth) sprinkled with smoked chile and cured egg yolk. A humita, which is really a kind of Ecuadorian tamale, was a sensory extravaganza with its heirloom black maize, sautéed squid (with its crispy fried tentacles), and red-beet gribiche. 

Some may find the cuisine to be difficult. It is difficult for even the chef's father to grasp. "He's more traditional," Pacheco stated with a hint of a smile. As an example, coffee ice cream is served with a cheesecake that has eggplant poached in caramel as a topping. The inspiration for this comes from my garden, where I often find eggplant growing next to papayas and even coffee trees. According to him, they should be on the menu since they are neighbors in the garden. For whatever reason, it's effective. 

I departed for the port city of Manta, an hour to the northeast, the following afternoon in order to board the Kontiki Wayra. The Wayra, which was formerly used for scuba diving, has been converted into a nine-cabin cruise ship by her owner, Carlos Nuñez. It joined the exclusive club of Small Luxury Hotels of the World vessels that can sail when it set sail last year. 

Off the coast of Manabí, the Wayra navigates the seas. Seeing Manabí from the water puts it in historical perspective: the indigenous inhabitants of the region cruised the Pacific coast in rafts made of balsa wood and bound together with sisal rope, using crescent-shaped sails to harness the winds. Not on vacation, but as part of a trade mission. Spongy oysters, which can be found at depths of 100 feet or deeper, were the principal unit of currency. Spiky and brightly colored spondylus shells were utilized for religious ceremonies and ornaments during pre-Columbian times. The Inca supposedly admired these peoples' diving abilities so much that they never conquered them. 

Nuñez, similar to Pacheco, does not hail from Manabí. He was born into a tuna-processing family and first fell in love with the region during childhood trips. "When people think of Ecuador, the Galápagos Islands are the first thing that come to mind," he remarked. "We are attempting to bring attention to the fact that there are numerous other stunning areas." Similar to Pacheco, Nuñez does not care about mindless pleasure. He mentioned two types of tourism: "predatory" and "symbiotic," which he defined as based on "mutual respect and shared benefit." 

On board the Kontiki Wayra, Nuñez aimed to incorporate that cultural awareness. On the menus, you may find updated versions of classic Ecuadorian foods. Soledad, his wife, oversaw the interior design of the Wayra and had Ecuadorian craftspeople make ceramics, furniture, and blankets that were influenced by the coastal Manabí region and its natural resources. "There is a lot of space here," Nuñez stated. "Even Ecuadorians occasionally aren't sure." 

Being roomy without being ostentatious and sturdy without being ultra-modern, the wayra is the perfect vessel for its intended use. The spacious yet inviting cabins are warmed by the liberal use of hardwood and grass fabric. On sunny days, you should make your way to the upper deck's open-air area, where you may sip a cocktail and people-watch before taking a plunge into the azure Pacific on the inflatable waterslide. 

You will feel the water on that ocean because the crew gives out Dramamine like candy. However, due to its size, the boat is able to maneuver through narrow harbors, such as the one at our initial destination, the Isla de la Plata. No one lives on the two-square-mile rock known as Isla de la Plata, which is located twenty miles offshore. Nonetheless, it was a holy center and a port of entry for rafts carrying goods to Chile and north to what is now Mexico in ancient times. 

Some people refer to the Isla de la Plata as "the poor man's Galápagos," which is a derogatory term that irritates the natives. They think the island should be appreciated for what it is: a collection of rare plants, including a red lily (Eucrosia stricklandii) that only blooms in October and is almost never seen elsewhere, and a wealth of archaeological finds, including artifacts from pre-Columbian times and remnants from those long-ago trading expeditions. 

The island, which is part of Machalilla National Park, is protected and can only have 176 visitors each day. Birds have benefited greatly from the lack of human interference. Waved albatrosses, which are in grave risk of extinction, lay their eggs in this location. As we made our way along the route, long-tailed mockingbirds played chase, guiding each other along. Air patrols of magnificent frigatebirds and red-billed tropical birds were conducted along the cliffs. The males of these birds display a mating display by inflating red sacs on their necks. 

Recent efforts to eradicate rats have had a positive impact on bird populations, particularly those of ground-nesting species. "Rats would have been seen running around everywhere, like squirrels, ten years ago," remarked Sandra Plúa Albán, a guide. Plúa Albán abruptly halted and shouted, "There! There!" as we traversed the island's western scrub-covered plateau. Two Anthony's nightjars, a nocturnal bird species found exclusively in a small arc extending south from Ecuador into Peru, were expertly hidden against the beiges and browns of the ground. It took my eyes a while to adjust to the sight. 

Without a doubt, the local prima donnas are the blue-footed boobies. Charming, photogenic, and fearless, these birds would be the Instagram influencers if they existed. At the top of a hill in the middle of the island, we came upon a booby that obstructed our route. As if to inquire about our readiness, she tilted her head and stared at us. Her feet, which appeared to have been dyed in the azure shallows of the sea, were the center of attention as she started to strut, gaining admiring glances with each stride. Just as we were about to approach, a nesting couple farther down the trail observed us; as if to signal the arrival of the photographers, they then touched beaks, as if to kiss. 

The rundown fishing village of Puerto López will be our next stop. Agua Blanca is a little Indigenous town seven miles inland; we boarded a minibus after being transported onto the beach by inflatable dinghies after mooring just offshore. 

The hot springs at Agua Blanca have been a tourist attraction for generations. The 86 families who make up the hamlet have recently invested in the tourist infrastructure, drawing attention to the abundant archeological artifacts that attest to their history. A local showed us urns that had been unearthed in a landslide in 1982 that dated back to at least 150 B.C. Additionally, we were able to see the 1980s excavation site of a pre-Columbian family house that had been spearheaded by Scottish archaeologist Colin McEwan. 

After a brief ascent through the woods, we emerged into a clearing shaded by the ficus tree's expansive limbs. Plinio Merchán, the main shaman of Agua Blanca, had etched a maze into the dirt. A little altar was placed in the middle of it. 

Merchán distributed palo santo sticks and candles to everyone of us. He asked us to light each, place them on the altar, and pray quietly. Next, he proceeded to recite a series of blessings, each directed toward one of the seven cardinal directions: east, south, west, north, sky, ground, and lastly, "the point at which all the winds cross." I salute you all from the bottom of my heart," he continued, "and I pray that your families, friends, towns, and nations are blessed. 

"No outsiders have ever had this experience before," Nuñez added, explaining that the offer to take part in the ritual had resulted from conversations with the community. Even yet, I couldn't help but question if we hadn't been guilty of cultural voyeurism. On the other hand, Merchán showed no signs of worrying about this or seeing any tension between Christianity and Indigenous spiritual practices. "I hold that there is one God, and that there are numerous ways in which God manifests in creation." 

The winds, the rustling of the trees, and the waters of the Buenavista River—which runs through Agua Blanca—felt like God to Merchán, he told me. For the most part of the year, that river is now just a trickle. 

However, in bygone eras, his forefathers would launch little rafts into the ocean, tie them up at the Isla de la Plata, and then embark on bigger rafts to other lands. Along with commodities, they brought new traditions with them when they returned. He held the view that the Indigenous peoples of Mexico had contributed to his community's rituals: "Maya? Who is she? Could it be Aztec? I am uncertain. 

We were merely participating in a modern-day version of a long-standing cultural exchange system. "I feel joy" when given the opportunity to welcome and bless those from outside his group, according to Merchán. 

On the third day of our journey, we lowered the anchor in the Bahía de Caráquez, which is the point where the Chone River joins the sea. Iche, a restaurant and culinary center in the coastal hills, served as our lunch destination after our visit to an organic farm, where we sampled many heirloom chocolate varieties. Manabí is a significant cocoa-growing region. 

The culinary legacy of Manabí is whimsically rethought by Iche. The flavors and essence of a Manabita ceviche are infused into a snapper carpaccio, which is then adorned with a peanut ice cream and leche de tigre, the traditional citrus marinade for ceviche. A colorful salad of amaranth, chicory, and purslane complements the confit heritage chicken cooked in the manner of the revered seco de gallina criolla. The dish is served atop jerén de maiz, a relative of polenta produced from native corn, with a side of the chicken. 

Just after lunch, we were joined by chef Valentina Alvarez outside the eatery, gathered around the traditional Manabita oven. This is a big wooden box with earth and clay pots within, and there are a number of semicircular depressions that may be used as firepits. She remarked, "This is more than the place we cook." she added. "Tradition, religion, and secrets are shared there."

According to Alvarez, small-scale Manabita farming has been negatively impacted by the expansion of industrial agriculture. She grew up on heritage corn, which is becoming more and more rare. What an envious corn, she exclaimed. "It isn't fond of being in close proximity to other kinds of corn." Not only does it not thrive when cultivated close to the industrial crop, but cross-pollination has also tainted its genes. 

"Iche" (the name of the restaurant) can mean either "peanut" or "special food" in the local Manabí dialect, which gives peanuts equal importance in the culture. 

"Flavor is peanut. I love it. No, it's flavor. "It means the world to us," Alvarez declared. There were fifteen different kinds here before, but monoculture has caused them to disappear. "Diversity means sustainability," we say, which is why we're working to promote the cultivation of traditional varieties. 

Iche is making an attempt, and the dining room is only a tiny piece of it. The food lab is now exploring various methods to preserve and unleash the value of heirloom crops. This includes processes such as oil extraction, fruit dehydration, fermentation, vinegar manufacturing, and spirit redistillation. The majority of our dinner was made by the students in a seven-month culinary arts program that aims to educate pupils about Indigenous foodways while also teaching them modern cooking techniques. "We empower our students to think outside the box and develop environmentally friendly cuisine," remarked Adriana Arellano, cofounder of Iche. "They are chosen to represent the new Manabita cuisine as its ambassadors. They have the ability to go to new heights, perhaps even the global stage. 

We docked at the community of San Mateo on our last stop in Manabí and traveled for fifteen minutes to reach the Pacoche Marine Wildlife Refuge. Guide Carlos Alvia started narrating the botaniscape at a brisk pace just fifty yards down a wooded path: For both fencing and eating, piñuela is beneficial, "but too much and it's a laxative." "Research has shown that nettle, when combined with aloe vera for a shampoo, can aid circulation and even alopecia." "Look for it for survival" describes Malanga, a plant with large leaves that gather water, and "feels almost like eating a potato, and it's rich in vitamin D" describes the plant's edible root. 

Things that had eluded our eyes in the wilderness were brought to light by Alvia. Tucked behind in the thick bamboo is that cup-shaped structure made of little branches and spiderweb? He proclaimed it to be the home of an Amazilia hummingbird. A passage formed and utilized by animals, "perhaps an armadillo, pig, or ocelot," was visible next to the trail, where some leaves had been pressed down and some bushes had been pushed away. 

Alvia dashed ahead, reached into the leaf litter, and brought up a machalilla, a little frog no bigger than a fingernail, as the humidity in the air became thicker as we dipped into a valley. The eggs of the subsequent generation were carried on the back of the frog, which resembled a mouthful of caviar.

The land here was communal when Alvia was a little girl. It belonged to no one. Foraging for mushrooms, hunting, and gathering wood were all common uses. Alvia didn't see the forest's full potential until he became a guide. Home and pharmacy, pantry and workshop all rolled into one. 

He believes that the Pacoche Refuge, along with the rest of Manabí, will be respected for future generations now that it is attracting an increasing number of tourists. Knowing a place allows you to safeguard it, he remarked. "Because I adore this spot, I wish it could be enjoyed by all."