It turns out that nobody knows where we should start our trip, because nobody knows exactly where the equator is. The other day, we drove north from Quito to meet the Earth’s waistband at its “official” site, a touristy complex knows as La Mitad del Mundo (The Middle of the Earth, which is what Ecuadorians call the equator to avoid confusion, since their country’s name is also “equator” in Spanish. Seems like someone should have thought of that before all the flags were made).
I was surprised at how much I enjoyed this place, given its artificial, prefabricated nature. Most of the complex is constructed to resemble a traditional Ecuadorian village, except for this big thing in the middle which is constructed to resemble a monument to European fascism.
The most interesting part of it was a museum that documented the arrival of a band of French geographers in 1736 who were determined to measure the Earth, a science craze akin to our current obsession with tiny computers. Determining the equator was a really big deal back in the 18th century, and for their time, the French were pretty brilliant — they came within 250 yards (by some accounts) of the real thing. Their mistake wasn’t realized until a few years ago with the advent of GPS, but the Ecuadorian government had already built their huge complex and has yet to officially acknowledge the other equator. But we did — I mean, how many times are we going to be here? We drove up the road a few kilometers to the Intinan Museum, which professes to straddle ACTUAL zero latitude.
If La Mitad Del Mundo is Disneyland, the Intinan Museum is any roadside attraction in Florida with alligator wrestling. Their collection includes shrunken heads and a preserved Amazonian “penis fish” (a small catfish that likes to burrow in the human urethra; I may not be bringing my bathing suit to the Amazon). This is probably the first museum tour I’ve taken with Julian where he hasn’t once said he was bored. And really, shouldn’t all museums contain blowguns, poison-frog poison, and ancient graves?
Our guide, Miriam, took us through a bunch of stunts to show the peculiarities of gravity on the equator. Some of them seemed a little fishy (though not penis-fishy), but it was undeniable that water drained differently in the little sink when they carried it from one side of the equator to the other.
Mostly we were sold, and we definitely had fun.
Then I found out that some people dispute BOTH of these museums’ claims and say that the equator is farther north still. AND that two different pre-Incan, ancient peoples built extensive temples commemorating the middle of the world in the same area THOUSANDS OF YEARS before the French even thought about making a map. Which really boggles the mind. Or…is it a safe assumption that every ancient people thought they were the center of the world? (No — it’s still freaking amazing.)
Apparently, this geographical ambiguity isn’t confined to the equator. The prime meridian (zero degrees longitude) is also said to be in the wrong place. And the English could’ve put it anywhere they wanted!
In a way, it fits that we can’t find zero because, in truth, this trip has no beginning and no ending. This trip is a mere extension of our lives together that’s happening under intensified conditions in an unfamiliar language with sporadic digestive issues.
As humans we’re always trying to find happiness or achieve the next goal, and on this trip I’m always wrestling with whether we’re in the right place, whether we’re doing the right things, whether we’re paying the right amount for our cab ride, whether Cleo and Julian will find food they don’t hate other than ice cream…
…but there are no sure answers, just as there is no sure equator. There is no perfect trip just as there is no perfect life. The unknowns we have at home just get a little bigger on the road, but they are everywhere, and it’s our destiny as humans not to answer them but to make the most of the mystery.
