Making a List, Checking It Twice

I'm a list maker.  Always have been.  And I know that something big is coming when I'm up to my neck in lists, and when I'm actually crossing things off of them!  The end is coming... It feels weird.  I'm ready to come home.  Not in the sense that I'm homesick, just in the sense that this trip seems to have reached its natural conclusion, and at this point I want to come back and start telling all my stories!  At the same time, it's hard to leave something that has become your normal, day-to-day life, and there is a lot that I will miss.  Among the things I have yet to do are a couple last minute trips.

Yesterday I got back from Baños, a town tucked into the mountains right alongside the volcano Tungurahua.  Baños has 2 reputations: Extreme Sports (bridge jumping, rock climbing, rafting, etc.), and Tourist Party Town.  Neither of those really interest me.  But it's also supposed to be a pretty area, and it's at the base of a volcano that's currently starting to erupt, so I thought it could be interesting for a day.  I got on the bus at 4:15am because Luke and I were both going the same direction and figured we could keep each other company on the 7-hour ride.  Everything went smoothly and I stepped off into a rainstorm in the early afternoon.  I decided to stop for some food and found a cute and funky little place with a sweet owner who gave me all sorts of tips for what to do in the town and how to do it.  She also made a fruit salad with all natural ice cream and little colored tube cookies on top, so that certainly helped!  I walked up the hill to a hostel she had recommended, where I got a room and took a 3-hour nap.  In my defense, I had practically not slept the week before.  But yes, 3 hours was probably a bit excessive...

One of the "activities" the hotel offered, like most of the hotels in Baños, was a nighttime bus tour on a chiva, basically an open-air party bus.  I had mentally declined when the lady at reception mentioned it to me, but when I finally got up from my nap I decided to stop being antisocial and give it a try.  Worst case scenario, it would only last 2 hours.  I had 2 more hours to kill before the bus would leave, so I decided to go find some dinner.  Now, a little backstory: while watching a video about Ecuador last spring with my mom, who was pre-screening it for her class, I learned, to my horror and dismay, that they eat guinea pig!  I was disgusted.  But the more I got to thinking about it, the more I was intrigued as well.  After I had been here for awhile, I had reached the point where I sort of wanted to try it, just to say that I did.  However, they don't eat it in the coastal region; we didn't have a chance to find it in Riobamba; I was in a group and we were all sick in Cuenca; and there was even a place in Galapagos, but the 1 night it was open when I was on that island, I had been invited to tag along for dinner with some new friends!  So, this was just about my last chance.  

I asked the hotel lady if there was a place that served it, and she said yes!  But it was probably out by now; I could try earlier in the day tomorrow.  Another guy staying at the hotel was on his way into the center of town, so he offered to show me where it was, and we were surprised to see that there were about 1 1/2 of them on the grill! (just don't ask how I estimated "1 1/2.")  I ordered a portion - I wasn't ready for a whole one.  For one thing, I wasn't that hungry, and for another, I don't think I could have handled it mentally.  But I was game for a piece.  I think it was a back leg, served over rice and potato with a little salad.  So I tried it. And it was weird.  Not bad, though. Salty, very flavorful.  The texture of chicken, but really fatty and greasy like pork. And there's this extremely tough leathery skin that you have to attempt to remove without shooting clumps of rice across the table (something at which I failed).  It was also kind of funny explaining to this guy that yes, I'm technically a vegetarian, but it's out of preference more than anything else, so this was still okay and I wasn't going to be smited or anything.  But I'm proud of myself for trying it, and delighted at the horror and disgust of the people I've told about it.  (Comments are welcome below!)

I went back and hopped on the Chiva tour, which blasted club music as it drove us up into the mountains.  We went to a lookout point where you can see the volcano when it's not cloudy, but it was cloudy and drizzling.  Which also meant the bonfire was a no-go.  So instead, they had a duo perform a little comedy routine, which was rather funny.  And I was tickled that I understood so much of it!  We came back and I met up with the guy from the hotel, his girlfriend, and a group of her friends.  Later on, I met a group from California who said they were planning to go biking along the Ruta de Las Cascadas the next morning, which had been my plan, so they invited me along.  I figured it couldn't hurt.  Well, I woke up feeling the effects of the puro, which just doesn't agree with me, even in small amounts.  I was going to find them and say I'd probably run into them later on along the route, but then I decided to suck it up and go.  So I waited around for them... a little after 9:30 i told the hotel lady I was going to find some breakfast and to please relay the message if they appeared.  My "20 minute" breakfast that I'd promised the lady turned into almost an hour (I totally dig the Ecuadorian sense of time!  It's so relaxing, and she didn't think anything of it), and they still hadn't emerged.  So I decided it was for the best, and I'd go alone, like I'd wanted to originally.  On my way out the door, I ran into them again and they explained.  I felt like I was an extra in Dude, Where's My Car?! 2.  "You know our friend Travis, who we mentioned?" he started, in stereotypical California surferdude accent. "Well, we lost him last night..."  "What?!?!"  "Yeah, he never came back to the hotel.  But he does this sort of thing a lot... He probably just got lost and found another hotel. But, we sorta have to go find him, so I don't think we're biking today."  After the concern wore off, it was really kinda funny.  And Baños is a small enough place that I'm sure they found him.

I went about halfway through the entire route - it's long and tough at times - but it was enough.  It's mostly biking along the interstate, with a waterfall and a viewing point every few kilometers.  But it's gorgeous along the bike path, winding through teeny towns that lie alongside the busy road, gazing up into green, majestic mountains.  I was starting to feel pressed for time, though, so I headed back, returned the gear, and made my way to the bus station.  On the way, I stopped and picked up some gooey fruit stuff (I have to ask what fruit it is) that's like a brick of fruit leather and really tasty, and a bag full of pieces of sugarcane.  I especially like the sugarcane.  It's great toy food!  The pieces are 1-2 inches long, and you chew and suck on it to extract the sweet, fresh-tasting juice from the tough, fibrous stalk.  And on the loooooong ride back home, it was a good way to pass the time.

Today was my last Sunday Lunch with the family!  It was a smallish affair, but a very nice time.  They made a vegetarian Christmas dish in my honor - a pasta casserole with a stripe each of red, white, and green sauce (tomato, ricotta cheese, and pesto).  And this morning, Pilar showed me how to make her version of tres leches cake.  The way she makes it, it's more like Cinco Leches con Durazno cake!  It was AMAZING!!!  I'm looking forward to making it at home, so all of you can feel free to invite yourselves over!

Tomorrow, after a couple of errands and prep-type things, I'm headed to the coast to go to Machalilla National Park.  I found a quote that seems to sum up one of the recurring themes of this whole trip, and one which I hope to carry with me now that I've begun to learn it: “A good traveler has no fixed plans and is not intent on arriving.”  It's the journey, not the destination, that we remember and that leaves its mark on us.  It's time we all learned to cherish it and ourselves as we navigate through it.

Deja tus Huellas

The New Years custom here is to purchase an Año Viejo - literally, "old year," which in this case is a big piñata thing with really hard sides.  They can be anywhere from the size of a regular piñata to the size of a house.  I kid you not.  They are usually in the form of cartoon characters or well-known and well-loathed public figures.  A family will buy one, stuff it with firecrackers, and then light it at midnight.  The symbolism is that the doll represents all of the bad things of the previous year, and by burning it you rid yourself of all of that and welcome in the new year.  In practice, it's an excuse to blow something up.  But it does seem like a big part of the celebration: one of the biggest parties on New Year's Eve is in Salinas, one of the beach towns, and at midnight the whole beach is lit up with fireworks.

A couple weeks ago we went on another trip with the program.  I use the term "we" very loosely here: Luke didn't feel well so he didn't come; Amanda slept late and missed our departure.  So it ended up being me, Daniela, Janett, Luis, and Teresita, the Korean nun.  This sounds like the set-up to a really good joke...  But it turned out to be a good group.  We went to Puerto El Morro, a teeny little town along the estuary where you can see dolphins!  Very cool.  We ate fresh seafood overlooking the place it had been mere hours before.  Then we pushed on to Playas, another beach town.  I went swimming while the others relaxed for a little bit.  We ate empanadas and then came back, exhausted but happy.

The empanadas were good, especially after Janett explained to me that the "monos" (people from the coastal region) like to sprinkle sugar on their cheese empanadas - that brightened things right up!  One of my food addictions that is going to be hard to break back in the States, since it should be a regular food item everywhere if you ask me, is Yogurt Persa.  They use a base of the tangy, fresh-tasting European-style yogurt, add fruit or honey if you want (I usually order it natural, with nuthin'), and then buzz it up in the blender for a minute or two to make it the consistency of a milkshake; it's dreamy!  The classic here is to serve it with pan de yuca, little puff balls of bread made from yuca (aka cassava aka manioc aka tapioca root) and parmesan cheese.  It is one of the best snacks I've ever had!  Maybe I'll just have to open up my own franchise in Woodstock...  One of the food items I will NOT miss is the pop.  Sure, there's Coke and Sprite and the typical American stuff.  But there are also a couple brands of violently yellow pop that taste like fizzy circus peanuts.  And while going out for pizza one night with our urban regeneration teacher, we discovered a classic Ecuadorian "apple" flavored soda.  It's so "classic" that you can't find it in the cities anymore, just in the smaller towns.  After trying it, I wasn't surprised: it tastes like damp, stale carpet.  So maybe I'm just not very open-minded when it comes to pop, but I'll just go ahead and skip those in the future.

The latest addition to the Ecuador Bucket List: city-wide transportation difficulties.  M.O.: broken bridge along the main road in the neighborhood of Urdesa.  Fortunately, it is still walkable, so I could get to school.  But it cuts off Urdesa from the rest of the city, so to get in or out by car you have to go all the way around through the next neighborhood.  For example, when bringing projects to school, I can ride in a taxi for about 5 minutes to get there.  Now, it takes at least 20.  Add this construction detour to the wild holiday traffic and it's gotten pretty tricky.

The last night of classes we went out for dinner with the teachers.  (Another example of the traffic situation: it took Luke and me almost 90 minutes to drop something off at his house, drop something off at my house, then go to the restaurant which would be a 10 minute walk.)  Great food!  I think all of us ordered menestra (bean stuff with rice and some type of meat or fish) except one teacher, who shared a huge plate of meat with her husband.  Then two of the teachers and Luke and I went on to a funky little bar/restaurant along the road that runs along the base of the hill that contains Las Peñas.  It was a riot trying to take a group picture, between the waiter not understanding how to focus the camera, the flash making us all look orange and shiny, and the sans-flash photos finding movement that I'm pretty sure wasn't there.  Even though Luke and I will still technically be around for another week, it was a nice official close to the program.  Earlier that day, Janett had come up to us and explained that of course they will miss us, but we had truly left footprints on the program and with them.  She was deeply touched by us and the semester we spent there.  My cynical side was thinking that she could easily say that to all of her students, but it was so sincere and so spur-of-the-moment that I really do believe her.  I know that we've all been affected as well.  None of us had the earth-shattering, personal awakening, soul-finding experience that some study abroad students seek or find, but I'm convinced we've all started a process of change and personal growth that will profoundly affect us into the future.  There's a quote I've grown to love that explains that traveling is not about discovering a new place, but about discovering yourself within that place.  The inner process is much deeper and much more lasting than any outer process.  And for better and for worse, this been an Experience.  That's the best word I can think of to sum it up, and that's the most any of us could have asked out of the program.

The Beginning of the End

Phew!  I apologize that it's been so long since an update.  This cycle of classes was fun and there was lots to do, but there was LOTS to do.  I had exponentially more homework, and I really felt the loss of time.   We also squeezed in 2-3 tests and projects for every class in the last week, following the delayed midterm projects and tests from the week before... eesh.

Urban Regeneration was pretty fun - every class, we went somewhere on a little mini-trip.  Sometimes it would be to an area with a little park and a view of the river or the estuary, other times to a more urban or culturally-oriented place.  A couple weeks ago we went on a 'tour' of the south of the city.  There are some decent areas that just have shaky reputations because they're in the south, but there are also areas that are among the poorest in the city.  On the far side, right along the river, there are neighborhoods of houses made from sugarcane sticks with thatched roofs and no running water, where people live on welfare and whatever else they can find.  But in all honesty, the "south" of the city is one section, just like any of the others, that has a variety of levels of wealth.  For our final trip, we went to a place called Hogar de Cristo, which builds houses out of sugarcane to sell at very low prices to the poor.  It's really an interesting organization that seems to have done a lot of good for the city; and it was satisfying to visit a site that represents the social regeneration more than the urban regeneration.

We also went to the Mercado Caraguay, a huge market in a big warehouse where you can buy anything from fresh fruit and veggies, meat and fish, lentils and rice, to chicha and who knows what else.  By the time we got there (mid-afternoon) the fresh fish was practically sold out, except for a couple of whole albacore tuna as big as my dog.  The most interesting part was outside, where they sell fresh crabs.  Like, live crabs.  They're actually quite pretty - bright orange with purple.  They pack them like a jigsaw puzzle into a "brick" about 2 1/2 feet long by 1 1/2 feet wide and about 6 inches thick, all pure live crab.  The ones on the outside eerily wave any free leg or claw, and sporadically lift one or both eyes to scowl at the clientele (their eyes are on top of little stalks that fold down to the sides for easy stowage).  It was terrifying.

Last Tuesday evening we participated in the Posada at the school - a variety show of sorts, with one group doing a little choreographed dance, several people singing, and lots of people reading poems or Bible verses.  The MC was one of those types who shouldn't be allowed near a microphone, so I think the event went longer than necessary, but it was still nice.  Our group sang a couple of Christmas songs while I played flute!  It was well-received, and we had a good time.

It feels strange to be done with classes now, but it's a relief at the same time.  Towards the end, literature was interesting but much more reading than previous weeks.  And I started to get frustrated with grammar, since I was learning stuff that I felt was irrelevant, and the teacher and I seemed to talk past each other frequently.  But, it's over, and I'm putting the pieces together to start at UIC in January!

¡Viva la Santa!

The traditional birthday toast/exclamation here; I asked what it means, exactly, since I know there isn't a Saint Rachel, for example.  The answer: no reason.  That's just what they say.  Works for me!

On Wednesday I made a pumpkin pie, with the intention of eating it Thursday, when it's perfectly aged and chilled, clearly the best way to eat pumpkin pie.  I have a true, unbridled passion for pumpkin pie; on top of that, it goes with my favorite holiday (Thanksgiving), and it seems to fit pretty well with my birthday, too.  So, I decided to make some for my host family so they could see a little bit of what the American Thanksgiving is all about.  And to celebrate, of course.  Fortunately, I consider myself a "resourceful" cook; that sounds better than "a cook who likes to make things up as she goes along."  I'm like that at home, too, which meant I had plenty of experience winging it in the kitchen.  I learned last week making ginger cookies that 1) Ecuador does not have molasses, and that 2) you can in fact make a molasses-like substance by dissolving DARK brown sugar in water, but it takes a lot more sugar and a lot less water than you'd believe possible.  Also, Ecuador does not have canned pumpkin (kinda obvious, I suppose, considering they can grow any type of fresh produce imaginable here).  Or pie pumpkins.  Or any pumpkins, come to think of it.  What they have is zapayo, another type of squash.  So 'fresh squash pie' is a little more work than regular pumpkin pie (to cook and prepare the squash), but it is just as good.  A little lighter flavor, and a little chunkier consistency, but it certainly worked.  I feel like a bit of a heathen, being not just a fall baby but arguably a Thanksgiving baby, and not ever having made a pumpkin pie by myself; but I think this was an impressive and successful first time.  My host family loved it!  Me too - I had some for breakfast.  And then some more with lunch. :)

On Thursday, my actual birthday, I went to the university in the morning (we haven't had my morning grammar class all week, since my teacher is out of town) to watch a movie with the intermediate class.  It was well made artistically, but very hard to understand the dialogue.  With Urban Regeneration, we went to the Parque Histórico, the zoo/history park I visited when I first got here.  It was fun to go again, since it's a beautiful site.  The guides were sometimes interesting, sometimes not... but we appreciated the effort!  We got back on the late side, so I sat right down to eat cake with the family!  Not sure why, but they felt it necessary to have another cake too, where they could put a candle for me to blow out... So we ended up eating pumpkin pie and what I think was some sort of chocolate lava cake.  Both wonderful!  Later in the evening, I met up with several of the students, most of the teachers, and a couple friends of the aforementioned celebrators, at a fancy sushi restaurant in the mall.  It was pretty good, with everything from real (though expensive) sushi and other Japanese food, to beginner sushi, to strange fushion concoctions, such as a fried sushi roll topped with flaming sake.  It was a fun place, and I think everyone enjoyed it.  Afterwards, about half of us went to Las Peñas to find somewhere to dance!  We got there right as all the bars were closing, however.  Just in this neighborhood, apparently - we could still hear music from other areas for another couple hours, and the teachers we were with, native Guayaquileños, were surprised that places were closed so early.  So we walked down a little further to La Paleta, a funky little artsy bar where I'd been once before with Juan Carlos.  The music is too loud to have a good conversation, but we attempted anyway, shouting across the table at each other about music styles, the machismo culture, and who knows what else.  It was all in all a pretty calm night, but lots of fun - just my style!  And I am truly touched by the number and thoughtfulness of my well-wishers.  I hope you all had a wonderful Thanksgiving and Birthday as well! :)

From left: Pascal (Diana's hubby), Luke, Amanda, Maria del Carmen, me, Rebekka, Fergus, and Diana

Last week a group of us attempted to go see Harry Potter, since it was opening here as well.  After an inexplicable level of misunderstanding regarding the taxi to get there, we finally arrived late to find all of the showings sold out.  We got coffee instead, and turned in early.  So tonight we decided to try again.  Luke and I assumed - pretty ethnocentrically, I now realize - that it would be in English, with Spanish subtitles.  It's a brand new movie that just came out in the U.S., and that's how it was when I went to see Grown Ups, so I figured this would be the same.  Then the movie started, with an articulate, but definitely Spanish-speaking, narrator, and I thought, "Uh oh."  Sure enough, the whole movie was in Spanish, with no subtitles in any language.  But I understood almost all of it (pretty impressive, I thought!  It was much more than I've understood from any other movie that I've watched here), and combined with having read the book, I followed along just fine.  I may see it again in English, just to pick up anything I may have missed, but I feel like I've mostly seen it.  What a sense of accomplishment!

Last bit of news, though by now it's a little outdated: a couple weeks ago, I FINALLY succeeded at the Artisan Market!  It only took 4 tries.  The first time, Luke and I went just to look around and see what it was all about.  The second time, we went with the class, but my debit card didn't feel like withdrawing money, so I couldn't buy anything.  The third time, I failed to figure out exactly how to get there via public transport, Maxime and I ended up in the wrong part of town, and I got robbed.  So I didn't want to say anything to jinx it, but HA! I finally did it.  So there.

I hope everything is going well back home.  It's weird to picture you all, bundling up against the threat of snow, while we walk around in the sunshine, sweating profusely.  But I'll get my comeuppance on the return.  In less than a month, I too will be grumbling, buried waist-deep in that gross cold white stuff.  That sounds so soon, but it also feels like a long stretch of time still to go.  I guess we'll see...

Counterclockwise

To Dad, that is the direction of water flow in my toilet.  To all you in the U.S., or wherever else you happen to be, please let me know through comments, email, or Facebook, which direction the water spins in your toilet.  I'm performing an unofficial experiment, and I figure asking around will be much faster than hopping all over the world flushing toilets myself.

This past weekend we went to Montañita, a hippie/surfer beach town just north of Salinas.  Amanda, Luke, and Rebekka and I headed up and met Maxime and several of her friends and co-volunteers there.  We'd heard that the buses are usually crowded, and since we were only staying 1 night, we wanted to be sure to get there in plenty of time to enjoy the day, so we arrived at the bus terminal intending to catch the 6:30 bus.  But the 5:30 hadn't left yet, so they stuck us on there!  It was SUPER early, but we got there in half the time, and had a whole day ahead of us.  We had a wonderful breakfast at a cute little restaurant, half sheltered from the drizzle.  We checked into the hotel and dropped our stuff (and Luke - he's "not a beach person"), and the girls headed down to the beach.  We walked around along the streets for awhile, then made our way across the sand to the far end, where a surf competition was starting up.  Fun to see all the different types of people who show up to watch and participate in an international surf competition in a town that has a reputation in between that of Amsterdam and Vegas, just a whole lot smaller.

Fortunately, as we found out during the day and that evening, it's much more relaxed and laid back than its reputation implies.  It really is just a perpetual surfer vacation, in a little corner of an overlooked region of the world.  Amanda and I decided to take a surf lesson together, which was a blast!  Hard, though.  The lesson was 2 hours, and by the end, we were both ready to be done.  My body is still aching, and I have a pretty impressive skinned knee, but once I heal, I would definitely do it again!  It's a lot harder than it looks, so I have a lot more respect for surfers now (meaning: I have respect for surfers now. Haha, jk...).

We grabbed an afternoon coffee at a vegetarian restaurant and cafe, where there were 3 little kittens looking for a home.  This little cafe seemed to represent all the good that is Montañita and, more generally, La Vie Boheme: the care to eat well and conscientiously, the appreciation for fun and funky local art, the advantage of the fresh air, and the willingness to help others.  Don't worry, Mom, I didn't bring a kitten back with me.  It's illegal to bring them into the country.  Fine, I researched it.  But I didn't do it!  Yet... ;)

We met up with Maxime and the other Dutch volunteers, plus two Ecuadorian volunteers, for some dinner, then started searching for a place to spend the evening.  Except that it was 8:30, and as anyone who has experienced the Latino culture can tell you, that's time to wake up from your afternoon nap, since the places don't start hopping until 11 or 12.  But anyway.  We hung around down on the beach for awhile, Maxime and the other Dutch girl and I got hair wraps, and then we all made our way to a dance club on the second floor of a big hotel right next to the sand.  It was pretty fun, though by the end of the night, the music was getting painfully bad.  They started out with a combination of American hits and Latin beats, a perfect dance atmosphere.  But when they started getting into 90s electronica and rhythmless AutoTune noise, we decided it was time to leave.  Of course, this was a little past 3am, which was enough excitement for us gringos.  But as we walked back to the hotel, the Ecuadorian boys and a couple of the Dutch boys were already making plans to go somewhere else.  Eesh.

We woke up the next morning for the Swiss breakfast included with our hotel - it consisted of yogurt with cereal and strawberries (my favorite - the yogurt was the European style, think and tangy without flavors or sweetener), bread with jam or manjar (caramel spread), and mashed potatoes with meatballs and a salad... ?  So that was a little different, but fun.  We wandered down to figure out the bus schedule, and found one that was leaving at 1, so we bought our tickets.  But it wasn't a normal bus like the one we'd taken there; rather, it was a 14-passenger van.  So the tickets were more expensive and the ride was more cramped and bumpy, but we made it.

And it was fun!  We all got something a little different out of it, I think.  But we all seemed to enjoy ourselves.  I would certainly go back.  It's a great place to visit with some energy and some friends, but I think it would be kinda boring alone... so hopefully I can scare up somebody to go with me the next time too!  To a girl from a small town in the Midwest, the idea of walking town in a swimsuit with sandy feet where no one even cares is the epitomy of a great vacation.

The Plagues

It's interesting to see how we've all been adjusting to "typical" Ecuadorian life and culture; the latest example came a couple weeks ago when we found out that the country is doing a census this coming weekend (the original weekend for the Cuenca trip), and no Ecuadorian adults could leave their home provinces.  So, they asked us, would we prefer to go to Cuenca that weekend, or the first weekend in December?  None of us had a problem with that following weekend, so away we went, Nov. 12: Daniela and Janett, the professors; Luke, Amanda, and me, the exchange students; and Rebekka, the German intern who lives in the same house as Luke.  This was just a couple days after I came down with what I thought was a 24-hour tummy bug, though I still wasn't feeling quite myself.  We headed out first thing Friday morning, first driving to Ingapirka on our way to Cuenca.  Ingapirka is a set of ruins from two different cultures - the Cañari, or ancient Ecuadorian culture of that part of the Sierra, and the Incas, from Peru.  The two cultures lived side by side but left contrasting buildings and lifestyles in the same area, literally on the same hillside.  It was lightly drizzling the whole time we were there, with the exception of the walk back, when it started to rain a little harder.  But it wasn't too chilly, and Luke had been nice enough to loan Rebekka and me a couple of large garbage bags, which we put over our heads like Bag Skit witches.  It was moderately interesting, and dare I say it, even if it wasn't as hidden and impressive as Machu Picchu, there were fewer tourists, and less mist, so I feel like we saw a lot more.  We had eaten lunch before walking around - for me, a fried whole trout, which I had to pick apart with a fork and remove the bones from my teeth - so afterward we got back on the bus and pushed on to Cuenca, where it was also drizzling.  At one point on the way there, the driver hit a speed bump (which are quite common on the roads here, plus we'd had to take the old road to go to Ingapirka) at a startling velocity, causing Amanda and I to hit our heads very hard on the roof of the bus.  That was a little terrifying, and added a sore neck and natural aversion to the driver to the rest of the weekend.

At long last we did reach Cuenca, however, and dashed straight to the guided bus tour (well, "straight" is an overstatement; the hotel doorman gave us bad directions, so we actually dashed in a giant circle to the bus).  The tour was interesting, but we couldn't see as much because it was getting dark and still drizzling.  By the time we got out at the top of the huge hill overlooking the whole city, the rain had stopped, so we enjoyed walking around in a couple little shops and trying some canelazo, a hot drink made from sugar cane.  Then we headed back for some dinner, which would have been really fun, except that we were all feeling a bit queasy and unsettled from the day.  So we decided to all turn in early, rather than extending the festivities into the evening.  Saturday we got up, had breakfast at the hotel, and went to visit the Museum of Modern Art, which was fantastic!  Some really interesting pieces displayed in a series of rooms connected by outdoor walkways and gardens and patios.  Very fun!  Next we explored the market, where you can find any sort of warm Andean clothing you could imagine, plus all sorts of cheesy little diddlywhops.  Further down, there are also all kinds of traditional medicinal products and talismans to guard against the Evil Eye, to increase fertility, and who knows what else (I'm still trying to figure out why one would need a ziplock of dried cat's tail or a pile of toenails).  We also visited the Cathedral, which is gorgeous on the inside, although the altar of solid gold was a bit alarming...  And we got a chance to stop in a sweets shop where they sell all sorts of typical Ecuadorian candies, made by the nuns in the town.  Some of them were simply heavenly (hee hee!), and others were just kinda so-so, but it was fun to look at all the different cookies and dried fruits and combinations of communion wafers with caramel sauce.

That afternoon we would have gone to Chordeleg, another nearby town, but we were all feeling a little off.  During lunch, Amanda visibly plummeted from mild discomfort to a full-blown fever and nausea.  We decided to let her sleep it off in the hotel room, and we stayed in town to go to the Museum of the Paja Toquillo, better known as the Panama Hat.  That's a misnomer, since the style of hat so popular with retirement-age, cigar-smoking, South American-traversing men is native to the northern coastal provinces of Ecuador.  The museum was kinda fun, seeing all the equipment from the antique processes up through today.  The hat store was even more fun, trying on all sorts of hats, some very classy, some absolutely absurd.  We brought some soup back to Amanda, who was starting to feel a little better.  The rest of us went out for tapas!  Very fun, and quite good!  And I tried this drink that is apparently very popular in Spain - Coke mixed with red wine.  It was strange.  Not bad, just strange.  We headed back to the hotel and rested up for the next day.

On Sunday, even though we were all feeling either genuinely or sympathetically/hypochondriac-ly sick, we woke up early to drive to Chordeleg, a small town known for its silver jewelry.  It's a little different than I expected... we stayed in the big central square (much like the Woodstock Square, minus the trees) and looked around in about 3 dozen different little jewelry stores.  I had pictured handmade pieces laid out by street vendors, but they were mostly all formal jewelry stores like you would see in the States.  Some of them had some good bargains, but most of the stuff was close to prices we'd pay in the U.S., so it wasn't anything spectacular.  It was still a fun little outing, though, and we were starting to feel a little better.  We stopped for lunch - more whole trout - and then pushed on back to Guayaquil.  The ride was long enough, and I think by the end we were all fighting some sort of bug; we all continued to feel a little sick throughout the next week, including a couple students who hadn't even gone on the trip; definitely something going around.  Ugh.  So, from that standpoint, it sounds like kind of a bummer of a trip, but it really wasn't.  Cuenca is a pretty town with a very European colonial feel.  My favorite part was just walking around the cobblestone streets, seeing the mix of colonial architecture with the occasional modern building squeezed in between.  It's the third largest city in Ecuador, but it feels very much like a small town from a couple hundred years ago.  I would certainly go back some day, though I would prefer a weekend when I'm feeling a little better!

I Left My Heart on Isabela

The ferry to Isabela arrives in the late afternoon, so I decided to find a place to stay and take it easy.  I was pointed toward some taxis at the dock, but none had a driver in sight, so I started walking.  Pretty quickly an open-sided bus slowed down and asked where I was headed and if I'd like a ride.  "Well," I explained, "I don't actually have a hotel yet. I'm going to go ask around."  He invited me to climb in; he owned a hotel that also organized a bunch of tours and activities on the island.  I was welcome to come check out the facilities, and if I was interested, I was welcome to stay, and if not, that was fine too.  The place seemed quite nice, and the guy seemed even nicer, so I stuck around.  It turned out great!  The owner is a really nice guy, the hotel is pretty decent, and the tours turned out to be just what I wanted.  Score 1 for the disorganized but ever-optimistic traveler!  That night I had a quiet dinner at a little restaurant down the road that serves dinner classic Ecuadorian style - you pay a set amount (usually only $2-3) and you get soup, rice with some kind of sauce or stew, and a glass of juice.

Wednesday I arranged to go to Sierra Negra, the most accessible volcano on Isabela.  The island is formed from 6 volcanoes, 5 of which (including Sierra Negra and its neighbor, Volcán Chico) are still active.  I joined a group of about 15 people for the climb.  It starts with a steep climb of about 45 minutes up to the crater, which is the 2nd-largest volcanic crater in the world!  I know, I keep saying I'm not going to climb any more mountains... but this one wasn't too terrible.  The crater itself is breathtaking.  After a brief rest there, the trail almost completely flattens out for 2 or 2 1/2 hours, circling one side of the crater and leading to a small picnic area where we stopped for lunch.  We ate in about 17 minutes... David, the guide, seemed to be in a big hurry, never stopping for so much as 5 minutes, but at the end of the day, I could understand why.  It's certainly doable in 1 day, but it's a long day, and you need to ride your own momentum to keep from tiring out!

Anyway, after lunch is when it gets really beautiful.  This part of the trek goes across the far side of Sierra Negra, which is a beautiful cactus- and rock-filled desert, on to Volcán Chico, which erupted less than 5 years ago and which looks like something from the moon.  Here the "trail" (means: "follow the general direction of the group across a vast expanse of loose volcanic rock") is more technically demanding, but ethereally beautiful.  The couple hours we spent on this side of the mountain made this entire trip for me.

After we returned to the start, sore and exhausted, we gratefully climbed back onto the bus, which dropped us all off at our respective hotels.  A small family from Guayaquil was staying in the same hotel and had also climbed Sierra Negra.  They called a taxi to come pick them up and invited me along to the beach!  I was game.  I set out a towel, scrubbed the first layer of dust and dirt off my noticeably brown ankles, and napped briefly.  It was glorious.  I was starting to develop some impressive blisters, too, so it was nice to be off my feet for a bit.

The next morning I decided to go to Muro de Las Lagrimas, a big stone wall in the middle of the desert that was built in 1948 by prisoners as a form of punishment.  The wall itself is interesting, but the surrounding landscape is the real sight to see.  Many tour buses drive along the bumpy dirt road and pause long enough that the little old ladies can get off and take a picture by the Big Wall, but then most get back on the bus and drive back. 

Lauro, the hotel owner, had offered (well, insisted) on going along with me.  He's a funny little man.  Shamelessly, aggressively friendly, and he's always either singing or whistling.  Usually it's something he's made up on the spot, with the same "melody" but different words. After investigating the wall itself, he suggested we climb up the stairs to have a look around - beautiful.  Then he pointed to a little trail that continues up the hill, so we climbed a little further.  If you're vigilant, you can actually climb the entire hill and the slightly higher one behind it (tho by the end the 'trail' has deteriorated into what would be a deer trail back home; narrow, curving wildly back and forth, and interrupted every few steps by loose rocks, bushes, and cacti).  At one point you reach a flat open area at the top of the second hill, where there is a big cement foundation and lots of rusty scrap metal.  Lauro explained to me that this used to be a US military radar base, since you can see the entire part of the island and the ocean surrounding it on 3 sides.  He told me after we'd left that technically that area is prohibited... whoops.  I think he assumed we wouldn't get caught, but if we did, I think he was going to rely on me to do my Dumb White Tourist impression and pretend not to speak Spanish.  Anyway, the "trail" goes a few meters past the former base, to a teetery but totally-worth-it vantage point.  After the hike (again with the mountain climbing! sheesh!), the view and the breeze and the freedom will take your breath away.  Plus when you consider how few people know about this place or have climbed all the way to that last lookout (Lauro himself had never been there), it was an amazing feeling.

On the way back we climbed up to another little viewing platform on one of the surrounding hills.  From there, we watched a cop car (white pickup truck with paint on the sides) pull up to the park entrance, look around, possibly pee into the bushes, and then drive away again.  Lauro explained that they were probably headed to the beach.  "Nothing happens in Isabela," he explained.  "They really don't have much to do, so oftentimes they'll go relax at the beach for a little while during the day, or go get ice cream."  I had seen police in Guayaquil take a load off in the shade in the residential neighborhoods to enjoy an ice cream or a cigarette, but it seems to make more sense to do that in Galápagos.  I wish more people in more careers took the time to do stuff like that!  We headed back along the road, which was a good 90 minutes or 2 hours to walk.  My feet were easier to ignore once we'd been walking for a couple minutes, but every time we stopped to rest, starting again got a little more painful.  My feet just weren't used to walking that much in those shoes across rocks and cacti.  At one point Lauro noticed I was walking a little slower and more delicately, so I explained that I had blisters.  He offered to help me clean them when we got back to the hotel.  Little did I know...

...he was trying to incapacitate me!  I was reluctant at first, but he insisted that I needed to clean them with alcohol so they wouldn't get infected.  At long last I agreed.  But I didn't realize he was planning to pop them with a gigantic yarn needle until he did it!  Afterwards I was a little peeved, in part because the alcohol REALLY HURT, and in part because I still needed to use my feet, in the same places (meaning, the bottoms!), and so opened blisters were going to be more painful and more easily infected than if we'd left them alone until I could take it easy while they sealed up again.  Grr.  So I lounged around in the hammock, reading and grumbling, for an hour or two before my afternoon tour to Las Tintoreras.  Fortunately it would involve less walking and more swimming, but still... grr...

Las Tintoreras is an area within site of the main dock of Isabela, but mostly enclosed by an islota and reef.  You can snorkel, since it's relatively shallow, and see everything from fish to rays to sometimes sharks!  I was in a boat with what I think was a recently married gay couple.  They were very friendly, and quite funny!  First our driver took us close to several islotas to see sea lions where they like to nap (which is everywhere, such as in the middle of the sidewalk), blue-footed boobies, and penguins!  Then he anchored the boat and told us to jump on in.  We looked at each other, a bit confused, a bit hesitant, then one by one went overboard.  It's not teeming with life like in the movies, but if you're patient, you can see some pretty neat stuff.  The fish were all quite large and colorful.  I didn't recognize many species besides puffer fish, though... and I'm pretty sure I heard the telltale crunching that indicates some species of parrot fish (which eat coral).  But we were kinda floating around and exploring, when I looked around and realized I was a little ways away from the two guys.  I looked up, directly in front of me, and all of a sudden a huge sea turtle materialized, about an arm's length from me!  I was stunned.  It was so unexpected, so beautiful, and so majestic, I was frozen in place for several seconds, as it eyed me and slowly sailed past.  It was incredible.  After reuniting with the guys, they said they'd seen a shark!  I was a little disappointed to have missed it, but I think I was happier with my turtle. :)

We made about 3 passes of the little stretch of cove, also counting at least half a dozen rays (the guide kept mentioning manta rays, but I'm pretty sure one of them was a sting ray), lots more turtles (one bigger than me!), and lots more cool fish and sedentary reef thangs.  We even saw a cobalt-blue starfish squeezed into a crevice, and an entire field? harvesting ground? discotech? of sea cucumbers (Mr. Donato's favorite animal.  Much more social here, I think.  At least, more of them per square meter.  Does that make them more friendly, or just slower-moving?).  Then an adolescent sea lion showed up, and we danced and played with it for about half an hour.  It would appear, leap into the air, then submerge itself and go whizzing past us, sideways or upside down.  Then it would dive down to the bottom and come rocketing back up, all just out of arm's reach.  It was fun!  And the more we played along, the more fun he seemed to be having, too.  At least, the more he would show off!  Finally we climbed back into the boat and rode over to the islota that encloses one side of the little cove.  There is a trail that goes all the way around, where you can see more iguanas than I've ever even imagined, plus two iguana nesting grounds, a secluded sea lion nesting beach, and a narrow channel where sharks come nap during the day (for which the cove is named - Tintoreras are white-tipped reef sharks).  There was only one very sleepy shark lying at the bottom, but it was fun to see.  The path is flanked by iguanas and littered with their odd little friends, the lava lizards.  Every time we'd stumble upon a particularly big, ugly iguana (and I like iguanas!), one of the guys would coo, "Ah! Qué lindo!" ("Oh! How lovely!")  Except he meant it.  It made me smile.

That night I headed down to La Casa Rosada, a total young person hippie hotel / evening hangout.  It was pretty fun!  There were people from all over the world, sitting around socializing by the bonfire, or passing around a couple guitars and playing/singing in between iPod sessions.  The hotel is literally right on the beach (we were sitting on logs in the sand, and we could practically see the waves through the dark).  The sound of the waves combined with more stars than I have ever seen in my life made it an absolutely gorgeous night.

Early the next morning I caught the boat back to Santa Cruz.  This one was smoother than the last, but I was still ready to get off by the end.  I ran into a group of Argentines whom I'd met briefly earlier in the week, and they invited me to come sit by them.  We had a nice chat, and they mentioned that they had a hotel reserved and were going to drop their stuff and then head to Tortuga Bay to spend the whole day on the beach.  Well, Tortuga Bay was the one place I still wanted to see, and an entire day on the beach sounded sinfully enjoyable, so I happily accepted their invitation to tag along!  Also, cosmically, they were a group of 4 and had a room with 5 beds, so they generously let me stay in their room, too!  The walk to Tortuga Bay is longer than advertised... it probably took us a good 90 minutes or 2 hours.  We reached the beach, but they suggested we keep walking a little further to where there is a secluded bay with some shade.  We ate some oranges, napped, had some interesting philosophical conversations, and just enjoyed being outside.  It was wonderful.  We all headed out for dinner and a couple beers that evening, since one of them was having a birthday the next day.  The next morning we all shared a taxi ride to the ferry/airport, since that seemed easier, even though my flight was a couple hours later.  It gave me a chance to relax a little, read, and meet a nice lady from Guayaquil who chatted me up while we waited.  I was tired, sure, and a little scorchy (at least on my shoulders; Mom, I promise, I used sunscreen, constantly! I think I must have sweat most of it off on the volcano, since the only part that was tender was from that day and in the shape of a tank top + backpack), but mostly bummed out about leaving.  Isabela in particular, being the quieter, more isolated, yet in my opinion much more beautiful island, really struck a chord with me.  If I ever need to run away, that's where I'm going - it just felt like "my" island.  So, this post title, though in reference to a sweet but somewhat cheesy song, really is the truth.  I did leave a part of my heart on Isabela.  As well as my good flip flops.

Where to begin? At the end, naturally!

Well, more or less.  Between cringing at the idea of typing how much I would really like to say about the trip to Galápagos, getting back into the swing of things with a new set of classes and considerably less free time, and preparing for the trip this weekend, I haven't yet posted anything!  Sorry about that.  So, first thing first, the plans have changed slightly, and we're all going to Cuenca this weekend with the exchange program!  We leave bright and early tomorrow morning and return Sunday evening.  Cuenca is the third-largest city in Ecuador, but it also has the reputation of being a cute little colonial town tucked into the mountains, with lots of history and culture to explore.  So we're all pretty excited!

I came down with a disagreeable little tummy bug the day before yesterday, and was pretty miserable yesterday, but today I'm a little better.  And as you all know how stubborn I can be, come hell or high water, I'm going to Cuenca!  So I'll just have to feel good tomorrow, and that's that.

Classes are going well.  I'm in the next level of grammar, which is going to be a combination of Advanced II (the next level chronologically) and Lexicon, whose content remains a mystery...  I'm also in Literature, which is a great idea.  It can be difficult to read, comprehend, and analyze works all in one class period, but so far we're reading some interesting selections; I think it's going to be lots of fun.  My other class is called Urban Regeneration, and it is taught by a Guayaquileño architect.  The city of Guayaquil has experienced quite a bit of modernization in the past 15 years, really getting things "cleaned up" from how it apparently was before.  The class consists of taking afternoon-long field trips to various places in the city and learning about the process of developing them and how they've affected Guayaquil.  Though architecture isn't exactly my interest, the teacher is passionate about his subject, and we'll get to visit some cool places, so I'm looking forward to it.

Now, on to the exciting stuff! ;)  I headed for the Galápagos last Monday.  The flight was at 9something in the morning, so Juan Carlos suggested that I leave between 6:30 and 7, just to be on the safe side.  I asked Francisco, the family's "driver" of choice, to pick me up at 6:30.  I'd built in a few extra minutes, since he's usually 5 minutes early or so, and can be quite impatient once he's arrived.  So, imagine my delight when he pulled up to the curb at 6:02.  Not.  I was already a bit touchy, since I am NOT a morning person, but then having to recklessly toss any last-minute things into my bag and hightail it out of there, without coffee or brushing my teeth, turned my mood sour.  Then I got to the airport and through security and had over 2 hours to kill.  Whatever.  So I did have my coffee after all, and got a good start on my book.  The flight went by without any hangups, and then I was there!  The flight is not quite 2 hours, plus the islands are an hour behind the mainland, so I got there in the morning and had a whole day ahead of me.

To get there, first you fly either from Quito or Guayaquil to Baltra; the airport is on its own separate mini-island.  From there, you go through "customs" and hop on a bus that takes you to the ferry that takes you the main island of Santa Cruz.  If you're part of a tour (or staying at a really nice hotel), there may be a shuttle bus waiting at the dock at Santa Cruz.  Otherwise, there are taxis (big white pickup trucks) to drive you half an hour to the city of Puerto Ayora.  Because the city is on the opposite side of the island, the ride is really fun - you can watch the landscape change from desert coastland, all the way through lightly forested highlands, and back out again.  In the highlands, my taxi driver offered to stop for a few minutes at Los Gemelos, a pair of huge collapsed volcanic tunnels literally right off the road (like, 50 feet away on either side).

Once in Puerto Ayora, I decided to go straight to the Charles Darwin Research Station, one of the most famous attractions in the islands.  Usually I prefer to avoid such obvious Tourist-ness, but once in awhile I need to make an exception.  From the city center, the station is less than a half hour's walk away.  The winding path inside is not long, but there's so much to see that they suggest budgeting an hour and a half there.  There are birds and lizards EVERYWHERE, and they're not especially skittery.  You probably couldn't touch them (though it's illegal anyway, and most bite, so you wouldn't want to), but you can get very close to take pictures.  There are a couple of buildings that have pictures and explanations of the conservation steps being taken in the islands; otherwise, you can walk around in the beautiful coastal desert landscape and look at the wild animals as well as captive tortoises in every stage of development - from teacup-sized babies in cages, to cat-sized juveniles in larger pens, to the larger older tortoises that are the symbol of the Galápagos wandering around in big enclosures.  You are also invited to step inside their enclosures and mingle, though again, no touching.  These bigger tortoises seemed to be acutely aware of a visitor, even though they nonchalantly continued eating or napping (except for one cranky female who hissed at me when my camera made a noise).  They look just like dinosaurs, with their scaly reptilian beaks, and even more when they move.  It's a step back in time.

At long last, I finished my circuit of the research station, without seeing a single other person until I was on my way out (this also helped to make it really fun, and make it feel more authentic than a zoo).  I walked back towards town, stopping briefly to look around on the beach connected to the research station.  About halfway back it started to drizzle, then rain... then it stopped.  Then it started again... then it stopped again.  I was getting a little nervous and started asking around at various hotels I found about rates and room availability; most were more than I wanted to spend, or booked, or both.  Eventually I found one that was more expensive than I wanted, but I was getting nervous enough that I went for it anyway.  Of course after that it cleared up, but at least I had a place to sleep.  I wandered for awhile in search of a company that could sell me a ferry ride to Isabela the next day, without trying to attach a 3 day / 2 night tour to it.  Finally I did find one, and ended up having a pleasant conversation with the older gentleman at the agency.  He suggested I check out La Playa de los Alemanes (the Beach of the Germans, because of the German travelers who congregated there during the island's semi-colonial period) during my free afternoon; then he offered to go along with me.  From the dock in the heart of town, you can take a water taxi across to any number of beach or private resort locales.  We scoped out the beach, but then he suggested we go on to Las Grietas, following some signs.  It's quite a hike, through hotel properties, private residence neighborhoods, small salt flats, and loose lava rocks, but at the end is a small canyon (only about 40 or 50 feet high) with a crystalline lagoon at the bottom.

It's really pretty, and it's unfortunate that there are always so many people there, since it feels very secluded and peaceful.  The next morning, I came back by myself for a little swim before the boat left.  The water is salty, so it must be fed under the rocks by the ocean, but there aren't any animals inside, and it is perfectly clear and a gorgeous shade of turquoise. 

I hopped on the boat that afternoon for the ride to Isabela.  It's about 3 hours average, though a good (meaning fast and reckless) captain can do it in 2 1/2.  However, the ride is a bit bumpy... Fine, that is a comical understatement.  Several times when we shot up over a wave I flew out of my seat and onto the lap of the person next to me; one time I nearly hit the roof of the boat.  And every time we came down from one of those bumps it was a solid knock to the vertebral column.  So, it wasn't great, but I chatted with some people on the boat, and we all made it in relatively good time.

I have much more to say about Isabela, so I will have to save it for the next post... Stay tuned!

As Promised

Below are a couple highlights of the 188 (I counted) pictures from El Altar.  For more, check out my Facebook, ask me for an email, or wait until the Big Slideshow Showdown when I return...  I hope I can successfully format this after posting it to put the pictures next to the written post, because if they're separated, my OCD may be too much to handle... but if I fail, just scroll down a little further for the explanation of what the heck this weird-looking place is.

Looking down at Riobamba and the small mountain towns

The surreal landscape along the ridge that leads eventually to the peaks

Laguna Verde, as the mist clears

Contemplating

It's the Most Wonderful Time of the Year

Almost done with this cycle of classes!  I have to go in one more time today to get my grades and to talk to Daniela - she was nice enough to write a letter saying I'm a student so I can hopefully get the student rate to enter the Galapagos (normal foreigners pay $100; students pay $25); but, since all of my student IDs were stolen, I'm going to try to procure another from the university.

Most importantly, Mango Season has started!  My host family bought a basketful last weekend, so we've been working on them all week.  The mangoes we see in the U.S. are the "export" variety; the ones they eat here are much smaller, with a lighter, more floral flavor.  My host mom explained that I'd better hop to it with eating them, because if I didn't get to it, she'd finish them all!  She brags that she will eat 3 or 4 easily in one sitting, 6 if she's actually in the mood.  And the ones on the tree in the back yard should be ripening in the next week or two, which is very exciting!

As illustrated above, most of the time my host mom is a little quirky, but lucid.  Then I woke up yesterday.  Apparently, around this time every year, my host mom can no longer contain her excitement over Christmas, so she starts decorating... on October 27.  When I left around midday for school, the entire front room of the house (which constitutes a front hall, a large sitting room, and the dining room) was filled with boxes and stepladders and packing materials.  I returned to see most of it unpacked and painstakingly laid out in a Winter Wonderland in 92 degree heat, complete with extra end tables set up to hold more decorations, and a red cozy on top of the water cooler.  It was a little funny, but hey, she needs something to do, right?  Then I woke up today.  There was another pile of boxes and bags the same size as the one yesterday!  So now I'm getting a little nervous... has she in fact lost her mind?  Will Christmas arrive before we all drown in the chaos of lights, manger scenes, fake "frosted" fruit, and the 10 Santas I've counted, just from where I'm sitting right now?  Who knows.  But if you don't hear from me, grab the keys from underneath the ornaments hanging on the key hook, let yourself in, and start digging under the pile of green tablecloths with perfectly coordinated red placements and fake snow-stuffing.

"That" Weekend

I apologize for the length, but there is a lot to tell.  I did not fall off the extinct volcano, and there are no monkeys.  Here is the [mostly] unexaggerated story.  Pictures to follow.

They say the unexpected adventures are the best.  Well, they are the most noteworthy, anyway.  I decided to take a break from my usual over-preparedness and travel on a whim this weekend.  I think sometimes that would be a perfectly fine idea, but other times not necessarily… and of course I have to learn the hard way.  Lesson #1: if they suggest bringing a jacket and a rainproof layer, DO IT.  Lesson #2: “Trekking” ≠ Hiking.  Trekking is the equivalent of mountain climbing minus the ice pick.  Now I know.

We started out Thursday, early afternoon.  The bus ride to Riobamba, the main transfer point for trips throughout the Sierra (the mountains) and the entry point to the Amazon, usually takes about 3-4 hours.  4 ½ hours later – after an extensive detour and an unexplained 30 minute delay in the middle of the road – we arrived.  We had called the tour company office to let them know that we were on the bus, but would be a little late. “Okay, see you soon!” was the response.  When we finally found the office (which was no small feat, since we only had an intersection, not an address, and the sign above the door is a different name than the company on their website), it was closed.  No answer (not even a voicemail!) on the office phone, and the cell phone number from the website went straight to an error message.  We decided to get some food and then investigate further.  Still no luck.  We reluctantly decided to walk down the street to a hostel we’d seen, to get some sleep and try again in the morning.  For only $7 each, we got a separate room with 2 beds, a bathroom with a functioning toilet and shower (though missing the TP and shower curtain), and a cable TV!  And no bedbugs. (I checked.)  So although the idea was enough to inspire a horror flick, this particular locale wasn’t actually that intimidating.  Pretty darn good for a first hostel experience!  The next morning, after failing to secure any coffee whatsoever, either because all plausible sources were closed or “out” (out of coffee??), we set up our stakeout in front of the door of the office.  It got to be a few minutes past 8, when they were supposed to open, so we started calling again.  Someone answered the cell, sounding confused, and told us to take a taxi to the guesthouse.  Once there, we were able to fill in the missing details: Wlady, the Top Banana (of 2) got married a week ago and had spent the week honeymooning in Colombia – hence the sporadic email communication.  He had gotten back the night before, then rushed off to the airport at 3am to pick up one of the other girls going on the trip with us.  All of this had been explained, and additional cell numbers had been given, in the 3 emails – from Wlady (who speaks Spanish and almost perfect English, too) and his partner, Jake – that we would have received Thursday, if we hadn’t already been on a bus and away from a computer.  Oh well.  So we met Wlady, whose first 2 comments were: “Huh. You talk like a gringa.” (um, thanks, jerk? I’m trying, and I’m not as bad as some); and “Um, are you guys ready for the trek?  Okaaaay… You know this is the hardest trek in Ecuador? [giggle]”  Bad start.  Lucky for us, they had extra hiking boots, water resistant pants, and a poncho we could borrow.  We suited up, with approximately 60 pounds of backpack apiece (though I have a feeling Jake’s was closer to 80 lbs!), and headed out – Jake (I guess he’s the Vice Banana?); Mauri, our other guide, who speaks beautiful Spanish, and is learning English but didn’t speak any with us; Polina, from Russia, who had gone from St. Petersburg to Ecuador in 2 days; Ylonah, from Ireland, who is here for an Ultimate Extreme Vacation, including volunteering at an animal rescue/reserve in the rainforest, where she got bitten by a monkey a few days ago; Luke; and me.  Taxi to the bus, bus to a town the size of the Woodstock Square, then a ride in the back of a pickup truck to the entrance of the park (the entrance being a hill in the middle of one of the farms, between the cows and the donkey).

The first hour or so of the hike was pure mud.  Well, not pure mud.  There were a few underwater rocks, too.  No more than 10 minutes in, I started to feel kinda funny.  By the first real resting place, an hour or two in, I had deduced that I was feeling some altitude sickness.  I’d read plenty about it, but never felt anything like it before.  For those of you who have not had the pleasure, it feels like having the flu – headache or dizziness, nausea, hot and cold flashes, and fatigue – but without the relief of being able to throw up and feel better (well, for me anyway.  Luke threw up several times later that day).  All in all, the trek itself wouldn’t have been quite so difficult, but the altitude sickness amplified everything about 4 times – the hard work, the fatigue, the cold.  At the first site, we made the decision to push on to the cave where we were supposed to spend the night, even though we were a little behind schedule after a late start.  A third of the way there, Luke and I were both starting to feel worse.  The others went ahead with Jake, while Mauri stayed behind with us, at a pace that was probably excruciatingly slow for a Real Trekker like him.  But he was very pleasant about the whole thing.  Then the clouds started moving into the valley; then it hailed a little; then it started to rain; then it started to snow.  Fan-tastic.  Luke and I, teetering on Death’s doorstep, reached a flat spot among the mud and grass tufts where the others had set up the small guide tent, slithered inside, and tried to shake the misery that had sunk into our bones.  We had slept for a little less than an hour, shivering uncontrollably, when Mauri showed up again to help us up to the cave.  We figured a cave with a fire was a much better option than the cold, wet tent out in the open, so we pushed on through the sleet, making it just before dark.  We huddled in the tent with the others, slowly regaining feeling in our extremities, and ejecting our wet stuff outside the tent.  No fire, since everything was wet, but we had some hot chocolate over the gas canister, followed by some bread and soup with noodles (bonding by all eating out of the little pot, since we didn’t have cups).  Then we fell asleep for nearly 13 hours.  We took turns waking up every few minutes, and made a complete rotation with the spot on the end, wedged in the coldest, dampest corner of the tent.  Though considering the “cave” was really only a 2-meter-deep indent in the wet rock, it was surprisingly cozy in the tent.

The next morning, Luke and I decided to push on to the top of the ridge, despite the continued sick feeling.  It was hard, though not quite as hard as the day before – the breathlessness and shakiness was coming in waves, instead of being constant.  Once atop the ridge, we decided it had all been worth it.  The landscape is surreal – stranger even than the Land of Mordor from the Lord of the Rings, which is how Jake had described it.  El Altar used to be the tallest volcano in Ecuador, until it exploded a few hundred years ago, leaving nine peaks in the shape of a claw (or, more poetically, two nuns and four friars listening to a bishop, hence the name).  The inner contours and valleys were probably formed by glaciers, and the land looks as though the glaciers could have melted a year ago.  So few people have seen this area that it is practically untouched.  There are several lagoons tucked among the peaks as well; as the mist and clouds cleared, we got a clear view of 3 of them.  As we hiked further along to wait for a clear shot of the snow-capped peaks (still shrouded in clouds), we experienced one of the highs of trip, and an undeniable blessing – a condor flew about 6 feet over our heads.  Condors are the symbol of the Andes (and of the rapidly disappearing indigenous cultures), but they are thought to be extinct in this area.  They have been on the Endangered Species List for decades, and were considered extinct in all but a select few regions 50 years ago.  It vanished into the mist as silently as it had emerged, leaving us frozen in awe.

Oftentimes this tour will hike up a bit further to catch a glimpse of one of the lagoons from above, but with the clouds and the cold, we decided not to do that.  Jake suggested that we could hike directly to the lagoon, though he had never done it before.  Again, we declined.  We started heading back, but then paused for a couple minutes for pit stops and photos.  Cue the other high of the trip: the clouds parted, revealing the breathtaking and humbling snowy peaks.  Within another 10 minutes, the whole scene was hidden once again, but as we began to descend, we were speechless.

The descent was certainly easier than the ascent the day before, but I still wasn’t feeling myself, and I was much shakier.  Kinda scary when climbing down a 17,000 ft pile of mud.  We made it to the woods in the valley where we’d stopped the first day and filled up our water bottles.  I was tickled that we were able to drink right out of the little stream!  It comes straight from the glacier on the peaks, and there are no farms upstream, so it’s safe.  The other girls decided to push on back to Riobamba that night, rather than camping again; Luke and I decided to just camp, since we were pretty tired.  Half an hour after they left, it started sprinkling, then raining in earnest, which continued for most of the evening, so we were content to have stayed.  More hot chocolate, more soup and noodles.  Hot food really hits the spot after a chilly day of hiking.  After a philosophical discussion of spirituality, New Age medicine, Reiki, and literature, we fell asleep.  This time I was really cold overnight, but we made it through.  Attempted to dry off some of our wet gear over the morning campfire, then put on our wet and muddy stuff one last time.  The way back was even worse after all the rain, and I came out looking like a Swamp Creature (the boots I had borrowed had sizable holes in them, and the pants were ripped crotch-to-knee on both sides, so I got pretty intimate with the mud).  We changed shoes and began our walk back down the mountain road.  After just a few minutes, a truck drove by and we were able to finagle a ride, standing up in the back (which was good, since the “hour and a half walk” that Jake had mentioned would have actually been about a 4 hour hike).  They dropped us right at the intersection where the bus would pass, so we sat down to wait.  After awhile, another truck came by, on its way to Riobamba, so we hopped in the back, alongside two women and an older man who only spoke Quechua, and their relative who also spoke Spanish.  They were fascinated by us, asking questions all the way down.  At one point we pulled onto a dirt road alongside a farm to wait for half an hour or so for another old man and his grandson to join us, and then we were off again.  Next we approached a “minga,” a voluntary service project undertaken by the whole community (for example, repairing the road), where we were greeted, ogled, and offered shots of puro, a sweet, cloudy liquor made from sugarcane.  We cordially accepted, to cheers from the enthusiastic crowd, then continued on our way.  The ride down took much longer than the ride up, and our butt bones were pretty sore by the bottom of the mountain, but our spirits were noticeably higher.  We stopped for a lunch of llapingachos.  Now, in Guayaquil, llapingachos (yah-ping-GAH-chohz) are patties made of mashed potatoes, stuffed with cheese, and served with rice, maní (peanut sauce), and a fried egg.  But in the Sierra, llapingachos are a scoop or two of mashed and pan-fried potatoes, served over lettuce or cabbage, with either an egg or a small piece of meat or chorizo.  They were pretty good, though the ones at home are better. :)  After lunch we returned to Wlady’s house to unload their equipment, exchange contact info with the girls (who had survived the adventure the night before, evidently), and say our goodbyes.

We hit the bus terminal at 2:41pm.  The next bus left at 3:30.  Perfect timing to grab a snack and get on the bus.  At 3:26, sitting on the bus, we realized the lady at the ticket counter, after having looked at the two of us standing there asking her for 2 tickets, had only sold us 1 ticket.  We scrambled back to the counter, but as the bus was full and due to depart, she couldn’t exchange the ticket.  We bought two more, to her confusion, and walked around to sulk for another half hour.  At 4:05, we were finally underway.  But, as I’m coming to think may be an unspoken curse of the Riobamba bus system, we were delayed about 90 minutes in.  We sat in the middle of the road, in a long line of cars and trucks and semis half-obscured by the thick fog, for an hour and a half.  Eventually the bus driver got impatient and tried to cut in line, which just blocked off the other lane, so traffic going in the other direction couldn’t move either.  Finally we got out, past what I think was just construction all along, picking our way back through the detour.  We got back to Guayaquil at 9:30, after 5 ½ hours on the bus.  Ugh.  I called the driver that the family likes to use (and with whom we’d arranged a pick up for when we returned on Sunday), who said he’d expected us earlier, and he was already at home, so tough luck.  We called Taxi Amigo, the only truly “safe” taxi company in the city, and they said they were sending a car.  We waited and waited, but it never showed.  So we called back, and got hung up on.  Twice.  Well, once each.  Out of options and starting to panic a little at 10:15, we called Juan Carlos, who cheerfully came to get us.

In the end, it was one of the most unexpected (and miserable) experiences of my life, but I’m glad I did it.  At one point Jake asked Luke and I if we still would have done it if we’d known what we were getting ourselves into.  We exchanged looks and responded “No, probably not...  Definitely not.”  But by that token, here we had a chance to do something that most sane people will never get to experience.  As the sun/windburn, blisters, splinters, and sore muscles slowly heal, the sparkling memories (and hair-raising stories) will remain for years to come.