Day 167
Last 16 days, I think I've come to terms with coming home, but really, half a year away from home, who knows how it will go.
So, where am I? Ah, last Thursday. Valentine's Day. Was my shopping day, having no romantic engagements to attend to. I decided, after having been through 2 panama hats, that I was going to invest in a good one, that actually fit. So, I visit the hat shop of Alberto Pullo. Now Alberto, is probably the most famous and oldest, at the ripe age of 80, hatter in Cuenca. I walk into his shop, and he comes out and greets the strange foreigner in his shop. He has definitely been here a long time, his hands He has apparently, in his age, lost his voice, and is now largely dependent on hand signals to communicate, when I ask if he is Alberto he gives me a big hug like we're old friends. All over the walls are hats of various people who have brought them in for refurbishment. He takes me upstairs, where there are piles and piles of new hats for sale, some cheaper, the most costing $100 (which could fetch $800 in North America) and of varying qualities of weave, the superfines being so densely woven no light passes through them. I tell him about how my hat will need to be big, I have a large head, a reality I've been dealing with since I was 12. He gives me the first hat, it's actually too big. He gives me the next size done, perfect. He gets me to sign my name in a book that has names of people from around the world who've bought his hats. I thank him and walk out of his store with my new hat. It should be noted that the term "panama" is actually a misnomer, in Spanish they're called "sombereros de paja toquilla" or Montecristi's, named after the town where the reeds to used to make the hats comes from. Coming back to my hotel, Barney is walking down the street selling heart-shaped balloons. I buy more batteries and film as well. That evening, I'm feeling buoyant, and eat pizza. The place I choose was fairly empty, just one couple making out in the corner, and there's a football game on TV. Good times, this time I didn't spill beer everywhere, and just plain happy to be where I am.
Friday. I left Cuenca, aiming for the town of Guaranda, 8 hours northwest. I was doomed however, not to reach there that day. As we rolled toward Riobamba, we made it some hour and half short when the bus broke down. This was compounded by the fact that now that we were stopped there, in the middle of nowhere, the luggage bay doors wouldn't open, causing distress to most of the passengers. I'm quite happy, however, as my bag was riding on my lap for this trip, and I watch with amusement while they work on the bus. Hours pass however, and it was getting late, so I got out and waited for the next bus. I also gleaned introduction to a pair of Belgians, the other foreigners on the bus. They've only been here for a few weeks, not used to the normal engine failure of Ecuadorian buses. Just before the next bus drives by, they manage to crack the luggage bays, and everyone gets on to the new bus, wet, and tired, and me, still amused. We arrive late in Riobamba, no way I'm getting to Guaranda. This second bus was terminating at Quito, so it dropped us off at a random intersection in Riobamba, an hour, walking distance, from the town center. The Belgians, Antonio and Louis (don't ask me for their Belgian spellings) and I get on a city bus and manage to get to the town center, and find this beautiful hostal down a quiet side street for the night. Having made it through our bus journey, we go out and eat Mexican and talk about cultural differences, a generally normal topic for me these days. The next morning, I end up, due to a misunderstanding with the hostal owner, who drove us all to the Baños bus terminal, where the Belgians were going, walking all the way across the city center to get a bus to Guaranda. The ride up, despite being told it was beautiful, was rainy and cloudy, so I didn't see anything brilliant on that one. Arriving in Guaranda, I ask the guy at the terminal for directions and set off for the hostal. Setup there, I thought I was the only one there, I go look for lunch. I'm so busy looking for a restaurant, I nearly get run over by a pickup coming down one of the steep streets. In a rather un-Ecuadorian way, the driver yells at me; a pair of boys on the street corner laugh. This particular event solifies a rather poor first impression of Guaranda. It becomes evident that not much happens here, even though it is market day. I wander through the market. One woman comments how silly I look with my new hat, not sure why, I thought it looks fine, thank you very much. As well, there's a fair/circus thing on the edge of town, big ferris wheel and merry-go-rounds. Not much else. Feeling rather out of place in this town. I go back to the hostal, to find that there are, actually 2 other foreigners in this town. Valerie and Kristin, American. They're staying here for a month, helping the local doctor (they're both final year med students, doing practical stuff). They agree, there isn't much in this town. They do know a good cafe though, and I spend the afternoon drinking hot chocolate, and talking about medicine and generally taking fascination with their expertise. We also have dinner at a restaurant where quite a sizable birthday is in progress (excellent garlic prawns too). We leave, I wish the birthday man best wishes as we head out the door. So, maybe Guaranda isn't as bad as I thought.
Sunday. Guaranda, to blemish it further, really does shut down on Sundays. NOTHING is open. With the town lacking any kind of attraction, I walk up to a monument of an indian chief overlooking the town. There was a woman trying to herd cows down the road, with little success, as the cows seemed to be very stubborn. I decided, looking down on the town, that being there wasn't what I should be doing, and walked back down, bought some chocolate from the local woman's cooperative (delicious, but she had a hard time making change for me) packed up and caught a bus to Ambato. Ambato, as I learned quickly, is a murderous place to change buses. The bus drops me off at a random intersection, and I have to get a cab to the terminal. Wanting to go to Patate, east of Ambato, I find that because it's inside the same province as Ambato, I have to get to another terminal, pissed off at Ambato transit, I buy a hot dog from the stall out in front of the terminal and get another cab to the other terminal. The bus ride to Patate was brilliant, long green valleys lined with small village stretching before the Andes, with Tungaruhua, still belching smoke, in the distance. I arrive in Patate, and am immediately pointed in every which direction for a place to stay. I walk around the same blocks several times before finding a guy that knew a guy that had keys to a few rooms in an unused nite club where I could stay. Relieved at finally finding a place to sleep, I have kebabs from a lady selling them on the street corner, some of my favourite food around here. It's been a good day.
Monday, having enjoyed my night in Patate, I have breakfast at a place where the woman seemed extremely anxious that I got what I wanted. Unfortunately, I then had to go back to Ambato to get anywhere else. Back in Ambato, another random intersection. This time, in a sad twist of fate, I caught a bus, that said it was going to the terminal. Somehow, I missed whatever terminal this was, and ended up at the end of the bus' route, near the highway leading north. The conductor keeps asking me where I'm staying, clearly not understanding that I'm lost. I walk out to the highway, and after finding a good spot, flag a bus north, aiming for Latacunga. However, I must have fallen asleep when we passed the town, and the conductor couldn't remember where I wanted to go, and I wound up in Quito. I had lunch and got another bus back to the south. This conductor was much sharper, and made sure I got off. I then got another bus to the little town of Zumbahua, one more time. I arrived long after dark, and was hounded by people asking if I wanted to go to Quilotoa, which I'd planned to go to the next day. I went back the hotel I stayed at last time, found that there was no one manning the front desk, and made the ultimately frustrating choice of asking at the store next door. The guy there, evidently thinking me the ignorant gringo, lied between his teeth, telling me everywhere in Zumbahua was full, but, conveniently enough, he could take me in his truck to Quilotoa, for more double the going rate. I decided that swearing at him wouldn't help things. I walked up the street to the next hotel, finding that only one of it's many rooms was occupied, and settled down against the cold of Zumbahua. What a nightmare of a day, but the worst was yet to come...
Tuesday. The sun is shining, I get a truck out to Quilotoa. Laguna Quilotoa, an akaline lake of water caught in this crater of a collapsed volcano, is truly stunning (check photo gallery in a couple of weeks). Take photos, my driver points me to the path that will take me around the crater on the way to Chugchilan, my desired destination that day. So off I go, it's up and down, I pass a group of foreigners on a day trip, with a little girl following them asking for candy. Now, the trouble begins. My first mistake, that I only realized in hindsight, was that I dropped out of the crater rim too early. I follow this path on a maze of pathes heading down into the valley where there are farmsteads everywhere and the hills are the classic patchwork. I'm ecstatic, because I'm out in the middle of nowhere, wandering toward a destination I can see at the far end of the valley. It doesn't take me long to realize I'm not on the right track, but I'm happily getting lost, blazing my own way and what have you, so I carry on. I meet these 2 little boys, Luis and Javiar, who try to persuade me I need a guide, that it will be easier. At that point though, I'm not interested in easier, I'm having too much fun at this. I haul on down the hillside, the boys follow, in a rather creepy fashion, the way shoeshine boys or pickpockets might act. I loose them, and get down to the river at the bottom of the valley, having got stinging nettled and quite dirty on the way down. Knowing that the main road is up the hill, I begin up the other side of the valley. I see Luis watching me on the other side. He knew where I was going. I eventually made it up the road, and started happily walking down it. Unbeknownst to me, this was not actually the road I wanted, which had forked away further back. It starts to drizzle slightly. Not a problem, on with the coat keep at it. This is when things began to deteriorate. First, the dogs. It seemed like every dog from every farm in the area was running up and snarling at me, and after being bitten by the little dog in Las Tunas, this made me very stressed very quickly, getting paranoid about a pack of dogs hurting. I run into a young girl who enlightens me to the fact I'm not on the right road, and puts me down a path in the right direction. God knows where I would've ended up if I'd kept going. I'm really stressed now, having been walking with pack for a couple of hours now and been through too many encounters with the dogs. The path led down into the next valley. I meet a man sitting on a rock at the side of the path, resting. I join him, and he points me further on the right path. I meet some more dogs, these however, are tied up, and are much less grief-inducing. I walk on by the beautiful countryside, largely ignorant of it's beauty, being tired and stressed. I come down this new path some more, and come across a group of little children in bright red school uniforms, who wave at me as I come down the hill, but run away from the strange foreigner when I get down them. At a distance, they point toward the road, the right road. Finally, I'm on the road to Chugchilan. Now the rain starts. It isn't bad at first, but as I'm going up this road, it gets steadily worse, no more dogs though. I break a lot, trying to find somewhere out of the rain, without luck. Now, having been walking for 5 hours, which was actually the estimated hiking time, I'm tired, and very very wet. Up switchbacks, constantly looking back, listening, hoping for the bus I know that is due to come up there anytime now. Nothing. I suddenly arrive at a fork in the road, and have no idea which way to go. Look for the bus again, still nothing. I look up in that moment, and see, nailed halfway up a tree, a sign for a hostal in Chugchilan, pointing me to the right. I'm so relieved and am renergized, climb some more, and there, before me, is a sign "Bienvenidos a Chugchilan" Welcome to Chugchilan. There's a little boy there asking if I need guide, I ignore him, and sit under a roof eave and catch my breath.
I'm exhausted, extraordinarily wet, but I made it, in the estimated time, despite not following the correct path. I walk down to the Hostal Cloud Forest, whose signs guided me, and get a room and begin the process of drying off. I find that I'm not the only one to have made the journey from Quilotoa to Chugchilan. There is a guy from Idaho, and an Austrian, who had made the hike, on the correct path, no less, (I never learned there names, not sure they knew each others either) and joined them drying out our clothes around the wood stove in the common room. The Austrian has been living in Colombia, studying architecture, and is doing some travelling. The Idaho man is on vacation climbing mountians, and works for the forest service, so I find a common subject of climate and the pine beetle. Dinner was nice and hot, and vegetarian, no less. I go to sleep, quite happy to have made it through what I now consider to be one of my greatest challenges on this trip.
Yesterday morning. I legs are numb with stiffness, but they give me a big breakfast and I, with the other 2, catch the daily milk truck, to Sigchos, where we would connect with buses going back to Latacunga. The question for this truck ride, how many people can you fit in the back of an Ecuadorian pickup truck. The Answer: 25, not accounting for the large barrel of milk and the backpacks of 3 foreigners. Needless to say, it was cramped, to put it mildly, there was one man that hung off the tailgate for almost the entire journey. However, we made it to Sigchos, where the sun was shining, we lie on the plaza, drying some more, the Idaho man drinks a beer, that we find out is actually the last beer in the entire village, not being able to find any more in half a dozen different stores and restaurants. We get the bus, that's supposed to take us to Latacunga, but we find, with the rains from the day before, that there are numerous earth falls, and we come to one that has covered the entire road, taking several trees down the hillside with it. However, the other buses that are trying to get to Sigchos are on the other side, and we transfer without hassle. Finally, after riding a couple of hours back sitting next to a little kid that seemed to have whooping cough, we arrive back in Latacunga. I've had quite enough of this part of Ecuador, and take the next bus to Quito.
So now I'm back, closing that chapter of this trip. I'll be based in Quito for the next 2 weeks, not including the Galapagos trip. I arrived back, and engaged in a long argument with a taxi driver of the fare to a hotel in the Old Town. Despite assuring me that he knew where it was, he hadn't a flipping clue where I was talking about. I asked for the Hotel San Fransisco de Quito, on Sucre. The bloody taxi driver takes me to Plaza San Fransisco, to a hotel on the corner there, apparently absorbing only 2 words of my directions. He also has no change, so I get a 50 cent reduction to my fare, having failed to take me where I want to go. I find the San Fran, but it's full, surprising for a Wednesday night, and find a different hotel.
So we come to today. I decided, being open to everything once, to use a guide, the same guide I'd met on Plaza Grande months before, out of sheer running into him, to go see a couple of churches in the Old Town. The churches are lovely, but the guy was only moderately helpful, and I felt like he was rushing me through them, and in the end found him quite useless. I paid him and as it has been raining heavily all day, I came here to finish this update.
21.2.08
13.2.08
Day 159 - It's close to the end
I'm back in Cuenca again, it was a good place for contemplation and revelation, and seems to still be that way. I notice too how different I feel being here (which could be the reason I'm feeling low lately, back to the familiar), a little bit calmer, more relaxed, a little more Zen, and a little safer in my own skin than last time, on Friday I'm going to head off into the wild reaches of the Andes and muck around out there until I come back to Quito, currently thought to be the 21st. Now, for this week's news:
Last Tuesday: So, after having finished up last week's update, there I am walking down the street, and lo, it's Maria! (if you're not entirely with the story, she's one of the German girls I met in Quito before I left in October) She's down here with her sister soaking sunshine, I say hi, catch up a little. It's really hot out, so they go back to their air-conditioned hostel, and I buy an ice cream and get a truck back to Las Tunas. It's good to see a familiar face again. I spend the afternoon repairing Rosa's guitar, which had a missing D string. Couldn't get it in tune though, as the string kept stretching. I went down to the beach at sunset, one last long walk, it occurred to me how long it might be until I once again walk along these shores again. Closure always seems to be hard, and good-byes, which I gave out in great abundance the next morning, I actually felt really sad, a rare thing for me on this trip. I hope it won't be too long before I come back to little Las Tunas. Edison senior drove me to Lopez where I got a bus to Manta. That chapter in this trip is now at a close, and yes, it is hard.
Manta. Still as ugly and uninspiring as it was the first time I came here. I discovered, after asking around, I couldn't get a direct bus to Bahîa de Caraquez, my chosen destination, and had to go to Portoviejo. The terminal there was mildly interesting, a man selling bird callers and fake noses with those paper birthday horns as a moustache, and a guy who begged water off me in exchange for pointing me to the bus to Bahia.
I loved Bahia. It is VERY mellow in vibe, and almost unsettlingly peaceful, this is the town where the richest wigs in Ecuador have their summer homes, maybe that has something to do with it. The Bahia Hotel, where I stayed, had an odd, ship-like feel (probably the old floorboards and the ubiquitous white and blue paint), and rather bad water supply problems, but otherwise nice. I wander around until the sun goes down, soaking the vibe, and the tall, chalk-white high-rises along the waterfront. It's just a really mellow place. I have Mexican for dinner, and falling asleep to the sound of waves in the docks across the street.
Thursday. I had cebollche, this really popular, soup, made of chicken, for breakfast. Wasn't half bad either. Overlooking Bahia is this big, cross-shaped tower, I guess because they didn't want another statue of the Virgin Mary, which I hiked up to. The whole area looks beautiful, as the river Chone, runs down to the ocean.
I take the ferry boat across the river to San Vicente. There was a little boy on the dock there that kept smiling creepily at me. The denizens of San Vicente would further unsettle me, with a guy coming up to me while I'm having lunch and trying to read my journal, not knowing any English at all. I got a bus to Pedernales, further up the coast. I ended up in the very front seat next to the driver for this ride, which would prove to be eventful, watching us drive along at warp speed, dodging potholes and the other vehicles on the road. I asked him how often they repair the road and fill in the holes. He didn't seem to understand the question. I took that as a sign. I notice the bus conductor, sitting beside me, is shaking a carton of what looks like milk. I ask about it and he gives me some. It's actually yogurt, a very sweet vanilla. So there I am, sitting up front eating yogurt with the bus driver and the conductor (not so sure the driver should've been while driving). The throw their plastic cups out the window, I refrain.
We arrive in Pedernales, a town of bars and hardware stores. I don't think I saw any other foreigners while I was there. I take a walk along the beach, watching the people playing around in the surf, gets me started about thinking about how everyone is different, how even the attitudes of the people living here at so much different from my own, even from people living in other towns along the coast. Everyone is the same, but also alienably different from each other. I stop and watch a bunch of men gambling at cards. There was one guy that always seemed so lucky. I have dinner at what might be the best pizzeria in the country, I watched him make the whole thing from scratch (okay he'd made the dough beforehand. There's a soccer game on TV, which has drawn a little group of men at the door. Intent as I was on the game, I knock my beer all over the counter. Dumb gringo!
Friday. I catch the bus bright and early (8 am) to Quito, and arrive in the late afternoon. I tried to get a cab, but the only taxista there was uncooperative, wouldn't listen to me bargain the fare, and seemed to not be able to care less if someone wanted to give him work. So I walked to the Plaza San Blas, found a hostel, the Belmont, with a massive portrait of a topless woman on the 2nd floor, other than that it was a pretty dull place. After setting up, I take the Trole to the Mariscal to visit Luis. Luis hasn't changed much. Still short and excitable. A new cafe has gone in across the street, Luis is very fond of the female servers who work there. The Spanish school I went to has relocated 3 blocks. That evening, after Luis' closes up, we go to the cafe across the street for a beer for him and me, in exchange Luis gives me a ride back to the Old Town. It's so odd being back in Quito, it's interesting seeing how things have changed in the time since I've been gone. First night in a while without mosquitoes.
Saturday. I get up late, and on the recommendation of the hostel owner, have lunch at a cafe on the Plaza Grande. Kinda expensive, but it was GOOD ceviche. I people-watch, write a little, and shoo away shoeshine boys for the afternoon. There was a party that night, so I cleaned up and went back to Luis' office, of course the unofficial meeting spot of most parties. We got a call after I got there, we were celebrating Emma and Carly (the 2 brits) going to Colombia on Monday, to bring beer to someone's apartment, where everyone was supposed to converge on. Luis had no cash, and I needed to visit the bank anyway, so I went out and got the money, come back, and Luis has discovered he has lots of money in his desk. We're about to leave, when, lo, a birthday party comes in. Nearly 2 dozen Brits invade the office, celebrating one of the guys' (it was mostly girls) 19th birthday. They also brought an amazing quantity of Zhumir and other hard booze. I'm a little shocked, not really excepting this, and Luis' said it showed on my face. This carries on for a few hours, until the Brits are sufficiently boozed up to go out dancing. We then left with our beer supply for the other party, also with a girl from the cafe across the street, whom Luis cajoled into coming. It was really good to see the old gang again, albeit in an inebriated state. A few of us go out, including Sara, from Guelph, a new addition to the group (well, since I've been gone) dancing. I'm dog tired, having already taken on 2 parties that evening, Sara looks much the same. Luis takes me home, but I manage to forget my bag in his van. Took me until Monday to get it back, in the mean time I would be sin umbrella. I sleep well that night.
Sunday, I get up late, the hot water doesn't work, so my shower was very quick that morning. I set off exploring the Old Town, it must've have been a cycling day (there is a well-established Critical Mass group in Quito), there are bikes everywhere and they've cordoned off some of the streets. There are 3 women doing a musical play on the Plaza Grande that day, and a very amusing mime, who imitates anyone that gets close to him. More on him later. The Plaza Grande is an awesome place to watch Quito in action, all the people, always something going on, it's almost like the whole city revolves around that place. At the Centro Cultural Metropolitano, there's an exhibition of the this year's top press photos, which immediately fires me up with photographic zest, and I spend the afternoon going around. Coming out again, the mime had drawn a considerable crowd, he was playing baseball. I was impressed and dropped some money in his hat when he came around at the end. He asked me where I was from. When I told him, he got the crowd to applaud for Canada, a "very cool place." I went up to the Plaza San Fransico, sit on a bench and end up talking with a woman next me. She was from Cuenca; we talk for a little while. She leaves, I go down to Olmedo, to Emma and Carly's apartment, I hadn't seen Emma the night before (she went to a different party), so I wanted to wish her good luck. I find Emma, on the floor, badly hung over, and trying to pack her bag, Carly less so. 3 Canadians also now occupy the apartment, all from Ontario. We talk and eat chocolate. They go out for one last night on Quito, I'm feeling good, so I go to the Mariscal and treat myself with pizza. Got a little lost on my way back, the Trole goes more in a circle, rather than a line. The hostel owner didn't quite recognize me, said it was the long hair.
Monday morning I decided that today was the day... that I was going to get a tattoo. I went down and had lunch with Luis, who notably, does not like pizza or shawarmas. I then printed the image I wanted, and set off for the tattoo parlour, which I'd checked out back in October, and trusted their professionalism. Sat around while they copied the image down, I gave it approval, and we began. We started off a little rocky, as I sat down, the guy shows me the needles, so I know they are clean and new, but it took me a while to understand that's what he was trying to tell me. That cleared up, he begin. I have it done on my right shoulder. He cleans the area, then imprints the image down, then loads the tattoo needler, which looks like a medieval torture weapon, and gets started. It doesn't hurt much, basically exactly what it is, having a needle stuck in you. He traces the outline first, then uses a wide needle to fill in the spaces. And... we're done. He cleans it up, puts vaseline on it, and wraps it in saran wrap. The excess ink is leaking off, I'm told to go home in a couple of hours and clean it. No scatching, swimming or sunlight. I head back to the office to show it to Luis. It leaks badly, have I have to clean my arm a few times, as well it's soaked into my shirt, I got it out later, not sure if the marks will entirely go though. Went back to the hostel, cleaned it up and went out and had shrimp for dinner. That night was a little uncomfortable, as it was very tender, and I couldn't apply pressure to it without it aching. On my right shoulder, is now imprinted the image of the Amnesty International candle, and I'm very happy with it.
Tuesday, my bus day. Packed up, and moved out, destination Cuenca. I learned from the hostel man that there was only 1 direct bus to Cuenca, and it didn't leave until 6 pm. I got a little lost getting to the bus terminal, surprising, as I haven't had problems before. I wound up at the city bus point, where all the city buses come to along their route, and I'd ended up on the wrong side of the river from the Cumanda terminal. I ended up hiking down into the ravine, where the city sewage outlet was. I had to climb up onto a concrete bridge across the river. On the other side, there was a steel gate, and on approaching it, a German shepherd came out of the shadows growling. The gate was padlocked though, thankfully. I could hear human voices further back in the darkness, and set off up the hill, in case I might get in trouble being down there, I mean, what business does a gringo have above a sewage outlet? Wonder where that tunnel goes to though. At the top of the hill, I conveniently found a gate-door in the fence, stepped through, and walked to the terminal. I caught a bus to Ambato first, then connected there to Riobamba, then found a bus to Cuenca. Waiting for the bus there, I watched a man stuff chickens into plastic crates that didn't look big enough to house chickens, but stuff them in he did, that can't be good for the chickens. The bus ride to Cuenca was long, 6 hours, and was rather agitating, as the driver kept stopping, bringing complaints from the other passengers. As well, I found I needed to visit the bathroom quite badly. I watched, I can't say horror, as it was more amusing. The woman across the aisle, change the diaper of her little girl, then leave the rolled up diaper on the seat when she left. Then a man got on, and proceeded to sit on said shitty diaper, then discover he was sitting on the shitty diaper. We got into Cuenca, I got a cab to a hotel, and quickly fell asleep.
This morning, I left the hotel, it was overpriced for what it gave. I found a new one, and had lunch at my favourite of Cuencan culinary institutions, the Cafe Austria. Wandered a little this afternoon, and have finally finished this long update.
Last Tuesday: So, after having finished up last week's update, there I am walking down the street, and lo, it's Maria! (if you're not entirely with the story, she's one of the German girls I met in Quito before I left in October) She's down here with her sister soaking sunshine, I say hi, catch up a little. It's really hot out, so they go back to their air-conditioned hostel, and I buy an ice cream and get a truck back to Las Tunas. It's good to see a familiar face again. I spend the afternoon repairing Rosa's guitar, which had a missing D string. Couldn't get it in tune though, as the string kept stretching. I went down to the beach at sunset, one last long walk, it occurred to me how long it might be until I once again walk along these shores again. Closure always seems to be hard, and good-byes, which I gave out in great abundance the next morning, I actually felt really sad, a rare thing for me on this trip. I hope it won't be too long before I come back to little Las Tunas. Edison senior drove me to Lopez where I got a bus to Manta. That chapter in this trip is now at a close, and yes, it is hard.
Manta. Still as ugly and uninspiring as it was the first time I came here. I discovered, after asking around, I couldn't get a direct bus to Bahîa de Caraquez, my chosen destination, and had to go to Portoviejo. The terminal there was mildly interesting, a man selling bird callers and fake noses with those paper birthday horns as a moustache, and a guy who begged water off me in exchange for pointing me to the bus to Bahia.
I loved Bahia. It is VERY mellow in vibe, and almost unsettlingly peaceful, this is the town where the richest wigs in Ecuador have their summer homes, maybe that has something to do with it. The Bahia Hotel, where I stayed, had an odd, ship-like feel (probably the old floorboards and the ubiquitous white and blue paint), and rather bad water supply problems, but otherwise nice. I wander around until the sun goes down, soaking the vibe, and the tall, chalk-white high-rises along the waterfront. It's just a really mellow place. I have Mexican for dinner, and falling asleep to the sound of waves in the docks across the street.
Thursday. I had cebollche, this really popular, soup, made of chicken, for breakfast. Wasn't half bad either. Overlooking Bahia is this big, cross-shaped tower, I guess because they didn't want another statue of the Virgin Mary, which I hiked up to. The whole area looks beautiful, as the river Chone, runs down to the ocean.
I take the ferry boat across the river to San Vicente. There was a little boy on the dock there that kept smiling creepily at me. The denizens of San Vicente would further unsettle me, with a guy coming up to me while I'm having lunch and trying to read my journal, not knowing any English at all. I got a bus to Pedernales, further up the coast. I ended up in the very front seat next to the driver for this ride, which would prove to be eventful, watching us drive along at warp speed, dodging potholes and the other vehicles on the road. I asked him how often they repair the road and fill in the holes. He didn't seem to understand the question. I took that as a sign. I notice the bus conductor, sitting beside me, is shaking a carton of what looks like milk. I ask about it and he gives me some. It's actually yogurt, a very sweet vanilla. So there I am, sitting up front eating yogurt with the bus driver and the conductor (not so sure the driver should've been while driving). The throw their plastic cups out the window, I refrain.
We arrive in Pedernales, a town of bars and hardware stores. I don't think I saw any other foreigners while I was there. I take a walk along the beach, watching the people playing around in the surf, gets me started about thinking about how everyone is different, how even the attitudes of the people living here at so much different from my own, even from people living in other towns along the coast. Everyone is the same, but also alienably different from each other. I stop and watch a bunch of men gambling at cards. There was one guy that always seemed so lucky. I have dinner at what might be the best pizzeria in the country, I watched him make the whole thing from scratch (okay he'd made the dough beforehand. There's a soccer game on TV, which has drawn a little group of men at the door. Intent as I was on the game, I knock my beer all over the counter. Dumb gringo!
Friday. I catch the bus bright and early (8 am) to Quito, and arrive in the late afternoon. I tried to get a cab, but the only taxista there was uncooperative, wouldn't listen to me bargain the fare, and seemed to not be able to care less if someone wanted to give him work. So I walked to the Plaza San Blas, found a hostel, the Belmont, with a massive portrait of a topless woman on the 2nd floor, other than that it was a pretty dull place. After setting up, I take the Trole to the Mariscal to visit Luis. Luis hasn't changed much. Still short and excitable. A new cafe has gone in across the street, Luis is very fond of the female servers who work there. The Spanish school I went to has relocated 3 blocks. That evening, after Luis' closes up, we go to the cafe across the street for a beer for him and me, in exchange Luis gives me a ride back to the Old Town. It's so odd being back in Quito, it's interesting seeing how things have changed in the time since I've been gone. First night in a while without mosquitoes.
Saturday. I get up late, and on the recommendation of the hostel owner, have lunch at a cafe on the Plaza Grande. Kinda expensive, but it was GOOD ceviche. I people-watch, write a little, and shoo away shoeshine boys for the afternoon. There was a party that night, so I cleaned up and went back to Luis' office, of course the unofficial meeting spot of most parties. We got a call after I got there, we were celebrating Emma and Carly (the 2 brits) going to Colombia on Monday, to bring beer to someone's apartment, where everyone was supposed to converge on. Luis had no cash, and I needed to visit the bank anyway, so I went out and got the money, come back, and Luis has discovered he has lots of money in his desk. We're about to leave, when, lo, a birthday party comes in. Nearly 2 dozen Brits invade the office, celebrating one of the guys' (it was mostly girls) 19th birthday. They also brought an amazing quantity of Zhumir and other hard booze. I'm a little shocked, not really excepting this, and Luis' said it showed on my face. This carries on for a few hours, until the Brits are sufficiently boozed up to go out dancing. We then left with our beer supply for the other party, also with a girl from the cafe across the street, whom Luis cajoled into coming. It was really good to see the old gang again, albeit in an inebriated state. A few of us go out, including Sara, from Guelph, a new addition to the group (well, since I've been gone) dancing. I'm dog tired, having already taken on 2 parties that evening, Sara looks much the same. Luis takes me home, but I manage to forget my bag in his van. Took me until Monday to get it back, in the mean time I would be sin umbrella. I sleep well that night.
Sunday, I get up late, the hot water doesn't work, so my shower was very quick that morning. I set off exploring the Old Town, it must've have been a cycling day (there is a well-established Critical Mass group in Quito), there are bikes everywhere and they've cordoned off some of the streets. There are 3 women doing a musical play on the Plaza Grande that day, and a very amusing mime, who imitates anyone that gets close to him. More on him later. The Plaza Grande is an awesome place to watch Quito in action, all the people, always something going on, it's almost like the whole city revolves around that place. At the Centro Cultural Metropolitano, there's an exhibition of the this year's top press photos, which immediately fires me up with photographic zest, and I spend the afternoon going around. Coming out again, the mime had drawn a considerable crowd, he was playing baseball. I was impressed and dropped some money in his hat when he came around at the end. He asked me where I was from. When I told him, he got the crowd to applaud for Canada, a "very cool place." I went up to the Plaza San Fransico, sit on a bench and end up talking with a woman next me. She was from Cuenca; we talk for a little while. She leaves, I go down to Olmedo, to Emma and Carly's apartment, I hadn't seen Emma the night before (she went to a different party), so I wanted to wish her good luck. I find Emma, on the floor, badly hung over, and trying to pack her bag, Carly less so. 3 Canadians also now occupy the apartment, all from Ontario. We talk and eat chocolate. They go out for one last night on Quito, I'm feeling good, so I go to the Mariscal and treat myself with pizza. Got a little lost on my way back, the Trole goes more in a circle, rather than a line. The hostel owner didn't quite recognize me, said it was the long hair.
Monday morning I decided that today was the day... that I was going to get a tattoo. I went down and had lunch with Luis, who notably, does not like pizza or shawarmas. I then printed the image I wanted, and set off for the tattoo parlour, which I'd checked out back in October, and trusted their professionalism. Sat around while they copied the image down, I gave it approval, and we began. We started off a little rocky, as I sat down, the guy shows me the needles, so I know they are clean and new, but it took me a while to understand that's what he was trying to tell me. That cleared up, he begin. I have it done on my right shoulder. He cleans the area, then imprints the image down, then loads the tattoo needler, which looks like a medieval torture weapon, and gets started. It doesn't hurt much, basically exactly what it is, having a needle stuck in you. He traces the outline first, then uses a wide needle to fill in the spaces. And... we're done. He cleans it up, puts vaseline on it, and wraps it in saran wrap. The excess ink is leaking off, I'm told to go home in a couple of hours and clean it. No scatching, swimming or sunlight. I head back to the office to show it to Luis. It leaks badly, have I have to clean my arm a few times, as well it's soaked into my shirt, I got it out later, not sure if the marks will entirely go though. Went back to the hostel, cleaned it up and went out and had shrimp for dinner. That night was a little uncomfortable, as it was very tender, and I couldn't apply pressure to it without it aching. On my right shoulder, is now imprinted the image of the Amnesty International candle, and I'm very happy with it.
Tuesday, my bus day. Packed up, and moved out, destination Cuenca. I learned from the hostel man that there was only 1 direct bus to Cuenca, and it didn't leave until 6 pm. I got a little lost getting to the bus terminal, surprising, as I haven't had problems before. I wound up at the city bus point, where all the city buses come to along their route, and I'd ended up on the wrong side of the river from the Cumanda terminal. I ended up hiking down into the ravine, where the city sewage outlet was. I had to climb up onto a concrete bridge across the river. On the other side, there was a steel gate, and on approaching it, a German shepherd came out of the shadows growling. The gate was padlocked though, thankfully. I could hear human voices further back in the darkness, and set off up the hill, in case I might get in trouble being down there, I mean, what business does a gringo have above a sewage outlet? Wonder where that tunnel goes to though. At the top of the hill, I conveniently found a gate-door in the fence, stepped through, and walked to the terminal. I caught a bus to Ambato first, then connected there to Riobamba, then found a bus to Cuenca. Waiting for the bus there, I watched a man stuff chickens into plastic crates that didn't look big enough to house chickens, but stuff them in he did, that can't be good for the chickens. The bus ride to Cuenca was long, 6 hours, and was rather agitating, as the driver kept stopping, bringing complaints from the other passengers. As well, I found I needed to visit the bathroom quite badly. I watched, I can't say horror, as it was more amusing. The woman across the aisle, change the diaper of her little girl, then leave the rolled up diaper on the seat when she left. Then a man got on, and proceeded to sit on said shitty diaper, then discover he was sitting on the shitty diaper. We got into Cuenca, I got a cab to a hotel, and quickly fell asleep.
This morning, I left the hotel, it was overpriced for what it gave. I found a new one, and had lunch at my favourite of Cuencan culinary institutions, the Cafe Austria. Wandered a little this afternoon, and have finally finished this long update.
6.2.08
Parties and a Hitchiker - Day 151
Down to my last month of my trip. Feels kinda funny saying that, I've made it through 5 months of travelling around down here. I am feeling too, about ready to come home. I got what I came for, what I came for is not actually clear, but I got it anyway. It's all good.
This has been a week for party and celebrations, big, small, drunk, sober, wild and more subdued. Catching up with last Wednesday. I got back to Las Tunas in just as Antonio's graduation ceremony was getting underway, He's just graduated from Grade 2, and Miriam is thrilled. There was a sizable crowd there for the ceremony, I thought I was one other foreigner in the group. I sat, watched, and took photos. Some of the older children made short speeches, impressive for 12-year-olds. It is customary at the end to eat and too toast with champagne, which was handed out in small plastic shot cups. This however, as I learned very quickly, was Ecuadorian made wine, which, true to what my Lonely Planet guide noted, should not be experimented with, it was perhaps the most vile liquid I've ever had to drink. Rinsed the taste out with water.
Unfortunately, that evening, I was doomed to have to drink some more of the stuff, this time for Robertson's grad ceremony (elementary school graduation, Grade 7). Right before it I was bitten by a little terrier-esque dog on my way to Fernando's house (no blood, but boy did that little dog piss me off), and have a vendetta with it now. I was official family photographer, but for the ceremony, they'd hung incandescent bulbs from every available ceiling space, which blurred my digital camera, and I only got a couple of clear photos. Then the dreaded wine, however, someone, perhaps thinking a foreigner would come, had put out a bottle of good quality Dewar scotch, which was much more enjoyable, I taught Aurelio how to mix it with Pepsi, of which there was also a good supply. Dinner and cake were eaten, then the music started. I'm already tired from all the celebrating that day, and the sound system they had was horrendous, and made my ears numb, so I left a little early after dancing a bit. Overall though, it was a brilliant day. I went to sleep full, happy, and without the taste of the bad champagne.
Thursday. There were no parties (I assume people need time to recover from each one), and it was cloudy and dreary out, so I went to Lopez, and achieved one of my big to-do's, and hitchiked to town. I was to go in and pick up some nails for Miriam (for the cabaña construction); she'd been busy around the house all day and didn't have time to go herself. So I caught a lift in the back of a pickup to Lopez. Surprisingly, the dirver didn't ask for money, usual for most South American lift-giving. I found the "ferreteria" or hardware store where I was sent to get the nails. The guy at the counter Ignacio, who also happens to be the husband of Rosa, one of my other Las Tunas friends, was helpful, and gave me a door knob as well, he told me Miriam needed it. I had lunch down on the beach (some of the hottest hot sauce I've ever tried, and caught a water tanker truck back to Las Tunas. Even more surprising, he didn't ask for money either. I just got to Lopez and back without paying. I tried surfing in the afternoon, it seems I've forgotten what I learned in Hawaii, although Fernando tried to teach me. All in all, this was my hitchiking day, and I accomplished one of the big things on my list for this trip. Awesome.
Friday, another day, another party. Fernando's grad ceremony. This is the big one, he's done Grade 12, and finished school. In the morning, I went with Edisons 1 and 2, Robertson and Ellsa to the river south at Ayampe. Ellsa did laundry, and Ed Senior washed his truck in the river, despite a sign on the other side of the river that explicitly forbid washing vehicles in the river. I ask Ed about this, he says it's fine on THIS side of the river. I ask if the police would share this sentiment if they saw him at it. Ed says he'll have the police deport me if I test the theory. We go up to Lopez after the cleaning for the grad ceremony. Apparently, the ceremony doesn't start for another hour, and I suddenly find that everyone's left me sitting on the sidewalk, and not knowing where to go, I go down to the beach and have a beer. I come back to find that everyone has gone back to Las Tunas to get ready for the party that evening, and that I basically missed the ceremony. Craaaaap! Everyone turns up again in the evening, and I'm requisitioned to move a large quantity of beer out of the house into a giant bucket out front. We go back into the school area for the party, I'm regalled by a an amazingly drunk man, who I was told was the school principal, who asks me repeatedly the same questions, each time more slurred than the last. He seemed convinced I was German, and knocks his beer into mine in an attempted cheers, but does so so hardhe pours my beer all over the gentleman sitting on my other side. I take his beer away from him, in the interests of public safety. Our group is sitting at the back of the several hundred people there for the ceremony, I can barely see the dance area up front. The dancing begins, but I'm not there for very long, because Antonio is really tired and they decide it's time to take him home. We drive back to L.T. the night is clear and starry as I fall asleep that night. Beautiful day.
Saturday was quiet, much like Thursday, and the electricity is out, so I go rock-hunting on the beach. David and Fernando give me a long surfing lesson in the afternoon; I think I'm finally getting the hang of this now. Sat and watched the other surfers on the beach as the sun went down, it's one of those times that makes me feel like I really am living in Paradise. I get into a sand and mud fight with David, this being the first day of Carnaval here, various fights would break out amongst the local populace over the next few days. I managed to lock myself out of my room, climb over the wall into my room, and unlock the door, and restore the chairs and buckets I'd moved around to achieve this right before Aurelio came in the door. No harm done, right? Fernando's mom was sick that day, they tell me she picked something up from the river, but assure me it isn't dengue. David keeps asking when I think I'll come back to Las Tunas, I kind of avoid the question, as I have no idea, and don't want to damage his hope with that it might be many years before I can come back. Things will be okay right? Life goes on...
Sunday. It's raining hard again today, and the electricty's back on, so I go to Lopez to upload photos (FYI I'm on Flickr now, search for Andres Paz). I don't leave until late, and have to hitch home, which costs me a whopping $3. Guess that's karma for you, but Miriam had made delicious calamari ceviche for dinner, so it balanced out in the end. Yesterday, I had issues with my fly net in the night, and ended up getting bitten lots during the night, as a result woke up very grumpy and sleep-deprived. Ugh! Had a woman up the road do my laundry (I still don't know how they make that squeaky sound with the soap). Lay in a hammock most of the afternoon. Had a couple of beers with Aurelio on the beach in the evening, where he asked me about the relative costs of a bottle of beer and what age people get married at in Canada. I reckoned that people tend to marry older in more developed countries because they have longer lives and having kids isn't so pressing. One of those good ol' discussions about living in a foreign land.
This brings us today. Electricity was out this morning, but came back on, so I was able to write this update.
This has been a week for party and celebrations, big, small, drunk, sober, wild and more subdued. Catching up with last Wednesday. I got back to Las Tunas in just as Antonio's graduation ceremony was getting underway, He's just graduated from Grade 2, and Miriam is thrilled. There was a sizable crowd there for the ceremony, I thought I was one other foreigner in the group. I sat, watched, and took photos. Some of the older children made short speeches, impressive for 12-year-olds. It is customary at the end to eat and too toast with champagne, which was handed out in small plastic shot cups. This however, as I learned very quickly, was Ecuadorian made wine, which, true to what my Lonely Planet guide noted, should not be experimented with, it was perhaps the most vile liquid I've ever had to drink. Rinsed the taste out with water.
Unfortunately, that evening, I was doomed to have to drink some more of the stuff, this time for Robertson's grad ceremony (elementary school graduation, Grade 7). Right before it I was bitten by a little terrier-esque dog on my way to Fernando's house (no blood, but boy did that little dog piss me off), and have a vendetta with it now. I was official family photographer, but for the ceremony, they'd hung incandescent bulbs from every available ceiling space, which blurred my digital camera, and I only got a couple of clear photos. Then the dreaded wine, however, someone, perhaps thinking a foreigner would come, had put out a bottle of good quality Dewar scotch, which was much more enjoyable, I taught Aurelio how to mix it with Pepsi, of which there was also a good supply. Dinner and cake were eaten, then the music started. I'm already tired from all the celebrating that day, and the sound system they had was horrendous, and made my ears numb, so I left a little early after dancing a bit. Overall though, it was a brilliant day. I went to sleep full, happy, and without the taste of the bad champagne.
Thursday. There were no parties (I assume people need time to recover from each one), and it was cloudy and dreary out, so I went to Lopez, and achieved one of my big to-do's, and hitchiked to town. I was to go in and pick up some nails for Miriam (for the cabaña construction); she'd been busy around the house all day and didn't have time to go herself. So I caught a lift in the back of a pickup to Lopez. Surprisingly, the dirver didn't ask for money, usual for most South American lift-giving. I found the "ferreteria" or hardware store where I was sent to get the nails. The guy at the counter Ignacio, who also happens to be the husband of Rosa, one of my other Las Tunas friends, was helpful, and gave me a door knob as well, he told me Miriam needed it. I had lunch down on the beach (some of the hottest hot sauce I've ever tried, and caught a water tanker truck back to Las Tunas. Even more surprising, he didn't ask for money either. I just got to Lopez and back without paying. I tried surfing in the afternoon, it seems I've forgotten what I learned in Hawaii, although Fernando tried to teach me. All in all, this was my hitchiking day, and I accomplished one of the big things on my list for this trip. Awesome.
Friday, another day, another party. Fernando's grad ceremony. This is the big one, he's done Grade 12, and finished school. In the morning, I went with Edisons 1 and 2, Robertson and Ellsa to the river south at Ayampe. Ellsa did laundry, and Ed Senior washed his truck in the river, despite a sign on the other side of the river that explicitly forbid washing vehicles in the river. I ask Ed about this, he says it's fine on THIS side of the river. I ask if the police would share this sentiment if they saw him at it. Ed says he'll have the police deport me if I test the theory. We go up to Lopez after the cleaning for the grad ceremony. Apparently, the ceremony doesn't start for another hour, and I suddenly find that everyone's left me sitting on the sidewalk, and not knowing where to go, I go down to the beach and have a beer. I come back to find that everyone has gone back to Las Tunas to get ready for the party that evening, and that I basically missed the ceremony. Craaaaap! Everyone turns up again in the evening, and I'm requisitioned to move a large quantity of beer out of the house into a giant bucket out front. We go back into the school area for the party, I'm regalled by a an amazingly drunk man, who I was told was the school principal, who asks me repeatedly the same questions, each time more slurred than the last. He seemed convinced I was German, and knocks his beer into mine in an attempted cheers, but does so so hardhe pours my beer all over the gentleman sitting on my other side. I take his beer away from him, in the interests of public safety. Our group is sitting at the back of the several hundred people there for the ceremony, I can barely see the dance area up front. The dancing begins, but I'm not there for very long, because Antonio is really tired and they decide it's time to take him home. We drive back to L.T. the night is clear and starry as I fall asleep that night. Beautiful day.
Saturday was quiet, much like Thursday, and the electricity is out, so I go rock-hunting on the beach. David and Fernando give me a long surfing lesson in the afternoon; I think I'm finally getting the hang of this now. Sat and watched the other surfers on the beach as the sun went down, it's one of those times that makes me feel like I really am living in Paradise. I get into a sand and mud fight with David, this being the first day of Carnaval here, various fights would break out amongst the local populace over the next few days. I managed to lock myself out of my room, climb over the wall into my room, and unlock the door, and restore the chairs and buckets I'd moved around to achieve this right before Aurelio came in the door. No harm done, right? Fernando's mom was sick that day, they tell me she picked something up from the river, but assure me it isn't dengue. David keeps asking when I think I'll come back to Las Tunas, I kind of avoid the question, as I have no idea, and don't want to damage his hope with that it might be many years before I can come back. Things will be okay right? Life goes on...
Sunday. It's raining hard again today, and the electricty's back on, so I go to Lopez to upload photos (FYI I'm on Flickr now, search for Andres Paz). I don't leave until late, and have to hitch home, which costs me a whopping $3. Guess that's karma for you, but Miriam had made delicious calamari ceviche for dinner, so it balanced out in the end. Yesterday, I had issues with my fly net in the night, and ended up getting bitten lots during the night, as a result woke up very grumpy and sleep-deprived. Ugh! Had a woman up the road do my laundry (I still don't know how they make that squeaky sound with the soap). Lay in a hammock most of the afternoon. Had a couple of beers with Aurelio on the beach in the evening, where he asked me about the relative costs of a bottle of beer and what age people get married at in Canada. I reckoned that people tend to marry older in more developed countries because they have longer lives and having kids isn't so pressing. One of those good ol' discussions about living in a foreign land.
This brings us today. Electricity was out this morning, but came back on, so I was able to write this update.
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