The Dirt Cricket Abides

Saying farewell to Cuenca was a actually not as hard as I thought. I have a very hard time staying still for very long periods of time. Yes admittedly I move much slower than most backpackers, but two weeks in one place was just too much. My life has been such a whirlwind of stimulation that even a foreign city was becoming dull. Let us not forget to mention the fact that I was heading back to the beach for a bit more sun, girls, and surfing. I was also excited to finally be making it to Peru and much closer to my family in Lima.

The journey to Mancora was an interesting one. Hearing that the border crossing at the costal intersect of Ecuador and Peru was the most dangerous in South America my friend Elle and I decided that going for it in the middle of the night was best. This strategy may seem counterintuitive, but the reality—as we heard from others—is that the thieves are taking advantage of the tourists that arrive in droves during daylight hours. Therefore this produced a rare breed of thief…the nine to fiver. A quick summation was that everything worked smoothly and we were not robbed between the two border crossings (8KM of the hinter land in which you are not legally on any foreign soil). This likely only worked out because a very kind Chilean saw how hopeless we were and took us under his wing making sure that we found the right border protection service. No joke, this border is so bad they have a service to help foreigners get across without being robbed or forced into bribes. This also proved to be a slap in my face reminding me that my Spanish, while much better, is really not that good.

The entire trip I had high hopes for Mancora. I had heard for years about this ideal beach town in the north of Peru with great waves and beautiful girls. The reality was a hot very dusty beach town that did little to hold my interest. The Pan American runs through the center of town sending dirt and dust in every direction and the locals are simply rude. This has been the town that I most felt like a walking ATM machine thus far.

Fortunately I found a great crew in a great hostel and we practiced our synchronized swimming and drank each night in the swimming pool until about 5AM. Typical of the trip so far we were an Irish, Swede, Canadian, South African, Brit, Peruvian, the two obligatory Aussies, and myself. I’ll tell you that considering how few Aussies there are in the world they represent very well on the backpacking circuit.

Next up, more ancient dead people and cultures.

Chirp…I’m very dark now

Up to this point I have been generally down on Ecuador. Cuenca was a massive relief and saved face on Ecuador for me.

First off the city is clean. The sight of trash did not constantly assault me, as it seemed to everywhere else in Ecuador. Another nice part about Cuenca is that there is a very nice blend of Colonial Architecture and modern flair. Another nice part about the city of Cuenca is that there is a blend of both French and Spanish influence. It’s quite obvious as you wander around the city that it is one that promotes and fosters any form of art. In fact every art museum in Cuenca is free.

Now the only downer is that I am now dealing with illness number two. I am back to spiking a fever and rolling with a sore throat. In fact it blew up into full on strept throat…thank god I was carrying my sack of antibiotics to clean it all out. I did have to change hostels each night for the first three nights, as I was trying to find a nice place to settle for the two weeks + I planned on spending here. After finally finding the perfect guest house I was happy to have some semblance of a routine enter my life. Spanish classes for 4hours a day one on one with a tutor was a excellent but sobering. I quickly realized that my dreams of full fluency were going to take more than this trip were going to provide. I am certainly going back to the states with much more Spanish than I had ever had in my life and this is something I will not give up on. One day I hope to be fully fluent but the improvements to date are still dramatic.

So an interesting tidbit I learned about Cuenca is that the Panama Hat is actually from here. Where the confusion has stemmed from is that the hats were exported through Panama, hence the moniker we all know. I also found out that Ecuador’s best football team is from Cuenca. Now this is where I had my most memorable experiences…at the football stadium. An English guy in the hostel informed me there was a match for the Copa Liberatadores (South America’s version of the Premiership) between Cuenca and Maracaibo, Venezuela. It was actually a very important match because the loser would be eliminated and could not advance to later stages. Nonetheless, those who have seen football in South America know very well the energy far surpasses any NFL, NBA, NHL, or MLB game. We may get louder through sheer numbers, but I have never seen us form a mamba line and march behind a monster drum, throw water balloons relentlessly (which the cops were convinced came from the gringos) at the opposing team, or light flares and dance like a madman through a packed stadium. Truly we could learn a few things from these fans. I wonder if the pole is too far up the ass of the stadium security in Philly, but I am trying to bring in a 5-foot tall drum next Phillies game. I can still hear the deep thud of the drum and the entire stadium yelling Cuenca! Cuenca! Cuenca! Cuenca!….

I managed to squeak out to see an interesting ruin about 3 hours away form Cuenca. Ingapirica is sitting a couple valleys over and is the largest standing Inca ruin in all of Ecuador. Though the ruins are paltry by Peruvian standards, it is still impressive to see evidence of how this culture was able to dominate the entire Andean mountain range. It was also interesting because the Inca were not bashful…they simply built directly on top of what the Canari Indians had left behind. So you could see rough hewn rock composing the bottom third of the structures and the perfect Inca stonework simply sitting on top of what had once been their culture’s work.

Cuenca also had its host of museums but the most interesting thing I saw were the shrunken heads. Yes folks, the legend is real. There is actually an indigenous tribe in the Amazon where if you cross them they will shrink your head and keep it as a trophy. If you ask me this kind of looks like my friend Adam. While on the mystical topic, I had my aura cleansed by a medicine woman. This consisted of her beating me about the face and upper body with a bundle of herbs (which did make me feel lightheaded), rubbing an egg in a shell all over my body (the egg picks up the bad pieces of my aura), and spitting some sort of alcohol all over me to make sure that I stay protected. It was right out of the movies, but I suppose the big difference is that there was a line of normal looking people waiting for the same to be done to them. While I found it novel and humorous, educated professionals were going through what was a normal weekly routine.

Now just a little culinary side note, until this point the food in Ecuador has basically been sautéed cardboard. If I were lucky the cardboard came with salt. However, Cuenca has this odd specialty of Pork & Turkey sandwiches. They look plain and the sauces look even duller, but if god did not come down and put the flavor of heaven in these seemingly simple sandwiches then I cannot explain what makes them so good. The words will haunt me as I ordered it over dozen times “Un sanduche de pernil y un otro de pavo, y un jugo de coco.” Emmm just wiped the saliva off my chin

Tomorrow I go to Peru!!! Oh and what is considered the most dangerous border in South America…grrrrreat.

Chirp get ready to bribe my first oficial? Chirp

Well the most memorable part about Montanitas was the journey to get there. It all started with me flagging down a bus on the side of the street at about 6AM to take me to the port town of San Vincente…$0.35. Then I had to take a water taxi across an estuary to Bahia de Caraquez…$0.25. Then a bicycle ride to the “bus station”…$0.25. Then a bus to Jipijapa (looove this name, pronounced hippeehapa)…$4.50. Then eat GROSS food in this god-forsaken bus station filled with more flies than you would find on a steaming pile of cow shit in July. Then a bus to Montanitas…$3.50. Now the bus to Montanitas was where I was starting to get a little worn down…my Spanish had been tested to its limits to make it this far; I was rolling solo and not seeing one other person who could utter even ‘yes’ or ‘no’ in English. I was the only person who looks like their W2 from last year was north of $5,000 so I was receiving the expected stares and rudeness from all along the trip. Anyhow the bus to Montanitas shows up and they attempt to put my bag under the bus in the luggage hold. A very stiff argument ensued when I would have nothing do with it. The man opened the luggage hold and out poured a putrid liquid. A liquid that had obviously been the water and guts that had sloughed off of some sort of seafood and ripened to a nice odiferous joy after 10 hours in the sun. Finally when I was demanding my money back and I wanted another bus they relented and allowed me to put my pack next to the driver. Excellent I am on my way…nope, wrong, not even fucking close. Again the sardine factor has come into play and the bus slated to leave at 1PM does not even make wheels until 3:30PM. Whatever, I am moving.

Now mind you the bus I chose was the cheap option so this brought on my first full on chicken bus. I am not talking about a little clucking or chirping but me throwing left hooks at a hen that is getting a little to close to my eyeballs. I mean this is a hen that is flapping and flaying all over the bus with the owner constantly trying to stop it from making it out the window. This bitch of a bird has already dropped a turd on my pack and on half the other passengers, but she was not going to get me!

Eventually the bird was knocked out, flew out, or didn’t like me after the Lonely Planet caught it square in the beak. Nice! I found another use for my guidebook—chicken defender. Anyhow, I was able to enjoy the amazing views of the Ecuadorian coast. This is a country with so much undeveloped coastline I couldn’t help but wonder why. The water is warm here, and I was seeing surf break after surf break with not one soul anywhere in sight.

Well back to the travel odyssey. Now we stop in Pedro Ruiz and I hop off for an ice cream and bottle of water because the temperature has soared to an easy 100 degrees (remember I am basically right on the equator…Ecuador, equator…get it folks?). Yep I get back on the bus and someone has attempted to take my seat…nope I am not going to have it and one death look from me an the grumpy old man relented and I was back in my seat. Unable to sleep because I had to keep an eye on my bag at all times I finally was in spot to drift off. Next stop Montanitas. BANG, WHUMP, WHUMP, WHUMP….PSSSS stop. NO, NO, NO, NO…yep flat tire. My damn driver was not paying attention and drove right into some rebar sticking out of fresh construction on the side of the road and we had a flat. The only good to come form yet another mishap was the I did meet two ausies and a brit who were hiding in the back of the bus. Good, I had friends to keep me company while we waited while the idiocy of not having spare tire dawned on the driver. All said and done another bus picked us up and we redefined the sardine ass-pucker factor as we all squeezed onto the next ride. Finally we arrive; only 14 hours after I started what was to be a seven-hour day.

Now the town was not my style. Everyone was insanely beautiful and either Argentinean or Chilean and about 20 yrs old. They also wanted nothing to do with this old man. Yep, I felt out of place. Also this is one hippie heaven if I have ever seen it. I smelled more weed being smoked than I had ever smelled at a Grateful Dead concert back in the day. The clubs were packed with kids snorting piles of cocaine, and the atmosphere left me feeling a bit too old to be there. The clubs opened at 1AM and closed around 8 or 9 AM and as I was more keen on surfing and reading a book than anything else I had to go. Yep, only 3 nights 2 days at this place, that for some is heaven and for others is one of the grossest representations of tourism ever. This apparently was once a fishing town…now there isn’t even a fishing rod in town…everything has been transformed to some form of consumerism, surf shops, hippie trinkets, etc, etc. If I wanted dreadlocks, there were plenty of people that would have knotted my hair up for me (oh my hair is getting long so I thought about it). I wanted any drug on the planet it was only offered 10 times per hour to me. There was a time and place, but not at my age.

The one redeeming feature was that I finally had my first bottle of ice cold Inca Kola in South America…ohhh how I missed thee. Yummm, a uniquely Peruvian flavor that you either love or hate.

Back to the mountains and off to Cuenca to study Spanish.  Chirp quiero comprender mass Chirp

Canoa = Canoe in Spanish

So eager to run away form the high altitude and non-stop rain of Quito I left ass early in the morning (5AM) to head to the bus station and find my way to Canoa. It had been a long-term goal of mine to study Spanish on this trip and hopefully return fluent in the language. Yes, even though I half Peruvian I do not speak any Spanish…something I still am marginally upset with my mother about. Anyhow, originally I was planning on spending a month in Quito to study but after realizing how much I detested that city I was looking for a warmer option. Specifically I now had two goals: 1) study Spanish 2) not wear a shirt for one week. I suppose I had one other goal and that was to get away from the hoards of tourists. The Lonely Planet outlined a different route through Ecuador the masses were sure to follow and that route did NOT include the coast. Bingo!

As always, the bus rides took longer than advertised and approximately 10 hours later I was hopping off the bus and making a beeline for the two other obvious westerners who disembarked at the same spot. Quickly standing next to them I listened carefully and heard English. Not exactly Sherlock Holmes style work but goal was accomplished. We agreed to share a moto-taxi (essentially a Tuk Tuk…half motorcycle, back half bench seat for 3) to the town.

I had read about this place called the Sun Down Inn that also had the Canoa Spanish School and surfboards for rent. I spotted the joint about halfway to town and jumped out. After quick conversation I found they wanted to charge $17 a day for my own private room and 3 cooked meals per day. Sounds good, the only catch was that they would have no available teacher for 5 days…at which point the rate would go up to $25. Sounded good and I accepted. How could I turn this down, an inn right on the beach and our closest neighbor was the town 5-6km down the beach?

I could try to write much about my time there but truly the next 10 days went something like this. Wake up, surf right out front, eat breakfast read my book, surf, eat lunch, surf, read my book, eat dinner, and sleep. Oh yeah, every moment I was not surfing our reading I was playing table tennis with one of the other travelers there. It was rather ideal because I was losing lots of weight form surfing, and well the fact that I had non-stop travelers diarrhea helped, and I was working on my tan. The food was marginal at best, but I did not have to lift one finger for anything so I could not complain. My only gripe was when I had my first Spanish lesson it was a total joke, and my teacher never showed up for the second class. At which point I knew I had to cancel my courses and move on to somewhere a bit more organized.

The owner of the inn did show up at one point and brought with him all the hostesses of his Kentucky Fried Chickens he owned in the Guayaquil area. Yes I guess KFCs in Ecuador have a hostess. Well everything changed when Jaime brought his gaggle of low class Ecuadorian honies. Now this sleepy stretch of beach included bonfires at night and drinking till you passed out in the sand. This man was hilarious…recently divorced and ready to drink until you could not stand each an every evening. After 5 days of gratuitous partying with Jaime and his sons (it turns out the cooks of the inn were his boys) I decided to start bee-lining it to Cuenca where I had heard there were some reputable Spanish schools. Well actually there was another popular beach town on the way so I couldn’t resist…next stop Montanitas.

Chirp finally tan Chirp

Feeling a bit chirpy because the fever “seemed” to have broken I pack up my bag in good spirits and head down to the highway with Thierry. This is a new adventure, we have to flag down a bus from the side of the Pan American Highway and hope we get it right. Once all that nonsense was taken care of we were off to what has proved to be my least favorite spot thus far.

A new trend of bus travel has shown itself on this leg of our journey. Let’s call it the sardine quotient. Essentially the driver will never stop picking people up from the side of the road until we are packed in like sardines. Besides the obvious discomfort, I was now witnessing a 3-hour trip take 6 hours. Eventually we arrive and I ask a taxi ABOUT how much should it cost to get to our hostel of choice…”three dollars”…I reply “no way is it more than two”…”Bueno”. We arrive and the meter clearly states $1.50. I hand over my $2 and dutifully wait for change, only to get into a Fred style patented spitting match over my $0.50. He relented when he realized this gringo ain’t gonna take shit from nobody, even if he cannot understand them. Nice, strike 1 for Quito…first person I encounter wants to rook me.

As I check out the hostel, the swarm of international travelers and the generally cool atmosphere instantly turn me on. Feeling content to meet folks and unwind from a day of travel I decide to hang out and relax. The day winds down, the night comes, and now I am feeling the damn fever creep into my bones. No denying what’s going on, but there were a couple cool folks and a cute girl and I had a few drinks…fast forward I am down with a full blown flu. It sucks! Here I am in a generally loud hostel with the flu and basically unable to do anything. The elevation of Quito—approximately 2,900 meters—and the illness have me crippled. I at one point try to walk out of the hostel and can make it no further than one block before I am left gasping for air. Yep, I’m stuck in this loud ass party hostel until I recuperate.

Nothing to write other than after 6 days of feeling really sorry for myself and infecting everyone else in the hostel I was finally on the upswing. Good thing because I was very tired of the view (see above).

Some commentary on Quito: of all the people I met, spending any significant amount of time in Quito, they were mugged. Some of the muggings were as violent as being choked from behind in BROAD DAYLGHT, to guns, or knives and the typical demand for all your money. You also must be kidding yourself if you think any cop in Quito gives one flying shit about a foreigner. It was so discouraging that everyone was always on edge when outside. Every day another person would share their story of a mugging or attempted mugging…really Quito is such a god awful dangerous place it is a disgrace. Realizing at this point that I hate this filthy, dangerous, diesel fume choked city I am hightailing it OFF the gringo trail and heading right to the coast as soon as I am well. The weather is miserable and it rains non-stop, I mean I am just baffled why there are so many tourists here. Then it hits me, The Lonely Planet guidebook highlights Quito as a great jumping off point for your South American adventure. There you go, the single most popular guidebook says so, so it becomes etched in stone along with the other commandments that were handed to Moses. Really the city of Quito needs to be careful and clean up its act. It will not be long until the tourists realize how nasty a pace it is…and if you are curious, STAY AWAY there are dozens upon dozens of cooler places in South America.

I did manage to climb to very highest point of this gothic cathedral (look on the left upper most point just below the cross, and that is where my vantage point is from)…yep it is lawless down here and I was ale to sit outside and hang my leg over the edge. It was scary as hell being that high up and looking over to certain death.

Tomorrow at the advice of a friend I met in Bogotá I am off to the coast to study Spanish and hopefully not wear a shirt for one week!

Chirp Wheez Chirp…getting better

So after my friend Thierry and I had secured rooms in the town of Otavalo we wanted to explore a “Bright and Vibrant” market town. There were instant adjustments to be made that perpetuated throughout most of Ecuador.

First and foremost there were no more dormitories, which put a small dose of fear in me. Was my budget going to be broken to pieces? Well not exactly, I had already proved that traveling for less than $50 per day was not only doable but actually quite easy to do. I had many a day in Colombia where I was able to find dinner for less than two dollars, breakfast of fresh fruits & juice from street vendors would run maybe $1.50, and a lunch could be had for about $2.00. Remember the lunch is the most important meal of the day hence tending to be more expensive. With dormitories running about $7-8 a day I was running a budget that often did not exceed $20. Yes there are larger expenses such as bus tickets, drinks, and trying to woo girls that could run the budget a touch north, but all in all I have realized that those who travel with an eye towards frugality could “stay out” for a very long time on very little money.

Second adjustment to be made was that Ecuador is smack dab on the backpacker’s trail. What does this mean? Well bluntly it means that there are an abundance of hostels, restaurants, and every attempt to be more western where it simply does not fit well. In a town like Otavalo where indigenous persons wear the heavy wool alpaca petticoats, colorful shirts, carry babies with slung blankets on their backs and are mingling with boys & girls (I think their children) wearing bright Reebok tracksuits, Nikes on their feet and cell phones everywhere. I could not help but feel a touch depressed. The backpackers who are there to see the culture are the entire reason it is rapidly disappearing. “Ahhhh” I say to myself, “this is why people reject the global economy.” If I were an older Otavalon I would feel left behind in a world where it seems even their children reject the traditional way of life. Yet another inner monologue to contend with…(as always more to come)

Further more, the weather in this town consistently sucks (and I mean London rainy cold why do people live here sucks), and the city is downright ugly. This is the third adjustment to be made; ugly cities and towns. This is also the moment I realized how amazingly special Colombia is. They are light years ahead of Ecuador in terms of social awareness (no trash on the ground) and simple aesthetics (the buildings are completed). I felt like Otovalo was a city filled with blight because every damn building was either tilted further than the tower of Pisa or they had raw iron rebar sticking out form the roof, and a concrete floor now serving as their roof of a floor that had never been completed. In essence there seemed to be this odd trend that every person had started a 3-story building to only quit after 2.5 stories of concrete had been poured. Oh, and before you even think of this, it is not forward planning or thinking for future construction.

Finally the last major adjustment was that with sooooooo many hostels in Ecuador the concentration of Backpackers had been dispersed amongst each sleeping option to make it feel downright lonely, and more importantly the coolness factor of the people traveling has taken a sharp nose dive. The only person who travels in Colombia tends to be generally adventurous and interesting. People who do not let fear rule their decision making visit Colombia, people who fall for antiquated public perception and the Hollywood portrayal of an incredible country start their journey in Ecuador. OK, can you tell that Ecuador started off on the wrong foot? Fuck I also miss Greg & Christie.

Having reconciled that Otovalo is a stop over point I decide to make the best of it and Theirry and I wandered up to the Condor Sanctuary. This is as it sounds as well as a sanctuary for all birds of prey. The general thrust is that the folks who work here nurse and revive all sorts of birds of prey until they can be returned to the wild. It was interesting and worth the $2.00 entrance…feel free to check out the photo page to see all sorts of owls, eagles, hawks, falcons, etc. One interesting specimen was a Bald Eagle tethered at the leg allowing me to come within inches of it’s flesh tearing claws.

After checking out birds that kill, we wandered a little further off the beaten track to get smacked in the face with some real poverty. One could tell that the higher slopes of the town were filled with people living in abject poverty who were born there and were going to die there. It was palpable and could be seen in the faces of the people and the buildings.

Settling into the hostel and after chatting with some amiable companions I went to bed shivering uncontrollably…oh shit, is this a fever or the humid cold penetrating every possible pore of my skin? I am definitely worried as I have on every stitch of clothing with me and am under two heavy wool blankets and freezing. Yes folks, this is the first time I was lonely and really longing for home. Tomorrow I am off to Quito, hopefully I will find more friends and get out of this cold….right?

Chirp cough Chirp

Sorry for the extremely long delay in postings but two different illnesses and some of the slowest internet on the planet really took away form the motivation to keep up. Anyhow back to the journal….

Greg, Christy and I had gotten off to a rough start at one point, but by the time they were leaving i was very bummed. They had been an awesome anchor to lean upon, and it was really special to spend time in a way like that together. You really begin to realize after you have been traveling for a while that 2-3 week shots just do not seem to cut it. A certain sense of relaxation settles in, and I seem to live in a general absence of stress that makes life so much more enjoyable than it had been for most of the time while working and living my standard life. It’s fabulously selfish to be doing this and saying this but it is true. I am more concerned with finding a hostel that is clean and has hot water than just about any other aspect of life. Anyhow, dribble aside i was very sad to see Greg and Christie go. Feeling slightly lost i decided to stay in Popoyan until I finished the huge honking Che Gueverra biography I had been carrying forever. So a couple more days in the hammock reading and then I was off on my own.

Grabbing two buses to the town of Popoyan I arrived and it was dark, late and dodgy. I knew the hostel was about 7 blocks away but i was spooked so i grabbed a cab. Thank God for that decision, after arriving at the hostel a girl was dealing with having her purse and passport stolen…yuk!

The town had been described in my guidebooks (this will surely be a recurring theme…”being mislead by the guidebook” or the “J. Peterman Catalog” for old Seinfeld fans) as a whitewashed gem of Spanish Colonial city in the mountains of Colombia. I suppose this would be true but i really did not enjoy the town at all. It exhibited little soul, and seemed stuck somewhere between tourist spot, big city and small city. Either way here I was and while in the town visiting there was one redeeming feature. A festival of sort–surely the remnants of the mid Dec to mid Jan fiesta period–started moving through the town streets. Just like all festivals there was some sort of beauty contest with Colombian girls on flatbeds wearing terrible outfits and cheesing up the joint something awfully Stinky Wheel of Gouda like. As well as the girls, there were kids throwing bags of flour and trying to hit every person in site. There were dozens upon dozens of people looking very upset covered in flour; I too was forced to run for it at least a half dozen times in an attempt to protect my camera.

The hostel had a good internet connection but a shitty sleeping situation. I slept in a 14 person bunk room for two nights and needed out in a big way so I jumped a bus for the border town of Ipiales.

There is no way to describe what I saw on the trip to Ipiales. The mountains I stared for hours upon hours at appeared to be the most amazing displays of dramatic valleys and peaks of my life. I know the elevation was not amazing (peaks around 11,000 is my guess) but the relief form top to bottom was the most dramatic I had ever seen, and the faces were 100% covered in jungle and high-altitude grass giving everything a very surreal look. This rise in elevation definitely started giving way to another climate at this point. The mountains as I arrived in Ipiales were certainly starting to change in climate. Now everything was beginning to be very dry and I was feeling the air in my chest. In northern Colombia everything was much more humid and green thus not making the elevation nearly as unpleasant…this perception–as it turned out–might have also been the beginning of my first illness. The city of Ipiales was as you expect a border town…felt dangerous, was ugly and generally full of seedy characters.

The next morning my new found Australian buddy Theirry and I decided to go for the border around 6:00AM. My Spanish, still very rusty at this point but better than most backpackers, unknowingly had taken us straight to the Ecuadorian border. After 2 hours of muttering “what the fuck is wrong with these people” under our breath they finally opened the front door and about 40 people were suddenly let in. A wave of sarcastic applause came up which turned back to grumbling after the 200+ person line didn’t budge for another hours plus. Realizing we didn’t get exit stamps for Colombia we actually had enough time to go up one at a time and clear the Colombian customs. Geeeezuz the Ecuadorians are slow…another persistent theme I am learning to live with. All said and done we stumbled into Otovalo, Ecuador in the afternoon and found a hostel and just collapsed in our own private rooms (oooh the luxury of it all).

Chirp Chirp country one is done