It must be the altitude or something

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What a difference an hour and a half flight can make. Going from Panama City at sea level to Quito at over 2800 meters in altitude (that’s almost 9000 feet—yikes) was a bit of a hit to our systems. I felt very weak, congested, and downright ill the first day and both Paul and I have gotten winded climbing a flight of stairs, never mind the longer hikes we’ve tried. It gives us a real confidence boost for the upcoming Inca Trail—four days of walking between 2742m (8500ft) and 4195m (13005ft). Gulp!

Culturally it felt totally different, as well. Instead of seeing indigenous folks in island style wrap skirts and brightly colored beads up their arms and legs, like in Panama, the beauty was in more subdued colors, with woolen sweaters, felt bowler hats, and dozens of strands of gold beads wrapped around the ladies’ necks.

Everything felt a little older and more peaceful and, although neither one of us could put a finger on exactly why, Quito especially had a much more European feel than any of the cities we have visited in Central America.

And since Quito is where we arrived, it makes a pretty good place for me to start. One of the first things we noticed about Quito is just how tired we were and just how much we were sleeping. Maybe it had something to do with our very cozy room and the peaceful atmosphere in the hostel we chose. Or maybe it was because it was so darn cold compared to where we have been lately, especially the heat of Panama City, and our bed had two comfy duvets to cuddle up under. Or maybe it was just the altitude.

Whatever it was, after a couple of days we seemed to regain our energy (and motivation) to explore the amazing country of Ecuador and finally make use of the cold weather clothes that have been vacuum-sealed in the bottom of our packs all these months.

The first day we had high hopes of catching a train to the Cotopaxi National Park to do some hiking and get some choice views of one of Ecuador’s highest peaks (5900m/18290ft). Unfortunately, we had alarm clock trouble again, and we missed the one and only train at 8 o’clock. (I wonder if Paul ever had alarm clock failures before he met me. . . .) But to be fair, after the sorry shape I found myself to be in all day, it’s really a darn good thing we didn’t make the train. I had hardly enough energy to hold my head up on the bus out to The Middle of the Earth (Mitad del Mundo) monument a mere 20 minutes away.

Once there we discovered an eclectic mix of random museums and a really cool spire with the cardinal directions and a globe on it (so we could fancy ourselves walking around the world as well as hopping back and forth between hemispheres). There was also an Ecuadorian band playing traditional music to the delight of many dancing Quitozens (I made that word up, do you like it?) But, I’m sure half of them were only dancing to keep the blood moving, it was darn chilly, even in our fleece jackets.

That was pretty much all we could manage to accomplish the first day. We made it back to our hostel, ate in the pizzeria below, and crashed out for at least ten solid hours.

The next day, we had a bit better go of it. We decided to head for the old part of town first thing, so that we could take a gander at some of the many old churches and pretty squares. Again, going up any incline at all left us for gasping for breath and lucky for us, Quito makes San Francisco look mighty flat. So we made the best of it exploring a truly beautiful part of the city and making sure to schedule in lots and lots of stops for coffees and juices to give us the strength we needed. (I am so going to miss all the yummy fresh pineapple, strawberry and blackberry juices I’ve been growing accustomed to.)

Being that we were having such trouble with the hills in town, we decided to find a taxi to drive us up to the Virgin of Quito monument, easily an additional 350m (1085ft) in altitude and Quito’s thing to climb. This ended up being a bit of ordeal. When we hailed a cab in one of the plazas of the old city I asked him how much it would cost to go up to the monument and return back to the square. The driver quickly answered $3. Afraid that he might not have heard me properly, I asked again. “$3 total for there and back?” Again taxi man answered quickly, telling us to jump in. I either incorrectly mistook his response for agreement or this clever cabbie knew that he’d have us stuck once we got to the top of the hill.

So we jumped in, and dude appeared to drive the longest possible route to get us to the top of the hill that we were literally at the base of when we started this little adventure. Once there he says “Okay, three dollars” (but in Spanish, of course, we are in Ecuador . . . but nevertheless they do use dollars for currency . . . back to the story). Afraid that he might leave us, I reconfirmed that he would wait five minutes for us to admire the views and snap a photo or two before returning. He turns around, feigning surprise, and replies that if we want him to do that the fare would be $7—$3 for the way up, $1 for waiting, and $3 more for the way back. I argue for awhile with him, explaining that I was very clear in what we had wanted before getting into his cab, and that he told us $3. All the while I was masterfully composing my arguments in a foreign tongue, I was also looking around the parking lot at the top of the hill and noticing how few vehicles there were and how not a single taxi was in sight throughout our little exchange of words. I also noted a thick wall of dark clouds on the horizon and knew we were stuck. Buddy had hoodwinked us, and we either had to fork out the cash or brave the elements (and the altitude) as we got ourselves back down the mountain. We conceded and got out of the cab defeated and more than a little bit irritated.

And that’s when we met Amanda, a saucy Ecuadorian, and her Canadian husband, Murray. It turns out that they only paid $1 to get up the hill, and Amanda, enraged that our taxi dude would take advantage of tourists like he did, stomped over to give him a piece of her mind. Five minutes later, Amanda returned, followed by buddy, the parking attendant, and a couple of other folks who were selling souvenirs and somehow got involved. For another five minutes, the whole lot of us argued back and forth heatedly with arms and hands gesturing in all directions. Frankly I felt just a tad uncomfortable with the intensity of the interaction (I had given in and was ready to give him the $7 some time ago, if you remember), but nobody else seemed to notice (and certainly not Paul or Murray, who used their lack of Spanish as an excuse for not getting involved).

In the end, we paid the guy $3, he left us in a fury, we shared another taxi down with Murray and Amanda (for $1 total), and I got a lesson in when it’s just better to pay the money and let things go. (Or maybe I was so worked up over it because of the altitude or something.)

Back in the square, we said goodbye to our new friends and decided to quickly take in the rest of the sights in the old city. Not two minutes later, those ominous clouds let loose with flashes of lightening, crashes of thunder, and hail stones the size of ping-pong balls (well, almost). We ran for cover in the doorway of the cathedral until we noticed that everyone else there was either drunk or begging for money, and then decided maybe it was better to make a run for a cab, knowing once again, we’d be at the mercy of cab driver. We paid three times the normal fare back to our hostel without a squeak.

The next morning, we made our way north to the town of Otavalo (2200m/6820ft) famous for its massive Saturday market. It was Tuesday. Sometimes market days just don’t fit into our schedules. Thankfully, Wednesdays, are also largish days, and while supposedly nothing like the hustle and bustle of Saturdays, we figured we’d get a pretty good taste.

And so we did. I thought Guatemalan markets were tempting with all of the beautiful textiles and things they have on offer. But, holy cow, did I want to buy every woolen sweater, fuzzy scarf, brightly-colored beanie, and woven tapestry I saw. All I can say is that it was likely a very good thing that we didn’t make it on the good day, or I would have been unstoppable. As it was I was ready to buy a duffel bag (brightly colored and expertly woven, mind you) to fill up with all the goodies at my finger tips. I’m not sure what got into me. It must have been the altitude or something. It’s a darn good thing that Paul seems to be able to keep a clear head despite the thin air.

On to Baños (1826m/5660ft), a beautiful little haven just 8 kilometers from the crater of a recently very active volcano, Volcan Tungurahua (5016m/15550ft). This puppy lets off clouds of gases and ash 24/7, and already this year, it has had two substantial eruptions, one in July and one in August when much of the city was evacuated. But these were just precursors to the big one that the whole town is on edge for.

We thought it sounded like a fantastic time to visit. (Moms and dads, aren’t you glad we didn’t tell you we were going before we went?) And the ride in was just as ominous as one would expect from all the recent activity. From the main road into town (the only one really, as the other route in has been closed for some time because it is just too dangerous), we could see several old lava flows that had apparently at one time covered the road and let us know just how perilously we were putting our lives at risk (okay, maybe this is a bit dramatic, but can you feel the danger?)

Being that the volcano is so much in the news, we thought we’d take a tour to see its fury our first night in town. The vehicle that the tour companies all use is called a chiva and is an open-sided truck with benches not just in the bed of the truck, but also on the roof for added peril. (Side note: the tour company touts described a chiva as a “typical Ecuadorian car” when I asked for a little help with the translation. Funny really, since they blare techno music and the only folks we ever saw riding in them were silly tourists like us.)

The trip to the viewpoint to see the volcano’s might was sadly a teensy bit disappointing. Not only did we not see anything, nada, squat, of this ferocious volcano’s wrath, but the tour leaders wouldn’t even let us sit on the roof on the dang chiva, which was at least half of the reason we signed on. However, knowing that all of us tourist folk were looking for a little excitement, the tour guide spent 20 minutes describing in detail the danger that we and the whole area around Baños was in should the big one come in the near future.

Part of this talk, included all of the precautions we should take, including carrying with us at all times a safety kit with the following: sunglasses and a rag to wrap around our faces to guard against ash and debris, extra food and water, a flashlight with extra batteries, and a radio so we could tune into the broadcasts alerting us where to go for safety because things would be so chaotic that we couldn’t trust just anyone on the street to know what was going on (tour guide said this, not me). All of this was really interesting because the guide spoke only Spanish and I was one of only two people on the trip who actually understood Spanish well enough to translate to the rest of the group, and buddy spoke so quickly and at such length that there was no way for us to convey to the sorry non-Spanish speakers all the details of the safety plan. It kinda makes the whole packing around of a radio a little obsolete. Even if most folks who went on the trip did, they wouldn’t understand a word of the instructions to save their hides. (Aren’t you glad that Paul was in my able hands?)

Thankfully, the tour also included a free hot cinnamon and rum drink which was about the only thing that all of us could enjoy. So it goes.

But the volcano isn’t the only thing the town is famous for. The next day we set off on bicycles to explore some of the dozens of pretty waterfalls that bedeck the sides of the river valley that Baños is nestled in. We rode 18 kilometers to the town of Rio Verde stopping lots to enjoy the views (ie. Rest!). One of the funnest stops was to take a cable car across to the other side of the canyon. Wondering whether the Ecuadorian safety standards maybe aren’t a little bit more lax than what I’m used to, I was more than a little concerned with the condition of the car and asked several annoying questions to the operator about maintenance schedules and the like (this thing was half a kilometer in length and more than a hundred meters in the air at its highest point).

Luckily, we safely made it to the other side (and back) where we were able to admire a gorgeous waterfall, eat some delicious trout, fly over the trees in a fantastic tire swing, play with a spastic monkey, and meet a little boy named Harry Potter, or so he said.

Once we finally made it to the end of the rode, we had a dip in the river with some local kids and took a hike to the piece de resistance of the waterfall circuit, the Devil’s Cauldron, a pretty awesome waterfall in anyone’s book. And then it came time to load our bikes onto a little truck and get a lift back to Baños which was just grand because they way back was all uphill (did I mention that most of our 18 km journey was coasting—but still a workout mind you given the altitude.) To me this was about as much fun as anything that day because we got to go through the many long tunnels that we skirted around while on bikes on the way down, and the driver didn’t like to use his headlights much which made things even more exciting.

That night, a little sore from the bike ride, Paul and I decided to take advantage of another thing Baños is famous for, thermal baths from all the underground thermal activity from scary Volcano Tungurahua. (Baños does mean “baths” in Spanish, y’know.) And even though the water was a little brownish (the guide book claims this is from the high mineral content, and I’m buying it as the alternative is not much fun to think about) it was pure heaven. We even felt brave enough to try out the super hot pool which was over 40 degrees Celsius (that’s freaking hot in Fahrenheit) and physically hurt for some time after you got in. At some point, probably after we’d killed off the top dermal layer, it actually started to feel good, especially when we worked up enough courage to alternate between the nearly frozen pool and the burning hot one. Baños is all about adventure, after all.

Our last day in Baños, after a morning walking in the hills, we decided to take advantage of the many spas for one of the town’s famous box steam baths and a hot stone massage. I don’t think that Paul and I knew what we were getting ourselves in to. We showed up and the first thing that the owner has us do is take off our shoes and go through a bit of a cleansing. There were four stops in our cleansing journey. The first was purgatory, a fire pit which we were to walk around three times as we ridded ourselves of all of our physical and emotional hurts (the pit is set afire every full moon so our hurts will be burnt to smithereens). The second stop was the house of the wind, up a small hill where the wind blows strongly. From the deck of the little house we were supposed to scream as loudly as we could in order to release all of the misdeeds that others have done to us since our childhood. Third, there was the wall of lamentations where we were supposed to visualize throwing all of the bad things that we have done to others and setting ourselves free of the guilt. All in all this was about a kilometer walk, and up to this point we were walking barefoot on sharp volcanic rocks, which allegedly is very good for alleviating stress or so the lady in charge said. And maybe I should have picked up on the fact that this place was a little eccentric when our final step before entering the center to get our steam baths was crawling around a tree three times on our hands and knees in order to relive our infancy. All the while she is explaining this to me, I’m doing my darnedest not to crack a smile or start giggling. And I’m a counselor and used to these type of touchy-feely exercises; I just didn’t know I’d be working through all the hurts of my life and reliving my childhood when I signed up for a steam bath and massage. Paul and I did our best to comply with each and every step of the healing process even if we felt a little dorky.

So we get back from our little spiritual adventure with wounded prides and throbbing feet. We might as well take it out on the rest of our bodies. We get into swim suits and then sit down in these wooden boxes. Next, an assistant takes a wood panel with a notch cut out of it for our necks and slides this across the top of the box, effectively sealing us into the boxes from which we could not release ourselves. I felt very much like one of the fancy ladies that magicians put in boxes and cut up—not a good feeling, if you’re wondering.

Inside there were levers where we could control the amount of steam coming into our little boxes. Only this took some getting used to. After a few times of thoroughly scalding myself, I realized that I had nothing to prove and put the lever on the lowest it would go, despite the fact that the woman next to me had steam billowing out of her box with some serious intensity. After about ten minutes of the claustrophobic hot box, we turned off the steam, and the assistant tells us to lean forward as she dumps bucketfuls of arctic water on our heads and backs. Then we have another ten minutes in the box before we are led to sit in a basin of the frigid water while she dumps more bucketfuls on us. We do this another time, and then after our fourth trip into the box of hell, as we now are beginning to refer to it, the assistant grabs a hose and tells us to lean forward against a wall while she blasts our backs, butts and legs with this same icy water, only now its coming at us at force. What were we thinking????

Thankfully, the hot stone massage and clay facial masques were as we expected and made up for the rather eventful start of our spa day. And would you believe that all of this cost a mere $22 each and included a plate of fresh fruit and a sample of their essential oils.

Having just about enough of Baños, we decided to head for the higher altitudes again, to Riobamba (2754m/8540ft) where we visited a fun traditional market where there were rows and rows of little old guys with sewing machines ready and waiting to do some mending. Riobamba is also where we caught the train for the famous Devil’s Nose train ride. Most everyone who we have met that has traveled in Ecuador has highly recommended the trip. I thought it must be because of the beautiful scenery, but for us it was more the whole experience. Maybe we’re visiting at the wrong time of the year, but I have found most of Ecuador to be a bit dry and barren and not particularly attractive. Or maybe it’s because of the altitude.

The interesting thing about this train ride is that you don’t ride inside a train, but on top of it. A railing has been welded to the top of each box car, where 70 tourists cram together with the cushions they rented from the cushion vendors (which is a brilliant idea because the top of the box car is made of corrugated iron and, even with the cushions, leaves your buns in sorry shape after the seven hour trip).

The best thing about the journey for Paul and I was going through the tiny little villages and countryside where folks were plowing their fields and doing their laundry in the little streams. The indigenous people are beautiful with their warm smiles, wind-burnt cheeks and richly-colored skirts and ponchos. And best of all is the tradition of throwing candies and small gifts to all the children that come running when they hear the train (and there are several vendors who roam back and forth atop the box cars selling handfuls of lollies to us so that we never have to worry about running out). If we would have known in advance about this little tradition, Paul and I would have bought a hundred toothbrushes to toss to the little ones, in hopes of making up for some of the dental decay that we tourists are causing.

From Alousi, the last stop of our rail journey, we caught a bus to Cuenca (2530m/7845ft), Quito’s third largest city which is world heritage listed for all of its pretty churches. We thought it would make a nice break in a long couple of travel days, but frankly found very little to do there. The one really neat thing that we stumbled across was a workshop where Panama (not Ecuador) hats are made. The folks at the shop were super friendly and explained the whole process to us from receiving the hand-woven, unshaped hats from the nearby villages, to dying or bleaching them, to pressing them in a really cool steam press to create the desired shape and size, to finally putting on the finishing touches of trim or hat band. These guys produce over fifty hats a day for export to Europe and North America and will happily custom-make hats for customers on the spot.

From Cuenca, we had another long travel day as we continued to head south across the highlands of the Andes toward Peru. We had heard the town of Vilcabamba made a nice stop for hiking or horseback riding and has the added advantage of being well-known for the unusual number of its inhabitants that live to be well past 100. Now, the town also has even higher numbers of foreigners who have come to live here in hopes of discovering the secrets to life everlasting. Who could pass it up? And being that it is the lowest place we had visited yet in Ecuador, we thought we might even have the energy to make it up some of the surrounding hills. Let’s just say that our progress is slow.

The highlight in Vilcabamba, aside from the best breakfast that we’ve had yet (and it was free, included in the price of our stunning little guest house, The Hidden Garden, which even had a pool and still was less than $20 a night), was one heck of a fantastic horseback ride. Paul isn’t into horses much and has only agreed to the two trips we’ve done as a way to appease me. I go a little gaga for horses you see, and even though I don’t ride very well, I find it downright criminal to not take advantage of the amazingly cheap trail rides that many places we’ve passed through have offered, especially when I see that the horses are healthy and well taken care of like here. And this ride was one of the best horse experiences that both Paul and I have ever had. The horses were excellent, really calm and extremely responsive and forgiving even to dimwits like us. The guide was fantastic, really friendly and helpful and actually showed us how to do things like take the bridles off, tighten the saddles, etc. And the ride itself was so much fun. We rode along a stunning high ridge and climbed up and down craggly mountainsides on narrow little paths. And once we got used to the animals we full on galloped anyplace it was safe to do so. It was so exhilarating (and I don’t think it was due to the thin air or anything). I loved it!! So if you’re ever in Vilcabamba, and you like horses even just a little bit, do yourself a favor and look up Gavin, the New Zealand guy. You can write us and thank us later.

Phew!! This is getting lengthy, but in my defense, Ecuador merits the time to describe it properly. We’re just sad we’re leaving it so quickly without even having a chance to see the coast or the Amazon regions. But our reservation for the Inca Trail is just around the corner and we have a couple of thousand kilometers to cover before we get there. Tomorrow is a long day as we cross into Peru and back to around sea level by night fall. From there we head to Trujillo for a couple of days of beaches and our first set of ruins in South America. And then another excruciatingly long bus ride and a quick flight that we splurged on to get us to Cusco in time to acclimatize to the altitudes once again. Or maybe we’ll just gnaw on lots of coca leaves.

Till next time . . .

P.S. Thanks to Tom for all of his great tips on Ecuador. Unfortunately we haven’t tried the guinea pig yet. We weren’t feeling up to it at the beginning of our trip and haven’t been able to find it since. Bugger.

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Photos

High above Quito
and wondering how we'll ever get down.
P.S. Check out Paul's new walking stick.

A typical Ecuadorian car
. . . or so they say.

Don't we look relaxed?
Aah, what a holiday.

Aardvarks on the Basilica in Quito
It's nice to see aardvarks getting the respect they deserve for a change.

Comments

[Noel]

Quito is great
I just got back from a long tour of South America and after reading your blog I thought I would suggest I couple things to you. 1) Check out the Secret Garden hostel in Quito. It is probably one of my favorite stops in all of SA. 2) Be sure to do some biking while you are in the area. I would check out the flying (or biking? I can't remember) Dutchman. I did a couple tours with them and they were great. 3) Hike Gua Gua Pachinchia (forget proper spelling). It is a great hike in the area and more rewarding than Cotopaxi (although you HAVE to go there too). enjoy! Noel My blog: www.travelblog.org/bloggers/wiggy

[The Byford Mob]

Totally cleansed
Wow, what an experience, with the cleansing of body and soul, you must be ready to continue your journey with renewed stamina, it made great reading, when you get back to Australia, if I see you lurking down the paddock on all fours I will just assume you are reliving this event. After having a horse at home nearly all of your life Paul I must say what a pleasure it was at last to see you sitting astride one, you look so comfortable and relaxed on it, all I can say Casey is well done to have managed to get him to take the ride. Take care..Mum.

[Marilyn]

Ecuador is just so colorful and Beautiful!
Yes.... you still have sooooo much more to see of this AMAZING little country. One thing I want to correct you is that "Panama Hats" are NOT from Panama they're 100% from Ecuador they're known as Panama Hats because they were sold in the Panama Canal many years ago by Ecuadorians, but unfortunately due to the tourists that bought them there that name was given. Weird that you didn't learn about that!!! every Ecuadorian knows that and you'll read it on ALL the Ecuador Trip books! In spanish they're called sombrero de Paja Toquilla nobody calls tthem Sombrero de Panama

[Darwing]

FANTASTICO!
THANKS FOR SHARING! I'LL TAKE OFF NEXT YEAR FOR SURE