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Published: August 31st 2009
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When someone in Vilcabamba tells you to "go take a hike," they might mean it literally. The mountainsides are lined with trails where locals have trod for centuries to get to their homes and sugar cane fields. Even today, many homes are accessible only by foot and residents must carry food, water, furnishings and other supplies up... and up... and up, often with the help of a friendly burro. Looking across the valley from our casita, vertical lines snake upward and lead to homes perched on the mountainside.
No wonder this is called "The Valley of Longevity!" Cardiologists know better than try to set up shop in this town with the amount of exercise these good locals get. The streets have more pedestrians, horses, and burros than cars. Locomotion, either on two or four feet, seems to be the preferred mode of travel—in spite of the hills. Taxis help out when needed.
We got a little taste of the Vilcabamban "high life" when we went to check out the property of new friends LeiLani and Kevin, home designers from Santa Cruz and Couer d'Alene. They're supposed to close escrow next week on a hectare (2.46 acres) on just about
the highest mountaintop you can see from here. They thought we might like to buy the hectare next to them.
Of course, that's if an evil gringo realtor (EGR) doesn't sell the land out from underneath them first.
When Lelani and Kevin went to visit the property last week to see if the surveyor had staked their property lines, they were surprised to see the EGR standing with a stranger on their land. It turns out the EGR was trying to sell it to the newcomer—for more than they were paying—even though he was well aware of Kevin and LeiLani's deposit and knew they were just about to close escrow! Oops. Busted. But he's safe. There's no Board of Realtors to complain to here!
With the issue of ownership resolved—they hoped—off we went in a taxi (a Toyota truck) and climbed and climbed and climbed on a partially washed-out dirt road far above the valley. When the taxi went as far as it could, we paid the driver and got out and hiked the rest of the way. The taxi fare was a measure of how high we climbed. It costs $1 for a taxi from any
point A to point B in Vilcabamba. A taxi rents for $8 an hour. Our journey to the stars cost $5.
The view from their mountaintop was awe-inspiring. Far below us on one side, the valley of Vilcabamba. 180-degrees in the other direction, the vast Podocarpus National Park, the source of their drinking water, which is more "nectar of the gods" than just plain old H2O. We stood there for awhile in the warm sunshine and strong breezes and admired the view they would see every morning when they awoke. It seemed strange that even Brian and Meredith's Montesueños — that I'd previously thought was on top of the world — was far below.
And although the view was to die for, Jack and I decided that LeiLani and Kevin were a lot more adventuresome than we were and we wouldn't be neighbors. "Hey, Honey. Would you mind running to the store for a loaf of bread?" might not get the response I'd like if we lived halfway to heaven.
Now there was just one problem... getting down. Ah! No problem at all. That's why God invented burro trails that run along mountain ridges. That seemed a
Not Yet...
Children work right along side their parents though. lot more fun than waiting half an hour or more for a taxi anyway... if he could even find us.
So off we went, winding down the well-worn burro trail and glad that we were going down, and not up. I felt like a true Vilcabamban. The trail seemed quicker than the endless drive up and was a lot more fun. We felt like big-time adventurers walking into the village and enjoyed our reward, a cold Ecudorian beer. Who needs a cardiologist... we've got legs!
SPEAKING OF DOCTORS...
The estate where we're renting our casita has a family who has acted as caretakers for years. It's a big property and—like all the Ecuadorians we've seen—the family is extremely hard working. The father, a diminutive man with sun darkened skin, looks as though he may be 65. He's responsible for the gardens, which are beautiful, and whatever else comes up. This past week, he and a young helper dug a 10-foot deep, 4-feet wide trench along a 22-foot wall so that mold would stop forming on one wall of our casita, which is partially built into the hillside (the "mold room" is sealed off). We've also seen him
working early morning to past dark in the gardens.
His wife, "Maria," is 53, looks older, isn't feeling well, and apparently hasn't for quite awhile now. She's a slim woman with beautiful black hair. Although she has never been to a doctor in her life, she knows she has no choice now. From what we understand, it will cost her nothing, but she is very nervous at the thought. The wonderful Argentinian woman will take Maria to the doctor in Loja and help her get through the trauma of her first visit and the tests that are sure to follow.
Medical care in Vilcabamba is limited, but there is a small hospital, named after a Japanese man who funded it. For more complete care, everyone goes 40 kilometers to Loja, and if necessary, up to Cuenca, a six-hour bus ride from here or short flight from Catamayo/Loja.
I would imagine there are a lot of people in this village who, like Maria, have never been to a doctor. It's hard to imagine when you think about our usual norteamericano experience of lifelong contacts with the medical profession. But maybe living in Vilcabamba, breathing clean, clean air, exercising,
drinking pure water, and enjoying the bountiful supply of fresh fruits and vegetables, goes a long way toward assuring locals that doctors aren't part of their normal routine.
"Preventative medicine"—a somewhat new concept to us—is just a matter of Vilcabambans living life as they always have. And don't bother comparing their life spans to ours. From everything I hear, the residents of "The Valley of Longevity" would win hands down.
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