"Autobusted"

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I got as early as a start as I could today, as I had to go all the way back to Quito to be reunited with my wayward roll-on bag. Somehow though, even the darkest cloud has a silver lining. In this case the silver lining was my seatmate, a very interesting fellow from Canada who was returning to Quito after a two week tour around Ecuador much like my own. Donavon was leaving Baños for Quito, where he was flying back home. He was from a small town in British Columbia, and had spent time in Quito before flying down to Quenca and then traveling to Loja and Vilcabamba. Donavon and I were traveling the same route, but pretty much in reverse. In fact, we had stayed at the same little hotel in Quito, just a couple of weeks apart. We found that we both had similar perspectives on life, and were interested in scoping out the country for possible future relocation. We talked almost the entire trip..ok, so I talked almost the entire trip but he did manage to get a few words in edgewise. Since I had previously navigated the public buses in Quito, Donavon hung with me all the way through connections at Quitumbe into the city center. We parted ways at the central downtown bus stop but not before swapping email addresses and promising to keep in touch, since we also had similar timelines for retirement and I had already performed a lot of the research that he was now planning to do.

I climbed that blasted hill to the La Rosario hotel one last time, and retrieved my luggage. I had contacted Ms Cabrera when I got to Quitumbe terminal, and she agreed to meet me at the hotel. I wanted to give her the presents I had brought from Georgia, partly because I wasn't sure if our paths would cross again, and partly because I didn't want to lug the stuff all around Ecuador for the next two weeks. To my dismay, the jar of Georgia Mountain Honey that I had brought for the Cabrera family had broken, and my clothes were a sweet sticky mess. On the good side, Herschel's world famous jelly and Rachel's homemade strawberry-fig preserves made it unscathed.

After a quick introduction with and goodbye to Ms Cabrera, I boarded a bus back to Quitumbe station for my long, long trip to Pallatanga, where I had reservations for the night at an eco-farm for the night. Since there is no direct route from Quito to Pallatanga, I had to go to Riobamba and then take a bus going to Guayaquil and get off at Pallatanga. I had to wait almost an hour for the bus going to Guayaquil, and by the time I got on the bus it was already dark. I tried to call the eco-farm and let them know I was going to be arriving late, but I couldn't get through to them and I didn't have internet connectivity, so I was unable to contact them. Once again El Mundo Vagabundo was tapdancing on the narrow ledge of disaster.

Once again I was the lone gringo in a sea of Ecuadorians, but I stuck with it, clambered upon the bus, and spent the next hour half dozing and half watching "The Bourne Identity" on the large-screen TV in the front of the bus. I had no idea that Matt Damon spoke Spanish so well!

After the movie, the rather stocky guy next to me, who had not spoken a word for the first 90 minutes, asked me in Spanish why I was going to Pallatanga, as no one ever went to Pallatanga. Evidently he had overheard me tell the ticket taker that I was only going so far as Pallatanga. Alejandro, as that was his name, had grown up in Pallatanga, and was going home to visit his family. He did not speak a word of English, but that didn't stop us from having a spirited conversation for the remaining portion of our trip. It turns out that Alejandro lives in Orellana, which is in the Amazon portion of Ecuador, and is popularly known as Coca (interesting association). He's a chauffeur, and regularly drives all over eastern Ecuador, shuttling oil and aid workers all over the Amazon region. He informed me that there were no taxis in Pallatanga, not even a bus station really, but he would make sure that I got to where I needed to go. When the bus finally arrived in Pallatanga, it was well after 10:00 pm, and most every place was closed. Alejandro took me across the street where three men in a small shop were drinking beer. After a hearty welcome home to Alejandro and a brief discussion, centering apparently on the collective astonishment that a gringo wanted to come to Pallatanga, one of the men grabbed my bags and threw them into the back of his pickup truck. Introducing himself as Samnuel (yes, with an N) and offering me a delicious tangerine that he said grew next to his bed (I'm assuming he meant next to his bedroom window, but it's Ecuador, so one can't be sure what the truth was.), we headed out to find the Ecovia Organic Farm and Hotel. About two unpaved roads, three turns, and five minutes, Samnuel pulled up in front of the Ecovia gate. A sign clearly said that the was no entry or exit after 8:30, but Samnuel tooted his horn and in a few minutes someone was walking up to the gate. Seemingly unperturbed by my late arrival, Ricardo, the proprietor, had me fill out a guest registration and promptly took me to my cozy little room. He explained when breakfast hours were, gave me a rundown on the next day's planned activities, and wished me goodnight. It was five minutes til 11.00. I made a quick survey of the room, used the bathroom, and while undressing contemplated the possible downside of taking a late-night shower under the "suicide fixture", so called because the heating element for the hot water is wired directly into the showerhead. While weighing the pros and cons of a clean body versus certain electrocution, the power at the farm went off, sparing me the agonizing decision. It was exactly 11:05 according to my cellphone.

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