The last of Ecuador.

So, I'm way behind here. I have enough problems keeping track of time on a day to day basis, so I'm sure you can sympathize with the overwhelming task of "chronological order". In realidad, I am in Peru: recovering (hopefully for real this time) from six weeks of mal functioning organs, experienced a country wide strike (here's to hoping Machu Picchu is open), got off of Malaria pills (maybe until Bolivia), and am now acclimating to altitudes of 4000+ meters, again. But I had to get from Cuenca, Ecuador to here, so I regress to Vilacabamba, Ecuador....



Vilcabamba, or the Sacred Valley, is known for its peeps living well into their hundreds. Some man in Baños tried to dismantle this "myth" by telling me that, historically, when someone inherits land, that person takes on the name that is tied to the deed. So, three generations of land owners, literally, appears to be one person who lived like 120 years or something. Following this conversation, the man handed me a business card entitled, "Mariposa Man" and then pointed to his hatchback finger painted with butterflies, like the gesture and the car validated his identity. I've been really open to meeting fellow travelers, but this guy seemed lost. Upon arriving at Vilcabamba, I believe that people live well into their hundreds here: open skies, lush valleys, wild horses and views to take your breath away. Yep. Pretty radtastic:

Following this amazing ridge line trek, Michelle, Lizz and myself got lost, as we tend to always do, and ventured into three miles of overgrown river beds- streaming with water, ransacked with steaming cow pies and thicketed in spider webs. Mis amigas cleverly named me ¨Dora¨as in Dora the Explorer after I climbed into the air conditioning unit in our hostal room in Baños. Apparently, besides just being a curious soul, Dora gets assigned to machete through blankets of enormous spider food traps. Which, I am proud to say, I did. Another encounter with wildlife on this trip has been the cows. I am completely scared of them. Especially when they travel in packs of 20+ and have horns. 4-H did very little to ease this fear. Por ejemplo, on the easiest hike offered in Vilacabamba, we encountered cows, had to take like ten detours to get around them and wound up sweating and exhausted after five hours of up and down through terraced country side. Geez, these things crap everywhere, pollute the water ten fold, make it impossible for me to order the Ecuadorian ceña cause its usually beef.... friggin cows.

So, in Vilcabamba, we met up with German, used to be rock star, Sven. He endured getting lost, avoiding cows, and bowel movement conversations for a whole day and plans on meeting up with us later...in Peru. Here we come Peru!

We look just like the ¨Gente¨

Three days of water bombings, dancing, bars and an erupting volcano chased us out of Banos to the colonial city of Cuenca: cobblestoned, steepled, and quiet. Real quiet. Ariving at 2am the streets were bare, the clouds rolled in and we found ourselves in a deserted hostal with high ceilings, queen sized beds, old creaky floors and neon green walls. Appartanly, Carnival scared everyone off here as well.

Cuenca is reminsecent of a marble shop. Blues, pinks, yellows, light greens and tan blanket the city in the most well lit scene of a Spanish or Italian film. Large domed cathedrals stand in viewing distance of the next and the streets are clean. Outside of the city limits, people litter here like I have never seen. I had to restrain myself from yelling a grown man for finishing off his papas fritas mid- bus ride only to shove the styrofoam bowl and fork out the window. It´s a relief to stumble upon a landscape that isn´t its own landfill as well.

We found the offical Panama hat museum just five blocks from our accomadations, Barranco. Get this straight: Panama hat fibers are grown outside of Montecristo ECUADOR, boiled down, dyed, and hand woven by the villagers. Then taken to the local hat shop they are pressed steamed preserved and finished with a band and/or some plumage. They were tagged with the name ¨Panama Hat¨ because they were exported in large quantities to workers building the Panama canal. The superfino sombrero takes four to five monthes to weave together with fibers so thin and taut that the hat can hold water. Of course we had to get our own (of lesser quality) to sport around town. With our straw fedora like accesories, no one can even tell that we are Gringas! I swear, we look just like the gente. In addition to the interesting tour of the factory and the historical significance of the hat, our tour guide suggested that we stick around and check out his addition to the shop. He lead us down a stair case presenting us with a cafe boasting numerous bags of Ecuadorian coffee. Dark roasts, light roasts, nutty, chocolaty etc. So, this place is already my drem come true AND THEN he asks if we would like pen, paper and crayons to do a drawing for the wall. He tries to get all visiotrs from around the world to sport a little sketch to be wheat glued to one of the walls. My jaw dropped and Michelle, Lizz and I ordered cafes and spent the next three hours constructing an image of our tour guide, Efrain and ourselves flipping our new somberos onto our heads. So hot. We presented the drawing to him, took about 20 photos, exchanged emails and said goodbye. As promised, if we return to Cuenca and the hat shop, our drawing will be framed rather than wheat glued to the wall.. awwww yeah.

Mural Pictures!

the start.

Finished...ish. :).

Craters, volcanos, lakes, waterfalls and more.

It´s hard to breathe at 12,000 feet, especially after three bus trips, the last was standing and white-knuckled as the bus screeched around hairpin turns and the chicks in the brown paper bag scratched and clucked away in similar anticipation to my own. The roads are wet, as everything has been and erosion here is a big big problem. At one point in the trek all passengers had to get out of the bus because it was sliding down the mountain road under its weight. We walked down a couple of switchbacks before boarding the bus again.

Laguna de Quilotoa is an enormous opaque turquiose puddle spanning the bottom of a crater high up in the Andes. The small town adjacent to the lake is full of green felt fedora wearing indeginous folk. Bright red sweaters and wool pashminas add color to the richly green mountain sides that sit cold and quiet with fog that sweeps in an out in a matter of minutes. Climbing around the interior of the crater was thrilling- the cliffs drop straight down and the mudslides are recent and very real. There is a lot of littering here and garbage is burned daily, which dyes the edges of this stunning place with a strange smell and a reminder that people are constantly subject to the environment rather than in control of it.

Met some friends here. Shared stories straddling the equator line, cartwheels over it, hand stands, staying at the Secret Garden in Quito and eating huge communal dinners with travelers from all over the world. It´s pretty much a big party on the Gringo Trail: cheap, thrills, quick friends in the midst of everyone trying to find something that means something. Or something that moves them.

Michelle, Alicia, Liz and myself are stuck in Baños cause it´s too damn fun here. The volcano is smoking, but hard to see on most days as the clouds come in and sit right on top of it by 10am every day. There are thermal baths, hiking, pub crawls and oh yeah, Carnival. Last night was the official evening- huge parades: bands, dance troups, clowns, cross dressers, devils and then the crowd that turned into a huge water fight with squirt guns and silly string. Dios Mios, the silly string. Pretty much everyone is your enemy and they try to squirt foam straight into you face. Totally awesome and fun until some of that nasty soapy stuff went straight into my eye and then I got pegged with an egg. Gross. It´s okay though, I chased the guy down and screamed at him in my fluent Español. He told me it´s how all the guys flirt around here. Yeah. Totally ready to date that guy now after the romantic gesture of raw egg in my hair. Michelle and I hit the strip, bathed in the bano sink and danced salsa the rest of the night.