You move to a new country for a year and think you've got all the time in the world to do everything it is that you want to do. So the year passes and you travel and eat strange things and meet new people and think that you are going to do everything it is that you want to.
And maybe you do.
But somehow, when you get to those last 48 or 24 hours in-country and you're literally hours away from boarding a plane, you stop and think: "Wait! I'm not ready!" Somehow there just wasn't enough to time to take that one trip to that one place that you always wanted to visit but kept putting it off because you had "so much time." Or you weren't able to visit that one cafe with the really good dish that you just had to eat one last time because you know you'll never find that food in your hometown. Or you didn't get the chance to take that one last walk around your neighborhood and etch every detail onto your brain in indelible ink.
When it comes down to it, you're never completely ready to say good-bye.
This year in Ecuador can't be summed up in a blog post so I'm not even going to attempt it. I've had the opportunity to see and experience so many amazing things this year and this list only just begins to touch on them:
I've climbed one volcano and biked down another.
I've eaten guinea pig and cow tongue and cow belly (Not stomach. Belly.).
I've visited the middle of the world.
I've canyoned down a waterfall.
I've experienced my first earthquake.
I've been stranded at a gas station in the middle of Ecuador and lived to tell the tale.
I've become (fairly) conversational in Spanish.
I've fallen in love with my students.
And my host family.
And Ecuador.
Hopefully, the culmination of all of my posts and videos and pictures over this year have painted a fairly complete picture of how this year has affected me. But even I know that I won't fully realize exactly what this year has meant to me until weeks, months, or even years later.
I don't know when I'll be back. I don't know if I'll see my students again. I may never know if Ana really did become a doctor or if Miguel and Bryan became soldiers. I don't know when I'll see my host family again or if the Ibarra I left will be the same one I someday return to.
But I do know that Ecuador has left it's mark on me. In little ways--like my newfound love of fritada. And in much larger ways--like teaching me what it means to live like a Latina.
This year is only the second time in my life that I've missed out on Thanksgiving in the states. In spite of my travels, somehow I've almost always managed to make it back home for this holiday.
When I applied to the WorldTeach program I knew that based on the length of my stay in Ecuador (and my small stipend amount) that I wouldn't be able to swing a trip home for Thanksgiving. It didn't seem like a huge inconvenience at the time because, honestly, who's thinking about turkey in the middle of February?
But as the months passed, and November grew closer, and my friends and family at home began chatting about Thanksgiving plans, and my Facebook news feed started to blow up with all things Thanksgiving, I began to feel that little twinge of homesickness. After all, what was I going to be doing for Thanksgiving? Turkeys are insanely expensive here (no, turkeys are not native to Ecuador, who knew?), I didn't know any gringos in Ibarra who might just happen to be whipping up a Thanksgiving meal, and I was skeptical about the possibility of streaming the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade live from NY to Ecuador.
Well, lucky for me, as part of the WorldTeach program, we are required to have an End of Service conference to wrap up our experience in Ecuador and prepare us for whatever may come after. And, luckier for me, that conference happened to land right on the fourth Thursday of November. Suddenly, I had not only one, but nine other gringos to celebrate with. And most of us could cook!
It didn't take long for all of us to realize what this meant. We were going to attempt our very own Thanksgiving meal right in the heart of Ecuador! The owners of the hostel we were camped out at were kind enough to give us free reign over the kitchen and with a little ingenuity, some hastily printed recipes, and a few crazy hours in the kitchen, we ended up with a beautiful Thanksgiving dinner.
One of the host moms in Quito cooked us a lovely turkey and delicious homemade gravy, and between the nine of us volunteers we ended up with a complete spread of: mac and cheese, mashed potatoes, green bean casserole, soup, salad, Carolina ale, rice pudding, apple crisp, and ice cream. And since we made enough to feed a small Ecuadorian army, we even had the traditional Thanksgiving leftovers (complete with turkey sandwiches) which were thoroughly demolished the following day.
I just want to say a huge thank you to our director, CJ, and to my wonderful group of fellow volunteers who made this Thanksgiving one of the most memorable I've ever had. As always I have so much to be grateful for and this year you are all at the very top of my list!
I hope that everyone back home in the states had a beautiful Thanksgiving as well and I look forward to sharing an equally beautiful Christmas with you!
"Que las almas de los fieles difuntos por la misericordia de Dios descansen en paz." (May the souls of the faithful departed through the mercy of God rest in peace.)
Today is Dia de los Difuntos.
Today we remember the dead.
Most of what I know about this holiday comes from what I learned in my high school Spanish class. All I remember was pictures of brightly painted skulls being paraded through crowded streets and somehow coming away with the impression that this holiday was basically the Latin American version of Halloween.
Today, I realized it most certainly isn't.
After lunch, my host sister encouraged me to take a walk in the cemetery near our house. She wanted me to witness for myself the customs associated with this day. I had already sampled my host mom's colada morada and guagua de pan, the traditional food and drink eaten on Dia de los Difuntos, so I was interested to see what actually happens.
I thought it might rain so I took my umbrella. I knew the minute I stepped out onto the sidewalk that something special was happening today. Normally Ibarra is quiet on the weekends. People are home with their families are out at the lake. But today, everywhere I turned there was a cluster of people slowly making their way to or from the cemetery.
As I made the turn onto the street that the cemetery is located on, the trickle of people turned into a flood. Suddenly there was no room. Every available space on the sidewalk was crammed with shifting bodies or eager vendors. I ditched the sidewalk for the side of the road, willing myself not to flinch as the buses and taxis passed less than an arm's length away from me. But at least I could breathe. And walk at a normal pace.
The entrance to the cemetery was flanked on either side by even more vendors. I paused for a moment to examine their wares. Garish purple, black and silver wreaths made from tinsel and gift bows framed the stalls. Fake flowers in every shade of neon glared from tiny glass vases. Small prayer cards stamped with images of Jesus and the saints and trimmed with lace tumbled out of plastic containers. Every now and again, I would catch sight of someone selling fresh flowers and their soothing, organic colors brought a small sense of tranquility to the chaos.
Then the crowd surged behind me and I found myself inside of el Cementerio San Miguel de Ibarra.
I'd never visited an Ecuadorian cemetery before. I'd walked past this cemetery many times but never had any reason to enter. The first thing I noticed was that the stone wall to my left was actually full of coffins. Instead of rows of headstones laid out on grassy knolls, the interred had been placed in holes in the wall. The opening to those slots which had been "filled" had a panel of glass placed over them to seal them off and stated the name and year of birth and death of the person.
I watched as the family members of the deceased carefully placed the oh-so-recently purchased wreaths and flowers on the ledges in front of the glass. Others stood quietly looking on. Possibly saying a prayer or meticulously coaxing old memories from their forgotten corners.
But those moments, those moments of quiet reflection and prayerful mediation, were actually few to be had. As I wandered further into the maze of crypts and crosses and shrubbery, the spirit of the cemetery took on a livelier air. Children recklessly chased each other around headstones (I found headstones--some of the deceased were buried in the ground). A few of the wilier vendors had slipped inside and were loudly advertising their cold beverages. Adolescents lounged carelessly against the stone crosses while they chatted with their friends. It seemed I had found myself in the middle of a neighborhood block party, not a cemetery supposed to be full of thoughtful remembrances.
But my surprise and slight annoyance at the lack of decorum quickly gave way to an overwhelming sense of joy. Yes, today is meant to remember loved ones lost, but it's also a day to celebrate loved ones living. There in that cemetery couples young and old were walking arm in arm, neighbors were catching up on news, grandparents gently rocked their grandchildren on stone benches in the shade of the trees. Life in all of its beautiful stages was here, too.
I kept walking.
I found myself in front of a large family crypt. It was made of intricately carved stone and the inside was lined with polished tiles. On the ledges, vases brimmed with freshly picked flowers. I had passed many of these crypts as I strolled through the grounds. Each was meticulously kept up. Some were even built with glass walls or had small chandeliers hanging inside.
But the door to this crypt was open and on the stairs leading down into the crypt sat an old woman. Her skin was little more than crumpled tissue paper and her small form had been slowly pressed into a gentle curve over the years. On her lap rested an open Bible. There she sat, lips slowly tracing each vowel and consonant, as she read aloud to her husband? Her son? Her sister?
My fingers ached to take a picture. I wanted to somehow capture that second's breath between life and death. For there she sat, literally and figuratively, on death's doorstep, remembering those gone before and, perhaps, considering her own mortality. I wanted to capture her serenity. For even though she sat so close to eternity, I could feel her sense of peace radiating through the tiny doorway.
She stayed with me as I meandered to the exit and slowly extricated myself from the crushing throng. I thought of her as the crowds thinned and the streets grew quiet. Her small form sat quietly hunched in my mind's eye as I found myself back on my very own doorstep.
There she sat. Her lips slowly tracing each vowel and consonant with each breath in. And out.
In Ecuador, it's just another day. The end of yet another month.
In America, well, we all know what goes down.
Personally, I don't really celebrate Halloween and have never understood the hype. BUT, the director of our school explained that since Halloween is a hugely popular American tradition and since part of our role at CECAMI is to share our culture, she wanted Ashley and I to host Halloween parties in our classes.
I had no idea what sort of reaction to expect from my students. Halloween is not a thing in Ecuador by any means and I just kept imagining the whole thing going south quickly.
To "encourage" my students to participate and come to class in costumes, I promised 5 extra points on their final exam.
It's truly wondrous what bonus points can do to a person. At 8am on Monday morning, I was greeted by the following sight:
I was completely taken aback by the lengths my student went to for an 1 1/2 hour Halloween party at their supplemental English class. I honestly think some of my students spent more time on their makeup than the actual length of the party!
If you would like to see pictures of myself and Ashley in our costumes along with pictures from our Halloween scavenger hunt and the afternoon class' costumes, just click here!
Yes, I'm back with another 'adventure' blog for your reading enjoyment.
This time I left the 150 foot waterfalls of Baños behind and headed three hours south to take a bike ride down one of the world's highest active volcanoes, Cotopaxi.
A trip to Cotopaxi had been in the works for awhile, but after the struggles of climbing Pichincha, I was certain that I did not want to climb it. Not only is it higher than Pichincha, it's also colder and snow-capped. Each time I saw it's white, frosty top glinting in the sunlight, all I could envision was my colorless fingers and the painful hours I spent on top of Pichincha.
I wasn't sure what else could be done on or near a volcano aside from climbing it, so when I discovered it was possible to bike down Cotopaxi, I was all in. I would get to be right on the volcano without having to commit to the brutally cold ascent to its peak. (My fingers silently rejoiced.)
Of course I immediately invited the other Ibarra volunteer, Ashley, to join me and from there our group swiftly grew to include her boyfriend and four other volunteers from the September group. Suddenly, I was planning a group event!
My Type-A side stepped in and did its thing and I managed to get the tour booked, a hostel reserved and everyone coordinated (including a few last-minute additions and drop-outs) to be at our meeting point in Quito on Saturday, October 26th at 7am on the dot.
My biggest fear for the whole trip was the weather. Nothing would be more miserable than biking down a mountain in the pouring rain. Since I had organized the whole event, I felt partially responsible for everyone's enjoyment. If it rained the entire time and everyone was miserable, it was going to be an awkward bus ride home. (If they even let me ride inside.) So when I woke up Saturday morning to mainly blue skies, I was hugely relieved to say the least. The day was off to a great start.
We met up with the rest of the tour group at a cafe a few blocks from our hostel. There we met Fernando, our slightly-too-energetic-for-7am tour guide. (Although, I guess a guy who bikes down volcanoes for a living does need a certain amount of va-voom.) The rest of our group consisted mainly of German tourists (obviously) and some guys from Holland.
As we all said our "hellos," I surreptitiously checked them all out. Was that the slight bulge of a well-toned calf muscle under those capris? Were those custom-made biking shoes? I couldn't help it. My competitive side kicked in and I wanted to know just how ridiculous and out of shape I was going to look next to these rugged, wilderness junkies.
Because our group was rather large (I think there were 13 of us?) we were split into two jeeps to make the 1 1/2 hour trek to Cotopaxi. Thankfully, I ended up with the girls from our WorldTeach group so I didn't spend the entire trip eyeballing bicep circumferences.
Cotopaxi isn't just an active volcano. It's also a 130 square mile national park that has its own museum, and is home to Limpiopungo Lagoon, three other volcanoes and a host of wild animals including bears, deer, condors, foxes, and wild horses. We stopped at the entrance of the park to register (its required) and were told that these were the last bathrooms we would see until late in the afternoon. We were also encouraged to take advantage of the warm wool accessories for sale if we had failed to bring our own hats, gloves, and scarves. I had brought gloves and was wearing two jackets, a long-sleeved tee, a short-sleeved tee, leggings and shorts. After Pichincha, I was leaving nothing to chance. Or so I thought...
The minute we stepped out of the jeep at the starting point of the ride I immediately wished I had worn six more layers. The gentle breeze that had been blowing at the park entrance had turned into an icy, gale-force wind that could have easily knocked over a small child. (Or a balance-challenged, 5'9" gringa. Just sayin'...)
The need to look cute was instantly replaced by the instinct to survive. On went the gloves, up went the zippers on my jackets, down went the leggings into my socks, and over went the hood on my head. Aside from my face, there was not a speck of bare skin to be seen. (see pic below)
Now that I was as properly attired as was possible, all I wanted to do was hop on a bike and get to a lower altitude as soon as possible. Fernando quickly reviewed the basics of using a 21 speed, told us that each bike had been set to 2nd gear, and that we shouldn't mess with gears 1-3 on the left handlebar at all. If we needed to shift up or down, we were told to just use gears 1-7 on the right handlebar. (Don't forget this little tidbit, it factors into the story later.)
And then we were off. I honestly don't know what I was expecting. I had never been downhill biking before but somehow being blown back and forth on a 60 degree angle trail consisting solely of sand and gravel on a frighteningly insubstantial bike was not what I had anticipated. If you loosened your grip on the handbrakes just the tiniest bit, your bike instantly started racing down the mountainside at an alarming rate. And seeing as there was a hairpin curve every few meters, my hands never left their deathgrip on the brakes.
Keep in mind that those gale-force winds were still doing their thing this entire time. This mean that 1) my already precarious balance was made even precarious-er and that 2) after about 1-2km I had lost all feeling in my hands. (Sound familiar? Keep in mind I had two pairs of gloves on.)
I decided that saving my fingers was far more important than maintaining my pride so I waited for the jeeps (who were following us) and decided to ride inside for the remaining 4-ish kilometers to the next meeting point. Clearly, I wasn't the only one having issues. As soon as the other WT girls saw that I was ditching my bike for the heated jeep, they quickly hopped off their bikes too and joined me. Apparently, none of them could feel their fingers either. I can only imagine how many fingers would have been left along the Cotopaxi trail if none of us had admitted that we were having trouble.
It's amazing what a difference 6km made. By the time we reached the next meeting point, the temperature had drastically increased and the wind had drastically decreased. Now I was ready to hit the trail! I hopped back on my bike and set off at the front of the group (I had to regain just a little bit of my pride).
Since I was finally biking in earnest, I realized that I needed to adjust my gears. Following Fernando's instructions, I left my left gearshift alone and started clicking my right gearshift. Nothing. I clicked up. I clicked down. Still nothing. Great, I thought. Typical non-functioning Ecua-bike. I should have known.
I was clearly distracted while I fiddled with my "broken" gearshift. We were still headed downhill (though at a lesser incline) so I was going at a fairly brisk pace and the path was still littered with rocks, holes and patches of sand. I kept looking up, down, up, down, trying to check my chain while also avoiding any hazardous obstacles.
What happened next was so quick that I'm still not entirely sure what happened. One minute I was on my bike. The next, I wasn't. I vaguely remember swerving to avoid something. Perhaps a rock? And then my right side was slamming into the ground and my bike was on top of me.
I think I was more startled than hurt. (Aaand there went that pride again. I couldn't seem to hang onto the tiniest shred of dignity that day.) The bikers behind me jerked to a halt and wanted to know if I was okay and was anything broken? I jumped up as quickly as I had fallen and brushed off their concern. I was fine, just a little shaken up and annoyed that my bike was not working.
Back on the bike I went and we were off once again. At the next meeting point, I looked down and saw this:
Apparently, I had gotten a bit more beat up than I had thought. (The rest of the day I just kept discovering additional cuts and bruises and then realized there were even more once I stepped into a hot shower. Ouch!)
Once I had caught up with Fernando, I immediately pointed out that my bike gears were not working properly. After a thoroughly demeaning speech on How One Uses a 21 Speed Bike (Revised for Slower Learners), I patiently explained that I understood the concept and had used 21 speed bikes before.
You want to know what the problem was? My bike had been left in 1st gear (it somehow was skipped during the bike check) and so, of course, gears 1-7 were not working! And since the numbers were missing from the gearshifts (again, typical Ecua-bike) I had no way of knowing what gear I was or was not in.
Well, after that little issue was resolved, the rest of the day was simply beautiful. I couldn't get enough of the insane vistas that surrounded us on all sides. One minute I felt as though I was on the wide open plains of Montana (it has plains, right?), the next on the wild tundras of Alaska, and then the rolling hillsides of some quaint European country. With every dip and curve in the road an entirely new scene rolled itself out before me.
There was also lots of wildlife, just as the website had promised.
I don't know that this little guy counts as "wildlife" per se,
but he was cute and deserved a picture too.
My sole frustration was that because of the often treacherous terrain I had to spend entirely too much time watching the road instead of gawking at my surroundings. I did take quite a few pit stops, however, to take pictures and video.
And Fernando also picked a great lunch spot for taking photos. We stopped to eat at the Inca ruins and after a short uphill hike we found ourselves on top of a massive hill overlooking miles and miles of the Cotopaxi park.
After lunch and a quick bathroom break (behind the jeep...take that, rugged wilderness junkies!) we got back on our bikes for the last 13 kilometers. The rest of the bike trip continued to be spectacular (and injury-free) and, before I was ready, it was time to pack up the bikes and head back to Quito.
I know I've gone on about this before, but the natural diversity here in Ecuador is unbelievable. In just a few hours you can go from beaches to volcanoes and from mountains to the Amazon. And if that's not enough, you can always hop a plane to the Galapagos and be awed all over again. Every time I think that Ecuador can't surprise me any further, it just whips out another natural wonder from behind its back and floors me once again.
So since I posted a vlog entry to mark my two month "anniversary" at the beginning of my year, I thought it only fitting to post another vlog to mark the last two months. Can you believe it's almost over?!
I played around with the editing a bit on this vlog so let me know in the comments below what you thought. :)
Since August, I've been steadily checking off my list of Places to Go in Ecuador. With only a little under 3 months left until I'm back stateside, I've been trying my best to hit all of the Ecuadorian hotspots my budget will allow for.
After my trip to the coast and Cuenca, the only other city I really wanted to visit was Baños. (I'd love to see the rainforest before I leave, too, but I'm not sure I can make my money stretch that far...)
Katelyn and Susannah had come up to Ibarra from Quito on Tuesday and on Thursday night the three of us set out to Baños. The plan was to spend the night in Quito and get an early start the next morning. We were hoping to get a full two days of activities in before I had to head back to Ibarra on Sunday.
As usual, however, Ecuador had other plans. Friday morning I woke up at the hostal feeling ill. It was the usual nausea/upset stomach deal that has become just as much a part of my Ecuador experience as the never-ending rice and towering volcanoes.
I automatically ran through the list of things I had eaten the previous day and whether or not I had swallowed an inordinate amount of Quito water while brushing my teeth. I came up clear on both accounts. I decided to see if some tea might settle my stomach and went to the breakfast room with Katelyn. I whipped up a cup of black tea while Katelyn kindly made me some toast. Unfortunately, whatever devious organisms were attacking my insides thoroughly enjoyed the tea (they were undoubtedly British parasites) and I immediately felt worse.
The European girl who happened to be sharing our breakfast table took pity on the now clammy and moaning American girl and fetched a bottle of some foul-smelling herbal remedy from her bag. The Tresuberfguten (I have no idea what it was called but from the letters I could make out, I'm sure it was something close to that) tasted as bad as it smelled and my first reaction was to run to the bathroom and dry heave. But, after a brief thirty minute rest I felt (mostly) healthy and I told the girls I was road-worthy.
Unlike the painfully long bus trips I took in August, our ride to Baños was a pleasant 3.5 hours. The short distance and having two travel companions to accompany me made all the difference.
After checking into our hostal, we grabbed lunch and took a walking tour of the town. Baños is tiny but insanely picturesque. Of all of the places I've visited so far, Baños is my hands-down favorite simply because of its sheer natural beauty.
Like Ibarra, Baños is surrounded on all sides by mountains. But because Baños is significantly smaller than Ibarra, that feeling of being completely walled off from the outside world is much stronger. And because of its proximity to the mountains, they somehow seem steeper. I felt as though I had been dropped into a valley in the Swiss Alps and half expected Heidi to come barreling down the mountainside in search of Grandfather.
View from the rooftop cafe at our hostal
Our wanderings brought us to the base of a beautiful waterfall several blocks from our hostal named Cascada de La Virgen (waterfall of the Virgin). The Virgin Mary is said to have appeared here years ago and since then people have flocked to Baños to pay homage to her, thank her for her miracles, and ask for a blessing.This legend, along with the famous hydrothermal springs in Baños, is where Baños derives its full name, Baños de Agua Santa (baths of sacred water).
Cascada de La Virgen
Manantial de La Virgen de Agua Santa (Spring of the Virgin of the Sacred Water)
Because of its natural beauty and plentiful waterfalls (more than 60!), Baños is also extremely popular with the adventure sport crowd. Just walking down the short street in front of our hostal, we were offered opportunities to go rafting, canyoning, horseback riding, bungee jumping, four-wheeling, kayaking, and pretty much any other verb ending in "-ing." After perusing our options, we settled on going canyoning the following morning (which, according to Wikipedia is a blending of "walking, scrambling, climbing, jumping, rappelling, and/or swimming"--sounds like my walk to school every morning...).
We ate dinner at Casa Hood, a restaurant that Annie had recommended and that is highly popular with the gringo crowd. In fact, aside from "Gringolandia" in Quito and the weekend market at Otovalo, I don't think I'd ever seen so many gringos in one place until I arrived in Baños. I'm fairly certain that the gringo/Ecuadorian ratio was largely in our favor. (Especially since Baños only has a population of about 10,000.)
It's always interesting meeting other gringos who are here for a few days or weeks visiting "our" country. I know I'm just as gringo as they are (and that my love for peanut butter runs just as deep), but somehow there exists a distinction between them, the tourists, and us, the temporary ex-pats. They're here for the frills and thrills and we're in it for the long haul--the good, the bad, and the parasites.
Our canyoning group left at 10am the next morning. Phil had arrived in Baños late the previous night and joined Katelyn and I. We were given wetsuits, shoes, harnesses, and helmets and then piled into the back of a pickup for the 10 minute ride up the mountain.
Don't let those smiles fool you. Those wetsuits were HOT!
The plan was to spend the morning canyoning down the lower half of a waterfall. I wasn't sure what to expect seeing as I had no previous canyoning experience. I had rappelled before, though, and was hoping that the majority of the day would involve that. My hopes increased when we spent the first 15 minutes at the site being led through a tutorial on how to rappel correctly. The tour guide, Nacho, (yes, Nacho) even called on me, the "sexy chica," to help demonstrate some of the techniques. (He proceeded to call me that for the rest of the tour and by the end of the morning I had somehow become his "wife." Fret not, this is quite typical Ecua-banter for men here.)
The first section of the waterfall was small and relatively easy to navigate. Because we were such a large group, they hooked up two sets of ropes so that two people could rappel down simultaneously. Thankfully, I ended up on the rope that canvassed the rock wall beside the waterfall and was not in the waterfall itself.
Makin' it look easy
After a short hike further down the waterfall, we reached the next section we were going to canyon. I thought the procedure was going to be much like the first section. But this time, instead of rappelling down, we were hooked together in pairs and slid down the fall much like a waterslide. As nice as the water looked and as much fun as riding a waterfall sounded, all I could think of was my poor bottom bouncing over the rocks that were surely hiding underneath the rushing water. Katelyn and I were the second group to go, though, so I didn't have much time to contemplate my soon-to-be bruised backside. Apparently, Phil had had the same thought and told me to signal him when we reached the bottom to indicate just how painful the ride was.
Riding the waterfall!
My fears were unfounded. As soon as we had situated ourselves at the top of the fall and leaned backwards like Nacho instructed, we were instantly swept away by the force of thousands of gallons of water pushing against us. I'm not sure my butt ever even touched the bottom.
After completing the second fall, we only had one left to go. It was the biggest of all three and consisted of a straight forty-five meter, ninety degree drop. Of course, at that time we had no idea what was waiting over the lip of the fall and assumed that we would be rappeling down it much like we had the first one.
When it was my turn, I cautiously made my way down to the edge of the fall (still couldn't see what was down there) and allowed Patricio (the other guide) to hook me up to the rope that would take me to the bottom. Before descending, he asked me to lean backwards out over the waterfall and extend my arms so they could take my picture. At first, I flat out refused. My hands had clamped down on the rope in an iron death grip and I wasn't sure I could open them even if I wanted to. Besides, the rock edge that I was precariously balanced on was slick with water and there was literally nothing beneath me. Eventually they coaxed me into the following pose:
That face. It says it all.
As soon as the shutter snapped, my hands flew right back to the rope and I held on for dear life. I still thought I was going to be rappelling down at this point and began to slowly inch my way down what was left of the ledge. Patricio kept on telling me to "walk, walk!" and I remember thinking, "there's no more rock for me to walk on!" But I tried. I kept "walk, walking" right up until the point Patricio let go of the rope and I free-fell 150 feet.
Katelyn, who had been standing next to me on the ledge, told me afterwards that she had turned away for a moment and when she turned back all she saw was an empty space where I had been standing and my fading screams as I fell down the waterfall. She, too, had been expecting to rappel slowly down and when she saw what had just happened, she knew why we had been told we would be "given further instructions" about our descent when we got to the ledge.
So our entire canyoning experience ended with an adrenaline rush of the highest order. One by one, the tour guides unceremoniously dropped us off the side of a 150 foot waterfall without so much as a "hold tight!" And it was awesome!! I pretty sure I sprained a vocal chord with all of my screaming but when I reached the bottom, part of me was tempted to sprint back up there and give it another go. (And this is coming from a girl who is terrified of heights.)
After canyoning, I was sure that aside from bridge-jumping there weren't any other adventure sports that would match the thrill of canyoning down a waterfall. We were going go-karting that afternoon and while I was excited, the life-and-death, cliff-hanging peril was lacking. Or so I thought.
We hopped in our karts and cruised around the downtown for a bit and then decided to head outside of the city to check out some of the other waterfalls. After passing a lot of signs promising beautiful vistas and hiking trails, but not seeing any marked turn-offs, we decided to turn around and try our luck on the other side of Baños.
We pulled into the parking lot of a small tienda that was situated on the edge of a sharp curve in the road. The steering on the karts left much to be desired (and we couldn't figure out how to reverse--I have sneaking suspicion it wasn't equipped with that function) so after much pushing and pulling we were finally able to get ourselves facing the way which we had come. Phil began to pull out into the middle of the road and instead of turning left, the go kart stalled and continued to roll straight across the road into the ditch. Katelyn and Susannah, who were following closely in the kart behind us, were now straddling the double yellow line and we were perched half-on, half-off the road with a dead kart.
We all had the same thought simultaneously and turned in horror to look at the sharp turn in the road where some car, truck or bus at 50+ MPH was sure to come whipping around at any second and scatter us to oblivion. And there we were. Dead in the road with a go-kart that wouldn't start and couldn't make a left turn.
Sure enough, seconds after we had gotten ourselves stuck, a silver car came blasting around the curve straight at us. He swerved at the last possible minute and instead of killing us just fixed us with a contemptuous stare and roared on. The owner of the tienda, seeing that the deaths of four gringos was imminent and that the ensuing accident would block the road and potential customers, kindly ran up the road a little ways ahead of us in an attempt to warn oncoming traffic.
Meanwhile, Phil, Katelyn, Susannah, and I scrambled to get the kart back on the road and the engine running. With all of us working, we were able to get ourselves situated and safely back on course within the next thirty seconds. I realized that the little orange button on the dashboard was the starter and with a push of my finger we took off again, shaking and laughing hysterically.
We never did find any waterfalls, but the go-karting met my quota for near-death experiences for the day and I was satisfied to spend the rest of the evening relaxing on the roof and enjoying a delicious pasta dinner.
Sunday Phil and I had to head back to our respective cities since we had to teach Monday morning. I wanted to get in one final activity though before calling it quits. Right after breakfast (it only cost us $1.50!), Katelyn and I rented a pair of bikes and decided to take another shot at finding one of those sixty waterfalls.
This time we headed out of the city in the opposite direction and after a few miles (and one insanely steep hill) we found not one, but two, beautiful waterfalls. And there, rising majestically over both of them, was Tungurahua, the very active volcano that has forced the citizens of Baños to evacuate on more than one occasion.
I was awestruck. It was another clear day and the stark, snow-capped top of Tungurahua stood out sharply against the painfully blue sky. It's streaked, gray sides towered over the now innocuous-looking mountains like some dormant stone titan. The thought that it could start spewing lava and ash at any moment only made it seem that much more menacing. And tantalizing. It drew me in much in the same way as a caged lion or a monster twister. You know it's dangerous but you just can't help wanting to get closer. To try and touch it. I remember watching a movie about tornadoes when I was younger and deciding then and there that I wanted to become a storm chaser. What is it about objects of great power and magnitude that pulls us in in spite of the risk to ourselves?
Tungurahua in the distance
We biked back to the hostal just as Phil and Susannah were finishing up their breakfast. Susannah decided to join us for more biking and Phil decided to spend the morning doing his own type of adventure sporting, "terracing." This hugely popular sport counts among its enthusiasts aged Florida retirees and bikini-clad teenagers and involves spending hours laying out on lawn chairs on a terrace (or similar location).
Our second bike trip proved just as fruitful and this time we stumbled across a beautiful hiking trail along the river that runs beside Baños. We ditched our bikes and hiked down into the ravine that took us closer to the river and directly below the massive bridge that spanned it. (While we hiked, some poor soul jumped off of it (with a bungee cord) and I was grateful yet again that I had chosen not to go bridge jumping.) It was a short but scenic hike and the perfect way to wrap up my time in Baños.
At the beginning of our hike
The bridge jumper...I did not envy him
I went back to the hostal to collect my bags and Phil (exhausted from "terracing" no doubt) and soon we were on our way back to Quito.
I'm happy to say that the ride home was uneventful. I was not dropped off on the side of a road or stranded at a gas station and I did not wind up on a bus going in the opposite direction of Ibarra. All and all a very successful bus ride.
However, about 40 minutes outside of Ibarra, I looked out of my window and happened to see what appeared to be two lines of fire slowly inching their way down a darkened mountainside. My first instinct was "Ohmygosh!! A volcano has erupted! It's spewing lava! I wonder if Ibarra is being evacuated??" But as I looked around at the nonplussed expressions of my fellow passengers, I realized that it had to be something far less significant. (Or volcanic eruptions just really weren't that big of deal here: "What's going on, honey?" "Oh you know, Imbabura just erupted. Again. Could you pass me another Pilsener?") I knew that Ibarra was celebrating the beginning of its city festival that weekend but was lighting a mountain on fire really one of their traditions?
My question was answered the next day in Spanish class when I asked my teacher about it. Apparently due to the dry, windy summer we've been having, wild fires have become pretty frequent. My "volcanic explosion" was just another wild fire doing what wild fires do best: terrorizing unsuspecting, paranoia-prone gringas.
So. That was my amazing weekend in Baños. Incredible. Exhilarating. Achingly beautiful. If I can manage to make another trip back there before I leave, I most certainly will.
In the meantime, enjoy more photos from my trip here and click below to see some video footage from Baños.
I mentioned in a blog post several weeks ago that I had recently reached my six month mark here in Ecuador. This not only meant wading through a maelstrom of fluctuating emotions, it also meant the arrival of a new batch of fresh-faced WorldTeach volunteers.
The new group of twelve arrived in Quito at the beginning of September. After briefly "meeting" them during the webinar last month and after spending the better part of a month alone in Ibarra, I was ecstatic to see some new "gringo" faces.
I had volunteered to lead one of their orientation sessions, so on Friday (the 13th!) I hopped on a bus and made my way south. This was the first time I had been on a bus since coming back from my Ecua-tour in August and I was still dealing with some residual bus anxiety. I knew it was only a 3 hour trip, but it didn't keep me from visualizing all of the ways I could NOT end up in Quito.
After I had safely arrived, I met up with two other February volunteers, Susannah and Katelyn, who were also leading a few of the orientation sessions. It had literally only been a month since I'd last seen them, but after four lonesome weeks in Ibarra I near-killed them in my excitement at seeing a familiar face.
When Annie left at the end of July and the two summer volunteers at the beginning of August, I told myself that two months on my own in Ibarra were totally manageable. I had my host sister and my few (but wonderful) Ecua-friends to pass the time with. And I could finally catch up on my reading. And maybe learn a few new guitar songs.
But then Ruben got accepted to a university in the US and left, Lenin became tied up with work, and Fernanda went back to school for teacher in-services. And I could only read for so long. So my relaxing three week vacation soon devolved into a depressing, homesick disaster which was only further exacerbated by the fact that I was not feeling well. I found myself longing for classes to start in September and fantasizing about lesson planning. Anything to break up the monotony and give me a change of scenery.
So, needless to say, when September did finally roll around, and classes began, and the new volunteers arrived, and I hopped on a bus to Quito, I was very VERY happy.
The topic of my orientation session was Classroom Management. Not the most interesting topic by any means, but certainly one of the more crucial ones. After having taught for almost seven months, I was surprised to find that I was nervous walking into the conference room on Friday morning. Butterflies in my stomach, sweaty palms, the whole bit. Somehow shifting from a class full of Ecuadorian students to a room of twelve of my peers, caused me to lose a bit of my "teacher swag." What if I gave them bad advice? What if they knew more than I did? What if I screwed up in front of them? What if they thought I was a complete joke and utterly incapable of helping them adjust to life here?
Obviously all of my fears were completely unfounded. Not only were they attentive and interested, they were brimming with questions about all aspects of life in Ecuador. To them I was this confident, knowledgeable volunteer who had survived in Ecuador for seven months and knew the secret for doing so. I know this because that's exactly what I thought when I was sitting in those chairs seven months ago.
The truth, of course, is that I don't know everything. And all of the experiences that have led me to this point are mine alone. Yes, I did my best to share the basic tenets for survival in Ecuador and any tips and hints that would make their transition smoother. But by the end of their year here, they will have their own stories of getting stranded in random places, eating strange things (and, consequently, having your body behave strangely), and figuring out how best to deal with that irascible student in your class.
My session ended smoothly (and on time!) and the rest of the day I spent helping the volunteers prepare for their first day of practice teaching on Monday. That afternoon I was also surprised with a gift from the home office as a thank you for helping out with the webinar in August. Apparently, at some point during the webinar I had bemoaned the fact that I couldn't find peanut butter here. So I was rewarded with a package of gummy LifeSavers and my very own container of creamy JIF. (I may have teared up a bit when I opened my package. And I may have foregone a spoon and ripped off the seal and ate a few helpings with my finger because I just couldn't help myself.)
Saturday we took the volunteers to Parque Carolina. It gave us plenty of time to get to know them outside of the conference room and it gave them the opportunity to ask us any further questions about life in Ecuador. (It also gave me the chance to finally see Parque Carolina since I hadn't during my orientation.)
Getting fro-yo with the gang after our morning in the park
I was also able to bond a bit more with the new Ibarra volunteer, Ashley (she's standing to the left of me wearing the purple scarf). We had exchanged a few emails before she arrived and it was clear that she was excited about joining me in Ibarra. I don't think I realized just how excited until I met her! She was nearly bursting at the seams with questions and comments and it was all I could do to keep up with all of them.
Life in Ibarra will certainly be different once she arrives. I've settled comfortably into my life here and have spent the last seven months carefully establishing my day-to-day routines. Having Ashley here will give me the chance to re-experience Ibarra through her eyes. All of those things that to me are just part of the normal grind, will be brand-new and interesting (or totally weird) to her. And I'm really looking forward to it. What better way to wrap up my year than with the same enthusiasm and curiosity than I began it with?
Yesterday, my wonderful host mom invited me to join her and my host dad on a short trip to the neighboring city of Otavalo. I'd been there a few times before to check out their amazing market, but last night was the opening parade for Fiesta del Yamor or, the Festival of Yamor. It's a two week long festival of thanksgiving that is celebrated in Otavalo every year at harvest time.
The parade was a vibrant mix of bands, floats, clowns, and dancers and showcased the different indigenous cultures of the Sierra. There were also dance groups from other parts of South America, including Bolivia and Colombia. Seeing as there was a never-ending display of music, dancing, and colorful costumes, I was absolutely enthralled for the two hours we were there.
Unfortunately, my body had other plans and we had to leave before the parade ended. I was, however, able to get quite a bit of footage of the parade on my camera (before my battery died AND my memory card ran out of space--my camera was conspiring against me too).
I had a front row seat (being the edge of the sidewalk) so I was able get some great shots. In the video, you'll get to see firsthand some of the amazing indigenous culture here in Ecuador which I haven't been able to feature much of on my blog. Enjoy!
(Apologies for the streaks in the video. My lens needs to be cleaned.)
If you recall, I promised that I would update my list of Ecuadorian pros and cons as my year progressed. Seeing as I just recently passed the sixth month mark of my time here, I felt that an update was in order. So without further ado, Part 2...
Oh Ecuador...
- I appreciate the warmth and closeness of the Ecuadorian people. But, no, I do not want you to be so close to me in the grocery store line that your boob is grazing my elbow. I'm sorry. I'm not okay with that.
- I understand that this next one is something born out of necessity and not recklessness, but it bothers me just the same. I can't tell you how many times I've seen a mom, dad and their infant child squeezed between them riding full speed on a motorcycle. I know it saves on gas and a lot of people can't afford cars but still...it gives me a minor panic attack each time.
- The slow pace of life. Sometimes you just want things to get done right now.
- If I am out on the sidewalk walking, it means I am going somewhere. And that I would like to get there relatively quickly. I realize my legs are longer than entire people here, but if you could just move to one side of the sidewalk and not walk directly in the middle arm in arm with six of your besties, it would be greatly appreciated.
- When Ecuadorians ask you to go and run an errand with them, one errand, know that you will most likely be gone for the rest of the day. Or at least a solid five hours.
- We've established that germs don't exist in Ecuador. But it still makes me a bit squeamish when the same cup that eight other people have just drank out of is passed to me and I'm expected to drink up and pass it on.
- Buses. (If you've been keeping up with this blog, you know why.)
Oh Ecuador!
- Ecuadorians do not waste food. All you need to do is watch them eat a chicken leg and you'll understand what I mean.
- The slow pace of life. Yes, it's okay to spend the whole day in your PJs lounging around the house watching TV and knitting. No one will judge you or tell you to get your life together. In fact, they'll probably join you.
- That moment when the clouds part and the skies clear and you can see the very tops of all the volcanoes and mountains and you realize yet again just how incredibly majestic they are.
- Eating with your fingers! That's right. There's no shame here. Who needs a knife when God gave you ten fully functioning fingers. You go right ahead and dig in, girl!
- Things are cheap here--five bucks will get you a long way. Unfortunately, this is going to lead to some major reverse culture shock when I return home. "$3.00 for a hamburger! What?!? I can get a soup, main dish, dessert, and a freshly squeezed juice for $2.50!"
- As a minority from the midwest, I'm used to being the only brown face in the crowd. But here in Ibarra, thanks to the mix of Ecuas and Afro-Ecuas, I blend right in. Being dark-haired and brown-skinned is the norm not the exception here. And I like it.
Okay, I think that just about covers it.
I might do one more installment in December at the conclusion of my time here. We'll see if anything new crops up between now and then.
Until then, stay tuned and if you haven't already, sign up for email updates to my blog. Just enter your email address in the upper right hand corner and new blog posts will automatically be sent to your inbox. No need to keep checking back every few days (I know you all do!). :)
(Apologies again for the delay in getting this post up. Just to clarify, this trip happened before "Porto-ma-cuenca.")
As much as I love the mountains and the outstanding
volcano in my backyard, after almost six months in the sierra, I was ready for
a glimpse of the ocean.
I had been tentatively planning a trip to the coast for
weeks but still hadn’t made any concrete plans when my host mom invited me on a
family vacation to Esmeraldas. Apparently a huge group of family and friends
had booked a tour and were planning to spend a weekend at the beach. Problem solved.
To make the most of our weekend and to be sure that those who had to work would be back by Sunday night, we left at 1am on Saturday. I didn't have the most comfortable seat and there was nothing to see out the windows, so I did my best to sleep for as much of the 7 hour ride as possible. Unfortunately, sleeping became increasingly difficult as the hours passed and our little bus was transformed into a mini-sauna. Lots of hot bodies and heavy snoring will do this. The middle-aged women on the bus (who happened to be in the majority and all sitting next to the windows) refused to open their windows because the "night air would make us sick." But as I sat there sweating off the last of my water weight and fantasizing about iced coffee, I decided I would have gladly braved pneumonia for a whiff of fresh air
We arrived at our hostal, Cabanas Caribe, around 8am (and several pounds lighter). Things couldn't have proceeded, though, without the requisite Ecua-chaos and so we spent the first half hour getting things situated with the rooms. Apparently, the hotel had planned for us to double up on beds and no one was having that. My host mom took charge and haggled the hotel owner into submission and after a delicious breakfast and chance to change into swimsuits, we were off to the beach.
The street outside of our hostal
We spent the morning at Tonsupa. It was a gorgeous beach complete with great waves and a host of cute cabanas serving cool drinks, seafood, fruit, and ice cream. There were also an insane amount of vendors selling beer, hats, flotation devices, handcrafted jewelry, etc. If it could be sold, it was for sale.
Tonsupa
I wasn't up for swimming, but I did make a heroic effort at trying to get a tan. It's tricky with the Ecuadorian sun. It's strong so it would be foolish to go without sunscreen, but in order to properly protect yourself you need a sunscreen with a high SPF which means, no tan. I do think I ended up with a "glow" regardless.
After the beach, it was back to the hotel for lunch and a quick siesta and then off to another beach, Same (pronounced SAH-may). The sun had decided to take a siesta of its own by this point and the wind had picked up, so we stayed out of the water and stuck to sightseeing. I didn't like Same as much as Tonsupa, but it did have a great lookout with a view.
That night we headed back to Tonsupa to check out the nightlife. The beach was ten times as crowded as it had been during the day and we actually had to wait in traffic to get to the beach. Everyone and their mother was out dancing, eating, and shopping at the little boutiques along the boardwalk. The older people in our group stayed and chatted for about an hour and then left us young ones to dance the night away.
We had another early start on Sunday and after a debate about which beach to go to, half of the group decided to go to Atacames and the other half (my group) went to Sua (pronounced SOO-uh). As with Same, I didn't like Sua half as much as I did Tonsupa. There wasn't much sand and the sand that was there was wet and packed from the tide coming in. Also, the sun was still AWOL which made the whole morning a bit gloomy. The great thing about Sua though was that the water was warm and due to it's location there are little to no waves. (Don't get me wrong, I love wave-jumping as much as the next person, but sometimes it's nice to splash around without being knocked over the head by a giant wave.) It was very much like being in a ridiculously large swimming pool.
For lunch, we met up with the other group at Atacames. Out of all the beaches, Atacames is undoubtedly the most tourist-y with lots of foreigners and places to spend your money. Since we had a bit of downtime before the restaurant opened, we checked out the local artisan market and I wound up with a henna tattoo.
My henna tattoo of a Kanji symbol meaning "truth"
Lunch was more delicious seafood (I got shrimp) and since I finished early I thought I'd swing by the market one more time to check on a pair of earrings. I finally found what I was looking for and returned to the restaurant to meet up with the rest of the group. Not a soul was there by the time I arrived. I frantically called my sister and she told me that everyone was already on the bus and they were leaving. Well, we all know my luck with buses here in Ecuador is non-existent, so I hightailed it through the crowded sidewalks as fast as I could. Thankfully, Fernanda had made it clear to the driver that one was missing so I was NOT left behind this time.
By the time we arrived back at the hostal, it was time to pack up and say our farewells to Esmeraldas. We had a 7 hour trip ahead of us and people who needed to be in bed for work the following day.
My sister, Fernanda, and I on the bus home
The trip back was decidedly more pleasant than the one going. I had a window seat and plenty of daylight to take in the passing countryside.
View from the bus
I think the thing that struck me the most about the coast was the poverty. Ecuador is a third world country so there's poverty everywhere. You can't escape it. But somehow the poverty on the coast was more pronounced. The dirt roads, the dust, the shanty towns with rows upon rows of huts with bamboo walls and corrugated metal roofs, the barefoot, shirtless children aimlessly wandering about in the heat, the lack of anything new (buildings or otherwise)...I guess I just sometimes forget living in my quaint little neighborhood in Ibarra.
It's easy to forgot when I can walk out of my house with its Wi-Fi and cable and indoor plumbing onto a clean, cobble stone street and walk down the main avenue with it's cafes and supermarkets and beautifully landscaped parks. It's easy to forget that the majority of this country does not live this way. I guess my trip to the coast jarred me back to reality.
It hit me even harder when three little boys with buckets of sugar cane hopped on our bus about three hours into our trip. It's customary here in Ecuador for bus drivers to allow vendors on the buses to sell their wares (usually food) to the passengers. At first it really bothered me (and sometimes it still does) but it can be quite convenient to purchase a delicious, piping hot empanada for 20 cents from the comfort of your seat. The boys made their rounds and it quickly became clear that none of us were interested in making a purchase. The boys moved back to the front of the bus as though to exit, but instead they began to cause a scene and demand that somebody buy something. Perhaps they were just being mischievous or perhaps they'd had a slow day and needed something in their hand to take home to their parents (if they even had parents), who knows. But either way they refused to get off the bus. They were literally hanging onto the the door frame to keep from leaving. It finally took several grown men and a lot of shouting to physically push them off the bus so that we could continue.
Once they left, the bus settled back into normalcy and no one seemed to be bothered by the ordeal. I, on the other hand, was fairly shaken up. Again, I don't know the reason for their obstinacy, but I couldn't help but think that, for them, it was worth risking getting physically thrown off a bus then to go home with a full bucket and empty pockets.
The sun sets early here and by 7pm it was dark outside my window. We were back in the mountains at this point and the straight, flat roads of the coast had again turned into the windy, cliff-hugging pathways of the sierra. A thick fog began to roll in and I could see the lights of the bus reflecting off the wet pavement.
Suddenly all of the warnings the WorldTeach directors had given us about night buses flashed into my mind. They had been very explicit about their stand against taking night buses during orientation and in fact had each of us had had to sign a waiver saying that we would only take night buses at our own risk and that we had been properly warned of all the dangers which could befall us. At the moment, all of those dangers seemed imminent. I mean just how well could the driver see through the pea soup we were driving in? And we all knew guardrails were a luxury and not a necessity. I tried my best to focus on the movie (which happened to be The Impossible and all about the Thailand tsunami and people dying and being battered to bits) and not think about what I should try and hold on to in the event of a tumble down the mountain.
The fog didn't last long, thankfully, and just as my heart rate was nearing normal, we came across a roadblock being manned by a couple of soldiers. There, again, were the WorldTeach directors in my head, telling me how bandits would set up fake roadblocks in order to get buses to stop and then rape and pillage those on the bus. I stared anxiously out the window straining to overhear the conversation between the driver and soldiers and trying to remember where I had put my passport. A moment later, the soldiers waved us through and I mentally kicked myself for being so paranoid.
We arrived home in Ibarra safe and sound at 10pm. I was afraid that we would have to do the whole Ecua-thing and hug and air kiss everyone goodnight. Seeing as there was 25+ people on board it would've taken a solid ten minutes, I'm sure. I hovered by the door of the bus with my bags subtly watching my host family to see what they were going to do and, apparently, they felt the same way. A brief wave and shouted "good nights" and we went our way and they went theirs.
My first coastal experience was a mixed one. As always, the astonishing natural beauty of Ecuador left me breathless and amazed that so much diversity could be jam-packed into such a little place. But the stark contrast between that and the indigence of so many of its people left me feeling slightly off-balance. How could I sit around on a pristine beach eating mango while just yards away barefoot kids were hawking coconut water just to make a few cents?
It reminded me of the post I wrote a few months ago about coming across the dead dog on my way to Guayabillas. We have a responsibility to open our eyes to the reality of the world around us and sometimes we won't like the image looking back at us. But instead of closing our eyes or shifting our gaze, we have a decision to make--are we going to do anything to try and change that picture?
It was a bit of trial putting this blog post together. We all know my superfluous tendiences and trying to succintly sum up a nine day vacation to four different cities was not easy. But I tried. There's plenty I left out so, as always, if there's anything specific you'd like to ask questions about, just leave me a comment.
Okay, so the long-awaited "tour" of Ecuador has finally happened. I seized the day (or week rather) and decided to use some of my downtime to see the other volunteers and get a glimpse of the Ecuador outside of Imbabura.
I tried to be as logical as possible about my travel
route and wanted to spend as little time on buses as possible, so my first
stop was Portoviejo. I figured I could start there, swing by Machala, come
right back up through Cuenca and then home to Ibarra. (see map below)
Well, the plan to “spend as little time on buses as
possible” immediately went out the window as I spent a total of 13 hours on
three different buses just to get from Ibarra to Portoviejo. Seeing as Ecuador
is about the size of Colorado, I’m
not entirely sure why it took 13 hours. I’m guessing it had something to do
with the fact that we stopped every 30 minutes to allow people on and off the bus and the fact that the insanely windy roads meant that if we went over 50 MPH we would have tumbled off the
side of a cliff and that we had to wait while the driver stopped at
a small roadside café and sat down to a full course dinner. Just saying. So, after leaving my house at 6:30 that morning, I was greeted in Portoviejo at 9:00 that night by the
smiling faces of my two fellow volunteers, Dani and Tommy. Having survived on
empanadas and granola bars for the last 13 hours the only thing I wanted to do
was eat. Thankfully, Dani and Tommy knew the perfect little sandwich shop... and
so began my Portoviejo experience.
The following day Dani, Tommy, their respective beaus,
one of Tommy’s friends, and I all headed to Manta to visit La Playa de
Murcielago (literally, Bat Beach). The weather seemed to disagree with our
plans as a thick cloud cover followed us all the way from Portoviejo to the
beach. In spite of the clouds, though, the weather was warm and by the
afternoon the sun even made a brief appearance. We did the beach thing: laid
out in the “sun,” played a quick game of volleyball, waded in the waves, and
ate delicious seafood. As much as I love the mountains, there will always be a
place in my heart for the ocean.
Sunday was a bit of a chill day. We checked out the
shopping mall in Portoviejo (appropriately named “Shopping”) and ate lunch in
the food court. We don’t have a proper mall here in Ibarra so it was like
stepping into a little piece of America for a moment. After lunch, Dani and I spent the
afternoon at Parque Forrestal, a beautiful park complete with a lake,
playgrounds, and ice cream vendors. Oh, and giant lizards.
It's a bit fuzzy, but that is one (of several!) wild lizards that were roaming about the park
Portoviejo doesn’t have much in the way of greenery, so
it was nice to be amidst a bit of nature for awhile. The only downside to the
whole experience was that the cab driver who took us back into the city tried
to give us the “gringa” price and upped the price a whole dollar. Thankfully,
Dani’s Spanish is much better than mine and she managed to force him back down
to $2. (I know you’re all sitting there shaking your heads and thinking, “it’s
just a dollar,” but it’s the principle!)
Monday morning it was back on the bus. This time to
Guayaquil and then on to Machala. The terminal at Guayaquil is enormous and I
literally had to ask for directions to find the correct bus line to purchase my
ticket. It was just like being at an international airport, complete with a
McDonalds.
The one thing I remember about the bus trip to Machala is the banana plantations. They literally went on for miles. At one point in the trip we spent almost a solid twenty minutes surrounded on both sides by nothing but thousands of banana trees.
Just like in Portoviejo, the Machala volunteers met me at the bus terminal and we spent the evening catching up. The next day was more of the same, lots of eating and talking. Apparently, eating is THE pasttime for the Machala volunteers. And they've got a pretty decent selection in Machala. It's much larger than Ibarra so there were significantly more options. And traffic. Outside of Quito, I don't think I've seen traffic since I've been here.
That evening I visited one of the local institutes to watch another volunteer, Katelyn, teach her evening class. I always enjoy observing other teachers at work--I love how each person's personality expresses itself through their teaching style.
The day was topped off perfectly with my first taste of "papipollo." I'd been hearing rave reviews of this particular food from the Machala volunteers since our mid-service conference so I was excited to try it for myself. It's basically French fries slathered in ketchup, mayo, mayo verde and a sizeable piece of fried chicken. Seeing as I'm a confirmed French fry addict, there was nothing not to love.
Yes, it looks like a fried, greasy mess. But it tastes like heaven.
The weather still wasn't cooperating and I didn't see much of the sun during my two days in Machala. However, that didn't keep us from getting out to visit "The Port" on Wednesday, an area of the city located along the water. I got to indulge my seafood addiction again, this time with a dish called, sudado. It was more or less a seafood stew made with shrimp and mussels.
Boats at "The Port"
After lunch Elizabeth and I wandered through the one of the local markets which sold everything from puppies to fresh fish. It was crowded and dirty and smelly and completely unhygienic. My little gringa stomach immediately started roiling as I looked at the slabs of warm, uncovered meat for sale. (It didn't however keep me from purchasing a piece of dragonfruit to sample.)
Elizabeth had to teach that night, so I stayed in and joined in on the WorldTeach webinar that was being hosted for the new volunteers arriving in September. It hadn't really hit me until then that I'm halfway through my year here. Somewhere in the last six months, I've become the (somewhat) confident volunteer who can share my experiences with the wide-eyed and terrified newbies. Some days it seems like just yesterday that I was clinging sweaty-palmed to my conference chair wondering how on earth I was going to make it through the year without being robbed or express kidnapped.
Thursday morning I was
on yet another bus, this time to Cuenca. At only four hours, it was my shortest
bus trip so far. In spite of the sun-soaked vistas that accompanied me along
the way, by the time I arrived in Cuenca I was greeted with more clouds and rain.
It was also freezing. So after a disappointing Mexican lunch at a restaurant
near my hostal, I decided to stay in for the evening and make good use of the
free internet. I also spent the time getting to know my roommate who was from
Holland and was backpacking around South America. (One of the terrific things
about hostals: the awesome people you get to meet!)
Katelyn met me in Cuenca
the next morning and seeing as there was sunshine (finally!), we decided the
best way to spend the day would be to take a walking tour of the city. I’m
still not sure how a city like Cuenca came to be in Ecuador. Ecuadorians
themselves will admit that Cuenca is unlike any other city here. It’s like
you’ve stepped out of Ecuador and been transported to some quaint European town
thousands of miles away. The architecture and landscaping is absolutely
beautiful. Cuenca is certainly a city made for leisurely wandering--which is
exactly what we did for eight hours. I don’t think there was a minute when my
camera wasn’t out. I love to take pictures of churches and there seemed to be
one on every street corner.
Cuenca is also a city
chock full of gringos. Apparently the European flair is a huge draw for retired
Americans who want to live well for cheap.
The next morning, after a delicious
breakfast at the hostal and a precious few more hours chatting with the Machala
girls, it was time to begin the first leg of my journey home. The distance from
Cuenca to Ibarra in a bus is about twelve hours. And after the grueling trip
from Ibarra to Portoviejo, I decided splitting it up over two days would be
best. I booked a hotel room in Ambato (seven hours from Cuenca) and would then
complete the next five hours to Ibarra the following day. If only things ever went as planned...
(Excerpt taken from an FB
message sent to the Machala girls after arriving in Ambato)
Sunday, August 18, 9:28am
Okay, so getting to
Ambato yesterday proved to be way more difficult than it should've been. It
started off bad enough since I was headed to Ambato but had no idea where to
get off since we weren't going to the terminal. And then I started to get a
little bus sick along the way (which never happens!). But anyways by the time I
had reached Riobamba I was starving and really had to go to the bathroom. I
didn't get off the bus once when I was headed to Portoviejo because I was
afraid the bus would leave me. But this time the bus stopped at a gas station
and nearly everyone got off so I knew I would be okay.
I went to the bathroom and since there was
still a long line of women after me I figured I had time to buy a quick snack
in the convenience store. The woman in line in front of me was from the bus too
so I knew I was still okay on time. I paid for my stuff and I walked to the door just in time to see the bus pulling out of the station onto the highway. It was like something
out of a horrible nightmare. I immediately ran after it wildly waving my arms but it was already
pulling onto the highway and I knew it wasn't going to stop. There aren't words to express how sick and terrified I felt! Somehow my stomach managed to have lodged in my throat and dropped to my feet at the same time. There I was, stranded in the middle of
nowhere at a gas station and both of my bags were still on the bus!! There were
several Ecuas at the station and they all just stared at me as I dazedly walked back to
the convenience store.
Of course I immediately called Lee on the
brink of a nervous breakdown. I seriously thought I was going to lose it right
at that gas station. I could barely hold the phone i was shaking so much. Lee
offered to call the bus station and see if she could get them to hold my bags
at one of their offices in either Ambato or Quito and I asked the owners of the
station if they could call me a cab to get back to Riobamba.
By the time I got to the bus station in
Riobamba, Lee had called to tell me that the bus was going to leave my bags in
Quito at their office. So I hopped on a direct bus to Quito. I wasn't going to
get there until close to midnight and had no idea where I was going to stay or
what I was going to do, but I didn't want to risk losing my bags.
Well, about five minutes into my trip, Lee
calls to tell me that no actually my bags have been left in Ambato and I
shouldn't go to Quito. I'm on a direct bus to Quito at this point, mind you. So
Lee's like, give the phone to the drivers assistant and I'll explain that you
need to get off in Ambato. Well, he refused to take the phone from me and talk
to her. So I told Lee I'd try to work it out myself. When he came around to
check my ticket I tried to explain my situation. Spanish is tricky enough as it is, but when you're near-hysterical, trying to make yourself understood is basically impossible. It didn't help that he was unfriendly either, but he did agree to let me off in Ambato. The only problem was that it was dark and I had
no idea when we would arrive there and I wasn't sure if he would let me know
once we had.
So I spent a long anxious hour peering out the
foggy window hoping by some magical intuition I would know where we were. I
finally asked the guy next to me if he could just let me know when we arrived.
However, it turned out the driver's assistant announced the stop and even showed
me where to get a taxi.
Lee had told me that my bags were waiting at
the main bus terminal for me. But I saw a small Express Sucre (that was the bus company I was traveling with) office directly
across the street from where the bus had let me off. On a hunch i decided to
check for my bags there before heading all the way over to the terminal. And
sure enough there they were! I almost broke down all over again out of sheer
happiness. Lol
From there I hailed a taxi to my hotel and
thankfully the rest of the night went smoothly after that...
So, yes, apparently I have a knack for getting left in random places by buses. Not good when you live in a country where that's the main source of transportation. Thankfully, the bus ride to Ibarra the next morning was uneventful and I arrived home around 5:00pm on Sunday night. Aside from my traumatic bus incident to cap off my vacation, I thoroughly enjoyed getting out to see more of my temporary homeland. Ecuador is a beautiful country with incredible natural diversity. From the sierra to the coast and back again, I passed through golden wheat fields, towering volcanoes, dusty, sage-brush strewn hills, and the ever-undulating coastline. Somehow within this little, Colorado-sized country, God managed to squeeze in just about everything. Click here to check out pictures from the trip! (I realize I still haven't put up a blog post for my trip to Esmeraldas, but it should be posted soon. My internet connection here at the house has been on the fritz so I've been blogging in spurts. But it is coming!)
