Baños, baby!

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.

New volunteers!

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?