Love Is The Place That You're Drawn To
Monday, June 18, 2012
Saturday, May 26, 2012
More Photos!
I've slowly been adding new photos to another website of mine. Please check 'em out when you get a chance. I will continue to add more, so keep and eye out for updates! Cheers.
Modern Rainbows Photos
Monday, May 14, 2012
Saturday, April 7, 2012
Crossing the Andes
The wine country of Mendoza was, well, a wonderful bike ride. I was on my bike, which I rented for the day, by 9:30 am. Soon after, off and exploring the region. As the day started, my head was pounding. The pain was near unbearable and I had not even drank a drop of wine! I decided to try food for an antidote, but finding it this early was the problem. Looking at my map, I found that down the road was an olive oil producer. They must have some kind of food, right? Gotta dip that olive oil in something!
3 olive oils, 1 balsamic, 3 olive spreads, 3 dulce de leches, 3 marmalades, 2 pepper sauces and endless amounts of bread and my head was getting back to normal. The dulce de leche with coco was amazing! I must have had 5 pieces of bread smothered with it. I even purchased an funky marmalade that I can't seem to remember at the moment. It tasted like Fall and I imagined it on some toast in the city on a cold October morning. About to walk out the door, the worker stopped me and told me that I had to try the chocolate and two of the liquors they produced there. I have never really been one for green liquors, but somehow after reading all of the labels, those are the two I went for. The first, a hot pepper flavor that didn't burn until about 20 seconds after sipping it. The second was something I had only tried once in my life before in 2007, absinthe. It still tastes gross.
Riding away from the olive oil place, my head felt immensely better and I was finally ready for wine. The smell of wine poured out from the building on my left. On the right were vineyards as far as the eye could see. The sun was getting stronger, but not yet overwhelming. Getting to the main road, a bike lane went along either side, giving plenty of room for wobbly riders at the end of the day. I visited 4 different wineries that afternoon ranging from Trapiche, the largest winery in Argentina, to Bodega Familia Di Tommaso, a family run joint that has been around since 1869. I enjoyed lunch in the shade of a giant tree, sipping on malbec and eating far too much fresh bread with olive oil. Correction: never too much fresh bread with olive oil. Returning the bike at 5:30 that evening, my body was drained. I went through 3 liter of water before 2pm. Riding all day between glasses of wine, the sun beating down, the smell of wine flooding my nostrils... it was beauty. NYTimes.com actually put up an article 36 Hours in Mendoza the day after I left.
Now, I've have seen amazing things in so many different ways... Iguazu Falls, Amazon Jungle, pristine and empty beaches, animals of all shapes and sizes... right up there at the top of the list would be driving through the Andes Mountains and entering Chile. Most of my bus rides, such as the one I'm doing in a few hours, are at night. That way I can save a nights pay on a hostel and I get an extra day wherever I am. Going from Mendoza to Valparaiso was one of the few long bus rides that I did during the daylight. It was such a good idea. Driving through the mountains on a road cut into the rock was breathtaking. The elevation we were at had to be a staggering height, only to end the trip 8 hours later at sea level. Again, an experience I will never forget.
Valparaiso... I arrived late at night and figured it would be a better idea to take a taxi, not knowing how far I would have to walk or the safety of the neighborhoods. Talking with people later, this was a good decision. I got to a bed and breakfast style hostel and immediately was excited by the city. The hostel, like so many before, was full of people from around the entire world, listening to music, playing cards, sipping wine. Being a Sunday night with nothing open, I had to settle for yogurt, a banana and apple for dinner, but some new friends shared a beer and we laughed over games of cards for the remainder of the evening.
Valparaiso is a city of hills, old buildings and 19th century outdoor elevators, all covered in art. Once my pictures get up, you'll have a better idea of what I mean. The most beautiful graffiti, embraced by the city, gives the place a feel unlike anywhere else I have ever visited. The home owners go along with it, painting their homes in bold colors, making a whole city look like the La Boca neighborhood of Buenos Aires. I ventured around the city with two friends, Rowan and Emma, that I had met the previous night at the hostel. We walked the new place, getting lost and loving it. At one point we went to the first cemetery in the city to have a look around. Arriving just after it had closed, we were pretty bummed. However, the night watchman let us in and gave us a personal tour with me translating for the other two. It started off normal, history, famous people, ect. It got a little stranger when we showed us a section that had been completely destroyed by the 2010, 8.8 earthquake that rocked the city. Apparently they had not gotten around to cleaning it all up and there were still bones sticking out of buried rocks. It got even stranger as he pulled a human skull out of a bag of bones and asked if we wanted to pose with it. I think he has spent a few too many nights alone in the graveyard.
The hostel itself was really the best part of Valparaiso. I wasted the hours away with some truly fantastic people. Each evening the owner would make fresh bread and each morning we'd all pile around the kitchen table eating the bread and drinking coffee or tea. Nights were spent playing cards, cooking food, sharing drinks, talking for hours about our travels and taking turns on youtube introducing each other to new bands. I loved those 3 days in Valpo.
I took a bus with my new English friends to La Sirena. It was their first time ever stepping foot in the Pacific. Unfortunately, it was a very cold Pacific. However, there is plenty of photographic documentation for their records. La Sirena is a small city with 29 churches, some dating back almost 400 years, only partially demolished by earthquakes. Small, but wonderful, the city has a very welcoming charm, with a large town center and markets all along the surrounding streets.
Last night, my two friends and I decided to have a "proper bbq", as they would say. We grilled peppers and onions, corn, chicken, chorizo and steak. It was a delicious meal and the company was outstanding. Pisco, is a liquor made in this region of the world, somewhat sweet and extremely easy to drink. We finished a bottle and then some wine, turning the night into a heated laughing session in the cool evening. They are still at the beginning of their trip with Bolivia, Peru and Ecuador ahead of them. I am at the end, off to Santiago tonight for a short time before heading back above the equator. It's all coming too fast...
Friday, March 30, 2012
Montevideo to Mendoza and the Madness in between
Hello again.
It's been a while, no? I apologize to all of my loyal fans who have been crying themselves to sleep at night over the lack of modern rainbows in their lives. Luckily, the rainbows are back.
There are honestly too many stories, people, places that I have experienced to share all or even most. So, I'll do my best to summarize the past month and a half of solitude from you all...
The last story was written in the Panama City Airport, this one comes from the Monkey Hostel in Mendoza, Argentina. After 8 long hours sitting in that airport I found myself in Montevideo, Uruguay and at the beginning of the low in my trip. Montevideo is great, don't get me wrong. However, leaving friends in Ecuador, missing my good pals from home and a few shady experiences in rapid sequence left me pretty damn bummed. In an effort to solve the puzzle of how to snap my mood and turn things around I did what I thought best... went to the beach.
Punta Del Diablo, Uruguay will always be a special place for me. I can remember the feel of the warm rocks, after a day of taking in the sun's rays, under my bare feet as I inhaled the salty air. Makes me think of a Modest Mouse song right now. It still took a while to get all of the wires in my brian working right again, but the ocean air was indeed a good antidote. I was staying at a small hostel with a tree house, a few hammocks and, as I would soon find out, a lot of really good people. I paid for the first 3 days, but informed the guy at the front desk that I was not sure how long I would actually be staying. On the third day, he offered me a deal where I would work at the hostel and stay for free. Having no real plans, being on a tight budget and Uruguay being very expensive, I agreed. The only catch to this incredible deal was that I would have to work the shift from 1am - 8am. The work was minimal to none, but I would have to remain awake and functioning for those 7 hours. This turned out to be completely and utterly wonderful.
In Uruguay (along with Argentina, as I would discover) people don't go out until VERY late. I'm talking 4 or 5 in the morning. This worked out brilliently. I would "work" from 1 until 4 with lots of company- drinking, laughing, playing guitar. By the time my shift was over at 8, the gang was just stumbling back. In the heat of the day, which often approached 100, we all slept or went to the beach for a few hours. I became a great fan of the late afternoon nap, cooked meals for myself all the time and read a few books. My favorite time of day quickly became sunrise. Usually I was still alone at this time. Most people were still at the bars or had gone to bed long ago. Each morning I would sit in the tree house with atun, the hostel puppy, and watch the sky catch fire. Each time was better than the last.
I could go on and on about the quality of the people I met at the hostel. The girls from Chile and Argentina... the guys from Cordoba... or my favorite roommate of the whole trip, Enzo, one of the few Uruguayan natives, just at the beach to escape life for a week. They were all fantastic. I was the last one to leave the hostel and parting with each was sad, but the experiences we shared were fastastic. A great thing to come from this was the improvement in my Spanish. With the exception of a few, no one spoke English. It was wonderful. At no point of my trip have I felt as confident in my Spanish as I did during my 2 weeks in Punta Del Diablo.
I went back to Montevideo, hoping to keep the good vibes going and conquer the city in which I had felt the worst. I did. Montevideo turned out to be a wonderful city. Beautiful buildings, parks every few blocks and my favorite place of all, Marcado Del Puerto. It is an old train station (I think) that was turned into a meat market. Not only could you purchase meats, the Marcado was lined with restaurants, throwing free wine at you just so that you'd look at their menu for two minutes. That steak is one of the best I have had in my life...
A few days later I met a really cool guy named Mike and it turned out that we were both headed to the same place, Colonia Del Sacramento. If you ever find yourself in Argentina or Uruguay, make sure this is a stop on your list. We camped, cooked food on the grill, drank whiskey, you know, real manly stuff (although I know some great Yellowstone ladies who could out camp, out grill and out whiskey drink me any day). It was a nice change a pace and I always sleep great in my tent and sleeping bag. On my last night, Mike had left for Buenos Aires to meet up with his sister and I went to a hostel, just for the free breakfast in the morning. The breakfast was great. So great that I actually got two! I sat and read my book in the morning's early sunlight, between pages debating where I should go next on my trip. I had a boat booked to bring me to Buenos Aires that evening, but was still torn about where to go once I got there. As I sat and debated, sipping on my coffee, I was joined by a girl from Germany and a guy from England. They were each leaving that day as well, but like me, had a few hours to kill first. We got to talking, then we got to eating lunch and venturing to a near by beach before departing. It was not until talking with them on the beach that I decided I would head to Iguazu National Park next. Nothing like a nice little 22 hour bus ride...
It's funny to think about the decisions that have shaped the course of my trip. Something like that... Iguazu, Patagonia, Mendoza... It was a very last minute decision, but a decision made, friends met, experiences had, lives changed. Ever seen the movie Sliding Doors? You should. So, dreading that 22 hour bus ride, I took my seat, pulled out my head phones and a pen and paper. I had not even written a thing down or switched on my iPod by the time my decision to head to Iguazu had already changed the course for the rest of my trip. Two girls sat across from me and.... they spoke English. Naturally, I sparked a conversation and over the course of those 22 hours, 3 Angelina Jolee Films, 2 ham and cheese sandwiches and countless cd's listened to, we had become friends.
Sam and Lauren are from England and have lovely English accents. I love doing a terrible English accent and being in their company made it impossible to resist. We spent the next 2 weeks together. We played over 200 games of cards and kept a tally of who won each game (amazingly, when we finished the spread from 1st place to 3rd place was only 5 games). We cooked, or really, they cooked, delicious dinner every night. We laughed, explored and lived, together.
Iguazu was the first place we shared. Unfortunately, no words I can say would even do the slightest bit of justice to how awesome (old school definition of the word- awe inspiring) that place really is. Hands down, one of the most incredible things I have ever seen. Go and see for yourself.
After Iguazu, we went to Rosario. Again, wonderful people were waiting. Rosario was home to probably my favorite hostel of the trip. The rooms were ok, typical 8 to a room, hospital style sheets, communal bathroom, ect, but the people and the overall feeling shared by everyone was amazing. I celebrated my birthday after the 3rd day in Rosario. Happy Birthday was sung to me in 8 different languages and I did not buy a single drink (remember, some of these people had only known me hours and they were still buying me a drink). It was a fantastic birthday. Cordoba followed and for 5 days we explored surrounding towns, napped in parks, played cards and drank wine... lots of wine. One night in Cordoba we ended up spending about 5 hours with one of the most... bizarre, would be a kind word, people I have ever met. I will never forget him. It's certainly worth the story, so ask me about him some time. There is just too much to say, it would make this blog triple in length.
Eventually the day came when I had to part ways. However, by this point the two ladies who were sitting next to me on a bus had become two wonderful friends. It wasn't all sad either. I will get to spend two more weeks with them while they finish their trip in New York City in July. Side note- they are doing an 11 month trip of Asia, New Zealand, South America and New York City. Some bad ass girls. They headed up to Salta while I went back South to Buenos Aires to meet my family who would be arriving in 48 hours.
Now... my life traveling around has been great. Part of the whole experience is the grimy, dirty, shitty part. For quite a while I had been sharing a bed room with anywhere between 1 and 14 other people. At times some of those people (myself included) have smelled pretty terrible. I have shared bathrooms, showers, kitchens, computers, everything. The hostel life is a fantastic thing and something everyone should experience (this is possible in America as well!!!) at some point in life. However... I will never forget the feeling of getting off of yet another night bus, carrying my heavy bag from the bus station to the hotel my parents had booked in Buenos Aires and walking into that room for the first time. I had not really slept, I smelled, I was terribly exhausted, I was... well... me, the traveling me anyway. I had my head phones on as I went up in the elevator. LCD Soundsystem's All My Friends was playing loud into my ears. As I walked into the room there were probably tears of joy in my eyes. I dropped my bags (leaving the headphones in) and danced around the room, literally jumping from bed to bed and stripping off my dirty clothes. My good friends can probably picture this and it would not surprise them in the least. Although I'm sure it would have been a sight to see, it was a moment meant just for me.
I stopped dancing and caught my breath when the song ended. Before anything else, I put on shorts and the tee shirt that smelled the cleanest, well, the tee shirt that smelled the least dirty, and went downstairs to the buffet breakfast that was included with the room. Part of my saving money means eating less frequently and spending little money when I did eat. Walking into that restaurant I felt like a king. As the hostess was seating me, she offered a newspaper for me to read while I ate. Before I could even sit, my cup was filled with hot coffee and another one on the way with fresh OJ. I very well could have died on that bus and this was actually heaven. But I didn't! This was real life. Eggs to order, meat spread, a ridiculous amount of danishes, FRESH FRUIT, cooked veggies... honestly, my life was at an incredible high at this moment. At the end of the meal, all I had to do was scribble my name and the bill was settled. I finished 5 plates of food sitting there that morning and did not eat again for 13 hours. The rest of that day consisted of showering, sleeping, showering again (it was a really nice shower), walking around town, taking a bath in a clean tub with a bottle of wine and watching a little tv with something small to eat before once again sleeping. It sounds like a day of nothing, but it was so perfect.
My parents, brother and Ivy arrived the next day. Having them here felt like fiction at first. This was my strange life in these strange lands... having them here was wonderful, but took a second to adjust to. Not too long however, with more good food and a second night in a row with a comfy bed, I was already starting to get used to this new life. We ate GREAT every day. Not even good food, f*@#ing GREAT food. I had to consume 15 pounds of steak. We traveled around Buenos Aires and together discovered how large the city really is. We drank wine until late in the evening and shared hot subway rides during the day. The greatest part was just being together. It was different, knowing that when I woke up I would spend a day with my family. I had not experienced that in a long time. I think that week was the longest the 4 of us had been together since... I'm not even sure. It had been at least a year. It was wonderful. I spent a lot of time with my brother and Ivy. Makes me excited about the next stage of life, but we'll get to that soon.
So... the family left and once again I was on my own and on a night bus. This time when I woke I was in wine country. Over the years I have come to love wines from Mendoza Argentina. A few regions in Spain and California might put up a fight, but Mendoza just may produce my favorite wine in the world. Since getting here I have relaxed. I spent two days walking around town, reading and surprisingly, not drinking any wine. I had a good fill of vino with the family and I'm trying to battle a cough that just won't leave, but don't worry too much... Tomorrow I am renting a bicycle and riding around vineyards and getting a taste for the region. I plan on going to at least 3 wineries and an olive oil producer with possible stops at a beer factory or chocolate factory. See, I told you not to worry. I'm leaving at 8 in the morning and coming back around 8 at night, so I should get a pretty solid day of true wine country in.
Well... That brings you up to date. I'm sitting at a table in shorts, t-shirt and flip flops gulping own water by the liter (up to 8 so far today, this damn cough). I am gonna finish up The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo, which I have really enjoyed and get to bed so that I'm all set for tomorrow's great wine adventure. I am guessing that tomorrow will be an early night after a day of wine and sunshine. That's not a bad thing tho. The 1st I get on a bus and head into Chile!
As I stated at the beginning of this, sorry for the huge gap between this blog and the last, but there will be more soon, so keep an eye out for more this week! Cheers.
Tuesday, February 14, 2012
Terrible Travel Day with Amazing Friends
So... This is a story about a bad day with two great people. It might be a little confusing, so I’ll explain now. The story starts at 1:48 am, goes back in time to tell of the day leading up to that point and then goes on to tell the story from 1:48 am to about 3:30 am. Think you can follow? I bet you can. Enjoy our misery:
It’s 1:48 am on a Saturday night. I have the curtain on the bus pulled back in an effort to scribble a few worlds each time we pass a street light. An old Ecuadorian woman from an oil town in the jungle is sitting next to me. Her old skin and dirty clothes are taking up part of my seat, but she is kindly turning her head the other way to cough.
It is dark on the bus, but I can make out faces of the people standing in the aisle each time the blue ceiling light turns on, letting more people on to the already overcrowded bus. About 14 rows back, my friends Mike and Elise sit apart from each other, but close enough to manage communication with one another.
We had been in close company the entire day before now. The first bus we were on was relatively empty. A six hour ride with the last 4 rows to ourselves allowing us to drink rum and laugh while the psychotic driver sped over the sharp curves of the mountain road. A movie played, then the sequel, then the trequel, if that is even a word. The star, a terrible Mexican Indiana Jones wanna be with a less than impressive singing voice, blared constantly in our ears from the speaker above the seats. We mocked the movie, spilling the coke bottle on our shirts whenever we hit a bump. Six hours of this fun and torture, and we had arrive at the first destination, Ambato.
Ambato was not a place we had wanted to visit. It served only a connection between Cuenca, where we started, and Tena, the ending point. We were dropped off not so much at a bus station, but more like an alley with a sign showing a picture of a bus. Instinctively, we walked towards more light and away from the dark alley they called a bus station, ignoring our bodies desire to find a bathroom. A Guayaquil bound bus approached and stopped in front of us. The driver opened the door telling us to get in and he would take us to the station that a Tena bound bus would be. Trusting the good in this man, we blindly followed the advise, only partially understanding the Spanish rambling.
Once again, we were dropped off somewhere we did not want to be, nor understand what we were to do next. We were standing, bags in hand, on a sidewalk of a big street with little signs of life. The street vendors were all finishing packing up for the day, as it was approaching 1 am. A few other people waited for various buses. To our relief, three were also waiting for a bus to Tena. Though they were not sure that we were in the right place or when a bus would come, having them in the same position as us made things a little better. The youngest, a boy around 9, was shivering in the cold and I gave him my coat. The oldest, a girl around 17, used her phone to play the same terrible songs impossible to escape in this country. We all waited in the cold. Just waiting, hoping desperately that this bus would arrive soon.
Each time a bus would drive by, we would gain a bit of hope, only to be let down returning to the reality of the cold, dark street. Finally, a bus came and stopped. It was going to Tena. Our excitement to get off the street was quickly squashed when we walked into the blue light of the bus, seeing a sea of people, hearing an already annoying mariachi radio station and smelling the stale fragrance of sweat, hot breath and exhaustion. The co-pilot gave us six seats, making others stand since they would only be on for half an hour and we had another 5 to go before arriving in Tena.
That is where I started writing this. However, since pulling back the shade to give myself a little light, Mike and Elise hating life 14 rows back, so much has happened. It has only been fifteen or twenty minutes, but life has somehow managed to seem even more like a living hell. The Mexican Indiana Jones blasting in our ears, abandoned on a cold city street in the middle of the night, hunger, need for a bathroom... all of that was the equivalent of heaven at this point.
A few minutes ago Mike and Elise moved towards the front of the bus when some people had gotten off. They were now a row ahead of me, but on the other side. Picture an airplane... I’m row 2, seat A (window) with the old Ecuadorian woman taking a good chunk of my street, they are row 1, seats C and D (aisle and window). I stopped writing for a second and looked up at Mikey. He was already looking at me, eyes wide. “Do you smell that?”, he mouthed. Until that point, I had been so engrossed in my writing that I had not noticed the piercing smell that could only be vomit.
In row 3, but Mike and Elise’s side of the bus, a little girl had thrown up an incredible amount of chunky liquid all over her father, the seat and the floor. Someone (not Mike, Elise or I, as we all seemed paralyzed) grabbed the attention of the co-pilot who came to the “rescue” with newspaper and knock off febreeze. There was no way to clean, so the man simply laid the newspaper over the vomit now sliding forward under the seats of row 2 and towards the unsuspecting shoes of Mike and Elise. Blending the fake febreeze and smell of the vomit was so nauseating in itself, I worried if I too may add to the smell.
The situation right now is so terrible, I can do nothing but laugh. A terible day of travel with two great friends, capped off by the smell of knock off febreeze attempting to cover up the smell of vomit coating the floor now seperating the seats between us. People shoes are slipping and screeching as they step in it while exiting the bus. What good is any other reaction besides laughing? I put Kid A on my headphones almost as loud as it will go, drowning out the mariachi music, and buried my nose into my shirt, trying to suck in as much of my own BO as possible. I looked at Mike again. “I’m going to kill you.” He didn’t just mouth it out that time, the words actually came from his lips. I couldn’t hear, but I’m sure of it. That’s love. I am planning out my wedding speech for them right now.
Sunday, February 12, 2012
Saturday, February 11, 2012
Lights, Camera, Action...
It was my last day of work. The morning shift was slow, as they typically went. I decided to visit my favorite coffee shop for the two hour mid day break, reading up on the places I was going to visit with Mike and Elise after they arrived. The excitement of their visit had been growing for weeks and here I sat, sipping on a coffee, trying desperately to contain my excitement, only hours away from seeing them. I even returned to work early, just to trick my mind into thinking the day was going faster.
Once back to Achiote, I went into my usual routine of playing guitar in the window, waiting for the first clients to arrive. It was somewhat rainy outside and I was working on a song that I have been trying to figure out for a special occasion. From around the corner, two men appeared and made gestures asking if the restaurant was open or not. I waved them inside, put down the guitar after one more quick lick and started to wait the table like I would any other. I was excited to get the night started, once we got busy the time would fly and I would be on my way to the airport to pick up Mike and Elise.
The first man spoke with an English accent and ordered a beer. The second man, the taller of the two with dark hard and a more sculpted face, stared at me with a funny look when asking for a water and then said one word, “Stephan”. The other man gave a vague nod of approval and I walked away to get the drinks, slightly confused, but more or less just thinking about finishing work as fast as possible. When I returned, drinks in hand, they asked me what I was doing in Ecuador. I gave my typical spiel and asked the same of them. They told me that they worked for National Geographic and were in Ecuador for a month to make a tv show. I told that how great I thought it was that their job allowed them to travel and do something they loved. They each ordered pescado a la plancha and I left.
The next time I passed their table, they stopped me and asked if I would be interested in trying out for a part in the show, stating that they needed an American to play a small role. Being skeptical, I asked for some identification. They each produced National Geographic business cards and I was hooked.
The second man spoke first: “We are filming for a show called ‘Locked Up Abroad’ and basically we need an American for a short bit. You see, this bloke went to Peru, bought a bunch of drugs and tried to bring them to the US, but got caught in Mexico. Essentially, you are this bloke’s friend and you stop by the prison he is being held in while you and a girl you met are driving up to California.”
“Have you ever acted?” asked the first man. I explained that my acting was limited to middle school, but I always goof around with my friends. Seeming convinced enough, they asked if I would come to the studio the following day for a filmed audition. Trying to act as cool and collected as I could, I agreed and went on the rest of the meal as if nothing was different.
The rest of work went fast. I was busy the whole time and before I knew it, I was in route to the airport. About an hour later, Mike and Elise showed up and I was completely and utterly, all smiles. Being late already, it was a night of brief catching up and quick to bed. These two had essentially been traveling for 2 days and the next was a long bus ride to the southern most part of the country. Before we headed to bed, I told them what had happened and asked if they would accompany me to the audition in the morning. Looking about as shocked as I was, they agreed and we all passed out.
Nothing had really hit me as we started our day. It wasn’t until we walked around the neighborhood, finding the studio and killing the final 45 minuets until any kind of nerves kicked in. Naturally, we went to a bar. One of the great things about Ecuador is that the beer is inexpensive and comes in a large bottle. We each had a dirty glass to split up the beer. We talked about Quito, what Ecuadorians are like, where we were going, just loving being together again. Walking back towards the studio we laughed about the possibility of my goofy face being on tv. It still did not seem like something that could happen, but alas, here I was at the door of a studio, about to walk in.
It really went fast. The two men from the restaurant were there with their Ecuadorian counterparts. There were no lines, they just told me to act out the scenario as if it were all real and the beautiful studio filled will mac books and camera gear was really a prison. I did the best I could and apparently it was enough. They offered me the role. I went over some things with an Ecuadorian woman, shook hands and Mike, Elise and I went on our way. Just like that. Walking away it all felt unreal. Turning around and looking back, the studio was real, this random moment of me playing guitar in a window and waiting on a table had turned into a pretty cool story.
Monday is the actual shoot. My part should not take longer than half an hour to film and then I’m off to finish packing and get on a plane at 6 in the morning. When I breath fresh air again, it will be 20 hours later, the temperature will be significantly warmer and I will be trying to understand Uruguayan Spanish. Oh, and I’ll be a star. Too funny, right?
Thursday, February 9, 2012
The Power of the Photo is about to Begin.
I have just finished a 9 day trip with my very good friends Mike and Elise. It was a blissful experience, enjoying my first taste of home in the last 3 months. The time together was perfect and the country was jaw-dropping, gorgeous. I have now seen the ocean, the mountains, the jungles and the cities... all in one country. Ecuador is a beautiful country, full of people who the radiate that beauty everyday in their personalities. With only 72 hours left here, i already know I will miss it.
Over the next few weeks, I will be releasing small groups of photographs, depicting different aspects of my time so far in South America. Everything will be available to view at Modern Rainbows: Photos
Older stories, as well as photographs, will be shared from my experiences in Ecuador. On the other hand, as new stories and photographs change with my scenery, they too will be blended in the mix. The photos are a time taking, but wonderful experience... I will try to update often.
I will also be continuing a small project that I had going in Yellowstone last summer. Once a week, I will be emailing a picture from my life’s most recent adventures. The point in Yellowstone was to change your background whenever there was a new email (much of managing a front desk seemed to be sitting in front of a computer). If you are interested in receiving a weekly background photo email, let me know by dropping me a line at andrew@modernrainbows.com
I look forward to sharing more. Hope everyone is doing well no matter where your body is resting. Cheers,
andrew
"There are still so many places on our planet that remain unexplored. I'd love to one day peel back the mystery and understand them." -annie leibovitz
Thursday, January 26, 2012
Excited!
Mike and Elise, two of my very best friends, are coming to visit me! They will be here 4 days from now and together we will explore so much of the country I have not seen.
Vilcabamba, a place which is so beautiful it's residents never seem to die (true story, check it out)
Loja, outskirts of the Jungle and gateway to Peru. Home to a beautiful National Park where we will explore a cloud forest by horseback.
Cuenca, a city that until 30 years ago, did not have modern roads to access it, leaving a colonial city in pristine condition, Inca ruins still standing near by.
Tena, the white water rafting capital of the country. However, here, white water rafting is a little different. Yes, the rapids are incredible, but now there will be anaconda swimming in the water beside us and monkeys watching from the trees above.
Mitad Del Mundo, the middle of the world. 0-0'-0
This and so much more, together we will really see this amazing country. Best of all, we will be together. I cannot wait.
Vilcabamba, a place which is so beautiful it's residents never seem to die (true story, check it out)
Loja, outskirts of the Jungle and gateway to Peru. Home to a beautiful National Park where we will explore a cloud forest by horseback.
Cuenca, a city that until 30 years ago, did not have modern roads to access it, leaving a colonial city in pristine condition, Inca ruins still standing near by.
Tena, the white water rafting capital of the country. However, here, white water rafting is a little different. Yes, the rapids are incredible, but now there will be anaconda swimming in the water beside us and monkeys watching from the trees above.
Mitad Del Mundo, the middle of the world. 0-0'-0
This and so much more, together we will really see this amazing country. Best of all, we will be together. I cannot wait.
Part Three: 9 Days, a Bicycle, The Pacific Ocean and A New Year
We woke up the first morning in Puerto Lopez to a beautiful day. We stayed with a relative of a friend (not exactly sure to who they were related to or how, but it's a free place to crash), whose house was perched on the top of yet another hill. The house was one large room with a complete wrap around porch, exposed to the mosquitoes and wind. Looking out from the porch, all of Puerto Lopez was in view, the vast Pacific glistening in the distance.
We had a late breakfast at a local cafe and hired a taxi to take us to Los Friales, part of Machilla National Park. First off, a taxi here is unlike a taxi anywhere else I have known. A motorcycle is attached to a small wooden box where you sit. However, when their are 3 seats and we are 5 people, things get a little more interesting. The lucky 2 are place behind the wooden box, sitting on a piece of wood just a few inches thick, feet dangling to the ground and sucking in exhaust from the motorcycle. I was among the lucky two. Once again, a new experience....
We pulled into Los Friales about 5 miles later and walked onto what may be the most beautiful beach I have ever seen. The water was clear, warm and calm. Similar to Red Rocks amphitheater in Morrison, Co, the beach had giant red rock formations surrounding the sand, protecting the beach and giving it a majestic feeling. We were completely enclosed by natural beauty. My words will not do justice to the true beauty of this place (hopefully pictures will help, coming very soon!). We wanted to really work up a sweat before going into the water, so we decided to play a game of ultimate frizby, however, we did not have a frisby... We used the most logical thing, a mango, of course! Ultimate mango was the game, boys vs. girls. After a crushing defeat by the boys (somewhere around 20-0) and a mango which looked as if it had seen better days, we took to the water.
I had swam in the Pacific on this trip already, however, this just felt different, it was perfect. The hot sun, the warm water... life was great. We rented snorkling gear and set out for some venturing. From previous experiences in Puerto Rico with my brother, I remember to make sure my back was completely covered in sun screen. I swam among wild and different fish, octopus, coral and many more things I knew were there, just failed to see. I had been told that there were sharks, but they were small and harmless, nothing to worry about. The sharks we need to worry about, the hammerhead, are up the beach further. Still, the feeling is a little uneasy. A few times, I would be startled by a giant splashes in the water next to me, raising my head in time to see a pelican that had dove into the ocean, suckling down a struggling fish. They glided gracefully, brushing the top of the water with their bellies... a magnificent creature.
The sea food eating continued that night and new "beach" drinks were consumed as well. Completely following the group was a wise decision, as they never did me wrong. Blindly giving away a few dollars and being rewarded every time with a delicious drink or food, which I otherwise would not have known to order. I was being taught to Salsa in between taking tastes of this food or that drink. When I simply had no energy (dancing is a lot of work) I would sit down, look out at the ocean and remember where I was and how lucky I was to be there. I would sit just long enough for that feeling to fill my body and mind before being pulled up to dance again. We danced in the sand until the bar had closed.
Leaving Puerto Lopez was sad, but as we had done so many days before, we had to ride again. This, however, would be the final trip on the bike. Making our way into Montanita was a great feeling of accomplishment. I had worried a fair amount about my bodies ability to handle the long trip. The only sore part of my body was the bottom of my left food. Everything else held up just fine. I had not yet meantioned this, but the bike I borrowed from my boss at work had broken before I left, leaving me unable to change the gears. That's right... 200km on a fixed gear bike. Imagine those hills now...
Montanita is a much large place than Puerto Lopez, many more people and a completely different atmosphere than dancing on a beach that you have pretty much to yourself. Once again, we were staying with a relative of one of the bikers, Andrea. Her aunt runs a hostel and let us stay in the family section of the house. It was beautiful. Once again, exposed walls looking to the ocean, now with large hammocks that I frequently found myself napping. Andrea's cousin took us out that night to really experience Montanita. The night started off slow and I was rather tired, however, there was no turning back once the group got going and did it ever get going. As you walk the crowded streets, vendors line the side all selling the same 30 or 40 drinks. After every 10 vendors or so, there would be food stands. Choclo con queso, various grilled meats, ceviche... Nobody spoke English. Apparently we had entered the Chilean and Argentinian spring break and were completely surrounded by young, drunk, screaming high school and college students. I have never experienced a Cancun spring break (or any other "spring break" destination), but this certainly was the equivalent for South Americans. We went dancing, we sang karaoke, we ran in the sand and water and at 7am, we went to sleep.
That's how this place is. I spend 3 nights here (far too many) and 24 hours a day there is a constant beat from some club where people are still partying. The place literally never sleeps and I saw no more than 4 or 5 police officers the entire time I was there. We went to the beach the next morning and my view of Montanita started to slip, eventually turning into a landslide. Among all those Chilean and Argentinian's now sitting on the beach, getting sun burnt and working off a hangover, were all the bottles, cups and garbage from the night before, lining the beach and floating away to sea. The thought literally made me sick. There was such little respect for such a beautiful place. Each night and each morning was the same.
Despite my growing dislike for the place, I stayed, waiting for two friends from Yellowstone that I had literally ran into on the streets of Quito 2 weeks prior. We had agreed to meet here for New Years Eve and without cell phones, there was no way to tell them that we should switch plans. They arrived and my mood was lifted. It is nice to speak English to a fellow English speaker. I had gotten so used to living in a solely Spanish speaking world, that I had forgotten what it was like to constantly use English. We wandered Monanita, sharing the same opinions for the most part. Strangely we kept seeing these large paper mache figures. Anything you could imagine, Bart Simpson, Barney, a Fender 15 feet tall. Not until midnight did we realize what they were for.
We walked through the crowds, taking in a completely different New Years Eve than any of us had ever experienced. Honestly, it was too overwhelming. Deciding the beach would be the best place to count down the new year, we squirmed our way through cheering hands and spilling drinks. Once on the beach we saw a huge circle with a fire in the middle, people jumping through it, hoping they had enough leg to get all the way over. In the middle of the fire were all the paper mache figures. When we got there, Woody from Toy Story was melting away. Apparently it is tradition in Ecuador to do this. People make paper mache figures (often politicians), read their crimes and wrong doings from the year before, and then burn them, giving a fresh and clean start for the new year.
Not a favorite New Years, though better than the last. There was a new feeling inside of me, one of hope and good things to come for the next year. I hope the feeling lasts and I hope it is true.
Returning to Quito was a wonderful feeling. I had my own bed to look forward to, a home cooked meal and a day of nothing before returning to work. I was unable to do anything that next day. The bus had pulled in at 430 in the morning and when I finally had made it home, I slept til 1030am. Rising for a short time, long enough to get some food, read a few chapters and check email, I fell back asleep at 2pm, this time not waking til 6pm. Again, I only had energy for about 3 hours before my eyelids had shut, this time for the night. I cannot remember any time in recent memory where I had needed to sleep so badly.
All in all, this was an experience I am so happy to have been a part of. I discovered that I really enjoy long distance bike trips and would like to continue doing them when I return to the states. I found a love for the Pacific Coast of Ecuador, the animals and trees, so new to me. I made several good friends who I will keep in touch with for years to come. I got a great sun tan, tried new foods and proved to myself that I do have a little muscle (even if it does not show on my skinny body). I left with a bitter taste in my mouth for the final destination of the trip, but looking back, there was so much more than just Montanita. I left, wanting to go back to many of the other places I had seen and explore the many of the places I left for my next trip.
We had a late breakfast at a local cafe and hired a taxi to take us to Los Friales, part of Machilla National Park. First off, a taxi here is unlike a taxi anywhere else I have known. A motorcycle is attached to a small wooden box where you sit. However, when their are 3 seats and we are 5 people, things get a little more interesting. The lucky 2 are place behind the wooden box, sitting on a piece of wood just a few inches thick, feet dangling to the ground and sucking in exhaust from the motorcycle. I was among the lucky two. Once again, a new experience....
We pulled into Los Friales about 5 miles later and walked onto what may be the most beautiful beach I have ever seen. The water was clear, warm and calm. Similar to Red Rocks amphitheater in Morrison, Co, the beach had giant red rock formations surrounding the sand, protecting the beach and giving it a majestic feeling. We were completely enclosed by natural beauty. My words will not do justice to the true beauty of this place (hopefully pictures will help, coming very soon!). We wanted to really work up a sweat before going into the water, so we decided to play a game of ultimate frizby, however, we did not have a frisby... We used the most logical thing, a mango, of course! Ultimate mango was the game, boys vs. girls. After a crushing defeat by the boys (somewhere around 20-0) and a mango which looked as if it had seen better days, we took to the water.
I had swam in the Pacific on this trip already, however, this just felt different, it was perfect. The hot sun, the warm water... life was great. We rented snorkling gear and set out for some venturing. From previous experiences in Puerto Rico with my brother, I remember to make sure my back was completely covered in sun screen. I swam among wild and different fish, octopus, coral and many more things I knew were there, just failed to see. I had been told that there were sharks, but they were small and harmless, nothing to worry about. The sharks we need to worry about, the hammerhead, are up the beach further. Still, the feeling is a little uneasy. A few times, I would be startled by a giant splashes in the water next to me, raising my head in time to see a pelican that had dove into the ocean, suckling down a struggling fish. They glided gracefully, brushing the top of the water with their bellies... a magnificent creature.
The sea food eating continued that night and new "beach" drinks were consumed as well. Completely following the group was a wise decision, as they never did me wrong. Blindly giving away a few dollars and being rewarded every time with a delicious drink or food, which I otherwise would not have known to order. I was being taught to Salsa in between taking tastes of this food or that drink. When I simply had no energy (dancing is a lot of work) I would sit down, look out at the ocean and remember where I was and how lucky I was to be there. I would sit just long enough for that feeling to fill my body and mind before being pulled up to dance again. We danced in the sand until the bar had closed.
Leaving Puerto Lopez was sad, but as we had done so many days before, we had to ride again. This, however, would be the final trip on the bike. Making our way into Montanita was a great feeling of accomplishment. I had worried a fair amount about my bodies ability to handle the long trip. The only sore part of my body was the bottom of my left food. Everything else held up just fine. I had not yet meantioned this, but the bike I borrowed from my boss at work had broken before I left, leaving me unable to change the gears. That's right... 200km on a fixed gear bike. Imagine those hills now...
Montanita is a much large place than Puerto Lopez, many more people and a completely different atmosphere than dancing on a beach that you have pretty much to yourself. Once again, we were staying with a relative of one of the bikers, Andrea. Her aunt runs a hostel and let us stay in the family section of the house. It was beautiful. Once again, exposed walls looking to the ocean, now with large hammocks that I frequently found myself napping. Andrea's cousin took us out that night to really experience Montanita. The night started off slow and I was rather tired, however, there was no turning back once the group got going and did it ever get going. As you walk the crowded streets, vendors line the side all selling the same 30 or 40 drinks. After every 10 vendors or so, there would be food stands. Choclo con queso, various grilled meats, ceviche... Nobody spoke English. Apparently we had entered the Chilean and Argentinian spring break and were completely surrounded by young, drunk, screaming high school and college students. I have never experienced a Cancun spring break (or any other "spring break" destination), but this certainly was the equivalent for South Americans. We went dancing, we sang karaoke, we ran in the sand and water and at 7am, we went to sleep.
That's how this place is. I spend 3 nights here (far too many) and 24 hours a day there is a constant beat from some club where people are still partying. The place literally never sleeps and I saw no more than 4 or 5 police officers the entire time I was there. We went to the beach the next morning and my view of Montanita started to slip, eventually turning into a landslide. Among all those Chilean and Argentinian's now sitting on the beach, getting sun burnt and working off a hangover, were all the bottles, cups and garbage from the night before, lining the beach and floating away to sea. The thought literally made me sick. There was such little respect for such a beautiful place. Each night and each morning was the same.
Despite my growing dislike for the place, I stayed, waiting for two friends from Yellowstone that I had literally ran into on the streets of Quito 2 weeks prior. We had agreed to meet here for New Years Eve and without cell phones, there was no way to tell them that we should switch plans. They arrived and my mood was lifted. It is nice to speak English to a fellow English speaker. I had gotten so used to living in a solely Spanish speaking world, that I had forgotten what it was like to constantly use English. We wandered Monanita, sharing the same opinions for the most part. Strangely we kept seeing these large paper mache figures. Anything you could imagine, Bart Simpson, Barney, a Fender 15 feet tall. Not until midnight did we realize what they were for.
We walked through the crowds, taking in a completely different New Years Eve than any of us had ever experienced. Honestly, it was too overwhelming. Deciding the beach would be the best place to count down the new year, we squirmed our way through cheering hands and spilling drinks. Once on the beach we saw a huge circle with a fire in the middle, people jumping through it, hoping they had enough leg to get all the way over. In the middle of the fire were all the paper mache figures. When we got there, Woody from Toy Story was melting away. Apparently it is tradition in Ecuador to do this. People make paper mache figures (often politicians), read their crimes and wrong doings from the year before, and then burn them, giving a fresh and clean start for the new year.
Not a favorite New Years, though better than the last. There was a new feeling inside of me, one of hope and good things to come for the next year. I hope the feeling lasts and I hope it is true.
Returning to Quito was a wonderful feeling. I had my own bed to look forward to, a home cooked meal and a day of nothing before returning to work. I was unable to do anything that next day. The bus had pulled in at 430 in the morning and when I finally had made it home, I slept til 1030am. Rising for a short time, long enough to get some food, read a few chapters and check email, I fell back asleep at 2pm, this time not waking til 6pm. Again, I only had energy for about 3 hours before my eyelids had shut, this time for the night. I cannot remember any time in recent memory where I had needed to sleep so badly.
All in all, this was an experience I am so happy to have been a part of. I discovered that I really enjoy long distance bike trips and would like to continue doing them when I return to the states. I found a love for the Pacific Coast of Ecuador, the animals and trees, so new to me. I made several good friends who I will keep in touch with for years to come. I got a great sun tan, tried new foods and proved to myself that I do have a little muscle (even if it does not show on my skinny body). I left with a bitter taste in my mouth for the final destination of the trip, but looking back, there was so much more than just Montanita. I left, wanting to go back to many of the other places I had seen and explore the many of the places I left for my next trip.
Wednesday, January 11, 2012
Part Two: 9 Days, a Bicycle, The Pacific Ocean and A New Year
I did not have much say in some matters. For the most part I just went with the flow of the group. It was not that my voice was insignificant to the decisions of the group, but more that I only barely understood conversations, certainly not the minute details people were debating over. If there was a vote on something that the group was torn by, someone would explain the issue in English and I would state my opinion.
One morning, after waking up in my tent, on the roof of a hostel overlooking the ocean, I noticed everyone pondering over something. This was one of those times I would sit back, photograph the area and when a decision was made, I would simply go with the flow. Before long, Fabio had flagged down an beat up truck with an extended wooden bed used for carrying what I assumed to be animals or fruit. The truck was driven by two old Ecuadorian men, their salt water skin dark with years of abuse from the sun. It was kind of fun not knowing exactly what was going to happen next. Everything became a mystery.
In just a short time of talking with the men and everyone handing over 3 dollars, we had loaded all of our bikes, gear and bodies into the back of this truck. It is very common to see large groups of people, usually workers, riding all crammed in the back of a truck, so I felt like this was relatively normal and safe. As we left the coast for a highway of sorts, a smell came to my nose. Something very unpleasant and revolting. I placed by backpack down to take a picture of everyone in the back of this truck flying down the highway. "Stop! Do not put your bag down". One of the girls said to me. When I asked why, she explained that the back of this truck was used to transport pigs and the ground was likely covered in their excrement. I did not put my bag down again.
It was quite the experience, riding in the back of this truck, cruising down the highway, watching the beautiful trees go by, the wind pulling your hair. After an hour or so of standing in the pig stench, the truck turned off the main highway, going another 15 miles on a dirt road to what seemed like... nowhere. When it stopped and we took all of our gear off the truck, thanking the drivers as they left, we were literally in the middle of nowhere. There was a small church with no front door, a soccer field which consisted mostly of rocks and goals that only stood half upright, 2 small homes and a collection of animals including pigs, chickens, hens and goats, wandering the "street" and land.
After a few seconds of us making more noise than this small town has seen in weeks, heads of native Ecuadorian farmers started popping out the holes in the walls, used as windows. One woman walked up to us, our presence being the highlight of her week, explaining that she grew squash and other vegetables and has lived in this home since she was a child. Her face was warn and wrinkled from the sun and years of hard work. Although she looked nearly 70, I had no idea how old she really was. Once everyone had reassembled their bicycles, we were once again off. This, little did I know, would end up being my favorite part of the entire ride.
It was hot now, near midday. But we were behind schedule and anxious to get going. For a while we remained on the dirt road, passing small homes, kids calling their sibling to come outside and look at this phenomenon of people riding by on bikes. I swerved to avoid running into cows, goats, pigs and other animals that littered the road. There were not many more houses. They became more and more spread out from each other, until, none. We were in a much more wooded area. These trees, my favorite I think I have ever seen, are in the Bonsai family, as Andrea explained to me. I nearly crashed several times, staring at the trees and not watching where I was going. The path became less of a road and more of, well, dirt, sand and water. It was not until after that I realized we were riding through the outskirts of a National Park.
Fording streams half a wheel deep, riding down dirt hills and then up dirt walls to slow down, being stuck in sand too difficult to ride on, all became a part of the day. It was the most beautiful ride, but almost the hardest. At one point, we would ride up a small hill, taking all the life out of us in the sun, only to go down in a matter of seconds and find another hill waiting at the bottom. This happened over and over. Covered in dirt and sweat, wet from crossing rivers and a few new scars from rocks or my shoes slipping on the metal peddle of the bike, and we had made it once again to pavement. However wonderful the sight of pavement was, the joy was soon relinquished when the pavement became the largest hill I had seen yet. It was brutal. Truly terrible. Well over an hour to get up, in the sun, the hill felt like it would never end. At one point the largest wasp I had ever seen flew by. I feel off my bike from the sight of it (and sheer exhaustion). My friend explained that they called that bug "the devils horse". An appropriate name, I thought. A squished iguana lay on the side of the road and I thought back to my Uncle Paul and his poor pet from my childhood. Everyone had stopped at one point to look at something on the road. When I caught up, I was for the first time in my life, looking at a live, wild, taranchula. It was not that scary. In fact, the giant wasp was much more terrifying. Apparently they hunt taranchula, paralyzing them with their stingers and then laying their eggs in the immobile taranculas back.
The top of the hill was a glorious sight. We waited until the group had all made it, collectively congratulating ourselves on a job well done. Then, the fun... That hour uphill, made for a ride down hill that lasted longer than any roller coaster, with a speed just as fast as the cars on the road, a huge smile spread across my face. All it would take is one small rock or a loose screw to wipe that smile right off my face, but there was no rock, no loose screw. I remembered a few months prior, sledding down Avalanche Peak in Yellowstone National Park with a good group of friends. The pure joy. A childlike happiness that cannot be faked or recreated, unless, again completely free, loving life, the wind smashing your face and basking in the glorious thrill of the danger.
The bottom of the hill brought us back to the beach. Puerto Lopez. We were one days ride away from our final destination. But for the next 48 hours, we would relax and enjoy the beach. Puerto Lopez, the small beach town resting on the edge of Machalilla National Park, would become a favorite place in Ecuador. The breathtaking beach, Los Frailes, with coral reefs and exotic fish that looked amazing while snorkeling around them. For the next 48 hours, before the final leg of the trip, I was in heaven.
One morning, after waking up in my tent, on the roof of a hostel overlooking the ocean, I noticed everyone pondering over something. This was one of those times I would sit back, photograph the area and when a decision was made, I would simply go with the flow. Before long, Fabio had flagged down an beat up truck with an extended wooden bed used for carrying what I assumed to be animals or fruit. The truck was driven by two old Ecuadorian men, their salt water skin dark with years of abuse from the sun. It was kind of fun not knowing exactly what was going to happen next. Everything became a mystery.
In just a short time of talking with the men and everyone handing over 3 dollars, we had loaded all of our bikes, gear and bodies into the back of this truck. It is very common to see large groups of people, usually workers, riding all crammed in the back of a truck, so I felt like this was relatively normal and safe. As we left the coast for a highway of sorts, a smell came to my nose. Something very unpleasant and revolting. I placed by backpack down to take a picture of everyone in the back of this truck flying down the highway. "Stop! Do not put your bag down". One of the girls said to me. When I asked why, she explained that the back of this truck was used to transport pigs and the ground was likely covered in their excrement. I did not put my bag down again.
It was quite the experience, riding in the back of this truck, cruising down the highway, watching the beautiful trees go by, the wind pulling your hair. After an hour or so of standing in the pig stench, the truck turned off the main highway, going another 15 miles on a dirt road to what seemed like... nowhere. When it stopped and we took all of our gear off the truck, thanking the drivers as they left, we were literally in the middle of nowhere. There was a small church with no front door, a soccer field which consisted mostly of rocks and goals that only stood half upright, 2 small homes and a collection of animals including pigs, chickens, hens and goats, wandering the "street" and land.
After a few seconds of us making more noise than this small town has seen in weeks, heads of native Ecuadorian farmers started popping out the holes in the walls, used as windows. One woman walked up to us, our presence being the highlight of her week, explaining that she grew squash and other vegetables and has lived in this home since she was a child. Her face was warn and wrinkled from the sun and years of hard work. Although she looked nearly 70, I had no idea how old she really was. Once everyone had reassembled their bicycles, we were once again off. This, little did I know, would end up being my favorite part of the entire ride.
It was hot now, near midday. But we were behind schedule and anxious to get going. For a while we remained on the dirt road, passing small homes, kids calling their sibling to come outside and look at this phenomenon of people riding by on bikes. I swerved to avoid running into cows, goats, pigs and other animals that littered the road. There were not many more houses. They became more and more spread out from each other, until, none. We were in a much more wooded area. These trees, my favorite I think I have ever seen, are in the Bonsai family, as Andrea explained to me. I nearly crashed several times, staring at the trees and not watching where I was going. The path became less of a road and more of, well, dirt, sand and water. It was not until after that I realized we were riding through the outskirts of a National Park.
Fording streams half a wheel deep, riding down dirt hills and then up dirt walls to slow down, being stuck in sand too difficult to ride on, all became a part of the day. It was the most beautiful ride, but almost the hardest. At one point, we would ride up a small hill, taking all the life out of us in the sun, only to go down in a matter of seconds and find another hill waiting at the bottom. This happened over and over. Covered in dirt and sweat, wet from crossing rivers and a few new scars from rocks or my shoes slipping on the metal peddle of the bike, and we had made it once again to pavement. However wonderful the sight of pavement was, the joy was soon relinquished when the pavement became the largest hill I had seen yet. It was brutal. Truly terrible. Well over an hour to get up, in the sun, the hill felt like it would never end. At one point the largest wasp I had ever seen flew by. I feel off my bike from the sight of it (and sheer exhaustion). My friend explained that they called that bug "the devils horse". An appropriate name, I thought. A squished iguana lay on the side of the road and I thought back to my Uncle Paul and his poor pet from my childhood. Everyone had stopped at one point to look at something on the road. When I caught up, I was for the first time in my life, looking at a live, wild, taranchula. It was not that scary. In fact, the giant wasp was much more terrifying. Apparently they hunt taranchula, paralyzing them with their stingers and then laying their eggs in the immobile taranculas back.
The top of the hill was a glorious sight. We waited until the group had all made it, collectively congratulating ourselves on a job well done. Then, the fun... That hour uphill, made for a ride down hill that lasted longer than any roller coaster, with a speed just as fast as the cars on the road, a huge smile spread across my face. All it would take is one small rock or a loose screw to wipe that smile right off my face, but there was no rock, no loose screw. I remembered a few months prior, sledding down Avalanche Peak in Yellowstone National Park with a good group of friends. The pure joy. A childlike happiness that cannot be faked or recreated, unless, again completely free, loving life, the wind smashing your face and basking in the glorious thrill of the danger.
The bottom of the hill brought us back to the beach. Puerto Lopez. We were one days ride away from our final destination. But for the next 48 hours, we would relax and enjoy the beach. Puerto Lopez, the small beach town resting on the edge of Machalilla National Park, would become a favorite place in Ecuador. The breathtaking beach, Los Frailes, with coral reefs and exotic fish that looked amazing while snorkeling around them. For the next 48 hours, before the final leg of the trip, I was in heaven.
Monday, January 9, 2012
Part One: 9 Days, A Bicycle, The Pacific Coast and A New Year
It was Christmas night. I left right from work to meet my friends at the bus station. When I arrived, it was already very dark and only 3 of the other 10 had arrived. The station, more like a parking lot, smelled of piss and cigarettes mixed the the wonderful aroma of the exhaust from a bus, stationary, yet running for 20 minuets. One of my new friends even commented on how the people running the bus station try and get you high on CO2, only to steal your money while unconscious. That was what happened next.
The men who operated the bus station had charged an extra 2 dollars per person, due to the fact that we had to put 11 bicycles onto an already jam packed bus. That was arranged days in advance and something we had all expected. However, when we got to the station, they now told us that it would cost an additional $5 per bicycle if we wanted to take them with us. Watching a friend put up a fierce fight, but ultimately being left with little option, we caved, paying $7 more than everyone else on the bus. Despite the trickery, everyone was smiles. My new 10 friends and I were filled with an excitement, unmatched by any I had experienced thus far. We all know that when the bus departed, leaving us to fall asleep as it traversed the mountains of Ecuador, we would wake to the smell of the sea air.
It was startling when bus stopped. I, still half asleep, had not even realized we were at our destination, Canoa. Getting off the bus, it appeared we had not left at all. It was still dark as I started to assemble my bike together again. However, their was something different in the air. Mixed with the smell of urine, that seems to follow where ever you go, was a different smell I had not come across in Ecuador. The air felt different, too. Humid. Then, as the bus rolled off, the sounds of the city still sleeping, I heard it... the ocean.
The sun had just begun to come up just as I got the gear properly attached to my bike (it took a few tries). The street was certainly different than the one which we departed from. Many of the stores did not even have full walls or doors. They were just opened to the elements. Fully assembled, we rode about a quarter mile and there it was. Amidst ceviche stands, boats, umbrellas and surfboards, the ocean lay calm and beautiful. I had not seen the Pacific since the previous March, when my friend Lauren Margaret Miller took me surfing off a San Diego Beach. Everywhere lining the beach were different stands selling sea food, fresh juices and other beach necessities. The group seemed to have that excitement rekindled at the same time upon viewing the water. Not that it had disappeared, simply misplaced in the sleep of the bus.
Throwing some food in our bellies, using the bathroom (25 cents each and no toilet seat or paper), loading up on tons of water and sunscreen and we were off. I had not listen to any Dave Matthews Band since arriving in Ecuador, really not that much in the last few years. As many of you know, there was a time where the music of Dave Matthews was the soundtrack to my life. However, for some reason, it felt right to put it on for the beginning of this adventure. I did and it was the right decision.
As we rode away and the sun finally took control of the sky, birds I had never seen were flying along side of me, gliding above the water. Trees unlike anything North America has to offer, grew along the other side, hanging their long thin branches over the road. As we rode, a gang of 11, our bikes loaded with tents, gear and clothing, kids waiting to go to school or playing soccer just stared in awe. Come to think of it, everyone did, not just the kids. Workers would completely stop what they were doing and watch as this group rode by, smiles on their faces. I wonder what was going through their heads as they worked in the hot sun. I wonder how many of them had ever had the chance to explore the beautiful coast of the country in which they lived.
Just a few hours into the trip and I realized what my biggest enemy was going to be... the sun. It was HOT. Every 45 minuets or so we would stop under the shade of a tree, just for relief. Each time suckling down water and reapplying sunscreen over the sweat of our bodies. Each time we stopped, I would pull out my notebook, scribbling what I had seen or thought of on the ride. Each time, the words getting smugged with sunscreen on the paper. At the end of one particular long and torturous hill, a watermelon stand at the end of the road became our heaven. We sat in the shade of the stand and as a group devoured 3 large watermelons. The locals running the stand just smiled at us, enjoying our company as much as we enjoyed the shade and fruit. There were little girls spilling the watermelon juices all over their new Christmas clothing, truck drivers wanting a little treat before heading back to the road, people from the city, loading up 50 watermelons into a small car and an old woman, sitting in a hammock enjoying the day.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)