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.
Thursday, January 26, 2012
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.
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