Loja High

(Loja is the name of Ecuador's southern state and it's capital city)

Directly behind us in the bus we heard laughing and rapid, loud talk - quite unusual behavior here.  Amidst a stream of garbled Spanish came the word "coca" several times.

Then a little pharmaceutical bottle about 3" high was passed from behind us to the man across the isle.  He opened the bottle, sniffed the ingredients several times, chuckled, nodded affirmatively and passed it back.

Curious about what was really happening, Jeff propped himself up to peer back and saw what appeared to be a daypack stuffed with coca leaves.  

Later when the group exited the bus we saw one man had 30-40 of the little bottles, 2 sizes, stacked up in a clear plastic bag for display as he walked down streets hawking his wares.  And there was the other man with the daypack that appeared to be full of coca leaves.

After we arrived in Cuenca we were eating dinner when we began talking with the man next to us.  We learned that he is a lawyer who used to be a prosecuting attorney in Ecuador, prosecuting those accused of money laundering and drug sales.  He only did this for a year and a half because of threats on his life.  This gentleman explained to us that there is a LOT of drug trafficing in the southern state of Loja, Ecuador.

And that´s where Vilcabamba´s located - where tons of tourists collect - way too many tourists, actually.  So Mr. Ecuadorian Lawyer, is there any connection between the tourists hanging out there and the availability of drugs?

Yes, but not just tourists; Ecuadorians too, according to him.

For real?  That explains a lot.  
Adios Loja.  Heading on.

Starr

Quick! Repack the Suitcases!

After two whole nights in Cuenca we repacked and headed south again.  I swear that the further south one goes in Ecuador, the nicer the scenery, the nicer the people, and the more comfortable we become.  Slowly relaxing with each kilometer . . .

We arrived in Loja this afternoon and I must say: Traveling by bus is inexpensive but oh my God is my butt sore.  Jeff seems to fare a bit better in that respect - at least he has some decent padding to deal with.

When we're in a town we walk for hours and hours, possibly just to see if we can once again avoid getting killed as pedestrians.  But we feel like aliens: gigantasaurus aliens surrounded by short people with black hair that cast side glances at us or just outrightly stare.  We stand out, really stand out.

And whether they like us or not, there's no hiding the fact that "we're not from 'round here."