Ayampe

The bus driver stomped on the brakes and his assistant yelled out "Ayampe!"while waving at Jeff and I to get off the bus here.  We hustled out, retrieved our pull-along suitcases then . . . looked around.

Damn!! It happened again! We got dropped off in the middle of no where with no clue. 

Counting: two empty bamboo framed taverns, a couple of signs, a muddy, long side road, - and US holding the bags, bewildered.  I hate it when this happens - but this is NOT the first time and we're getting better at thinking on our feet.

Ayampe: a sweet piece of jungle paradise meeting white sand beaches surrounded by prideless poverty.

A sign: Finca Punta Ayampe had an arrow pointing down a long, very muddy road toward the beach.  We stood on the roadside, looking at our wheeled luggage thinking, "Holy Crap!  Is this really happening?"

Then a man walked up to us offering to call the hostel to pick us up.  Oh thank God!  Yes, please, that sounds like a great idea.

This 3 story, timber bamboo construction hostel, Finca Punta Ayampe, is awesome - highly recommended.  A spacious room on the 3rd floor with a terrace and a full view of the beach below, costs $18/person/night.  We slept to the music of the Pacific Ocean waves, crickets, and cicadas.  Dreamland.

Meals, if desired, are quite affordable, dead fresh, made to your liking and by far the most wholesome, tasty food we've had yet.

This place feels like we're visiting friends, complete with an English speaking host to catch us up on the local happenings.

Until we got to Ayampe, we've seen very few birds - quite concerning acutally.  But in Ayampe there is considerable bird action going on: hummingbirds, some the size of a large bumblebee, pelicans, frigates, multitudes of colorful songbirds, and a huge eagle-thing perched on a snag at the beach.

White sand beaches, nice waves, tidepools, lagoons, surrounded by primitive shacks: a haven for surfers in the hot season - though thankfully this is the off season.

Snails Grandotes

Imagine a snail that grows to be over 3" long.  Now imagine an army of countless millions of them.  That's what showed up in Ayampe beginning about 6 months ago.  Our host explains that these are African snails brought to Ecuador by a rice grower.  he thought they'd irradicate some kind of pest problem - but to no avail.

When it didn't work, he released them in the wild.  Now they're everywhere eating everything in sight.  When birds eat them, they die of some unknown toxin so it's doubtful that people should eat them.  I'm sure there should be a movie about this.

Two nights here and our host hauled us back to the mail road to catch yet another bus going up the coast of Ecuador.

Down to the Sea.

Leaving Cuenca and the highlands behind we bus down the Yunguilla Valley which passes through a series of bio-zones from over 8,000 feet down to the coastal plain covered with banana plantations since United Fruit Co. (Chiquita) ran the show many moons ago.

The first section down from Cuenca reminds me of Switzerland with dairy cows grazing on green rolling hills. Then the terrain steepens and vegetable and fruit farmers cling to the hillsides. Soon we see sugar cane, avocado, and mango.

We found a hostel in Santa Isabel midway down the valley and ate a nice dinner of goat and chicken near the highway. The owner of the restaurant began varnishing tables near us as we ate. Mixed with diesal fumes, clouds of road dust and dogs running around, this made for a different dining setting, to say the least.  Que sera. The hardships of the road get pretty spicy at times.

Immediately upon leaving in the morning the road dropped steeply down through an arid region of acacia and cactus. We follow a muddy brown river down into the cloud forest. Everything is green. Bananas grow like blackberry vines. The jungle is rampant and dense. The clear streams we cross flow out of side valleys populated by indigenous people and accessed only by foot path.

We bus through the coastal plain and advance to Guayaquil eating mandarins, fresh cheese, whole wheat buns, and studying our Spanish - with some movie blaring over the speakers.

The Guayaquil Bus terminal is unbelievable. We'd been warned many times that this is a dangerous place with thieves all over.  But what we found is a place  more modern than the best US air terminal, with hundreds of buses arriving and leaving every hour for all parts of the country. Inside the food court we find delectable espresso, chocolate brownie, and spinach quiche. Surely we have earned this!

We are now enjoying another internet-free night in the Hotel Cisne in the decidedly Ecuadorian town of Santa Elena. After a list of bus transfers, we are almost on the coast.

We've had our roast chicken dinner at a sidewalk table, watched a city park youth dance competition, and spoke with another enthusiastic young man about his favorite places in Colombia. This town has much more life than any place we've been.

Vilcabamba Blessing

Vilcabamba is purported to be the valley of longevity, where many indigenous people live to be over 100 years old.  This is our southern most Ecuadorian exploration - then we head north again.

Traveling southward in Ecuador continues to open vistas of high paramo and green valleys, steep mountainsides with some sloped valleys.  Unbelievable that these people actually cultivate corn, sugar cane, bananas and whatever else on slopes steep enough that a cow would topple down head over tea kettle.  Makes us dizzy to think about.

On the way southward we passed Malacatos, a small pueblo that barely notes a mark in tourist books.  Nevertheless, it appears (from the bus window) that there may be a piece of heaven here with large nearly flat cultivated farms and many well kept large modern homes.

When we arrived in Vilcabamba we looked at several hostels, settling on Hostel Jardin Escondido, owned by a Mexican.  A real artist designed this place with charming rooms and BRIGHT colors.  The Rooms surround a somewhat overgrown garden complete with a nice Mexican restaurant.

Alright, so this much was just great.  But then we walked around the perfectly adorable main town square to see what action was going on.  What we found was a bit off-putting, if not embarrassing.

In Vilcabamba there are expats/tourists all over the central downtown area wasting time and talking loud, drinking all day.  I don't just mean ten or twenty.  I mean that it appears that the locals own the stores and nearly everyone else are foreigners. . . and that many of the locals aren't altogether pleased with the situation (based on their abrupt attitude).

Sure the central town square seems a bit like a movie set - however the rest of the town is about 50% destroyed and 30% under construction. Piles of rubble are the rule, with quite poor care for appearance. Sadly we were not feeling any true Ecuadorian center or heart in Vilcabamba.

Two nights here is enough.  Vamos!!

Met young travelers at the hotel from Argentina, Bulgaria, Germany, Norway. Out for 6 to 15 months each. Awesome.

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

Expat Central: Cuenca

Cuenca is a charming city of a half million people - a major regional center in the South Central highlands just west of the Andean cordillera. About 4 thousand non-ecuadorians have chosen this place to roost. American, Canadian, and European "expats".

So what is an expat? Well, that is what we are planning to become. An expat is a citizen of one country whose current residence is in another country. That's all. Nothing EX-PATriotic about it. We just get bored easily and fantasize that adjusting to new languages and cultures will keep us entertained for the rest of our lives. Sure beats TV.

Back to Cuenca. You can see the effect of the tiny expat population in the wider variety of restaurants and also in the realm of real estate development. The suburbs are full of beautiful homes, and gated communities.

So I was surprised to hear that most of this development surge is powered, not by Americans, but by Ecuadorian expats who have returned from the US and from Spain, countries whose economies are now struggling. Meanwhile Ecuador's economy is growing 6% per year, and the money these Ecuadorian expats are bringing back is bolstering that growth.

I don't know if there is a lesson in this. But maybe you could say that people who allow themselves to dream bravely would choose to live in the best circumstances they can imagine. Right now for us that is not in the US, and the returned Ecuadorian expats seem to agree with us.

We're Good Now

We felt so energized by our successful side trip to Paute that Starr & I decided to walk all the way back from the bus terminal to our hotel. Only a mile or two - no problem for us old troopers.

It was a super busy festival night in Cuenca, and all the street vendors were out in force. We bought some odd little "ciruelas" (plums) from a man who wanted to practice his English. So he asked what we were - meaning were we Catholics, or what. Starr answered well: we feel God in our heart and do not see the need for anyone to dictate religious values to us. Surprisingly (to me) the man erupted in joy and said "me too!". In a country of 95% Catholics I was amazed. We talked for a bit - happily and loudly on a festival street corner, then embraced all around and we were on our way again.

A minute later we passed a market and found that for $2 the indigenous healers (aka witches) were giving total body purification ceremonies using medicinal herbs fresh from the mountains. We watched as little children, old folks, young bucks, and mothers went through the ritual. Still I hung back, hiding behind my camera as a passive spectator.

Then Starr said "I think you want to do this". And I had to admit that I did.

I was drawn to an energetic sorcerer of middle age and sat down on a small stool in front of her. She asked for two dollars and began by grabbing a generous bouquet of strange-smelling herbs and holding them under my nose. It reminded me of a mother giving her child a taste of something new to eat.

With fierce focus she began sweeping, thrashing, pounding, and shaking the herbs all over my body and head. Purifying me. She asked me to turn the other way, smell the herbs again, and kept up the onslaught for an eternity in which I surrendered to the ancient practices of her culture. She chanted intently what sounded like "shwoosh-shwoosh-shwoosh-shwah" over and over in cadence with her movements.

Eventually her rhythm began to slow as the natural power of the herbs approached a complete transfer into my body.

Then she stopped, picked up a bottle of cane liquor and took a swig, and sprayed it into my face. I gave a startled shout, releasing some evil spirits,stood up and then politely thanked her for the cleansing.

Not to be outdone, Starr had already chosen her practitioner, a very old toothless woman. Near sightless yet more intent and serious in her practice than the others.

The pictures tell it all.

We're good now.