Trek from the Andes to the Jungle: Day 1

Diane: The most remarkable thing about today is that it happened.

My last few attempts at putting together a multi-day family hike have been thwarted by schedules, weather, injured body-parts, bad attitudes, or some dastardly combination of the above. For example, I planned a 3-day backpacking trip in North Carolina last summer. Everything was perfect, until we got out of the car. Within 5 minutes, TM had hurt his leg so that he was limping badly. And before we could unload the car, it was pouring. It did let up for a few hours each day. Needless to say we did not go backpacking.

The last time we actually went backpacking, we hiked to a beautiful spot, set up camp, ate a bit. And then it started to rain. The prediction was for rain all night followed by sun the next morning. I thought that sounded okay. We'd just hang our tents and tent pads out to dry and then hike out. But, this was no ordinary rain. It rained so much that the river overflowed. In the middle of the night, we could hear the water rushing by our tents as everything inside got wetter and wetter. We woke up camped in the middle of a lake. I found Calliope's boots and socks floating nearby. The dry trail we had walked in on the day before was now covered in 1 - 3 feet of water. It was a spectacularly beautiful wade back to the car.

The rest of the family is now a bit reserved, when it comes to agreeing to go on an overnight hike with me. I get the silent treatment. Nobody refuses to go, but nobody actually talks about getting ready either.

So, when I found a tourism project offering a supported hike to take us from a town called Jima, 30 kilometers from Cuenca and high up in the Andes, down to the low-lying village of La Florida, nobody said much. A horse would carry all of our gear. We would have a guide. December and January are the driest times to hike in this region, so our timing was good. I exchanged emails with a couple of Peace Corps Volunteers that are helping get this tourism project off the ground. I forwarded everybody the information concerning the route, food and sleeping arrangements, difficulty level, guide, horses, etc. I then told everybody to incorporate more and more walking into their days in preparation for the trek. No response.

Today, the first day of the hike, Calliope and TM took turns riding a horse. Tom and I walked the whole way. The highest point we reached was at about 3000 meters, and we are spending the night at about 2200 meters. We followed a horse trail, since this is a roadless area. During the rainy season, each time a horse walks the trail, they compress the mud underneath during each step. Over time, large ruts form between tall humps of earth. Imagine a washboard dirt road with the washboard enlarged 10 times. When it rains, the ruts fill with water. We lucked out; it did not rain!

We hiked for 6 or 7 hours through spectacular scenery, moss-covered trees, and many tough looking plants. Linder, our guide, is a biologist. He showed us plant-related points of interest along the way, including the quina tree. This tree, which requires very specific growing conditions, was the sole source of quinine for many years at a time when it was the only treatment available for malaria. According to Raúl, our Spanish teacher at the Abraham Lincoln Center in Cuenca, the extension of the British Empire into malaria-infested countries was made possible by this tree.





Another plant of interest along the way is used by local women to make their hair grow longer. I figured if there were such a thing, I'd have certainly seen it (or some alternative) on drugstore shelves in the U.S. Linder is a trained biologist, but he didn't share my disbelief. Maybe we have a new find, ready for marketing back home.

We are spending the night in the schoolhouse in the small town of San Miguel de Cuyes. We had the additional options of staying with a local family or camping, but we are all too tired to evaluate such complexities.






The first resident we met said that 22 people live in this town. Linder says that as little as a few years ago, there were several hundred. There were a few young men hanging out by the schoolhouse, but I was too exhausted to try to carry on a conversation in Spanish.

We made it to our first destination in good weather and in good health. Nobody is blaming me for any misadventures. It has been a remarkable day.

Calliope at Parque Calderón, Cuenca, Ecuador

Diane: From the smallest town to the largest city, Ecuadorian towns, generally have a well maintained and landscaped central plaza. The prinicipal church is generally adjacent to it. Cuenca is no exception with its Parque Calderón. In addition, Spanish colonial architecture dominates the historic center surrounding this lovely park.

In an effort to capture the serene, flowery, community-oriented nature of this park, Calliope and I went down for a photo shoot. As it turns out, our camera could either focus on Calliope or the park, but not both. So, here are some fun pictures of Calliope.

Let's start with Calliope standing by a lovely wall of bougainvilla by the edge of the park. In Sarasota, bougainvilla is our arch-enemy. It grows about 10,000 feet every month and it's thorns are as long as a 2-litre bottle of soda and as dense as the hair on my head. But here in Cuenca, bougainvilla is a slow grower with few thorns that flowers almost continuously throughout the year.

When we arrived in Cuenca, there were no flowers blooming. Our first few months were rainy and cool. At the end of December the sun came out. Everybody complained about the heat. Even I started to take my sweatshirt off for a couple of hours each day. And then, miraculously, on the first day of the New Year, all the flowers bloomed at once. Here are a few sharing their wealth of colors behind Calliope. You can also make out the municipal building off in the background

There is a lot of nice iron-work in and around the park. You can see bits and pieces in the background.






As an aside, we live in the iron-workers neighborhood. Once it crosses the river, the main road coming out this way is called Las Herrerías - The Blacksmith Shops. Next door lives a family that probably makes all the cuy (guinea pig) grills in Cuenca. Every week or two, there are a spate of newly painted grills drying out in the sun behind our apartment. Most every morning at around 7 am, the soft clanging starts as this family gets to work. Tom claims this noise keeps him awake, but I find it to be a very delicate sound.

Although Calliope is feigning sleep in this next picture, you are actually prohibited from sleeping in this park. Guards will come around and wake you up!

Cuenca's two cathedrals flank either side of the park. Behind Calliope is the Old Cathedral.

The trees are very manicured. Trees with benches surrounding them are pruned so that no one hits their head. Here Calliope demonstrates.

There are many cozy benches to relax on. People can get to know each other better here.

Christmas Decorations, Cuenca, Ecuador

Diane: The Christmas season has come to a close. Day by day, the city is removing its fabulous outdoor decorations. There is a vast array of lights. On some streets at night, you can't see to their end. The lighting takes a unique twist in several city parks. The trees are lit up in spooky bright green and blue. It reminds me of the old Disney version of Snow White running through the dark forest, trees catching at her skirt.

The New Cathedral in the central plaza is elegantly lit at night.

Nativity scenes decorate the town. Most families erect something inside their homes. In addition, there are outdoor nativity scenes and museum exhibits. An art exhibit opened with nativity scenes from around South America. Another opened displaying the winners of a nativity art contest. I don't know the exact guidelines for the contest, but it seems that each one is made from organic materials and the artists are allowed great thematic leeway. One is composed entirely of beans. Another shows what was left when Mary and Joseph had to leave suddenly. They are all wildly different and quite entertaining. One of my favorite outdoor nativity scenes is an enormous, modern-style variant. All surfaces are covered with colorful reflective material. At about 30 feet tall, this creation dwarfs the surrounding playground equipment.

One well-known Cuencan couple works year round on an elaborate nativity scene next to their house. It is a miniature representation of hundreds of Ecuadorian indigenous people, PlayMobile figures, Roman soldiers, lights, bright gaudy plastic, Ecuadorians at work, moving parts, and much more. The scenes that capture everyday Ecuadorian life are fascinating.

One area portrays celebrations with a maypole, a military band, an indigenous band, and some folks enjoying a meal together.






In country scenes, people ride horses down a trail. Many of them carry heavy loads. Women carry their babies with them. Sheep and chickens to one side, lush vegetation to the other. A water wheel, with water flowing through it adds a touch of drama. A few houses have thatched-style roofs. There are some real plants and some artificial ones.










The colorful outdoor market is quintessential Ecuadorian. Women in colorful clothing. Bags of grains, pasta, and beans. Roasting cuys (guinea pigs). Fresh fruit and vegetables for sale.






And a crafts market. Each vendor has an awning for sun protection. They are depicted selling ceramic pots, metal cans, baskets, and straw hats.

Another unusual aspect of the Cuencan Christmas scene are the moss and bromeliad markets that pop up. Traditionally, people decorate their family crèches with such plants. Unfortunately, reliance on these plants has resulted in their decimation in the wild. Every year the government and the press unsuccessfully promote alternative options. However, this is insufficient to sway the masses from purchasing the real thing.

Rumi-Wilco, Vilcabamba, Ecuador

Diane: The name Vilcabamba comes from Wilco, a type of tree whose seeds have been used as a hallucinogen by the indigenous people for over 4000 years, and Bamba, meaning valley. So Vilcabamba is the valley of the wilco trees. The wilco is one of those large trees with very small leaves arranged in a feathery fashion.

My limited ability to note and remember the differences in plant species has led me to, incorrectly, call all such large feathery trees, acacias.






Due to the filtered light that pokes through wilco trees, this is an attractive area to cultivate shade-grown coffee. The lodge sells its own coffee that they grow, sun-dry, clean, roast, grind, and package. Tom, a coffee aficionado from way back with 2 coffee-grinders, 2 espresso-makers, 2 French presses, and 1 drip coffee-maker at home, says that it is the best coffee he has ever tasted. As a non-coffee drinker, I was more interested in the plants, which are a wonderful bright green. Aren't the woods so much greener when you travel far from home ;-)?

We have spent the last two days hiking the hillside behind the lodge. We have picked and eaten lots of tropical fruit. And the views have been outstanding. Aside from the wilco trees, here are some of the plants, views, and people that I fell for.

The flowers on a tree near the cabin was particularly attractive to a type of butterfly, whose wings were for the most part transparent. There were tens of them on this one tree.






I can never resist bark with a good covering of lichen, a fallen log with a good head of moss, or a tree limb cloaked in epiphytes, no matter how common they are back at home.














There were walls of grasses and bamboos.






Tom spotted a stunning fungus.






I spotted some domesticated animal life.






There were lots of plants that I could not identify, but that were visually entertaining.














One plant had tiny leaves with enormous red spines.






And, my favorite was the kapok tree. We had a neighbor in Florida, who took down the house and all the vegetation on their land, but left two of these magnificent trees. A few weeks later, the trees were gone. We were so sad. And, Busch Gardens has a massive kapok tree surrounded by benches. Most of the folks who sit there are keeping an eye on their kids and never even notice the tree.










A few areas of cactus "forest" made Tom drool with envy. He has started a cactus garden at home, but there were some magnificent specimens here.

I had my first bout of acrophobia ever, yesterday. I have hiked many mountains, high and low all over the U.S., but I've never felt such a panic as I did here. I am known to freeze when I have to walk on a log above a river, but with a little patience and/or a helping hand, I always get through it without despairing. Yesterday, we were walking along the side of a mountain that had a steep dropoff to the right. The width of the path decreased to the point where there was no safety margin, just a precipitous drop off to the right. To the left, the mountain was just a few inches from my shoulder, so there was little leeway to the left. I felt myself shift right and left as I walked; no matter how I tried to correct it, I felt off-balance. Finally, I stopped, squatted down, wrapped my arms around a rock to my left, and just cried.

I was walking ahead of everybody else. Calliope was the first to find me. She realized immediately that it was beyond her ability to help me out of this, so she went and got Tom. Tom was great. I'm not even sure what he did, but I'm now sitting at the keyboard writing about all this, so I'm sure that he did just what I needed. I had to keep reminding myself that everything was all right as I made my way down the steep gorge back to the cabin.

I don't know if this is called fear of heights. I was actually afraid, because I felt so off-balance that I thought I was going to fall off the mountain. Today, I continued having the same feeling of panic and of being off-balance as we approached the high ridge and walked along its narrow path. I could look off to the left, without a problem, but there was a steep drop off to the right. So, I just kept my gaze off to the left. Luckily an exceptional view into Podocarpus National Park lay in that direction. Normally, I wouldn't try to capture such majesty with a camera, but I decided to piece together a panorama using Photoshop to capture some of its essence. Click on the photo, if you want to see all the details and TM!

En route to Vilcabamba, Ecuador

Diane: We finally made it to Vilcabamba, but without a reservation. I had wanted to stay at the Rumi-Wilco lodge, which is a bit out of town in a private nature reserve next to a National Park. The owners are naturalist-biologist-guides. Natural reserve plus naturalist owners sounded like a great mix. They have a cabin called the Pole House. It sits atop stilts by the river with a kitchen and deck - all in all perfect for us. Unfortunately, based on prior email correspondence, it was unavailable until February. I was hoping for a last-minute cancellation.

Vilcabamba was known as the valley of longevity for many years. A recent twist on this theme has resulted in a number of budget accommodations with spa services. I firmly believe that for every hour of massage you get when you need it, you add at least 2 hours to your life. Based on this rule-of-thumb and Tom's generosity with massages, Tom has ensured me a long life :-). And I know, based on almost all adolescents' obsession with any and every whitehead, blackhead, red-blotch and anything else that could be construed as a pimple, TM and Calliope would each exuberantly welcome a facial. So, a hostel-spa was another enticing option.

We arrived at the Vilcabamba bus station very hungry. We had changed buses in Loja, which had a couple of restaurants inside the terminal. I had lobbied to stop and eat, since it was already 1pm. But to no avail. Tom did not want to stop for anything, since we might miss the last bus to Vilcabamba. This worry was entirely misplaced, since there were scheduled buses running every 15 minutes from early morning to late at night. Logic did not sway Tom's firm stance. TM thought we should get going so that we could find a place to stay and get settled sooner rather than later. He feels the same way about homework - better to get it all done at school rather than worry about all those nasty details, such as bringing home the right textbooks or writing down the assignment. Calliope was hungry, but didn't see any obvious vegetarian options at the bus terminal and had no interest in inquiring. Since I try to take everybody's desires into consideration, the majority ruled and we took the next bus to Vilcabamba. Sometimes I think I should be more dictatorial.

When I inquired about the bus schedule and fare to Vilcabamba, I was told the fare was $1.30 each. After the disheartening discussion about whether to eat in the terminal, I returned to purchase tickets. For the four of us, the total was $6.00, which means that the individual fare had gone up $.20 each in the last 15 minutes. Although the difference was small, I hate the feeling of being fleeced. I reminded the ticket-seller that she had already told me the price and after a bit of haggling she agreed to the original fare.

Now this is a situation, when my command of Spanish is sufficient to deal with the practical details, but insufficient to give me the insight I prefer. I have been told that the bus rates in Ecuador are set by the government. You never have to bargain concerning bus fares, nor do you have to worry about being overcharged if you forget to ask the fare ahead of time. Having grown up in the U.S., I find this reassuring. But, there still seems to be quite a bit of variability. For example, passage from one city to another may cost significantly more depending on the exact route. Some companies with nicer buses charge a dollar or two more, but this is not always the case. Although I didn't realize it, the company I was dealing with today ran both cramped vans and large luxury buses. The ticket-seller did not tell us that she was selling us tickets on one of the cramped vans, but that might have explained the price difference. People here have been so nice to us that I now hesitate to assume that we will be taken advantage of just because we are tourists.

We had a bit more trouble purchasing tickets, because the ticket-seller didn't have change for a ten. Lack of change is a continuing problem in Ecuador. I think it is primarily caused by dollarization. Since the local currency is now the U.S. dollar, the Ecuadorians can't manufacture their own currency. They have to get it from the U.S. Early on, coins were next to impossible to come by, so they reverted back to the old centavo pieces. But singles also pose a problem. They are probably the most commonly used denomination and as such they get wrinkled, written on, torn, and then unacceptable in short order. As a result, there are far more Sacagawea coins than one dollar bills. Even so, there is a dearth of coins and small bills. Restaurant proprietors and venders of all types are always running next door for change. ATM machines almost universally spit out $20 bills, so as a traveler, my brain devotes a small, but constant undercurrent of thought to which bill to use when. Today, I offered to check some of the other bus companies to see if they had change. Nobody had change. Finally, the ticket-seller looked in some drawers, her purse, and some envelopes and come up with the necessary bills.

Once we finally arrived in Vilcabamba, we went in search of a place to eat. On the 2-block walk to the town center, we passed a couple of houses with massage signs out front; it seemed that many of the local residents had gotten into spa-related businesses. The center had several restaurants to choose from, almost none of which served Ecuadorian food :-(. The restaurants catered to tourists. The village was surrounded by soft, stunning mountains - a veritable hiker's paradise.






It was extremely hard to imagine that 20-odd years ago, Tom's sister, Catherine, had worked in the Peace Corp helping with a fish station here. I suppose the Galapagos might have been nicer; some Peace Corps volunteers have all the luck!

After lunch we followed a series of somewhat hidden maps to find the Rumi-Wilco eco-lodge. The first map we found under a roof overhang next to a couple of advertisements for other lodgings. The second we found at an artisan shop in the village center on the lower corner of a window. It was a bit like a treasure hunt. Luckily, our packs weren't that heavy or I'm sure we would have settled someplace along the way. The dirt road out of town dwindled to a trail. We crossed the river a few times - once on some wet rocks and once on a tilted bridge that had been somewhat overturned during a recent flood (which reminded all of us of the Ripley's-Believe-It-Or-Not attraction in Orlando).






When we arrived, we walked along the snaking paths, until we found the owners' kids. We had a brief conversation, they retired inside their house, and then they emerged with a key for what they called a cabaña. We kept walking, until we came upon our new home-away-from-home, nestled amongst lush greenery and fruit trees - the Pole House. What luck!

Our trip down to Vilcabamba was not at all unusual. I just thought at least one account of a day spent traveling was in order, since we have spent and will continue to spend many days on the road. As you can tell, the cogs of our decision-making processes aren't finely tuned like precisely-machined equipment. However, we are fairly flexible, which counts for something. To minimize the friction encountered during our time on the road, I'm thinking that we will stay at least a week at any given destination.

Day of the Innocents, Cuenca, Ecuador

Diane: In my mind the label for January 6th is "Three Kings Day". I have been in predominantly Catholic countries where there are parades and festivities on this day. But here in Cuenca, they celebrate "Day of the Innocents". It had been foretold that a child born around this date would cause the downfall of King Herod. So the King ordered the slaughter of all infant male children born around that date.

Raúl, our Spanish teacher at the Abraham Lincoln Center, told us the story several months ago. At first, I thought it was a Bible story or a moral parable and asked what one was supposed to learn from such a horrid story. But it turns out that many (most?) people consider it historically correct. I was not familiar with this story and still don't think I got it quite right.

In Cuenca, evening celebrations include a parade, hoardes of young men cross-dressing as women, a few young women cross-dressing as men, and some kind of contest. I am not sure what this has to do with the King Herod slaughter, but it sounded like a lot of fun, so I kept my ears open for more details.

I heard from a few Cuencanos that during the afternoon, the local children dramatize the slaughter in full costume. One person said there would be a lot of skyrockets just before it was to begin. If we followed the noise, we would find it. Another said that it would take place in the central plaza around 1pm. The newspaper said there would be a procession starting at TM and Calliope's high school around noon that would wind around to Mother's Park, where an event would be held.

I have a rule of thumb here in Ecuador, when logistical details are a bit sketchy or divergent. If I get the same info from at least two sources, who have nothing to do with one another, then there is a fair likelihood that the info is fundamentally sound. If I only hear/read it from one source, I generally don't change my plans to accommodate the information. In this case, where no two versions coincided, I decided to go have a good lunch. Afterwards, Calliope, TM, and I wandered in a roundabout fashion through town toward our apartment. We neither heard skyrockets, nor saw a procession, nor stumbled upon any outdoor productions. I did notice that adjacent to Mother's Park, workers were constructing a bandstand. They thought it was for a show that was to start around 6:30.

Although all my sources agreed that the evening festivities would take place on Gran Columbia between San Blas plaza and the central plaza, a temporary bandstand located next to Mother's Park was too hard to ignore. Another rule of thumb is that direct evidence is better than hearsay. A temporary bandstand shouts celebration, so I decided to return in the early evening.

In the evening, large groups of young men dressed as young women in Catholic school uniforms. There were also groups dressed as clowns, goblins, and scary creatures of the night.






There was music coming from many directions. At the head of the parade, three men dressed as women-clowns lead the way on their motorcycles.






The parade participants had fun with the crowd. A group dressed as the Cuencan soccer team came around giving autographs, whether requested or not. Clowns ran up and down the street interacting with the crowd.

TM's friend, Joe, was in the parade as part of a large group from his University, entitled "Chinese invasion". The theme was in reference to the proliferation of small Chinese-owned shops selling cheap Chinese imports. The costumes, however, bore no resemblance to the theme - just to the title. There were large Chinese dragons, samurai, geishas, sumo wrestlers, and karate practitioners.












Not only were the costumes interesting visually, but they also showed a confusion of Chinese and Japanese culture including bits of both. I took lots of pictures to give to Joe, only to find out later that there were two groups with the identical costume motif and the identical cultural confusion!! Either one group copied the other or the local costume shops rent the same costumes. Ironically, TM says the costume shops are Chinese-owned.

Early on in the evening, a group of young men dressed as Cholas came parading down the street. Everybody's definition of a Chola is a little bit different, but here's one attempt - a working-class, Cuencan women in traditional dress. Suddenly they veered off to the right and swarmed in our direction. We stepped out of the way as they charged a young woman about a foot away from us. She backed into a wall and they all jumped her and started a humping motion. I couldn't really tell what they were yelling, but it felt like an attack. The woman standing next to me rolled up the newspaper she was holding and started beating one of them on the head and chastising them. Eventually they backed off. Within 2 minutes, they went off after another young woman across the street.

I still don't know exactly what was going on, but to me it looked like a dry run for a gang rape. Even worse, it turned out that this group was a collection of students from TM and Calliope's class and grade! These were the same young men who had served us snacks, played guitar and sang for us, and hosted various competetive games at the class Christmas party just a couple of weeks earlier.

We saw the same gang-rape scenario, repeated by many groups, many times over the next hour. Even with the parade, the dozens of talented acts on the bandstands, and the festive ambience, this soured the whole event for Tom and me. I was also a bit afraid that Calliope might be a target, since they were definitely going after young women her age. We left immediately after seeing what we thought was the "Chinese Invasion".

TM had stayed home through all this, but after hearing that his friends were out dressed in costume, he wanted to join in. There wasn't much time, but both TM and Calliope wanted to go out dressed as the opposite gender. Swapping each other's clothes, it was a great last-minute effort.






Calliope tried to master the male teenage I-don't-care slouch. TM was evidently rather convincing, because many on the street thought he was a woman. With all the mob-fake-attacks going on, TM also felt a hint of the fear that women feel on a dark street at night, when a group of strange men approach. It was quite the role-play evening with young men dressed as young women whistling excitedly at young women and/or young men dressed as young women. Interestingly, there were very few young women dressed as young men. Many aspects of the evening were self-orchestrated by the teenagers/young-adults. At an age when they are exploring their sexual identities, this celebration allowed young people to experiment a bit in a public setting.

I am considering writing a letter to the editor taking a stand against the attack-mob activity, but I am hesitant. I can hear the charge of cultural imperialism ringing in my ears as I rail against another culture's method of merry-making. Not that I have a problem pointing out unacceptable behavior, be it culturally based or not. Also, I don't know if my Spanish is good enough to come off sounding reasonably intelligent. We'll see...