Tourist Sites

Really, words cannot begin to illustrate Machu Picchu well enough, but I will try. We arrived from Cuzco to Aguas Calientes by day the day before and rested in the overpriced, good for nothing town. In the morning, if you can call it that, Frank and I got out of bed and started up the path the Machu Picchu. We hoped to arrive before the first busses arrived at the top at 545am for the opening of the gates at 600am, so we started at 430am. It was still pitch black out, and we were only guided by a handheld flashlight. Already when we got to the trailhead around 500am, we could see flickers of light like fireflies on the hillside of early trekkers attempting to do the same feat we did, only getting a better start than us. With a wad of coca leaves in our mouths, we did climbed the trail in half the time estimated by the information desk. But when we were only minutes upon getting to the gate when we heard the motors and breaks of the first buses arriving. We couldn't believe it. We were maybe two minutes from beating the barely awake bus travelers. In line, maybe 300 back, we noticed all the laws broken pertaining to maintenance of the archeological ruins, people bringing in food, walking sticks, you name it. We abided by the rules, but for seemingly no reason, and it's a shame we did, because we really could have used food for fuel and water to rehydrate us for the long morning still ahead of us. One of the reasons why we wanted to get out early was to get in line to climb Huayna Picchu, which only allows 400 people into the limited access part. Upon entering, we spead around the slow, unfit, and still stiff visitors to the park and managed to get 9th and 10th in line. As we waited th sun peaked over the mountains around Macchu Picchu. It was stunning, minus the already hundreds of people crowding into the park. It is amazing to think that this is the "off season." When we finally got to pass through the gates to get up to Huayna Picchu, it was a repeat of getting to the gate, we passed the struggling and stiff climbers on our way to joining a pair of Canadians to be the first on top of Huayna Picchu. As we got to the top, the sky started to break. Earlier there was a fog that covered the landscape, but when we arrived to the top, we had a clear view of everything around us. It was magical. Alone on the peak, having scaled the high stairs and boulders, we just sat silently soaking it all in. As the day continued, we friended our Canadian hiking partners, and treked around the rest of Huayna Picchu to see the Temple of the Moon and the Great Cave on the back side. The entire time we were completely alone in the great wilderness on the outskirts of Machu Picchu. It was awesome. But the climb back up to the regular park wasn't. I was dehydrated by that point and it seemed like the stairs never ceased to end. We would finally come down, only to come right back up. Around the outside of Huayna Picchu, the stairs hugged a cliff that had at least a 1000ft fall below. When we got back to Machu Picchu we went straight to the entrance to get drinks in celebration. We had hiked all that there was to hike around Huayna Picchu in 90 minutes, when the estimated time was more than twice that. Again, I felt like a champ. But instead of a free cold beer as my reward, it was a steep price of S/16 a piece. Water was something like S/12. But I needed it, badly. After a nice leisurely break, we hiked but again up to the sun gate where those climbing up the Inca Trail would first see Machu Picchu. It was a stunning sight from there. Frank and I sat for nearly an hour soaking it in in complete silence. From there we travelled back down to see the ruins of Machu Picchu when finally the crowds started to thin. We were there almost of magic hour as the sun set, but had to get back down by foot to make it to our train to Ollantaytambo or else take the $24 bus ride down. We decided to walk. By the end of the day my legs felt like jelly. We walked for twelve hours that day, in a continuous climb and decent. But the experience was worth every burnt calorie and more. I am still shaken by the awesome construction of Machu Picchu in the middle of some of the steepest mountains I have seen.

This past week I was more or less in repose after the long week of Carnival that came to a screeching hault. I honestly didn't know what to do with myself. I spent the first two days of the week sulking about not having anything to do until I stumbled upon a gold mine. There is a publication every month that sponsors all of the events in Cuenca, music concerts, art shows, you name it. So Wednesday night I took in my first concert here, not realizing how badly I was missing those experiences. The group was from Madagascar, but I was not expecting a lot out of a culturally self indulgent town of 150,000 to bring in good international music. My preconceived notion was reinforced as we walked into the auditorium for the free African concert. Just over twenty people sat in the audience and on stage only a drumkit was set up. Erika, Nick, and I took our seat front and center. Then the concert started only fifteen minutes behind schedule. By then many more people had showed up for the concert. The instrumentation was the drummer, an acoustic guitarist, an electric bass, and the lead singer in the group. He carried with him a bazooka looking instrument made from hallow bamboo that had strings attached around it. His voice was magnificent and his playing equally spectacular. It took me awhile before I realized that he only had one hand, his other hand was deformed, however, he still strummed with the nub and was able to solo at astonishing rates. But it was his emotion and enjoyment of playing that made it all worth while. It was quite a good concert. The best part about it was seeing the upper-class business man grooving to the African beats, especially the man who danced beside me, who was still in his three piece suit. It really made me want to go to Africa. But, I plan to take much more advantage of the culture there is to see here, as most of it is actually free (even if the museums aren't).

That Saturday I braved the constant rain for a much anticipated trip to Ingapirca. Ingapirca is the site of Ecuador's best Incan (and Cañari) ruins. The bus left the station at nine in the morning with already a light drizzle beginning, a poor omen as most of the rain comes much later in the afternoon. We traveled north on the Pan American until we reached Cañar, and then we started the climb up the valley's hills to reach Ingapirca. It was a little anti-climatic. There was just a little reserve no larger than a hectare in size that housed the Incan temple of the sun. We dished out $3 unwillingly after we found out that the last and only bus back from there was in fact the same bus that would be leaving an hour and a half later. The moment we stepped away from the boletería the heavens opened up. It wasn't the hardest of rains, but it reminded me of the tours last semester in Portland that I gave. A steady rain that will unknowingly get you soaked and cold. We bared with the weather, because the views were all the most spectacular because of it. In the background, the hills the surround the ridge in which Ingapirca is located were rapidly changing. The clouds rose up along the sides giving a sensation of being at a very high altitude. The temple itself has been more or less destroyed over the years, just the elliptical base remained formed by perfectly fitted square stones each weight well over a ton. Those rocks were carried over fifteen kilometers from further down the valley where they were mined, but that pales in comparison to the stones that were destined for Cuenca. Those stones were mined around Cuzco, in southern Peru, to create a replica of the Incan temples in the capital. They made it as far as Loja, nearly eighty percent of the way, before abandoning the trek. Loja, to give you some sort of reference is about a five hour drive by bus on a good day. Anyway, the temple itself perched on the edge of its ridge over looking the long corridor that housed the town of Cañar, although we couldn't see it. We finished our tour of the small protected archaeological sight to view the Incan face in the cliffside of an adjacent ridge before having to hustle back and catch the bus. It was a fantastic experience, even only spending less than two hours time. But the rain still continues, and it deterred be from going up to Cajas on Sunday as well. When will the rain cease?

First of all, I have to apologize for how long this entry is going to be. I tried to no avail to break up the stories I have accumulated on my week of personal travel with three others. Ecuador has so much to offer and each day can be written like its own little tall tale.

The four of us, David (having just gotten out of the hospital no more than seven hours earlier), Katie, Nick, and I, on Thursday, took a bus that crossed the entire country of Ecuador, the equator, and some of the largest banana plantations in the world in order to arrive at our destination of Esmeraldas. We inquired about the length of time it would take for such a journey and all the estimates ranged from twelve to thirteen hours. But those were favorable estimates for a week after rains on the Andean slopes that caused more than half of the roads to be closed due to mudslides. It took us seventeen hours. Arriving with the sun directly overhead, beating down on us, encouraged us to quickly find a hotel rather than bake while napping in the park plaza. We stayed the night in the beach town of Esmeraldas called Las Palmas. The scene was more or less as depressing as one can get for an equatorial beach. Esmeraldas is home to the pipeline that traverses over the Andes and down into the Oriente Amazonian rainforest where they pump up more than 50% of the countries revenue in "black gold." The horizon was littered with oil tankers each going to all the different parts of the world. In the actual town of Esmeraldas we explored what seem to be more like a Caribbean town, finding music stores for which to come back to. We also ran into a Tía store for some much need groceries and water, buying our first bundle of Club Social crackers for David's diet. We kept Club Social in business with the amount that we bought over the course of the week. We found nothing better for a weak stomach. The following night, after living the life in our air-conditioned room, we headed southwest along the coast to Atacames. In Atacames, we hopped on the ecotaxi, a motorcycle attached with a carriage in front (to obstruct the vision of the driver), until we arrived at the beach where already the stands bordering the beach were blasting their reggaeton. We had reservation through Narcisa so as to have a place during a very busy Carnival in this French Quarter style party strip but on first look we knew it wasn't worth $15 a night. Inside a barbershop, overlooking a bar without a window, and no toilet seat on the toilet helped convince us to move on and find a different place to stay. After a few rejections because of the high prices, we came upon Hostal Jennifer, which was actually in the guidebook. They gave us a bargain price of $12 a night if we signed for three consecutive nights. We took it for the four hammocks and mildly quieter atmosphere. The rest of the day was spent looking for a bathing suit and some flip-flops and then body surfing on the waves of a beach much more acceptable than that in Las Palmas. Each passing day added hundreds and hundreds of more people arrived at the beach, littering it, literally, with people. We took in one night of the party, and that was all I could really handle. We stopped into our first bar-hut looking for some flavorful mixed drinks but I made the wrong choice. Before thinking it through I had ordered "la cucaracha" for its name, meaning "the cockroach." I was not on the top of my game. I got a bowl of tequila and coco flavor literally on fire. I realized later I was supposed to drink it while on fire, but the surprise of it caused me to blow it out like it was an unintentional fire. It was the strongest drink I've ever tasted, and hope to ever taste. Katie, after seeing my reaction to it, wanted to give it a try and immediately spewed it all over me. Only after a few sips, chased down with David's coke, I gave up on the drink and we danced a little to the reggaeton being played. We chose the right bar to be at because I got myself on Ecuadorian television. Afterwards, we took a little time to try and cool off before trying another place where I chose not to make the same mistake again with guessing at a mixed drink and ordered simply "tropical drink." It tasted like pineapple juice and nothing more. A little upsetting. The culture on the beach was quite interesting indeed. Lots of wandering people without choosing a place to sit and dance perhaps. All of the discobars and things in an actual building were for the most part empty. And without bathrooms, drunken guys lined the surf to relieve themselves. Quite an interesting time. The party never really stopped either. The music only subsided when the sun rose again, but only for a few hours before you could hear the bass beats of reggaeton to call breakfast. The following day, David had a reaction to eggs that he ate for breakfast and his health turned very sour. We got close to taking him to the hospital or finding him a way back to Cuenca. It didn't take long for someone to get sick. That night he got to feeling better but none of us really wanted to take part in the activities over night and spent most of the time lounging in the hammocks sharing stories. I indulged in some ice cream in the bottom half of a pineapple, called piña hawaiiana. I was already missing it by the time I finished.

After wearing ourselves down with the high powered experience of Atacames, we headed south down the coast to arrive eventually at Canoa, a small beach town known for it's large beaches and little population. We got an unexpected treat on the bus rides though. It was probably one of my favorite days on the entire trip. We started on a late morning out of Atacames and caught a bus to Mensaje where we could another bus, and then another to arrive at Perdenales where at last we could get a bus to Canoa. The bus rides drove through scenic seaside vistas where out of the green hills of tropical flora came a beautiful view of the Pacific. But most of the enjoyment hailed from the people that we saw. The first bus had a late blooming drunk. He very well could have been up all night, but he was drunker than ever and carrying a bottle of Pilsener. It didn't take long for him to pass out. No one really made a move to help or punish him, only looks and laughs. When we jumped out to catch the next bus, sir drinks-a-lot got the boot. Our next bus pulled up almost immediately. The town we were in, if you can even called one, was a crossroads that housed no more than ten building, all home to vendors of you name it for the buses that drive through. The driver made a pit stop here so we had plenty of waiting time in the center of the road, enough time for Sir drinks-a-lot to purchase a new bottle of Pilsener to spill when he passes out a second time. But David and I sought the seats up front away from the commotion he was bound to cause. The sight to have on this bus was the ayudante, who took the money, provided the music, and hurried the traffic in and out of the bus. He was lost in the culture of the late eighties and early nineties. We listened to essentially the soundtrack to Rocky. We also heard some "Eye of the Tiger" and "Highway to the Dangerzone." Not only was his musical tastes from the late eighties and early nineties but he looked like he came straight out of Fresh Prince of Bel Air. The white rimmed bug-eyed glasses was just icing on the cake. The bus change to go to Perdenales was even more abrupt than the previous one. We hopped of the bus midway down the street to get into a extended open-air hummer-like bus, more common in the north coast of Ecuador. It was only a 50km drive so we figured it would not take more than an hour and a half but the road conditions pushed back our expectations and it took more like two and a half hours. That's a whopping 13km/hr, that's equivalent to less than 10 miles/hr. The road was more like a jungle four-wheel drive road than a coastal highway. There were small indigenous communities built up every ten minutes or so, each bearing three or four kids looking to celebrate Carnival. Like everywhere in Ecuador, there are speed bumps at the most unnecessary points. Unfortunately they were right in the heart of every little community. Prime position for the kids to hurl buckets of water on to everyone stuck in the bus. I got absolutely soaked by the time we pulled into Perdenales. It didn't really matter because the splash mobile came to greet us. This was true anywhere you were around the time of Carnival, certainly true in Cuenca. There would be a crowd of teenagers in the back of a slow moving pickup truck with a huge vat of water for a large supply of these raids on the innocent. We nearly made it the entire two hour wait without being hit, but on the walk to the the bus station, we were spotted and thoroughly drenched. On the bus we got the best American culture, the movie "the Marine." It was your classic stereotypical American film with action scenes every ten minutes, starting in the first two minutes, with the main character in Iraq, killing hundreds of terrorists in the most absurd ways. I was pretty embarrassed to be sitting there in the bus front row, and secretly hoped that no one paid any attention. The volume shorted out midway on the drive, and possibly the most peculiar thing was to see more than one person concerned about turning it up again. One thing is for sure, Ecuadorians love their absurd action. Here's a quick list of some of the movies I've seen on buses: The Fast and the Furious, The Scorpion King, The Medallion, and the Terminator.

Anyway, we finally got into Canoa in the dark, dusty town. Tired and had no idea where to go, we scoped out the places in the lonely planet guide. Everyone was way over priced for a hut with a mosquito net. What we did find was the best room in Canoa for a mere $8 a night. What a score! The fifth story, right on the beach with a cool breeze looking straight at the setting sun. It was a little like heaven. And what more, but Canoa had pancakes to feed our craving in the morning. The next day we spent the day in the corner of a very pristine beach where crabs still lived in their burrowed holes moving back and forth to their homes with any movement and the surf was spotless. We really were living the life. Everyone was near perfect health. Of course that had to change overnight. I got a little over zealous with the good food that we found here and ordered veggie spaghetti, with uncooked vegetables. The onions, which I was told not to eat before going to the coast, were potent. I woke up at 4 in the morning to unbearable pains in my stomach, throwing up, and diarrhea. It was the most sick I think I have ever felt. I had to get an injection and take some crazy amount of pills just to avoid getting an IV. Phew. The next morning I was able to get out of bed to take the long trip down the coast to Montañita. Montañita is more or less a surfer town, caulk full of gringos. We made a similar fantastic find here as we did in Canoa, we scored an $8 room high in a building over looking the bog/swamp near the ocean, just about the best you could find in this far too ritzy coast town. I had to avoid eating the fantastic international food though. I missed my last chance of getting Pad Thai until I return the states more than likely. And then the following morning, Saturday, we found the best pancake place in the world. Oh I was jealous. Eating beans and rice and snacking on crackers to stave off my hunger was my diet for three days. The next morning I felt 100% and had some of those pancakes to die for. Banana an chocolate. Ohhh so good.

The bus back to Cuenca was pretty uneventful. We passed through Guayaquil, surging with people. The bus depot was a three story high bus stop with over 200 terminals! From there we went up the unbelievably steep Andes, fishtailing the turns in the pouring rain, just missing the possibilities of bus plunge. I was finally able to breath by the time we reached Cajas national park, but then I lost it again. The views were breath-taking. Pristine lakes, mountain peaks showing bare rock cliffs, and not a tree in sight to block the view of the sunset and then moonlit scenery. I have to go back! I would stay weeks or months there if I could. Absolutely beautiful, like nothing I've seen before. I got back into Cuenca at 8:30 on Sunday, only to wake up again less than eleven hours later for school once again.

So far this trip has managed to satisfy my hunger of bland and general tourism. That is about as far as it goes. Housed in the "Gringoland" district of Quito, there is nothing much to see by foot but a couple of sour faces from taxi drivers and occationally the large group of tourists exhibiting the meager Spanish they know, something I can truly relate to. But this is not really any test of Spanish for every sign, menu and service provider displays its grammatically incorrect English, just enough to get me food from the ethnic resturants I've been endulging upon. It doesn't seem fair at this moment of my life to pocket enough money to give me three meals and be able to last in the "richest" areas of Ecuador. To give you some idea, it cost eight soiled dollar bills for a three person meal in the heart of the tourist mecca.

At any rate, we have been customary tourists upto this point. Nothing but sightseeing and travelling in the littered streets of Quito in our rented bus. The streets can only be characterized as Russian Roulette. Honking is pushed as much as the gas pedal, and that usually gives the right for drivers here the right away to speed through pedestrian crosswalks. Yesterday was highlighted with a travel across the north valley of Quito and back over the equator. What I recall seeing as located in the heart of urbanization was similar to your Walmart, clearcut and built next to Boring, Oregon. I can't really put into words the fallacy of the monumental construction to mark the "precise" location of the equator. Afterwards, we travelled back across town to the central hill that divides the upper, old Quito, from the new and much more delapadated side of town. I was unable to capture the true grandeur of the view from atop the hill. Housing and construction crept up the steep slopes of the towering mountains surrounding the city and the pollution shielded the view of the three gigantic volcanic peaks neighboring the city of Quito. At the crest of the hill stands the third largest statue in the world, following the Statue of Liberty and the mammoth of a statue overlooking Rio in Brazil. The statue is the Virgin of Quito, or Virgin Guadalupe. The would have been the highlight of my exhausting day but I happened to see what is heralded as the greatest church in the Americas called the La Compania. The interior was blanketed in gold leaf, making the experience like finding the golden city. Yesterday was capped off with a little rain and some passing philosophy about life on the patio atop our hostel.

Today was an investigation of the most famous artist of Ecuador, Oswaldo Guayasamin. We chugged along the steep hills to reach his museum. This box like ediface was fabulously decorated in his artwork. I failed to purchase anything from the gift shop but I hope to return on this trip. We returned from the trip with much more energy, only to have it sucked out in a stuffy meeting room to discuss the history of Ecuador's politics. I did give me a fantastic lead on my hopeful senior thesis however. The lecturer, Yuri Guerra, who works with an ecological foundation located here in Quito. I am excited about this lead in order to learn more about the ITT proposal. The proposal seeks to earn money from the international community for the protection and restraint from continued oil exploration in Yasuni National Park.

I have a bit of an upset stomach about tomorrow, or perhaps the strong curry from my Indian food tonight. Tomorrow I meet my host family whom I will be staying with for the next three months. I am all but ready.

Enter language immersion.