Going South.

Luckily, Ecuador was spared any major aftershocks, and I was able to get my ride at the bus terminal without incident. The terminal was completely back to normal, as if the madness of yesterday had never happened.

Looking back at downtown Guayaquil from across the wide mouth of the Rio Guayaquil.

The bus from Guayaquil to Cuenca takes about four-and-a-half hours. The first hour or so is across the lush flatlands of the Rio Guayaquil delta. The the mountains suddenly rise before you and you begin to climb.

And climb, through verdant hillsides planted with bananas and other tropical fruits.

And climb, into the clouds, past cascades and small farms.

And climb, past little mountain villages clinging to the steep slopes.

Past cows tethered precariously to the vertiginous hillsides.

Past 10,000, 11,000, then 12,000 feet. And still the abundant crops thrive.

The vibrant green of these high-altitude pastures are amazing to those of us expecting a more alpine landscape.

The cows were plentiful, but I saw no pigs. And yet I kept catching the distinctive whiff of pig shit. I couldn't figure out where that smell was coming from.

Until the bus passed the truck ahead of us.

There were actually two trucks packed with pigs on their way to market. Fortunately, we were able to pass them both and enjoy the rest of the journey with fresher air.

Once in Cuenca, I checked in to the lovely old Hotel Victoria, where I would finally reconnect with Ophelia for the rest of the trip.

The room had a spacious terrace.

With a fabulous view of the city.

O was supposed to arrive at 3:00. She finally showed up just before 5:00. Apparently, her women's group was coming back from visiting a park and their driver got pulled over by the cops. They harassed him over some minor paperwork he had left behind and wouldn't let him go until he gave them all the money he had, about $30. 

Naturally, the group pitched in and paid him back. It seems this kind of thing is not unusual here.

This trip has really been an adventure.

And the adventure is better when shared.

Cuenca is a beautiful old colonial town. Since it sits at just over 8,000 feet, the weather is pretty delightful year round. Today it was sunny and in the low 70s. We saw no evidence of yesterday's earthquake.

We visited the central market and marveled at the incredible array of colorful fruits and vegetables.

This is what happened to the little piggy who went to market. Sad, but delicious.

But we settled for fruit juice instead. O had carrot and ginger and I had pineapple and ginger. The fruit here is simply stellar.

Rambo tonic looks guaranteed to wake you up in the morning.

In the afternoon, we caught a shuttle to the little town of Vilcabamba, about 4.5 hours south of Cuenca. The road is long and windy, reaching about 11,000 feet before descending to Vilcabamba at 5,500 feet.

The ecolodge Izhcayluma is a gorgeous little jewel of a place. Our cabin is set well apart from the others in the midst of well-planted gardens.

The lodge sits on a hillside overlooking valley and the town of Vilcabamba. The area is known as the Valley of Longevity because it is supposed to be especially salubrious. It certainly looks the part.

There's a small restaurant with views of the valley.

It's a remarkably beautiful and tranquil spot.

But we're only here for one night. Tomorrow we start an 11-day retreat at a nearby retreat center. We'll be out of contact with social media during that time.

See you on the other side.

P.

The Earth Moved, and I Missed It.

So I was on the bus from Jipijapa to Guayaquil, and all was well until we started our approach to the Guayaquil bus station. The station is huge, almost as big as most airport terminals, and there seemed to be a lot of traffic, even for a Saturday. 

The station was in sight, but we were only inching forward very slowly. The driver was trying to weave his way past a vast tangle of cars, taxis, shuttle vans, and other buses.Twenty minutes passed and we were still trying to get to the disembarkation point. 

The passengers began to grumble, then rose up in open revolt. They forced open the doors and got out in the middle of the road, grabbing their luggage and threading their way through the traffic toward the terminal. 

I decided to get out, too. The roads and ramps were like a parking lot, with hundreds of vehicles going nowhere. The entrances to the terminal were thronged with hundreds of people in lines or milling about in confusion. I had planned to go in and get the schedule for the bus to Cuenca the next day, but when I finally squeezed my way through the crowd to the door, I realized that no one was going in.

Well, that was annoying, but I figured there were just too many people so they were restricting the number who could enter at one time. Since I didn't really need to know the schedule, I decided to go out to the street well beyond the jam and either get a taxi or call an Uber.

When I got to the street I saw there were a lot of people trying to flag down cabs without much luck. So I walked further in hopes of getting away from the whole mess. It was 89 degrees, very humid, my backpacks were heavy, and the equatorial sun was beating down on me, but I kept walking.

After about a mile, I found a shady spot free of traffic, and summoned an Uber. Unfortunately, instead of walking south toward my hotel, I had walked north. The Uber driver was coming from the south, so of course he had to inch his way through the traffic around the terminal before he could get to me. That took quite some time. And then he had to go through the traffic again to get to my hotel. It was a process.

I asked him what the problem was with the terminal. He said, un temblor. So I Googled.

Yikes! That's a large quake. Other than the jam around the terminal, the city seemed to be going about business as usual, however. 

I got to the hotel and the women at the front desk told me that the shaking had been horrible and that the power was out. So I sat in the hot lobby and waited. After about three hours, they let me go to my room. It was also very hot, but I was able to change into my swim suit and go down to the pool. No sooner had I plunged into the refreshing water than the power came on.

I went back to the room and turned on the A/C. It was heavenly. I basked in the coolness of it.

Later I walked about a mile to dinner down one of the main streets. Everything and everyone seemed relaxed and going about their regular routines. Apparently, there wasn't much damage in Guayaquil itself. Some of the smaller towns near the epicenter suffered more and several people were killed. In Cuenca, one person was crushed when a wall collapsed on their car. That happened just around the corner from the hotel where O was staying. Luckily, she was out of town at the time.

Still, too close for comfort.

Hoping for no aftershocks.

P.

 

Mud, Sweat, and No Tears.

I was done with mud.

Unfortunately, mud was not done with me.

I flew from Quito to Guayaquil on the Pacific coast. Guayaquil at 3 million people is the second largest city in Ecuador. Rio Guayaquil forms a vast delta as it reaches the sea.

Guayaquil was just a overnight stop on my way to the beach at Puerto Lopez. I hoped to do some diving in "the poor man's Galapagos." I been to the rich man's Galapagos in 2015, I didn't want to spend that much time or money on this trip. Here's a link to that amazing trip.

Puerto Lopez is about a four-hour bus ride from Guayaquil, by way of the town of Jipijapa (which is not the center of the thriving Ecuadorian hip-hop scene, as I had believed). I felt safe making the trip in the Sagrado Corazon de Jesus.

The scenery through the coast range was lush.

Elvis for mayor!

It had rained the whole night before, and it turns out that most of the streets in Puerto Lopez are dirt. You know what that means. I took a tuk-tuk (the primary public transit in town) to my hotel. Three people were already jammed in the back seat, so I squeezed in beside the driver, half on his seat and half in air, holding desperately on to the vehicle and my two backpacks as we jolted down the rutted road. But when we turned on to the road to my hotel, the mud was waiting.

The fully-laden tuk-tuk could not make it up the slippery hill, so once again I had to slog through the mud to my hotel. Luckily this time it was only a short hike.

La Terrazza turned out to be a beautiful compound overlooking the town and the harbor.

My cabana had a porch with a great view of the gardens, the pool. and the sea. And yes, there was A/C. Puerto Lopez was about 81 degrees as opposed to the high of 89 in Guayaquil, but it was not a dry heat, so the A/C was very welcome.

Puerto Lopez is a typical Latin-American Fishing village/ tourist attraction. Most the tourists here are Ecuadorian as Americans and Europeans tend to go to the Galapagos. The main drag has little to recommend it.

Most of the restaurants and tourist shops are on the road fronting the beach. There are dozens of restaurants, all serving similar food, and all featuring aggressive touts waving menus to lure you in.

I ate at the hotel. Their dining room has an awesome view of the spectacular sunsets.

By the next day, the road had pretty well dried, so I walked down to meet the boat at Native Divers.

They are a funky and friendly group with reasonably good equipment. 

A couple vultures were scouring the beach for bits of fish leftover from the morning's catch as we waited for the boat to arrive.

A pelican accompanied us out to the dive site.

The blue skies were filled with frilly clouds.

After a 20-minute ride, we reached a small island inhabited by frigate birds and boobies. We geared up and jumped in. I came up from the initial plunge and a blue-footed booby almost landed on my head. It plopped itself down in the water next to us and swam around our bobbing heads, watching us quizzically. Totally unafraid.

Unfortunately, the rain had churned up the water and the visibility was lousy, 15-20 feet tops. And the surge was intense. I'm happy to let the sea toss me about, but my guide got anxious and went through his air pretty quickly. There were also pronounced thermoclines. One moment the water would be pleasantly warm, the next uncomfortably cold.

It was a shame that the conditions were so poor, because the site was excellent--plenty of soft coral, numerous fish, and one lone turtle. My guide aborted the second dive when he hit half a tank. I still had over 2000 lbs., but I was not unhappy to get out of the water.

The size of the waves gives you a pretty good idea of the strength of the surge.

Back at the beach the frigate birds swooped in to see if we had brought them any fish. Sorry, guys.

These folks did have fish.

There were dozens of these prehistoric-looking birds whirling right overhead the whole time.

And here's why.

From my terrace it was easy to see the murky runoff caused by the rain.

Didn't affect the gorgeous sunset.

The next day, I decided to skip diving and wandered around town instead.

The major charm of visiting a fishing village is the incredibly fresh fish. I had an excellent ceviche on the beach.

I had grilled lobster with garlic sauce.

I had arroz marinara featuring fish, shrimp, squid, clams, and delicious fried sweet bananas.

I ate very well, then strolled on the beach to watch the sunset over the harbor.

The next day, I booked a jungle tour. 

I could have done it on horseback, but no, I chose walking.

The jungle as hot and humid. I wore long sleeves and long pants because had been warned that there were swarms of hungry mosquitos. I sprayed myself all over with repellent, my guide, Carlos, gave me some rubber boots, strapped on his machete, and we took off.

The foliage was incredibly lush.

We found a tarantula hole. They are mostly nocturnal, but later in the hike, I almost stepped on a black one about six inches across.

The forest we walked through is a national park so the trees and animals are protected, but the locals are allowed to plant crops here and use the produce to trade for meat and fish in Puerto Lopez.

Here are a few of their coffee plants. They also grow chocolate, bananas, papayas, etc.

The jungle damp is ideal for mushrooms.

And bromeliads.

This little critter is but a shell of his former self. They molt as they grow, leaving their hollow carapaces to decorate the trees. 

A river runs through it.

This was not an easy hike. The mud (yes, the mud again) was deep and slippery. I almost lost my boot to the suction several times. Often we hiked up the streambed through the water to avoid the mud.

A huge water spider joined us in the river.

And a small freshwater crab. Later we saw some that were a good six or seven inches across.

Far off we could hear howler monkeys making a racket. We had already come about a mile, and I was getting really tired. Carlos asked me if I wanted to go on, and I was torn. But those damn monkeys kept calling. So I sat down to rest and drink water while Carlos went to find them.

He came back about ten minutes later. He had found them. Muy legos, he said.  Well, I simply couldn't live without the sight of some monkeys, so we continued. 

The cries got louder and louder, but the critters were well-hidden in the treetops. Carlos cut a path through the dense brush and made very convincing monkey calls. 

Finally, there they were. A whole family whooping and hollering.

We watched them for a while, then started the long way back. I had to keep stopping to rest. I was very hot, the air seemed almost too thick to breathe, and I was getting a little lightheaded.

And then we saw a toucan. which gave me a burst of energy.

I finally staggered into Carlos' house, my clothes soaked with sweat, spots before my eyes. The hike had been four-and-a-half miles.

Carlos let me rest for a bit, then took me next-door to his mother's house. She fed me chicken (from her own flock, the chickens kept running in and out of the house as we ate), rice, and delicious guayaba juice. The sugar and calories brought me back to life. 

I took a tuk-tuk back to the hotel and got ready to jump in the pool. Just then I got horrible cramps in my thighs. I could barely stand up, but if I sat down the cramps got worse. 

Can you say dehydration?

I could have cried, but I didn't have the fluid to spare.

I lay down and drank bottle after bottle of water. I had thought I was drinking enough on the hike, but clearly I was wrong. 

Finally, I got better. I was able toddle downtown where I drank lots more juice with dinner (maracuyá, my favorite).

Later I strolled on the beach for one last sunset.

It was Friday night, and Puerto Lopez was in total party mode, but I was ready for a good night's sleep.

P.