That's a Wrap on the South American Leg

Galapagos Giant Tortoise

While sitting on a plane out of Quito, I considered writing about our time aboard a ship through the Galapagos Islands.

It was wondrous and jaw dropping. There were giant tortoises, magnificent birds and a few penguins.

I uttered, “Don’t step on that sea lion,” so many times that I lost count. And swimming with the playful critters continuously filled my mask with water because I simply could not help but laugh each time they buzzed by me.

The eight days left me nearly speechless, at least enough to admit that I simply cannot capture it in words. Instead I’ll sprinkle a few photos throughout this post.

Now we are heading back to Denver, and I’m thinking about a question that Fran asked me last night: What was your favorite part?

My favorite part of a month that started with a five-day trek to Machu Picchu, continued with a deliberately slow two-week trip from the southern tip of Ecuador through the delightful town of Baños, detoured to the bright blue and green Quilotoa Lake, stretched up to Quito, and finally ended in (with apologies to Mr. Disney) the most magical place on earth in the Galapagos?

If you’ve read my writing in the past, you probably have realized that I love the random quirky things in life.

Blue-footed boobies

I loved the fact that I woke up every morning to a glass of juice and almost never had a clue what type of fruit was in it. We drank everything from fresh pineapple to tree tomato to five or six fruits that I couldn’t pick out of a lineup and of which I still don’t know the English names, if there are any.

I loved the random stuff people were selling on the street. There was the ice cream that didn’t melt (it was made of egg whites, and I was smart enough to realize that trying it after it sat in the sun all afternoon was probably not a wise move). There was the wood board covered with remote controls that a woman was peddling while walking down a street in Cuenca. And there was the man standing in the middle of a town square offering his Burmese mountain dog to any tourist wishing to include said dog in his photos of the surrounding churches (for a fee, of course).

I loved that buses in Ecuador play terrible movies that almost certainly never saw the inside of an American theater before ending up on DVDs that are sold for a dollar throughout this South American country.

I loved that almost all hotels and hostels advertised free breakfast, followed by either HOT SHOWERS or FLUSH TOILET PAPER DOWN THE TOILET, almost inevitably in all caps and almost never offered together at the same hotel.

Magnificent Frigatebird

I sort of loved the fact that bed sheets in Ecuador are five feet long. Every night at bedtime felt like the old practical joke of short-sheeting someone’s bed. And it was always mine. Seriously, my feet and shoulders could not possibly be covered at the same time unless perhaps I slept diagonally or in a tightly-compacted fetal position.

I even loved that bathroom doors were usually about 5-foot-7. I nearly knocked myself unconscious during the Salkantay Trek, when I rushed into a bathroom and nearly split the top of the doorframe in two. Somehow I caught myself before falling to the floor (the thought of lying on that or most other bathroom floor kind of terrifies me) and continued in to take care of business. When I returned, the one girl who witnessed it looked me in the eyes, seemingly checking my pupils, and asked how I possibly survived that smack.

However, above all else, I loved the people we met along the way. There were just so many people who entertained us with their stories, amazed us with their generosity, and nearly always busted us into laughter.

I could not possibly describe everyone who made this leg of our journey so memorable, but here is a short list of a few of them (in chronological order).

-- Ruben: Our trek leader for the Salkantay Trail. A former accountant, Ruben quit his desk job and started leading tours to Machu Picchu. I think I can speak for our entire group (and likely every other group he has led) when I say that we are extremely grateful that he changed careers. He told our group of nine that we were a familia, and by the end of five days we were convinced of it. He kept us together on the trail with his, “Baby break, buddies?” And he kept us trucking along with, “OK, buddies, everybody good good?” I’ve had some outstanding group leaders in my life, but Ruben may have been the best. And I will forever recommend Wayki Trek to anyone who is even considering a hike to Machu Picchu. I cannot imagine any company could possibly do it better.

Land Iguana

-- Jerome and Stephanie: A couple who delayed their honeymoon until Jerome finished his master’s degree. Stephanie had a quick wit that consistently made me laugh, and the quiet Jerome was quickly nicknamed “The Puma,” because he silently and swiftly climbed up and down every hillside on the Salkantay (up to 15,000+ feet and down to just under 4,000 feet) without seeming to break a sweat. I’m pretty sure these two will return home and somehow take over Philadelphia. Just give them a little time.

-- Erin: The actress on our trek. It’s no wonder she chose her profession because she can easily entertain any room (or any trail). But the most refreshing part is that Erin refuses to take herself too seriously. When she first told us she was an actress, she quickly added that we might recognize her as a dead prostitute on one of those forensic detective shows. And she did the voiceover of animated body parts on a few commercials, a fact that will hopefully make the trivia section of her IMDB.com profile once she really hits the big time.

-- Tony:  A guy who, like us, left his job to travel. He thinks he will be on the road for about a year, most of which will be in South America. But he might hit Southeast Asia. He’s not sure. He went to Colombia and decided he loved it, so he stuck around for a few months. We met him in Baños, then strangely ran into him in the middle of the Galapagos Islands a few weeks later. In my opinion, he’s doing this right. He is letting the trip and his experiences dictate where he goes and how long he stays. I look forward to following the rest of his journey online.

Galapagos Penguins

-- Ruth and Will: Two people cycling from Rio to Buenos Aires to Los Angeles and over to New York. It’s a two-year ride. They are both former travel guide writers from the UK, a job that makes me infinitely envious. Their focus now is on their ride and enjoying the journey. You can follow along at http://www.contoursofacountry.com/.

-- Rene: The owner of MTS Adventures, a company that guides tours in Baños for rafting, canyoning and any number of extreme activities. Rene has long black hair that cascades from his helmet during canyoning trips, which he leads three times per day, seven days a week. He readily admits that he speaks Spanglish, although his English is remarkably good. Except when it came to the German girl whose English was in a British accent. Rene did not understand a word she said. Apparently, he only understands American. That’s probably due to his obvious love of American music, specifically Guns ‘n Roses. He’s got a Slash figurine above his desk, and he named his son Axl.

-- Robin: The woman from Virginia who was moving to Ecuador. Robin wanted to see the world, so she searched the internet for foreign places that were good for Americans. She settled on Ecuador, and we met her on her first trip to figure out where she wanted to move. It’s amazing to see someone make such a bold and life-changing decision, and it appears to be right for her.

-- Church Group from Germantown, Ohio: There were 15 passengers on our cruise in the Galapagos, and 11 of them were part of a church group from a small town in Ohio. They had finished a mission trip elsewhere in Ecuador and were finishing their trip with a few days at sea. Honestly, I was a little apprehensive at first. When you get a single group taking up the bulk of a tour like this one, the others can feel like outsiders and have little control over how things go. This group, though, welcomed us from the beginning. By the end of the first day, we were laughing over meals and sharing the wonders of the islands with each of them. They did not force their faith on us, but they welcomed our thoughts and opinions. We were on the boat for eight days, but the church group left after four. We were truly sorry to see them go.

Sea lions were literally all over the Galapagos

-- Simon: The safari guide from South Africa, who was one of the great people that replaced the church group for the second half of our cruise. One of the biggest joys of traveling is meeting people and talking to them about where they’ve been. It’s also one of the costly parts of traveling, because it often gives you more places to add to your list of future places to visit. Simon was a passenger in the Galapagos, just like us. But his stories about his regular job of leading safaris all over South Africa (and neighboring countries) had almost all of us ready to plan our flights to Johannesburg. It was easy to tell that Simon was a brilliant tour guide. And there was just something about the fact that he hadn’t worn shoes since a wedding at least a year ago. I look forward to Barefoot Simon taking us through Kruger National Park.

There were so many others, too. And all of them make me smile. I hope I showed enough gratitude for their kindness and their stories when I was with them all.

As we finish the South American leg of our odyssey, I’d like to thank all of those people we’ve met. And I can’t wait to meet many more in the U.S. and Europe.

Leg 2 starts later this week. 

Don't Tell Mom About Quito

There are certain blogs that won’t see the light of day until after we are free and clear. That’s mostly because I prefer when my mother doesn’t begin worrying unnecessarily. That’s the reason I’m setting this blog to publish tomorrow, when we’re in the air heading away from the Ecuadorian mainland.

We are on our fifth night in Quito, where we are staying in a B&B right in the middle of Plaza Foch, an overpriced and overly loud bar district that seems to be popular with 18-20 year olds. It’s fairly similar to Lodo in Denver, Westport in Kansas City or whatever the popular downtown district might be in your given city. I’ve yet to get the history of the name, but you can probably figure out how they use the name Foch as a not-too-creative play on words.

If someone can come up with rationale
about why you would name a restaurant
"G Spot," I would love to hear it.

It’s pretty clear that many of the bars want to sound American, and therefore they choose American-sounding names. Unfortunately, they don’t have anyone doing due diligence. That’s why one place is called Tijuana (I’m assuming that’s where you go if you’re looking to blackout and wake up minus a spleen), another called the G-Spot Bar & Grill (which would be a lot better if it was tricky to find), and the Dirty Sanchez (unless you’re my mother – or anyone’s mother for that matter – feel free to look that up on Urban Dictionary, if you want to make a scrunched up face and say, “Awwooo” or something along those lines).

The B&B is a pretty good deal. For both of us, we pay $38 per night and we’re within easy walking distance of hundreds of restaurants.

This place also gives us the freedom to make choices. For example, when showering, we can have either hot water or water pressure. It can be kind of a fun game in that “which form of torture would you choose if you had to” sort of way. When we booked, we thought each room had private baths, but we were mistaken. There are three bathrooms for the seven guest rooms, which has not been a huge issue. I heard that the upstairs shower has hot water, but it’s a tub and you have to have cold water splashing out of the spigot and onto your feet. Sounds fun, but I have yet to try it.

They keep the entire B&B remarkably clean, the rooms are large, and the owner is exceptionally friendly and helpful. He even acted as guide on a tour to a few towns north of Quito, an all-day excursion that was fun and included many places we never would have known about otherwise.

And, as I mentioned, it’s located right in the heart of the action.

If the mood strikes us, every other door leads to a karaoke bar, including one directly below our window, so we’ve got that going for us. You can’t help but hear them as you walk by, and I can tell you with complete sincerity that no one who is singing in those establishments will ever sing anywhere other than those establishments. If you’ve ever heard cats fighting, you’ve heard more tonality.

This guy was outside Red Hot Chili Peppers,
not the Dirty Sanchez. 

Yesterday afternoon, we tried to go to a bar that had the World Cup game between the Netherlands and Spain on their televisions. We got carded. We had been told by many people not to carry our passports and instead to take along a photocopy of it. We produced said photocopies, as well as our Colorado driver’s licenses. They turned us away. Considering everyone in the bar looked about 12 years old and drinking on bad fake IDs, I’m assuming we were too old to drink there. We wandered across the street to a dive bar. It was far better anyway.

Throughout Ecuador and Peru, I’ve noticed a lot of things that simply wouldn’t fly in the States. I’m not saying that the U.S. is right about everything, but I do appreciate that they don’t allow street crews to cut off pipes or rebar a few inches above the sidewalk, leaving them in perfect position to put an enormous hole in the bottom of your foot. You basically have to look down and carefully place each step, or the street might turn into a life-like cheese grater.

The B&B is also convenient to just about anything you need. There are two convenience stores within 50 feet, a couple pharmacies are around the corner, and there are 2-3 guys outside the door at all hours offering different items for sale.

Here’s how one such conversation went today.

Man with a beard and American accent: Hey, are you guys from Denver.

Me, a little surprised until I realized I was wearing a Denver Basketball shirt: Yes.

Man: Denver’s got some crack neighborhoods, doesn’t it?

Me, not sure whether he means “crack neighborhood” as in a hip way of saying “cool neighborhood” that I’d never before heard or “crack neighborhood” as in mucho drug dens (either way the answer would be the same in any city): Yes.

Man: You know this is a crack neighborhood, right?

Me (still thinking the answer is the same regardless of the definition of “crack neighborhood): Yes.

Man: Want any cocaine or marijuana?

Me: Nope. All set.

It was the fourth time we had received that question. Once was literally five seconds before he started talking to us. It happened twice more before we called it a night at 9:30 p.m.

Aside from getting to know the local dealers a little better than we would have preferred, nothing too bad has happened to us. For the most part, the worst we’ve dealt with has been pushy idiots on the sidewalk trying to convince us to go in just about every dance club. Since it’s usually been before 10 p.m., there has never been anyone in there – apparently they thought we were the answer to start getting the crowd in the door. Because nothing draws crowds like the 30-somethings wearing running jackets and sneakers.

Quito has a lot to offer. It’s got some amazing churches, including La Compania which has about as much gold as Fort Knox, and the restaurants have been far better than other places we’ve been in Ecuador (including Achiote, where we ate twice because it’s ridiculously tasty, close to where we’re staying and fairly inexpensive).

Quito also gave us our second viewing of a fistfight during this trip. The first was in Cuenca, when we were on a bus and saw two 20-something guys on the side of the street throwing haymakers at one another. The strange part was actually seeing 15 people around them, none of whom appeared to notice or pay any attention to them at all.

The one today was a little more interesting. We were drinking coffee in the oldest café in Quito, when we noticed a commotion outside. The police were talking to a group, much of which seemed completely confused.

That’s when two 70-something women started shoving each other and preparing to throw punches. A cop stepped in before it escalated, but it did provide us with something else we had never seen prior to that moment.

We leave for the airport and a flight to the Galapagos Islands at 6 a.m. I’m ready to leave Quito, but there are things that I’m sure I’ll miss. Plaza Foch just isn’t one of them.

Changes in Latitude, Changes in Attitude

As some of you may know, one of the highlights of our plans was to volunteer at an animal rescue in the rainforest. We were looking forward to what was likely going to be rewarding and fun.

Unfortunately, due to a few major snafus by the company organizing it (like not telling us an actual name or location until about hours before we were scheduled to start), we were forced to make alternate plans.

Laguna de Quilotoa

That would have been this previous week, and by the time everything went down, it was too late to find another volunteer opportunity.

Therefore, we moved our plans up a week, going to the Quilotoa Loop on Tuesday and coming to Quito for five days. It’s been nice.

Since we started the South American leg with a must-see (Machu Picchu), we decided we might as well end it with another one.

So we’re heading to the Galapagos Islands on Sunday.

Needless to say, we are disappointed about not working with the animal rescue, but trips like this can change suddenly. And I think we made a great decision.

If you don’t hear from us between Sunday and Sunday, it’s because we’re floating about 600 miles off the coast of mainland Ecuador, playing with penguins, tortoises and sea lions. 

It's a Strange, Strange World

Every country is a little weird. Walk a couple of blocks in any American city, and I promise you that something will strike you as odd.

So it’s no surprise that we have been amused by certain sights in Ecuador. Here are a few of our favorites, in no particular order.

-- As I mentioned in previous blogs, the buses in Ecuador are a whole chapter of bizarre, including the people selling everything from potato chips to chicken stew (scooped from a plastic bag into a smaller plastic bag for consumption), and really bad movies that may or may not have made their way into theaters.

-- Every street in Cuenca (and certain places in Quito) seems to offer one particular item and only one particular item. There’s the street with only pharmacies, the one with only shoes and the one with only hats. I have no idea what you do if you need Advil, and you’re on the other side of town. I also have no idea how seven pharmacies can survive next to one another.

Let me know if anyone has been looking
for one of these.

-- There’s a shop in Cuenca that sells only girdles. Based on the previous observation, this isn’t particularly surprising. Even when we saw the man girdle, we just smiled a little. But when we saw the head girdle. Well, then we started asking questions.

-- We stayed at a lovely apartment in Cuenca. It was spacious and had just about everything we could have possibly needed and more. Like many apartments in the town, which is pretty loud, there were no windows to the outside, although there were several frosted skylights to allow natural light. Getting to the apartment, however, was a little odd. It was in an office building. We entered through the atrium, went up a flight of stairs, turned on a light, walked halfway down the hall, turned the first light off and another one on, walked the rest of the way down the hallway, unlocked a door, went down a flight of stairs, unlocked another door to a small hallway that led to a final door that we had to unlock and enter. It took about 2-3 minutes from the front door of the building to the front door of the apartment. There was one night where I got very little sleep because I started wondering whether there was an emergency exit, just in case. I never found one. Glad we didn’t need it.

-- There are A LOT of strays in Ecuador. We have passed 2-3 on almost every street, and there were dozens in the mountains above Latacunga. (For that matter, there was even a stray dachshund on the Salkantay Trail in Peru.) The strays are common place. The thing I find weird is that every dog that has an owner is wearing a sweater or jacket. And they all appear to be pretty nice garments. Even more strange: Fran has looked everywhere for one that she can give Scooby, her parents’ toy poodle, and we haven’t found a single shop that sells them.

-- Walking down a street in Cuenca, we saw a man standing on a corner holding just a car steering wheel, and there was a woman on a sidewalk trying to sell about 30 universal remote controls. While in Quito, the item of choice seemed to be small strainers, resembling tiny sombreros.

   

I couldn't tell if his cell phone was handmade, too.

-- During our jungle tour outside of Puyo, we rode in a canoe that was dug out of a tree. It seemed to be the genuine thing, which was pretty unique (albeit extremely uncomfortable). We floated through rapids and by indigenous villages. It was almost like we had been transplanted to another world, one you read about in books or see in Tarzan movies. Until the indigenous gentleman steering our canoe with a handmade paddle answered his cell phone.

-- In Baños, our rafting and canyoning trips included free photos (which will be posted when we get to a computer that can read them, because this one cannot). After our canyoning trip, we asked if we could also pick up the ones from rafting a few days prior. A bus full of rafters pulled up, and we were told to jump on. It took us in a large loop around the city before one of the guides told us to follow him. “Come in my house. It’s OK,” he told us. With that, we followed him upstairs in an apartment complex before he told us to wait in front of a door. He returned a minute later from the neighbor’s apartment with a large kitchen knife. “Sorry. I don’t have my keys with me.” He then used the knife to pick the lock and enter the apartment, where he spent about five minutes finding and copying our photos onto a CD. We thanked him and left him at the street, at which point the van full of rafters pulled back up and he jumped back in. Apparently, they circled a few blocks while we watched him break into his own apartment and get us photos. Now, that’s service (at least for us).

-- There are a lot of expats in Baños. We hadn’t had American food in a while, and I craved a burger, so we went to the Stray Dog Café, which was billed as a place with good American food and good beer (something that might not be commonplace in Ecuador). I won’t say I agree with either of the reviews, but everything was fine. When we went to pay, we started talking to the owner who is from Chicago (complete with snarky attitude), and the following conversation followed:

Fran: I hear you’re from Chicago. I grew up there.

Owner: What part?

Fran: Northbrook.

Owner: Calling that Chicago is pushing it a little, don’t you think?

-- Most of the bathrooms in Quito seem to be a single room with adjoining stalls marked “Hombres” and one marked “Damas.”

-- During our first cab ride in Quito, we stopped at a red light. A woman in a clown nose, jumped into the crosswalk in front of us and started a flag spinning routine. When the light turned green, every car around us started honking, and the woman looked completely confused about why nobody wanted to give her money following her “entertainment.”

-- You know those guys who dress up like statues and stand in tourist-filled locations around seemingly every city in the world? They stand perfectly still until some unsuspecting person walks by, at which point they scare the hell out of him? We saw one of those guys having what appeared to be a totally normal conversation with three members of the Quito Police Department. From what I could tell, they looked like old friends just catching up.

-- Finally, I have had very good luck using travel books like Lonely Planet and Rough Guide when going to various places around the world. In Ecuador, we have gotten some good ideas of what to visit and where to eat from both of those books, which I have on my Kindle. However, unlike most places, every address in both of these guides seems to be completely wrong. There was a restaurant in Baños that one guide said was among the best in town, and Trip Advisor (throw them in, although they have been a little more accurate with locations) seemed to agree, including reviews that were only a week or two old. We never found it. And I’m pretty sure we covered every street in Baños multiple times. We had lunch today at a place in Quito that we found in both books. It was delicious, but when we went to find it, we walked in the address mentioned in both books. The group of men sitting in a private courtyard did not seem to appreciate our intrusion. Then we found it two doors down. Next time, maybe I’ll knock first.

Adios, Baños, We Miss You Already

The look on Enrique’s face was heartbreaking. It looked like we gave him the worst news he’d ever heard.

What we told him was that we wanted to decrease our two-night stay in his hotel to one night.

You see, we spent the last six days in Baños, quite possibly the coolest town in Ecuador. We stayed a hotel called Casa Verde and absolutely loved it (and not only because it was the first hotel we'd found in South America that allowed us to flush toilet paper). It was one of those perfect, little traveler places. Not quite a hostel, but the kind of place where everyone gathers in the common area and shares stories over beers.

Have you ever swung out over a cliff in the jungle? 

And Baños, while not the quaintest towns I’ve visited, is nice with friendly people. However, the real draw is the rafting, canyoning, mountain biking, jungle exploration, waterfalls and any number of outdoor adventures, as well as various hot springs and countless spas. Did I mention all of those things are really, really cheap by American standards?

When we finally dragged ourselves out of Casa Verde for the last time, saying goodbye to the kind proprietors and fellows guests, we moved on to Latacunga. We knew we wanted to do at least part of the Quilatoa Loop, and we’d read that the obvious place to find a guide or tour was Latacunga.

Which brings us to Enrique.

After checking Trip Advisor, we found what looked to be a promising hotel. And it was. The place is central, clean, and the owner (Enrique) has gone absolutely out of his way to make us feel at home. He showed us the lounge on the top floor, overlooking a local church and Volcan Cotopaxi. There’s free wifi, and he even called our tour company because they had charged us $5 more than they should have.

The problem is not the hotel, and it certainly isn’t Enrique.

It’s Latacunga. Following a week or so in Baños, it didn’t stand a chance. But it’s also dirty and almost completely void of restaurants or anything to do.

Sorry, Enrique. That’s why we’re going to head straight to Quito after our visit to Laguna Quilatoa and its surrounding artist colonies tomorrow.

We’ve heard good things about Quito. Time to see if stands up to our expectations. 

Pass the Guinea Pig (or It Definitely Doesn't Taste Like Chicken)

The kitchen is in the back parking lot.

There’s nothing like traveling to foreign countries to test your culinary limits.

Fran is an adventurous eater and has even been on the show Bizarre Foods. She once told me that she tried coconut covered caterpillar, but she didn’t like it because of the coconut.

When I was growing up, my grandfather once gave me $100 for Christmas, and I spent it all on pizza deliveries when I didn’t like what my mom made for dinner. That was fairly often. I was pretty picky.

Tonight, I thought back to my childhood and playing with my best friend David Butcher. He got a pet guinea pig when he was about five years old. I was pretty jealous. I had a pet dog, Trouble, but he died when I was three. I spent the rest of my youth without a pet.

Butcher loved that guinea pig, which was kind of a weird fur ball that didn’t seem to do much. I tried to like it, too, but I’m not sure I ever got the joy out of playing with it that Butcher did (for the record, I’ve always referred to him by his last name, and I always will).

Pretty sure he's cozy. I know he's toasty.

That’s good. The reason I was thinking about Butcher tonight was that Fran made me eat cuy. It’s a delicacy in Ecuador. But in American English, it translates to roasted guinea pig.

We had to stop into the restaurant this afternoon to let them know we were coming, because it takes at least an hour to prepare.

After we sat down, the waiter approached the table and asked if we wanted to see how our dinner was prepared. Of course, we said yes.

He led us out a side door and to the parking lot in back. In the open-air kitchen, there were 6-7 guinea pigs roasting on rotisseries over hot coals. It was an amazing sight.

Our dinner arrived on one plate with the entre sliced into five parts. The hind quarters and front quarters were split in two with the kidneys and ribs still attached. And staring at me, mouth gaping open, was the head.

PLEASE stop staring at me, Mr. Guinea Pig.

I tried. I really did.

Fran told me that I should pretend it was chicken. We often buy rotisserie chickens at the grocery store, and I slice them up for a delicious dinner.

“I can’t pretend it’s chicken when I’m holding it by the paw,” I replied.

Then I turned the plate so the head was staring at Fran. I just couldn’t take it, thinking about eating Butcher’s pet guinea pig (yes, I understand there’s irony with the name).

There were delicious potatoes and corn dishes served with the cuy, and I made sure I monopolized the bottle of wine we bought.

Fran kept offering to buy me ice cream. I’m pretty sure it was meant to get the gamey taste out of my mouth, but I couldn’t help but feel like it was her way of apologizing for making me eat something that should have been in a child’s bedroom. Would it have been worse to eat a roasted Teddy Bear? I’m not sure.

Just in case you're in Cuenca and want cuy.

A friend asked me if it tasted like chicken. It absolutely did not. It tasted like rodent. I’ve never eaten rodent before, but it tasted exactly what I imagine it would taste like.

I do not regret trying something new. But please don’t ever serve it to me again.

Does This Bus Stop on 82nd Street?

“Are you going to Quito?” a man asked in Spanish as we entered the bus station.

We told him we were not.

“Macas? Guayaquil?” There were others, too, but his rapid-fire Spanish was too much for me to follow.

We told him, “No, gracias,” and moved past him to the ticket window, which was unusually quiet. It was 7:25 a.m., and the bus we wanted was scheduled to leave for Ambato at 8 a.m.

Finally a woman came back on duty, only to tell us that there was no 8 a.m. bus today. There was one at 9:15 a.m., or another bus company had one leaving at 8:30 a.m.

One of many super awesome statues
we saw from our bus windows.

We figured we would check the other company, but on the way, another man started in on the same spiel as the other. Neither of us thought we were really interested in a guy hawking a bus company, but then he heard us say Ambato, and he got very excited.

“Ambato? Es qui,” he said, pointing past the turnstile and into the parking lot.

Our American instincts said that we were about to get duped. Or mugged. Or something. But others joined the man in telling us to hurry, so we shrugged and headed toward the bus they were all pointing at.

A man grabbed our bags and threw them in the storage compartment. I asked the driver if the bus was going to Ambato. He rolled his eyes, said yes and pointed impatiently to the seats.

We got on and settled in. No tickets? No problem. They’d collect our $8 each about an hour into the ride.

This is how the Ecuadorian buses work, or so we were learning quickly. But there was so much more to it. And almost all of it is entertaining.

Fran and I got an indoctrination into Ecuador pretty quickly after arriving on a flight from Lima to Guayaquil a few days earlier.

It was clear that we were closer to the equator, when the hot air hit us in the face as we left the plane. Customs was possibly the easiest I’ve seen anywhere in the world, and we jumped in a taxi to the bus station/shopping mall complex about a mile from the airport.

We could have flown from Lima to Cuenca, but it would have meant changing planes in Guayaquil and Quito, which would have tripled our travel costs. The key is that buses in Ecuador are dirt cheap.

I checked just about all of the 90-plus ticket windows in the bus station before finding the one for Cuenca. It would be a 4-5 hour ride through a national park, and it cost $8 each.

We loaded the bus, which provided about twice the amount of legroom as a standard U.S. airline (and 12 times the room of a Peruvian airline), although there was no air conditioning.

A fast-speaking guy in a black leather vest (did I mention it was about 90 degrees on the bus?) was walking up and down the aisle. It took a minute to figure out what he was doing, when we realized he was asking trivia questions and passing out pieces of candy for the correct answers. If this kept up, it was going to be a VERY long trip.

He then dropped package of cookies on each of our laps, just like peanuts on a Southwest Airline flight, except he immediately walked back down the aisle collecting a dollar from anyone who wanted to keep them (making it more like Frontier Airline). Almost everyone handed them back.

It seemed strange at first, but soon we realized that something similar was likely to happen at every stop. People got on trying to sell us everything from potato chips to candy bars to toilet paper. Some of them gave a polite but impassioned speech, while others acted just like the vendors at a baseball game, saying whatever it was they had to offer.

After a few minutes, the vendors would grab a seat until the next stop, where they would jump off and wait for the next bus to roll through.

So far, we’ve been on four buses, ranging from very low end to the kind of buses that athletic teams use on road trips.

Three of our buses had movies playing. I’m pretty sure they bought the DVDs at a truck stop’s bargain bin. They’ve all been American but played in Spanish.

I’ve now seen a “film” with Sylvester Stallone and Arnold Schwarzenegger in which they are trying to escape from prison. Twice.

There was also something with Kevin James, Salma Hayack and Henry Winkler. James was an MMA fighter, and he won the big fight at the end to win the love of the girl.

Or something like that. I’m not good enough with Spanish to really understand the movies. But something tells me that they’re better that way.

Has anyone in North America seen this
movie? I've now seen it three times.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, there’s something on with Cuba Gooding Jr. and Christian Slater, who’s playing a priest. I’m pretty sure it’s going to be lousy in any language, but I just can’t keep my eyes off it.

Great news: I nodded off during the movie, but they kept the movie on repeat, so we got to see it three times before reaching Ambato. Nice of the bus company to make sure we didn’t miss a suspenseful moment.

We had to get off and catch another bus in Ambato (the one we were on was going north, and we had to continue east). Most cities I have been to in the world seem to have main bus and train stations.

Ambato, it seems, does, too. But that’s not where you catch the bus to Baños. The bus driver rambled something in Spanish, of which I caught “Ambato” and got off.

We wandered across the street to catch a bus in the other direction. There were two really nice buses sitting at the stop when we arrived. Unfortunately, they took off as we were crossing the street.

It wasn’t long before another bus pulled up. It wasn’t quite as nice, but the bus company worker assured us that it would drop us off in Baños.

I should explain something about buses in this country. Unlike in the U.S., where you hand the driver some money on the way in, Ecuadorian buses have a driver and a driver’s helper. The helper loads the bags, collects the money and cues up really bad movies on the DVD player. I should also mention that they wait a really long time before collecting money. I’m pretty sure they wait just long enough for the majority of the passengers to fall asleep. I think they really like rustling people awake.

Try watching Schwartzeneger act
with Spanish dubbing sometime. 

The bus we got on was already crowded, so Fran and I sat about seven rows from each other. More and more people were piling on, including a woman literally holding up her daughter who appeared to have a debilitating disease that prevented her from taking care of herself.

Fran was horrified that nobody was offering them a seat. I would have, but I instead pointed them to the empty seat directly across from me (the girl who was lying across both seats sat up to surrender one).

A few rows back, Fran was seated next to a man who was napping. And taking up most of two seats (even though Fran was in one of them). At one point during the ride, the sleeping man put his hand on Fran’s leg. Fran was not amused.

Another woman, realizing there were no empty seats, reached for a stool so she could sit in the aisle. Seeing that Fran was in the perfect position on the bus, the woman stuck her rump directly in Fran’s face as she reached for the stool. Then she proceeded to sit right next to Fran, literally hovering over her and into her personal space. Fran was not amused.

This trip was only an hour, and I believe that Fran may have disembarked via the window in order to get off as quickly as possible.

Regardless, we made it to Baños (please bring on all the jokes about how appropriate it is that I made a pilgrimage to a place called “Banos”). It only took eight hours and cost us a whopping $23, including two buses and a pair of cab rides.

So, that’s pretty much what South American travel is like. Anyone want to join us for the remainder of our trip?

Finally: Machu Picchu

The morning we were heading to Machu Picchu was like almost every race morning I’ve experienced.

My alarm went off at 4:12 a.m. (side note: I’m weird and set my alarm ending in either 2 or 7 every time. I have no real reason why). We had breakfast at the hotel, but I wasn’t able to eat much, forcing down a little fresh fruit and a roll with jam on it.

People who hike the Inca Trail actually hike straight into Machu Picchu. For most of the rest of us, we take a 30-minute bus ride up the hill from Aguas Calientes.

Despite the dark, early hour, the line stretched about four blocks up a hill. It really was like a bus departure for a marathon. Everyone was dressed warmly in clothes that they would probably start shedding soon after reaching our destination, and jitters were clearly evident.

Some entrepreneurial women walked up and down the street, offering hot coffee and snacks to everyone in line.

The bus ride was fairly uneventful, although it took some energy to keep my stomach in check as we wound up switchback after switchback.

Ruben's classroom was pretty amazing.

Finally, we were walking in Machu Picchu, and Ruben gave us a tour for the first couple of hours.

The place really is magical. And it’s truly amazing to see what people created on the top of a mountain during the 15^th Century. I’ve been reading the book Turn Right at Machu Picchu: Rediscovering the Lost City One Step at a Time by Mark Adams, a hilarious yet informative tale of exploring this area, which gave me part of the history. (Honesty: I have not actually finished the book yet.) It’s unbelievable to think about Hiram Bingham venturing from Hawaii to Peru and finding this lost city in 1911. To say Bingham discovered Machu Picchu is a stretch, considering that he paid some locals to take him to ruins in the area, but give him credit for exposing the world to Machu Picchu’s wonders.

I’ve thought a lot recently about why so many people have Machu Picchu on their bucket list (or whatever you want to call your wish list of places to visit). I don’t have an answer, but I can tell you that I have been to a lot of cool places and done some pretty great stuff, and the Salkantay Trail ending with Machu Picchu may have moved to the top of the list.

Some people say they have achieved a spiritual enlightenment after visiting Machu Picchu. I don’t know about that. However, I can tell you I gained an appreciation of what humans can do. And while the views of the lost city itself are impressive, the views of the surrounding mountains and valleys are among the most incredible I have ever seen. It’s little wonder why the Incas went to so much trouble to establish their secret city there. 

A random couple decided that an impromptu make-out session
at Machu Picchu was a good use of the morning.

After we descended and had lunch, we hopped on a train and rode back to Cusco.

I’m thankful for the eight people I was fortunate to hike with for five days and being able to experience Machu Picchu with them.

When it was all finished, this is how it added up:

Total Days: 5

Total Miles Hiked: 55

Total Number of Microclimates: 3

Elevation Change on the Second Day: 2,800 meters/9,186 feet

Total Elevation Change on the Trail: 3,600 meters/11,811 feet

Total Temperature Change on the Trail: 73 degrees

Total Mosquito Bites on My Lower Legs & Feet: 21

Total Number of Blisters on Fran’s Feet: 5

Total Soon-to-be-Lost Toenails: 1

Total Number of Stray Dachshunds on the Trail: 1

After Machu Picchu, we jumped on a three-hour train ride back to Cusco, and Wayki Treks had someone waiting to take us all back to our hotels.

It had been a really long day, and we had to hike about two blocks to our hostel because the van wouldn’t make it up the steep hill to the front door. We were exhausted and desperately wanted a shower and dinner (it was about 9:30 p.m.).

Me and Fran from Machu Picchu Mountain,
overlooking the Citadel.

The very kind owner of our hostel looked sheepish and said, “I didn’t think you were coming back until tomorrow.”

Fran had reminded his wife of our return date the morning we left for the hike and watched her type it in. Needless to say, the man found the reservation in his computer, but there was a problem.

“I’m sorry. This has never happened,” he said. “But I’m full tonight.”

We were incredulous, but he quickly jumped on the phone and made a few calls.

“I’ve got you booked into a hotel a few blocks away,” he said. “And I’m going to cover your night’s costs. I’m sorry. This really has never happened. The only thing is we are going to have to walk over there.”

With that, we grabbed all of our stuff, which at that point was spread across six bags, and lugged it up two more very steep blocks and over another three.

It turned out to be a very nice hotel, and we were fortunate to find a restaurant open at 10:30, when we finally rolled in. Of course, the owner was clearly put off that we came in that late and he obviously wanted to close for the night.

We ate quickly and walked back to the hotel. We had a morning flight to Lima the next day.  

The Road to Aguas Calientes

The fourth morning started in a strange way for camping.

The start of Ruben's happy birthday.

Flavio somehow made two birthday cakes and delivered them to our dining tents during breakfast. One of the women in the other group was celebrating her birthday that day, and Ruben’s happy birthday was going to be at Machu Picchu the following day. It was a brilliant way to start the day, and it was a kind final gesture by Flavio and his helpers, who would be heading home after lunch. I’ve said it before, but the meals they created while camping were simply amazing. Wayki Trek is lucky to have Flavio. I know we were lucky that he joined us for the week.

The early part of that day’s hike wound along a dirt road, past a pig farm, over switchbacks up a cliff and again along a dirt road all the way to Hidroelectrica, where our lunch was waiting for us (as well as a train ticket to Aguas Calientes, if we chose not to hike the final few hours).

The sun was beating down, and there wasn’t much shade anywhere around. About an hour into the hike, a bus flew by us with the people inside yelling out. It was the other group.

Apparently, there was a fourth option that we didn’t consider. That group decided to hike about 15 minutes from the hot springs into town and caught a bus all the way to Hidroelectrica. In retrospect, it probably was the best option. We were slugging water almost constantly, but we were all pretty much dragging during the final 90 minutes into lunch. Ruben even tried to flag down a few buses, but all of them refused our offers.

The trail from Hidroelectrica to Aguas Calientes

The train to Aguas Calientes wasn’t going to leave until about 3:45, which would have meant 3-4 hours of waiting. And Ruben assured us that the 2-3 hour hike was beautiful.

He wasn’t lying. Our first view up to Machu Picchu was about 15 minutes into the hike. The route followed the train tracks, but walking allowed us to take it in. A river rushed by on one side, and mountains rose all around us.

It was also very well shaded, giving us a much needed reprieve from the sun.

Unfortunately, one of our fellow hikers had caught a bout with bad water and looked somewhat miserable.

Ruben suggested that she find a quiet place off the trail to take care of some business (or “make an offering to the mountain,” as we had been phrasing it all week). She seemed hesitant until he said, “Would you rather go behind a bush or go poo poo in your pants?” We waited as she ducked off the trail.

I felt like I was straight out of a zombie movie as I dragged myself the final miles into Aguas Calientes at the base of Machu Picchu Mountain.

We’d finally made it to town. And hot showers. And a comfortable bed.

The hotel was nice, even if it was a little strange. Our room was on the third floor, overlooking the river. The staircase was slanted slightly backward like something out of Alice in Wonderland. And a view up the stairs to the fourth floor showed that there was no fourth floor. It was a construction zone. So much for the penthouse suite.

Our group of nine gathered for one last dinner together, followed by a trip to a dance club for a drink to celebrate Ruben’s birthday.

Throughout the week, Ruben had been preaching that the nine of us were a familia, and it really did feel like that. Originally, his point was that things happen along the trail that require everyone to stick together, whether it’s because the trail itself gets dangerous or one of suffers from illness or there is an injury that slows someone down. Our familia was sticking together and helping each other. It was a good group from the beginning, but Ruben really helped bring us closer together.

The penthouse suite at our hotel.

The familia wanted to celebrate Ruben, but the night had to end early. Our alarm clocks would be buzzing soon. The bus to Machu Picchu left at 5:30 a.m.

Day 3 on the Salkantay Trail

We had a choice to make:

1. We could follow our original itinerary, doing a fairly short hike to Playa, where we would have the afternoon free and camp that night. The following morning, we would do a fairly intensive hike up a mountain where we would get a distant view of Machu Picchu.

2. We could hike to Playa, then jump on a two-hour bus ride to hot springs in Santa Teresa. After enjoying the hot springs, we could bus back to Playa and do everything mentioned above.

3. We could hike to Playa, go to the hot springs, camp there and hike out from there the following morning. This hike would be almost entirely flat.

Exhausted from the elevation changes during the previous two days, we all decided that Option 3 sounded like a good call.

Day 3 took us through the rainforest, where we crossed a dozen or so Indiana Jones-style bridges, and we even traversed the side of a mountain that was clearly being eroded by landslides.

We hiked through very small communities that appeared to be set up entirely to service the hikers on the Salkantay Trail, offering cold drinks, chips and bathrooms.

I made a few friends on the trail.

Even the “easy” days on the Salkantay Trail are tough. On the third day, we went about seven miles, ending at lunch around 2 p.m. Other than the fact that nearby road construction had shut down the water – and therefore the toilets – lunch was delightful, complete with a cold cerveza.

The bus ride was interesting. We were stopped twice about 45 minutes into the two-hour ride. I didn’t really understand what the passersby were saying, but it appeared that they were saying to turn back. A few miles later, it became apparent.

There was a bulldozer blocking the road ahead. The driver and both groups’ leaders jumped out of the bus to talk the construction crew. I was convinced we were looking at a delay of at least two hours, but the driver jumped back in about 10 minutes later, fired up the bus and started driving. The side door was open right next to me, and as the bus threaded the needle through the construction, I was staring down at a sheer drop just inches to my right. Thank goodness for talented bus drivers. (Note: Do not ask Fran about this because she slept right through it.)

Prior to this ride, Fran and I had created what we referred to as the worst drinking game of all time. Every time you heard a song that was released during any decade other than the 1980s, you had to drink. We’d been in Peru almost a week at that point, and I think we heard one song from the 1990s and one from the 2000s.

The bus driver, however, was blasting recent dance hits. It was a good thing we weren’t playing the game during that ride.

We pulled into the hot springs a little after 4 p.m. Built right into the side of the mountain next to a roaring river, they springs were in a beautiful setting. And we had the added benefit of having women selling snacks and beer just steps from our tents.

After relaxing our aching muscles in the hot springs, we all gathered around some tables, enjoying popcorn and cervezas until dinner.

I’ve mentioned Ruben a few times, but I haven’t gone into much detail. He is the perfect group leader, especially for treks like this. Ruben has Inca heritage, and he cares deeply about learning and teaching the history, while mixing in a good dose of humor and fun. His English is excellent, and he knows the area well, naming all of the flowers and pointing out the coffee, passion fruit and banana farms along the way. He also has a keen eye for spotting things along the way from caterpillars in cocoons to millipedes scurrying on the trail.

During happy hour on this night, Ruben told us about the indigenous people refusing to go out when it’s foggy. Apparently, there have been reports of people losing organs from their bodies, and the local people believe it’s caused by the “foggy.” In reality, according to Ruben, it’s simply bad people who steal the organs to sell on the black market, and it’s easier to do when it’s foggy. Right as he finished trying to scare us, every light at the hot springs went out. It was excellent timing. And, fortunately, when the lights came on, we all had the same amount of organs as we did during the telling of the story.

Hiking into Playa, Peru for lunch.

It was strange to settle into a sweltering heat inside our tents that night, considering we had been on the brink of freezing just two nights prior. The temperature changes also did not do much to help the smell inside the tents. Of course, we probably had something to do with the smell, too. Regardless, I made sure every possible vent was open in the tent, including one that I insisted Fran open with its 1.5 inches of additional air flow, while still keeping it sealed enough to keep the bugs away.

I slept outside my sleeping bag most of the night. And, thanks to one of our fellow hikers, Fran used an over-the-counter super drug from Canada and finally got a good night’s sleep, despite the cough and cold she was still suffering. We later discovered that the “super drug” is called Dramamine in the U.S.

Perhaps one fact helped us sleep better: this was our last night in tents. The next day we would hike into Aguas Calientes, where we would sleep in a hotel before heading up the hill to Machu Picchu.

We were starting to get antsy. But we were ready.

The Salkantay Trail's Longest Day

It wasn’t easy getting out of our sleeping bags on the second day. Ice cracked and fell off the tent flap when the porters delivered the morning coca tea at 6 a.m. It was warmer than the night before, but the sun hadn’t crested the mountains yet.

The highest point of the trek.

After breakfast, we started on what would prove to be our longest day of hiking, climbing for the first hour to the top of the pass at 4,600 meters or just over 15,000 feet.

Coming from Colorado, Fran and I had a slight edge with altitude, but the highest point of the trek was still three times higher than Denver, and I found myself stopping every couple hundred feet to catch my breath, as my heart was beating out of my chest.

When we finally reached the top, we were staring up at Salkantay Mountain, a peak so imposing that no one has ever reached the summit.

There was an audible sigh of relief when the group realized that the rest of the day would be primarily downhill. I did not share that sentiment, however. I’ve run enough downhill races to know the toll it can take on my body, and as I stared out over the distance to where we were heading, I knew we were going to feel every step.

I was excited, though, that we were about to descend through three microclimates during the course of a few hours.

Leaving the Andes and entering the cloud forest.

We dropped pretty quickly, pulling over to the side periodically to let horses pass. About two hours in, we walked through a community of farmers mixed with several group campsites next to one of the rivers we would be following for the next few days.

Throughout the trek, Ruben would stop us every 15 minutes or so and say, “OK, buddies. Everybody good, good? Let’s take a baby break. Everybody water, water.” Clearly he was well seasoned in the hike and knew we needed to conserve energy and remain hydrated.

It was also at this point when Ruben told us that we should reach lunch in “about two hours.”

The downhill march continued. After another 90 minutes, he said we should get to our lunch spot “in about two hours.” Needless to say, we were all starting to get a little hungry and some of us may have edged on cranky.

As I expected, the downhill was doing a number on my quads, and I think all of us stubbed our toes or at least kicked the end of our hiking boots a couple hundred times that day. Fran, coughing and clearly feeling the misery of the cold some idiot gave to her, started getting blisters on her feet and her right big toe was starting to match the dark nail polish she had on it. One look confirmed that she had a 0.002 percent chance of keeping the toenail.

When we finally reached the dining tents for lunch, the whole group was pretty tired, and a few people were really suffering from heat exhaustion.

Not knowing what kind of weather we would experience, we packed for just about every contingency, carrying rain jackets and pants in our daypacks. However, that would prove pointless since the sun shined every day with almost no cloud coverage. As it turned out, the one thing we didn’t pack enough of was sunscreen.

Flavio once again surprised us at lunch, serving up stuffed avocados, soup and meat over rice. I was amazed at every meal with his creativity and ability to cook somewhat lavish spreads while camping. Every meal he made was delicious, and there was never a time I left the table hungry.

My feet were throbbing, and I wanted nothing more than to take my hiking boots off. I was actually wearing my Brooks trail runners because I figured out last year that I liked hiking in them more than I did hiking boots. It was true again, but eventually I started feeling like every rock on the trail was pushing through my sole, and the sides of my feet felt like they had doubled in size.

We had descended 2,000 meters already, and we had another 800 to go before reaching our campsite another 3-4 hours away.

The march continued through the cloud forest and into the rainforest.

Finally we reached a small town, took a hidden trail down to the river and across a bridge before reaching a road. From there we could see our tents in the distance.

There was a second Wayki group with us throughout the five days, but we remained separated most of the time in order to keep the group sizes more manageable.

But when we hobbled up to our campsite, which was actually in someone’s backyard, the other group was celebrating. They were literally throwing their hands in the air and giggling.

“There’s a working toilet, and it even has a seat,” one of them said.

We, too, let out whoops of joy.

Our bathroom at lunch. Yes, that hole you see inside is the toilet.

I know it’s strange, but the thought of an actual bathroom was among the most beautiful sites we had seen during a day when we had seen thousands of beautiful sites.

People don’t talk about it much, but toilets are one of the most common differences between countries.

In Peru, many toilets, including the ones at the Cusco market and at our lunch spot on this day, are simply holes to straddle. I honestly have no idea what the proper way to use that type of toilet. Fran keeps telling me it’s not that hard, you just straddle it. I’m pretty sure I would pee all over my pants while trying and/or fall in the hole.

Most of the ones we ran across in Peruvian cities had basins but no seats. You had better be prepared with your own toilet paper if you need it, too, because almost none of the bathrooms in Peru have it. And, like most places in Latin America, you can’t flush toilet paper because the pipes can’t handle it. Instead, there are small trash cans near every toilet. Needless to say, it all takes a little getting used to.

And, of course, the celebration about the toilet at the campsite was completely justified. To top it off, there was also a shower. It was free if we wanted cold water, or 10 soles if we opted for hot water. Ten soles is about $3.33. Almost all of us made the investment.

Being in the rainforest meant a significant number of bugs. We sprayed most of our clothes with permethrin before we went, and I had sprayed myself with bug spray throughout the day.

However, after I took my socks off and stood in line for the shower, I was bitten 21 times by mosquitos. Every single bite was below my sock line. Mosquitos generally love me, so it was not a big surprise. The bites generally get pretty swollen on me, but these bugs left small, flat red circles with a dark spot in the middle, almost resembling tiny nipples (which must have meant that I had 23 nipples at the time).

Freshly showered, we ate another great dinner and laid out our plans for our third day of hiking.

We were halfway to Machu Picchu.