Of Peaks and Parties

After a few days relaxing in Quito it was up to Quilatoa to check out the spectacular crater lake and get acclimatised in preparation for climbing Cotopaxi and Chimborazo.  Much of my time in the region was spent taking in scenery and lungful of dust in the back of pickups and a milk truck (a pickup with a big drum of milk).  The lake was spectacular and the scenery similarly so - cloud scarved peaks framing patchworked countryside and villages with whitewashed walls petitioning politics.  A place where 5 minutes warps into an hour ... or so it seemed waiting for food and pickups.

Climbing the mountains were highlights of my trip.  Where Chimborazo was like a schoolyard scrap, Cotopaxi could be likened to a slow dance with a beautiful woman - that is, if your into bad prose and worse dancing.  I’m scared of both fighting and slow dancing so I really wouldn’t know.  Cotopaxi is a perfect volcano and the walk up there under the starry sky with the trail of other climbers lights ahead was magic.  My guide refused to count driving up mount wellington as mountaineering experience, though none the less decided to start the climb at 2am, an hour after everyone else, and pass them on the way up.  Consequently by the summit I was gasping for breath and expelling my breakfast.  More frustrating was that the clouds closed in as daylight broke and we neared the summit.

Chimborazo, on the other hand was icy and rocky and with no recent snow I soon understood why one guide strongly advised against it as a tourist climb.  Volcanoes close to the equator are about as easy as climbs get, nevertheless, when at halfway up the guide said we had to head back, part of me hoped he wasn’t joking. I had never understood how climbing teams can get within 200m of a summit and still give up, however, began to grasp it as the effect of altitude kicked in: 15 steps, stop, 14 steps, stop, 13 steps ... We got to the top and rested while daylight broke, looked down the valley of volcanoes, threw the frisbee and admired the perfect shadow cast in the morning sky.  As the only other group stopped half way up, my guide and I were alone at 6380m on top of the world - literally it seems; due to the equatorial bulge the peak of Chimborazo is the furthest point from the centre or the earth.  I crossed Everest off my list and stumbled and scraped back down trying to care about the dangers of the softening snow and crevices.

With a week up my sleeve before the festival to celebrate the founding of Quito, I moved on to Cuenca to enjoy the beautiful city and develop my disappointing Spanish.

Perhaps it’s just that my brain has more in common with dear Liza’s bucket than a sponge. But the Spanish still didn’t stick ... regardless, it was more interesting to talk to my 22yo teacher about her 7yo son, life as an illegal immigrant in the States, what it was like going to school with a mass of other immigrants who could not speak enough English to explain why they were spitting/urinating/singing in class, and how the tendency for parents to go to the States for work leads to a false economy and teenage drug taking and pregnancy ... interesting stuff, certainly more interesting than studying a language.  Furthermore, a small group of travelers had formed in the hostel around Helen (a fellow Aussie) and Anita (a Swiss miss).  I was forced to practice my commitment to socialism by socialising.

I headed back to Quito with Anita to catch up with Mel (a US gal that Dad, Rick and I had spent time with in Quito) and join Quito’s party.  Quito had been a surprise - the name is as quaint as the old city streets so it feels odd to be warned that it is renowned for its muggings and petty theft.  The government response is to mix in the military - squads of 6 roaming the streets in full kit.  They are often joined by a couple of SWAT team and the odd policeman.  Consequently you can feel pretty safe if at the bar where they are all standing watching the football or are on one of the couple of streets they bother to patrol.  Other than that, catch a cab.  The influence of security doesn’t remain on the street: choking tear gas floated into one bar as we were having a few beers, at another we watched bemused as a uniformed duo appeared on the bar and turned the salsa club into a strip show much to the delight of the local guys and gals - most of whom left after the show (I’m not sure the uniform or g-string was standard issue).  Regardless, it was Quito’s festival and the cities football teams had won the Ecuadorian Serie A and the Copa Sudamericana , so the place was in the mood for a party.  We joined Mel and her work group on the back of a Chiva (party bus), spent a few nights out on the town, and shelved bovine sympathies to watch the final bullfight of the celebrations (my sensitivity to tradition demanded it ... and the final bull was so strong that, in a Gladiatoresque moment, the crowd waved their hats for its life .. Russell would have crowed ... dammit that's lame, but I'm after a job at the Mercury).

After partying with Quito, it was back to Cuenca for a couple more Spanish lessons, yet again derailed by Anita and Helen and the need to hit the same crappy club three nights in a row.  Anita headed south, Helen stayed put and I went back north trough Quito and Ibarra to Cahuasqui.  Ecuador is suffering a major energy crisis due to low rainfall. Consequently sections of cities run without power for a few hours each day - great for generator salesman, and the occasional candle lit dinner, kind of crap for everything else.  In the cities it’s not so bad as you can head for the blocks with power, however, when I arrived at 9pm in the diminutive town of Cahuasqui the "island in the sky" - there was no power and no one who understood spanglish and again it was kind of crap.  I found a hotel/house, was not surprised to discover I was the only occupant, fell asleep as the candle diminished and explored the town the following day.

My plan was to get to Cartagena for Christmas, so I had to leave Cahuasqui and Ecuador for Colombia.  I had enjoyed Ecuador far more than I expected, and could have happily stayed longer, but it felt good to be travelling through countries again ... irrationally, the feeling of heading somewhere somehow gives touring a sense of purpose.

Ecuadork ... Clever

Montanita was the first stop in Ecuador (aside from the transfer at the massive Guayaquil bus terminal - complete with separate toilet blocks for boys and girls as well as men and women!). The surf and proximity to Guayaquil ensures the small coastal village is lively and this was further boosted by the long Halloween / “Day of the dead” weekend. We checked into a dodgy bungalow on the beach so we would have a good view of the cows wandering past. While the surf wasn’t so hot, it turned out that to bringing your Dad travelling is like bringing a puppy to the beach so Rick and I spent a couple of nights dancing with the same couple of gals to the same couple of songs (sadly, the same couple of songs that play 5 times a night in EVERY club in South America). The cocktails sold at the bars lining the streets were cheap so it made no sense to sleep before the 6am bus to catch our Galapagos flight. Unfortunately those same cocktails made it difficult to judge when to head back - I ran back as morning broke and into Rick and Dad who were kindly carrying my bags and theirs along the beach. We made the bus with minutes to spare - I knew i could have had another cocktail.

Perhaps it was the $100 entry fee or it could be the ecological sensitivity of the area; for some reason I assumed Galapagos would be slicker than the rest of South America. It wasn't. San Cristobal was all but closed when we arrived as they celebrated the day of the dead (for more than a day). Then all three of our inter island boat rides were South American shambles: buy a ticket, turn up on time, wait for an hour as they try to work out what boat your going on, smile as the engine troubles kick in before you even leave the harbor, then reflect on their equally lame interisland security. The security had asked me if the container in the bottom of my bag contained drugs, "yes officer, as a matter of fact it 98% pure cocaine ... want to try some" ... well I didn’t say that, rather I had smiled wryly, hoping he wouldn’t give me a full cavity search to discover the giant tortoise I'd painfully hidden. This relaxed South American approach finally turned to our advantage when diving. That Rick's diving qualifications were thinner than his Spanish posed no problems. Neither did the fact that he was left floating on the surface when we submerged for the test dive. I used up my air laughing, he used his up panicking and rose with the sharing the instructors air ... no problem, next dive 28m. The South American way can be bittersweet ... for me the sweetness wins out.

Santa Cruz is blessed with a cooler name than San Cristobal and is also blessed with people who were a bit more focused on those of us who are alive … as such we were able to finally secure a boat cruise. The cruises are the thing to do in the Islands and are probably like any other island crusies but with cooler animals, plants and topography. Importantly, the relaxed days in Montanita had given me the opportunity to reclaim the high score in doodlejump - a game of wit and dexterity. Before the cruise I retired from the world of doodlejump at the top of my game figuring there were better ways to take 5 hours of your life - such as smoking one kratek cigarette, which I did while sitting on the deck watching rick getting frustrated. It was bliss until the biggest problem with king size Galapagos animals was revealed ... king size guano ... getting spray painted by a giant bird is not lucky, the only thing lucky was that I had my sunglasses on at the time.

The great weather, great beaches and great cactuses were unexpected and welcome additions to the Galapagos experience, however, it was the animals that stole the show. The birds, crabs, sharks, fish, turtles and Iguanas are super (as is the word “super”), and snorkelling with the playful sealions is sublime. The Tortoises are big enough that trick photography turned the impressive to the ridiculous. And they are damn slow - taking 2 hours to copulate (the female was bored after the first minute, and probably got the most excitement during the minute the male took to clamber off) - you can imagine how frustrating it is to ride one down to the cornerstone for an ice-cream ... don’t think whispering "as if you could beat a hare" into their ear works either, being roughly 9000 years old each they know all the tricks in the book.

It wasn’t until the end of the trip, however, that the rarest species was spotted. A species only found amongst cruise ships and speed package tours. At first I thought I'd found the rare "Michael Jackson wannabe", but further inspection revealed we had, indeed, stumbled across the closely related, and even rarer "female Japanese storm trooper". I turned and snapped to surely secure the "most dorky tourist" competition (Photos of tourists wearing Nepal Base camp hats being banned).

Well that’s enough tripe. Apologies to those who actually wanted to know what the Galapagos was like, but I’m not good with superlatives. With Rick keen to surf, Dad and I headed to Isabella island to check out the volcanoes. Dad hoped to build upon his Colca mule experience so we mounted a couple of not so trusty steeds and tried our best to look like the Capensinos we aren’t. Dad's horse was only a slight improvement on his mule - insisting ion intermittent trotting. All my efforts to lovingly help my suffering father by giving his horse a sharp smack on the rump surprisingly had the adverse effect leaving dad clinging to his cantering horse. At least we both enjoyed the volcanoes at the end.

We left Galapagos for Quito on planes that, thankfully, were more reliable than the boats.

Dropping our packs in Quito, we travelled light for a trip up the valley of Volcanoes to check out Ecuador’s highest peaks. The low cloud cut the promise in half; however, the valley was beautiful and almost made up for the lack of volcanoes. Desperation and poor communication on Dad's behalf landed us in the unlikely named town of Banos (where Dad had to ask the question again). Not wanting to waste our last day or risk riding another beast of burden, we decided to give Dad another chance to strut his stuff on a mountain bike - a decision that was made about 10 minutes before we began to regret leaving our bags in Quito. The rain arrived after 11 minutes though we still enjoyed the trip and the waterfalls.

With the train to Riobamba booked out (and rooftop riding banned after a couple of Japanese tourists selfishly fell to their deaths) - we headed to the beautiful volcano Cotopaxi and again missed our backpacks as we hiked to the glacier in grossly inadequate clothing. In hindsight it was probably good not to have our packs as our taxi driver took the opportunity of our absence to grab himself some foreign money, cigarettes and foot powder (!). He left ricks camera behind, though not before accidently filming and photographing his feet. His denial was sheepish when I returned to Cotopaxi and confronted him with the evidence (he was, unsurprisingly, wearing the same shoes). Nevertheless, I can show you a pair of shoes not to trust. On return to Quito it was goodbye to Rick and then Dad (after a couple of days checking out Old Town Quito then sharpening up his closet and filling up his backpack in Otavalo). It was sad to see them go, though I was looking forward to the opportunities afforded by slow solo travel.