Hey Michael!

First of all, Feliz cumpleaños, papa! I can’t say much more, but wish I could share this awesome Chilean wine and share these views as well! Still waiting to hear what I should get you, dad – big or small – for your birthday. I’m making this public so that if anyone reading this has any ideas on what to get Michael Henry Conroy for his birthday, I beg you to share them with me! Thanks in advance!

Once again, Happy Birthday, Dad!


(The posts for the last few days are written but will be posted later.)

Yes! Chugchilán!

September 9th, 2008.

Latacunga to Chugchilán via Saquisilí y Sigchos: 5.6 ***. The two-hour bumpy ride’s most dangerous element is desiring to stick your head out the window to get even closer to the vistas are amidst for the entire bumpy trip! The people on the bus were nice and the seats more comfortable than they look.

Chugchilán: 5.10 ****. This is a classic 5.10. Everyone on the Quilotoa Loop wishes they had more time at this lovely, quaint town that functions as a base for many possibly grueling hikes.

Today we wake up and take turns electrocuting ourselves by using slightly wet hands on the shower knob – the electric shower knob. Next is coffee. We roam the market and hit the far end of the square where we sit for Alisa’s coffee. The woman sitting opposite us breaks into conversation, beginning by asking if Alisa is my guide. I get coffee con leche. After a good smiling conversation and a thank you and take care to the woman working the stand, it’s breakfast in bed. A shop no more than a block or two from the hostel happens to have yogurt. We each get one with fruit to go with our granola. They are joined for the eating party by our spoon-fork-knives. This is their first use, and I’m now glad I got one. Before this, I didn’t think it’d be handy. Boy did those dudes who stole my Leatherman and left this trio miss out on a deal! This is three for the price (weight; space) of one!

Packed stomachs and full bags, we walk to the bus terminal, ready to leave Latacunga and its strangeness. We buy a double-ticket for Chugchilán via Sigchos (and before that, Saquisilí). This is a stop on the Quilotoa Loop that, according to Lonely Planet claims the first place prize for the best base for travelers who love scenic and challenging hikes. So we have decided to go to Chugchilán this Tuesday and stay through Wednesday in order to return to Saquisilí. Our unorthodoxical backtracking occurs because the Thursday market in Siquosíla is heralded as one of the most important markets in Ecuador at which indigenous tribes descend upon the valley town in red ponchos. That sounds awesome to me.

Already today, arriving in Chugchulán via unpaved, cobbled, under construction, single-lane, two-way mountainous, winding roads on a well-used bus feels like we’ve accomplished something wild. We arrive, compare hostel rooms and prices, get one, and a good two-hours before dinner leaves us time for a spectacular hike!
Our hike is more of an intermittent jog. We jogged on thick, soft sand trails that were anything but close to level at practically any point! The trails were very different from everything around us: hillside pastures, green pyramids, stretching hand-tilled fields and sandy black-and-white canyons. This is a blast and we are out-of-breathe, laughing with glee, and loving the views and the memories in a box that our camera is giving us.

In the last little incline, I stay back in order to get a faraway panorama picture of Alisa. She's a little more than a dot to the far left on the sin-curvy white trail. Click on the picture to enlarge and see what Alisa's actually doing! We’re also back an hour before dinner! Did that much funny really only take an hour? I am surprised. So, we don’t go back in to our room just yet. We head up the street and buy a $1.50 5-litre container of water for two reasons. First, we need more water since we’re running low. Second, we need 5-litres of water because tomorrow we plan to hike up to the Laguna del Quilotoa, around the rim of this volcanic crater lake as much as we can, and back! Each section – to, around, and fro – is estimated as taking 4 or 5 hours. We hope to make much better time than that, and not necessarily hike entirely around the 4-hour rim of the lake. Also, if we get tired once there, we can catch a 2:30pm-departure bus from the village of Quilotoa, which happens to be another one-hour hike from the lake! You can do the math to see how much this will be. I could be mistaken, but I believe the hike up to Laguna del Quilotoa from Chugchilán gains 400 meters.

Right, back to Chugchilán, though! We haven’t left and I’m already talking about tomorrow’s events! After getting our water, we hike further up the hill from our hostel and the shop where we bought it and catch a bit of a volleyball game. This game overlooks mountains and valleys. It’s awesome and I’d love to join in, but there are probably many better suitors for the game: there are maybe 20 spectators! It’s getting darker now and time for dinner. We eat and speak English with other travelers over and beyond dinner. Now we relax, listen to some NPR, write about the days previous, thank goodness, itself that we are no longer in Latacunga, and prepare ourselves via dreams and conversations for the morrow.

To the Base of the Loop!

September 8th, I think. The year is definitely 2008.

Quito to Latacunga: 5.8 R ** (I). This single-pitch route is such because it takes a mere two and a half hours. I gave it a 5.8 R rating because 5.8 is not that difficult to get there. However, I gave it an R for runout because occasionally you must make sure that you are safe because if you do not check your stuff, it can get taken! (An X rating would mean death and further injury could result if a mistake was made, whereas R could mean up to injury at worst.) I gave this route two stars (**) because it’s not a must-do trip in and of itself, but it is however worth taking in order to go from Quito to get to the Quilotoa Loop, which has more stars, still! FYI: from now on, short routes (single-pitch; I) will not be noted as such. Simply, the ‘I’ will be omitted.

I wake up to a private shower. We breakfast on the roof of the Chicago Hostel. Alisa does a post-breakfast dance. Then we update our blogs in the hostel’s common room before leaving to take a bus to the bus terminal where we hike down three flights of open stairs facing different directions. We buy a double-ticket for the bus to Latacunga.

Before we board, and just as Alisa’s large bag is being put underneath the bus, we are warned several times to watch our bags. Getting on the bus, we take seats next to each other. Some dude shoves my bag under my feet and I watch him twist it so that the bag is going vertically underneath my seat, rather than horizontally so that I can see it all but it’s in the way of my feet. I take note in my mind soon hereafter that the only slit-pocket in my bag is facing the people in the seats behind me and not the other way around. Also in my mind is that this pocket only contains batteries, deodorant, and my leatherman. The person in the seat next to me is young and more friendly than most his age in these parts, asking where we’re from and of course, if we’re together-together. I can’t get the thought out of my head that the people behind me might be going through that slit-pocket and I keep glancing behind my seat to see if I see their heads. One man passes by and says very seriously – almost angrily to the person directly behind me, “Que paso?” and after those words, I didn’t understand what he said, especially considering the rate at which the words left his mouth. I tell Alisa what is on my mind. Namely, that the pocket is facing them and that this guy might have just been yelling at them for trying to get into my stuff. Keep in mind that the main pocket is locked. As the bus halts for the next stop on the way to Latacunga, the two behind us get up to leave. I swivel my bag horizontally and note that the zipper is slightly open. I open it and stick my hand in. No deodorant. No leatherman. I tell Alisa and see that either non-Spanish-speaking and nearly enraged but shocked me must go get them, without being able to explain to anyone else what is going on. Or, Alisa can tell everyone and perhaps stop them from leaving. I watch the bags in the seat now, as she goes to get them. A woman in front of us overhears us and starts yelling out the window to stop the dudes. I inspect my bag further, quickly, and find that they used the knife to cut into the main compartment from this slit-pocket, the backing of which is not nearly as durable or thick as the outside material. It appears that they didn’t get anything from within, which is mostly in another container still (e.g. Sea to Summit waterproof bag), or not worth taking (e.g. very thin towel). The bus driver is already aware of the situation and the bus is stopped for a good few minutes. I see the people involved walk then run down this natural alley, forested on either side. They were all in on it. Luckily, though, as enraged and further paranoid as I was for the remainder of the bus ride, they didn’t get much.

In Latacunga, we find a hostel and get a room. We walk the market and get a lunch with weird meats in the meals. Feeling unsettled, we consider the things we want to get done. I want to repair or have repaired the cut pocket so that there is another layer of tougher fabric there. Alisa wants Internet. After trying a tailor who can’t fit my backpack under the sewing machine, we are directed to a shoe repairman. He says he doesn’t do bags. He does, however, do suggestions. We come upon his suggestion in a repair-all shop on a sidestreet and find out that not only can they repair my bag, but they will charge a mere one dollar. We go back to the hostel room and I empty the contents of my bag, and off we go, to drop it off for a 30-minute repair. During the break we try internet places and none of them work. Either they don’t know their one wireless password, or the Ethernet cord for some reason would not work on Alisa’s laptop. We give up that grail and wander until our return to the shop, a few minutes early. We hang out just outside and talk and play with a mother and her baby who has huge, dark eyes that just stare at me! Finally smiles come out! Genuine friendliness is very much distinct from that which I experienced on the bus.

Alisa and I thank the repairman and head out way, geared for war! Well, almost: First Alisa purchases two meters of chain and a lock for her big Osprey Exposure 50 bag. What else can you do to lock this bag? Content with the day and ready to find out just how worth it this Quilotoa Loop is, we get ready for the adventures ahead, and chalk the last few incidents up as preparedness. And a little grief!

But, onwards and upwards!

After I wrote this, we went out for dinner. After a nice really long walk as the sky darkens, we decide upon something very close to the hostel, even though we walked and examined places all over the town.

Dinner was not that fun in Latacunga, either. People laughed obviously, spoke quietly, and our soups – unlike the soups of those around us – had large chicken feet in them. We laugh on the short walk back to the hostel.

Also, from now on I’m going to give different routes (to and from cities) ratings very similar to those from climbing. I will also give each city visited a grade. At first I will explain the grades and ratings given, but later I hope it will be understood what I mean when I say 5.9 X IV ***. Aren’t you excited to learn how climbing grades apply to cities and the routes taken to get there? Now you will understand the rating at the top of each blog route. Also, FYI, in thinking about why I decided to do this, I think it I came up with this idea because I was dreaming about climbing and realized that I haven’t climbed in a while and miss it. So I’m going to connect my reality to climbing. Oh no. I’m going through withdrawals. What is rehab for rock climbing addiction? Haha.

“Venga, manaña! Come on, themorrow!” says your landescaper, n8.

From Otavalo back to Quito

Today is the day we go to Peguche cascadas (waterfalls), which fall two kilometers outside of Otavalo, which is not too far to walk, especially if we get to see indigenous tribes along the way, which is expected. We both shower, and put our bags in a storage room in the hostel since we do not expect to return from our adventurette nearly in time for checkout. As we get about a block away from the hostel, we realize that we’re packing light. A little too light. What’s missing? We have water, snacks, and no bags as planned. But we don’t have the camera. We return to the hostel briefly, to get the camera out of our bags before getting back on track for our big day. The day is big because we’re not only trekking to the waterfalls and hiking thereabouts and back, but we plan on busing our way two hours back to Quito and from there, two more hours to Latacunga.

That’s what we planned. Here’s what happened: When emptied our bags; when we realized we lost our expensive camera; when we reported this to the worker at the hostel, and asked if we should contact the local police; when he said no, but there were ecuadorianos staying at the hostel who might have taken the camera; when we heard they would return by noon and considered waiting for this moment, weighing words wisely amidst cloudy emotions; when we figured the camera was left out on the table guarded by an unlocked door for precisely 48 seconds while one of us used one of the two bathrooms - the bathroom the other one was not showering in at the moment - before locking the door and this time frame was feasibly a thrifty theft time; when we sulked in the streets of a place not our own; when we passed by Fujifilm businesses and market stands where the camera might already be stashed; when we couldn’t remove the feelings we had in the place we were in, that is when we decided to change our plans.

We grabbed our bags and marched steadfastly to the bus terminal. Four men and one man escourted us, hollering, “Quito, Quito, Quito” to two buses going to Quito. We hopped on the fuller of the two, since it would leave sooner. Once aboard, the bus takes off and makes its way through the highs and lows between cloud nine and nigh cloud. We hop a taxi back to The Secret Garden to use their internet privileges so as to locate a better (See: cheaper, less crowded) hostel in the area. We come upon The Chicago hostel and it’s located in the fancy location two blocks away. Fancy means lucky. Bags on. You know the drill. Buzz the manager. Go to the room. Find out breakfast is included and get this: it’s on the roof – the open roof! Oh and by the way, we have a view from our room, which is more spacious than our last Quito hostel and comes with an unnecessary extra bed just in case the relationship is going cabbage (See: cabbage patch (See: sour patch)), I suppose.

I do not feel so well. I haven’t felt so well since the night before, actually. Nothing horrible, just stomach aches that m-ache me uncomfortable. I’m a paper maché stomach, macheted. And I’m starting to feel not so well, and think that perhaps we need more nutrition than half of a papaya we cut up and a clif bar. So we find ourselves walking old Quito for late lunch. We find it and plead that they make me a non-fish soup since that’s all they claimed to have. Please. Please. You must have another!

When you get in a new room and it’s hot out, you can’t wait to get your coat off. So you take it off. When you get in a new room and you have bags, you can’t wait to unpack ‘em. So you take the lid off. As I unzipped my duffel backpack and flung the lid open – to give my bag some air? – I heard a clunk, as the lid hit the wall. This was odd, because I never stow anything in the lid, especially weighty enough to clunk against a wall. A passport photocopy doesn’t clunk, you know.

Cameras clunk! Oh. My. Word.

Now we can continue on our way to Latacunga and do the Quilotoa Loop immediately, without having to postpone our trip to wait for any camera replacement options our minds were considering. The day has gotten better. We decide to make ourselves dinner. It’s getting darker out. Hurry! We walk around and ask people working in small shops. We look for vegetables. Where are the vegetables? At? We do a little tour of the now-familiar streets with most shops closed down, the bumpy metal curtains drawn by some artist like Hephaestus, Mephisto? Anyhow, we meet some Bacchuses who want to speak English at us and we speak español right back at them. We end up getting a tomato, a small onion, a small triangle of cheese - fresh mozzarella, I think, arroz (rice), and then frijoles (beans). We don’t use the kitchen to cook our dinner, because that’s off limits. We use the guest kitchen! How sweet is that? Not many hostels have this. Go Chicago Hostel, go!

Dinner is spectacular and is followed by a lot of talking with a fun couple who have many stories to share. One of them is a professional photographer who pokes things with sticks; the other is a better-safe-than-sorry traveler who one day wants a specific car. They both have English accents. Usually this trip we’ve avoided speaking English as much as possible – or maybe that’s just me, since I’m in a grind to learn Spanish. But this was fun. And we may run into them again since they’re eventually flying out of Santiago, the capital of Chile, where we will inevitably find ourselves passing through.

“Sensnational!” says your landscaper, n8

Marketworld

Early in the morning departure from The Secret Garden hostel in Quito looks something like this. It's so early and the lights aren't working in the bathrooms, so we skip the shower for the day and head with a cab driver to the bus terminal for the two hour drive to Otavalo.

City’s are sometimes called concrete jungles. Today we traveled to Otavalo, a jungle of a whole different color, the color of fabrics and tiles. There are so many markets it makes you wonder how buildings fit into this picture. That is to say, everything would run fine – and it does – with these markets in place. Panchos, sweaters, hats, gloves, shoes, pants, crafts of all sorts, music, movies, fruits, soups, and more are for sale in markets that take over the tiled-streets and sidewalks, too. It’s surprising that stores in buildings remain open as they hardly receive business today, save for a retreat from the high sun for a meal, or perhaps to watch the Ecuador v. Bolivia World Cup game on television with un cerveza grande, which we did! We had to: it was being held in Quito, the city we just left; we nearly made the game!

More walks for fruits that Alisa couldn’t wait to attack, and more walks for desserts and nighttime post-market-city-seeing followed. Alisa and I both picked up souvenirs. I plan to pass mine on to a certain someone named Sean upon his arrival and until then perfect its ways. Alisa plans to wear hers when the elevation whispers cold words.

All in all, ‘twas a great day. Now we rest and prepare for more of the same: New experiences! Before sleep, we take a walk around Otavalo's non-market streets and got some pastries to join us. I start to get a stomach cramp as we lie down, and hope that it's not as bad as it feels!

Goodnight from north of the ecuator!

Quito with Open Eyes

Desayunamos. We ate breakfast. $2.50 for 2 people is pretty good. We had drinks, coffee de leche, cheese sandwiches and scrambled eggs. Not a bad little breakfast before a lot of hiking at high altitudes.

We also picked up a Dictionary to go with our newspapers, as noted in the picture.


We hiked up to Parque de Itchimbía, home of schools with playgrounds and a walking circuit that overlooks much of Quito. Need I say more to prove that we had a good time? The playgrounds have rings, which would be more accessible if they were higher above the ground. I think playgrounds should be built with all ages in mind! Still, we had fun, and enjoyed sitting on one of three benches, of which one was captured in our panoramic foto.

We left the park and headed towards the new city. Quito has an old city and a new city. We have paraded around the old long enough so we take a different route exiting the park. Many cobbled side streets lead us to the main streets. We hike up and up again and find another playground, this one with an entire circle of monkey bars that I hang and swing around on for a while. As does Alisa! But soon it is time for lunch, bathroom, and a bit of a rest before more entertainment. So we hike down these less populated streets.

And as we are looking at a menu from the sidewalk for almuerzo (lunch), someone knocks on a taxi window from the passenger's seat and first salutes me. I don't salute back but I smile and give a small wave since he's a mere two feet from me. The assumedly local man waves me on to this restaurant that we are considering, so we give it a shot. Two soups, one which was better and had cheese precede the common meat and rice dish. What is not so common here is the juice, which is decadent. We gulp it down as green gelatin is handed to us in small bowls. Que contraste! (What a contrast!)

Now we trek back towards the hostel to research the next few days of our trip and by doing so we gain some non-walking time - to rest. But, as you guessed - you did guess, didn't you? - we hit the town again.

The new city it is for us, before it gets dark. We look and ask directions many times for Plaza Foch, the answers changing each time. Finally we make it there and look for non-touristy, cheap places that are still open for dinner. It's only 5:30pm or so but darkness comes early and dinner ends even sooner. We settle on a Mexican food place that turned out to have a second-story view of a nighttime intersection in Quito Nueva, but not great food. Especially, that is because of the high price we paid! Once out of dinner, we grab a taxi back to the hostel, since it's dark and walking is definitely not the safest option. Check back later for a picture of our dinner, where the highlight was the juice beverage we shared.

Tomorrow we will hit Otavalo, Ecuador. We have perhaps finalized our decision not to go to Colombia. We were ever so tempted and had even planned our trip out. However, with expenses looming larger on Colombia's side of the ecuator - or Ecuador, and a non-backtracking return trip meaning either a costly plane ticket or a roundabout-the-Amazon Brazil trip seeming ever so out of the way...Yeah. Maybe later. But Cartagena, Armenia, Popayán, et cetera all sound wonderful!

"Buen Provecho!" - n8

Got There

Bienvenido a Ecuador! Alisa and I finally meet up in another world! And somehow, it's not too strange! We quickly get to planning. Hold on Australia. Get a grip, Thailand. Ecuador, don't worry, you've been patient and it's your turn...

Climb! Climb! No, use the stairs on the inside. OK. That's how we made it to the top of this church with a view that is worth the many stairs at the high elevation that Quito, Ecuador already sports like a trophy above our heads. We're gasping for air as we march up the roads! My eyes are blurry from so much open-eye time (See: 31 hours).

Of course, before we did this exercise we ate a late lunch at this quaint yellow-walled 4-seats-to-each-table restaurant for $1.50 each. That includes soup, entree, passionfruit drink (jugo de maracuyá, and one dessert split between the two of us since it was late in the day for that!

Photos taken from atop Basilica del Voto Nacional, a smaller carbon-copy of a church in France.

After this circus, we find ourselves in some drizzle. So we get a newspaper en espanol from an outdoor newspaper salesman and head to a fruit juice shop based on his recommendation. One papaya and one naranjilla. Neither of us had even heard of this small fruit and it ended up being better than the papaya! Tired, I suggest heading back to the hostel where we plan our conspiracies and travels for the coming times!

"LET GO OF YOURSELF!" suggests your landescaper, n8 from atop a church!