On DOGS and mountains

Thank you Manus for taking us to your sweet farm in Checa!

Checa is a small town about 45 minutes out of Quito where Manus's extended family owns land. We saw horses and crops and all those nice things, but what sticks out most to me is the dogs.

We stayed in a cozy little cabin that was guarded by a single-headed descendent of Cerberus (you know, the dog that guards hell). This dog was in a steady state of angry hysteria. It was tied to a tree by a short metal chain, and everytime some person or some animal walked near (you know, within 20 meters), breathed too loud, or made any type of disturbance, it would lunge to the end of its chain, where its neck would get torqued and its wide, wild eyes would open wider, looking like they were ready to pop. During this motion, it would bear its teeth, snarl, bark, and growl, and once the chain asserted its dominance, the dog would jump back and forth within its allowable radius, snarling, barking, and growling some more. It followed this pattern EVERY time its defense mechanism was triggered, which was about every few seconds. I slept with earplugs because of that dog.

We also visited a bigger house belonging to his family that was across the street (and that people actually lived in). That house was also guarded by dogs. These dogs were giant and muscular and looked trained to kill. For us too enter the property, the dogs were put in their cement-and-wire cages, where they barked and threw their mass against the cage, letting us know they mean business. The cages were pretty tall but had no roof. I couldn´t help thinking of the tiger that jumped out of its cage at the SF Zoo. Then, the dogs were let out of their cages to meet us. The three goliath canines ran to us then took turns sniffing each of us to get to know our smell, then ran back to their cages. From then on, they were very calm and nice with us.

While at Checa, Justine and I decided we wanted to hike to the top of the nearby Volcano Puntas, which imposes its presence on the towns below with the staggering pointy pinnacles for which it gets its name. We saw these pinnacles from below and immediately said "we want to go THERE." It soon became clear that we needed a guide to go for several reasons: 1. we didn´t know the way and there isn´t a clearly marked hiking trail - you have to cut through people's pastures to get there. 2. we would need to ask permission to cut through private land - the land there is owned by the wealthy indigenous Don Benjamin who rose from rags to riches; he's a nice guy, but we're white. 3. the land we would cross is full of torros bravos - feryl bulls that can be temperamental, defensive of their territory, and overall crAzy.

So our 21 year old guide Santiago, his cousin Darío and the two of us made our way up the mountain, looking for Andean condors (but not finding any), eating tostadas, and evading the torros bravos. We walked up the virgin black soil, feeling a little like in a fairy tale as we passed by black and white milk cows, solitary horses, and high elevation wild flowers. The fairy tale feeling was frayed a little from all the barbed wire fences we had to cross, but we forded all of those incident free. We managed to avoid or chase away most of the torros bravos we encountered, but we did at some point get in a stand off with a troop of them. Fortunately, they were on the other side of a barbed wire fence and we weren´t worth it to them to prick themseleves on it, even though it was low and deteriorating and any one of them could plow right through it, easily.

When we reached the top of Puntas, the view was impressive and jagged, just like I like my views. I climbed the steep side of a pinnacle but decided that was enough because the rock was not very stable. We left as the wind began to beat snow sideways into our ears.

Despite all the dangers we were warned about on Puntas (the crazy bulls, the weather, getting lost, etc.), at the end of the day I was most frightend by the pesky little "I think I´m so ferocious" dogs that barked at us as we passed by various haciendas. Alas, some things never change, and torros bravos have nothing on pesky little dogs when it comes to triggering my fear instincts. You know me...

Pichincha:

I promised to describe Pichincha (and Justine is sleeping still, so I have time!).

Pichincha is one of the volcanos looking over Quito. It has two peaks, and there is a teleferico (gondola) that takes you most of the way up - up to 4100 meters elevation. We hiked nearly the rest of the way to the Rucu Pichincha peak, which is at 4,698m (15,413 ft), and is the higher of the two peaks. At high elevation, your thoughts leave you and you get this pleasant feeling of dizzy euphoria. Colors look a little brighter and crisper, and breathtaking scenery is even more breath taking... because there´s not very much air up there. I would make an effort to describe what was so spectacular about that landscape, but it seems futile, because words rarely do justice to these sorts of things. What I can say is that I enjoyed the contrast between the peaceful rolling green hills beneath us and the jagged rocky peak above us. The latter was obscured by dark clouds that rolled across it at high speed, only to be shredded to cloudy strips by the sharp outcrop. I´ve always had a bit of a soft spot for the foreboding, so the dreary magnetism of the mountain lured me in.

When we reached the Rucu cone -- the final 20 meters or so of ascent -- the only thing that made sense to me was to get up to the tip top. By now, our hands were freezing and because we hadn´t bought warm clothes yet, I had an extra pair of socks on my hands and a shirt on my head. We climbed up the cone steadily, but that high altitude sensation made even the easiest climb feel taxing. Actually, just standing up straight seemed like an incredible feat of balance. About halfway up that cone, the going got steeper and colder. The "get to the top" feeling in me demanded to keep going, even if alone. But then a cloud rushed in and suddenly we couldn´t see more than 5 meters in front of us. That cloud was an icy cold blast back into reality: if standing up feels difficult, climbing is probably not a good idea, even if it´s like V0- and normally it would be too easy to even bother warming up on...

We descended, and to this moment I feel regret that I didn´t go up that final 8 or so meters, but at the same time I know it was the right decision.


Some random tidbits:

1. On avoiding scams and getting ripped off: My most proud moment of shrewd skepticism was when we bought some organges from a street vendor. The vendor weighed them on a scale, told us we had to pay for 1 kilo, set the scale down, and set out his hand. I looked at the scale, which was now upside down, and demanded to see it. As expected, it was not zero'd, and he was trying to charge us almost double. I called him out on it and set my own price. Ah yes, the sweet feeling of pride. Moments later, we gave an address to a taxi cab, asked how much it cost, and were pissed off when we realized the place was just around the corner and he was charging us as if it were much further away (he did drive in circles around a few blocks first to make it seem further).

2. On my name: I say: Hola mi nombre es Ana. They (they = everyone) pause, then reply: Anita.

3. On amusing ourselves: Justine crochets my dreads while I read aloud from East of Eden. We stay up too late doing this. Cute? Yes, Cute.