Do not stay the night at a Hare Krishna center or you will find beetles in your socks.
(we are safely in Baños, had a nice day of mountain biking and swimming with waterfalls, about to go further south on a bus to get back to Peru.)
-anita
Friday, July 30, 2010
Wednesday, July 28, 2010
Gettin´ high
On Monday, we got higher than ever before. And I mean really, really high. We hiked up the hikable portion of Cotopaxi (wikipedia says: Cotopaxi is a stratovolcano in the Andes Mountains, located about 28 km (17 mi) south of Quito, Ecuador, South America.[4] It is the second highest summit in the country, reaching a height of 5,897 m (19,347 ft)). We reached where the glacier starts, which is at 5,000 m, or 16,400 feet. From there, if you want to continue, you have to go at 2am when the ice is more frozen and you have less of a chance of falling into a crevasse. You also need crampons and ice axes. Eh... next time, Cotopaxi, next time. (I must say, I am tired of getting almost to the top of things.)
But often, the journey is more interesting than the destination, and although the destination was pretty beautiful, the story is more interestng for the journey in this case.
After several hours on a bus from northern Quito, the bus dropped us off on the side of the road and pointed to a little station: our next step for getting to Cotopaxi. From the rural area with a little hut and several pick-up trucks, we asked ourselves "shouldn´t we be able to see the mountain?" Thankfully, we weren´t actually deceived, and the mountain was just obscured by clouds.
We asked the man running the station how much it costs to go the last leg of the trip to Cotopaxi. He tells us $30 per person for the roundtrip car ride. Then we´d have to pa $10 each for national park entrance, and also we would have to pay a guide to take us. Ok, we immediately called him out on his bullshit, especially because it was onluy 35km more by car. We waited around, decididing what to do. The man smirked at us, probably knowing we didn´t have other options.
Tangent: we decided that we are not from the United States because we don´t like being charged 5 times more than necessary for everything. But since Justine doesn´t speak Romanian, we decided to be from South Africa. And so, we spent the next few minutes trying to remember everything we could about Sasha´s mom.
When the man who tried to rip us off finally asked us where we were from, he immediately lit up when we said South Africa (remember: World Cup was in South Africa. We´re in Latin America. Latin America is crazy about the World Cup). I think he would´ve agreed to take us to Cotopaxi for a lower price. Thankfully, just when we were about to try to negotiate with him to take us there for $10 each, a truck full of respectable looking young men drove through and they agreed to let us sit in the back of their truck, mostly because they were so delighted to have two South African gringitas gracing their travels. We bumped and rattled our way through the next 35km.
Along the way (7km into the drive) we had to go through the park entrance, where nationals pay $2 and foreigners pay $10. Okay, whatever, we´ll pay $10, it´s a national park. But when I went to pay our fee, the people at the park entrance said that foreigners are not allowed in without a guide, and that we would need to hire a guide. He said it´s a law in the Ecuadorian constitution that foreigners can´t come in without a guide because they´ll get lost, and then their home countries will get mad at Ecuador for letting them get lost. I didn´t bother asking how much guides cost, but set about: 1. arguing with him, saying that if it´s a rule, then it should be posted somewhere, that he´s making it up just to rip us off, and that if he can´t produce a written copy of the constitution saying just that, I have no reason to believe him. Then, 2. Pleading with him, saying we´d come all the way from South Africa, and we really just wanted to go up Cotopaxi but we didn´t have enough money with us to pay for a guide, and please please please, all the way from South Africa. Finally, he agreed that the Ecuadorian men who were driving us (he did not realize that all but one of them were actually Columbian) could be our "guides". He took the real Ecuadorian´s driver´s license and informed him that he couldn´t get it back unless he produced two safe gringitas exiting the park at the end of the day. Then he asked, "how was the World Cup?" and I winked and said "fantastic."
Thank you to Sasha and family, for being South African.
Of course, as soon as we got to the Cotopaxi parking lot, we felt guilty for lying and told our friendly drivers-turned-mountain-guides that we are not actually South African. They were understandably disappointed, but we are still gringitas, even if not South African, so they did not turn against us.
Because the guy wouldn´t get his driver license back if they didn´t keep us intact, they informed us we couldn´t leave their sight. Together, the five of us (would have been six, but one stayed in the car because of an injured leg) navigated the thin atmosphere, huffing and puffing our way up the final 700 meters to where the glaciar starts. I raced one of them and won.
[Someday soon, I will upload photos, but it doesn´t seem to connect onto this computer. Also, recommendations for how many megapixels I should be taking my photos at? Is 3 enough?]
We rode back in the truck as the sun was setting, feeling elated/euphoric/ecstatic from exercise, beautiful scenery, and low oxygen.
So... who is coming to Patagonia with me sometime soon to summit tall mountains?
Also: today we head to Baños, where a volcano is currently erupting. Then, to the Devil´s nose, then we head further south back to Perú.
Yours,
Anita
But often, the journey is more interesting than the destination, and although the destination was pretty beautiful, the story is more interestng for the journey in this case.
After several hours on a bus from northern Quito, the bus dropped us off on the side of the road and pointed to a little station: our next step for getting to Cotopaxi. From the rural area with a little hut and several pick-up trucks, we asked ourselves "shouldn´t we be able to see the mountain?" Thankfully, we weren´t actually deceived, and the mountain was just obscured by clouds.
We asked the man running the station how much it costs to go the last leg of the trip to Cotopaxi. He tells us $30 per person for the roundtrip car ride. Then we´d have to pa $10 each for national park entrance, and also we would have to pay a guide to take us. Ok, we immediately called him out on his bullshit, especially because it was onluy 35km more by car. We waited around, decididing what to do. The man smirked at us, probably knowing we didn´t have other options.
Tangent: we decided that we are not from the United States because we don´t like being charged 5 times more than necessary for everything. But since Justine doesn´t speak Romanian, we decided to be from South Africa. And so, we spent the next few minutes trying to remember everything we could about Sasha´s mom.
When the man who tried to rip us off finally asked us where we were from, he immediately lit up when we said South Africa (remember: World Cup was in South Africa. We´re in Latin America. Latin America is crazy about the World Cup). I think he would´ve agreed to take us to Cotopaxi for a lower price. Thankfully, just when we were about to try to negotiate with him to take us there for $10 each, a truck full of respectable looking young men drove through and they agreed to let us sit in the back of their truck, mostly because they were so delighted to have two South African gringitas gracing their travels. We bumped and rattled our way through the next 35km.
Along the way (7km into the drive) we had to go through the park entrance, where nationals pay $2 and foreigners pay $10. Okay, whatever, we´ll pay $10, it´s a national park. But when I went to pay our fee, the people at the park entrance said that foreigners are not allowed in without a guide, and that we would need to hire a guide. He said it´s a law in the Ecuadorian constitution that foreigners can´t come in without a guide because they´ll get lost, and then their home countries will get mad at Ecuador for letting them get lost. I didn´t bother asking how much guides cost, but set about: 1. arguing with him, saying that if it´s a rule, then it should be posted somewhere, that he´s making it up just to rip us off, and that if he can´t produce a written copy of the constitution saying just that, I have no reason to believe him. Then, 2. Pleading with him, saying we´d come all the way from South Africa, and we really just wanted to go up Cotopaxi but we didn´t have enough money with us to pay for a guide, and please please please, all the way from South Africa. Finally, he agreed that the Ecuadorian men who were driving us (he did not realize that all but one of them were actually Columbian) could be our "guides". He took the real Ecuadorian´s driver´s license and informed him that he couldn´t get it back unless he produced two safe gringitas exiting the park at the end of the day. Then he asked, "how was the World Cup?" and I winked and said "fantastic."
Thank you to Sasha and family, for being South African.
Of course, as soon as we got to the Cotopaxi parking lot, we felt guilty for lying and told our friendly drivers-turned-mountain-guides that we are not actually South African. They were understandably disappointed, but we are still gringitas, even if not South African, so they did not turn against us.
Because the guy wouldn´t get his driver license back if they didn´t keep us intact, they informed us we couldn´t leave their sight. Together, the five of us (would have been six, but one stayed in the car because of an injured leg) navigated the thin atmosphere, huffing and puffing our way up the final 700 meters to where the glaciar starts. I raced one of them and won.
[Someday soon, I will upload photos, but it doesn´t seem to connect onto this computer. Also, recommendations for how many megapixels I should be taking my photos at? Is 3 enough?]
We rode back in the truck as the sun was setting, feeling elated/euphoric/ecstatic from exercise, beautiful scenery, and low oxygen.
So... who is coming to Patagonia with me sometime soon to summit tall mountains?
Also: today we head to Baños, where a volcano is currently erupting. Then, to the Devil´s nose, then we head further south back to Perú.
Yours,
Anita
Saturday, July 24, 2010
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.
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.
Tuesday, July 20, 2010
15,370 feet
Hola from Quito, Ecuador!
Th city of Quito sits at about the altitude of the highest Sierra Nevada Mountains. And it is cradled by mountains that go about 5,000 feet higher. Ana and I climbed (walked, strolled) up Pichincha yesterday, to reach a height of 15,370 feet. The peak was within sight, and would have been an easy climb for Ana if we weren't high on altitude. We were lucid enough to know our limits, and settled on a nice scramble up to a ledge, and then a cloud swallowed us--we've got pictures of us flanked in white to prove it. The hike was absolutely beautiful. We agreed that the rational parts of us don't really understand why it's so great to hike up a big mound of dirt and rock and grasses, but luckily we aren't overly rational people. As we walked, those square little thoughts that cycle round and round dissipated into the clear, light air. We were pretty sure we could feel that the atmosphere was weighing on us less. Enormous clouds rolled overhead and filled the valley down below, glowing with light. Weird vegetation reflected the challenges of mountain life, and every once in a while black and white marbled birds would cut past us with a chirp. The icing of the view was Quito glistening like a jeweled blanket laid down in the creases between mountains. As much as I love cities, I love them even more seen in the context of the landscape that nourishes them.
We descended with the sun, getting back to the teleférico (snowless-ski-lift) as the last light drained from the sky. A taxi ride and dinner out with friends reintegrated us into the city, and now I'm writing from the comfort of our host Galito's home whose family has been wonderful to us and even has a little pug dog whose snorts are surprisingly adorable. All in all, feeling good--both adventurous and comfortable at the same time.
Much love to all of you at home!
Th city of Quito sits at about the altitude of the highest Sierra Nevada Mountains. And it is cradled by mountains that go about 5,000 feet higher. Ana and I climbed (walked, strolled) up Pichincha yesterday, to reach a height of 15,370 feet. The peak was within sight, and would have been an easy climb for Ana if we weren't high on altitude. We were lucid enough to know our limits, and settled on a nice scramble up to a ledge, and then a cloud swallowed us--we've got pictures of us flanked in white to prove it. The hike was absolutely beautiful. We agreed that the rational parts of us don't really understand why it's so great to hike up a big mound of dirt and rock and grasses, but luckily we aren't overly rational people. As we walked, those square little thoughts that cycle round and round dissipated into the clear, light air. We were pretty sure we could feel that the atmosphere was weighing on us less. Enormous clouds rolled overhead and filled the valley down below, glowing with light. Weird vegetation reflected the challenges of mountain life, and every once in a while black and white marbled birds would cut past us with a chirp. The icing of the view was Quito glistening like a jeweled blanket laid down in the creases between mountains. As much as I love cities, I love them even more seen in the context of the landscape that nourishes them.
We descended with the sun, getting back to the teleférico (snowless-ski-lift) as the last light drained from the sky. A taxi ride and dinner out with friends reintegrated us into the city, and now I'm writing from the comfort of our host Galito's home whose family has been wonderful to us and even has a little pug dog whose snorts are surprisingly adorable. All in all, feeling good--both adventurous and comfortable at the same time.
Much love to all of you at home!
Saturday, July 17, 2010
Surfing, Buses, and Quito
To all who were terrified by the fact that we have been traveling many days in Latin America by bus, rest assured we made it across jungles, mountains, deserts, and country borders with no thievery, accidents, or moments of sheer terror. (Thank you very much to Grabol, a tranquilizing anti carsickness medicine for saving us from the last of those).
We spent several hours walking up the many stairs of the Guayaquil Malecon (boardwalk). Then we went to Montañtina where we learned to surf. I personally liked it so much that I almost told the rest of the crew (at this point, we are with Manus and his friend Andres) that they can do the rest of Ecuador without me, I{ll just stay and surf! But plan #2 is that I can always just move back to Montanita at some other point in life and make my living off of teaching aerial circus by night and surfing the waves by day. Yes.
This morning we woke up 3:30am to catch a couple buses and just got into Quito something like 18 hours later. We are about to go celebrate the birthday of one of Manuss friends, so happy birthday to him, and cheers to all of you all at home.
P.S. anyone who has our Peruvian phone number - it doesnt work while were in Ecuador.
-ana
We spent several hours walking up the many stairs of the Guayaquil Malecon (boardwalk). Then we went to Montañtina where we learned to surf. I personally liked it so much that I almost told the rest of the crew (at this point, we are with Manus and his friend Andres) that they can do the rest of Ecuador without me, I{ll just stay and surf! But plan #2 is that I can always just move back to Montanita at some other point in life and make my living off of teaching aerial circus by night and surfing the waves by day. Yes.
This morning we woke up 3:30am to catch a couple buses and just got into Quito something like 18 hours later. We are about to go celebrate the birthday of one of Manuss friends, so happy birthday to him, and cheers to all of you all at home.
P.S. anyone who has our Peruvian phone number - it doesnt work while were in Ecuador.
-ana
Tuesday, July 13, 2010
vamos a ecuador!
On our way to Ecuador...
1. Bus to chiclayo (today)
2. bus to piura (tomorrow)
3. bus to guayaquil (tomorrow night) (meet with manus)
4. bus to montanita (next day)
lots of bus. that´s why we call it the bus-ride diaries. too bad we dont have a motorcycle, then we could be like che.
p.s. yesterday martin took us for a motorcycle ride to buy juanes! (juanes = food wrapped in a leaf, good for travelling)
got to goooooo!!!
-ANA
1. Bus to chiclayo (today)
2. bus to piura (tomorrow)
3. bus to guayaquil (tomorrow night) (meet with manus)
4. bus to montanita (next day)
lots of bus. that´s why we call it the bus-ride diaries. too bad we dont have a motorcycle, then we could be like che.
p.s. yesterday martin took us for a motorcycle ride to buy juanes! (juanes = food wrapped in a leaf, good for travelling)
got to goooooo!!!
-ANA
Thursday, July 8, 2010
La Medicina Tradicional
A bit on Amazonian healing:
As Ana said, the foundation of health here seems to be the ability to clean out the body, and the majority of the plants pointed out to us on our wet 12-hour rainforest hike are good for La Purga. One of the more powerful plants, Ayahuasca, grows as a crazily twisted vine that winds around and around itself, squeezing into layered pretzels and gripping trees with long tendrils until it sucks them dry.
(Side note: they keep playing the same song OVER AND OVER in this internet cafe!!!AAHHHHHH!!!!!)
Ayahuasca treatment purges both corporally and spiritually. Mixed with another plant called Chacuruna, it brings on intense visualizations and the natives here report seeing twisting serpents (not a surprise after seeing the vine), visualizing past traumatic events they had blocked out, and connecting with their ancestors. The treatment is a way of cleaning out one's fears, facing what is buried inside in order to learn from it and move on. In an informal conference at El Centro, held in French (my understanding was guesswork--although Manus' French lessons helped out, I leaned on Ana's translation skills), the curandero of El Centro talked about the importance of healing oneself, and espoused the belief that if someone cannot do the healing necessary within herself, then all the doctors in the world could not save her. Jacque raised a lot of questions within me about what illness means and the connection between emotional/spiritual struggles with physical health. It's not a stretch for me to see that they're related--for one, I feel like I inherited my dad's aching right knee after his death--but I'm not sure it works in a clear-cut cause and effect relationship. Most likely these factors go back and forth... I'm conscious of an ache in my knee and miss my father, I think of my father and tense my knee... I am far from coming to a conclusion about the nature of illness and its relationship to the rest of human experience; this is in fact the beginning of "la investigación" that Ana and I have embarked on. It's an exciting prospect to come to a better understanding of what is inside oneself and how that can accumulate and take effect. To imagine spiritual inheritance stretching back through the generations adds a depth that would be difficult to address in a regular check-up in the Dr.'s office, but I think that there's some truth in the passage of unspoken history on to each new life.
Time seemed especially tangible as Ana and I stood in a small clearing in the Amazon last week at Winston's curandero retreat near Llucanayacu. The stars here are not the ones I've known my whole life. This side of the ecuator receives the light of a different set of stars, and these stars have been sending their energy here for billions of years, looking over the rainforest and watching it grow. And, as we all learn in school, the light that was reaching us that night has traveled so far that the stars we see might not actually be there any more, might have extinguished billions of years ago. We rely on an idea of a fixed reality to go about our lives, but as Frederique, our new French anthropologist friend points out, reality is fixed within the context of its time and place. In one reality Ana and I stood beneath ancient stars while giant fireflies flitted their momentary lights. In another, stars are born and die, black holes tug on the fabric of spacetime, and a man meets his ancestor face to face. It is important to maintain a grasp on one's current reality, but not to hold on to it so tightly as to forget the variety. We're trying to keep this in mind as we learn from the people we meet what they see as true and real.
Much love to all of you!
As Ana said, the foundation of health here seems to be the ability to clean out the body, and the majority of the plants pointed out to us on our wet 12-hour rainforest hike are good for La Purga. One of the more powerful plants, Ayahuasca, grows as a crazily twisted vine that winds around and around itself, squeezing into layered pretzels and gripping trees with long tendrils until it sucks them dry.
(Side note: they keep playing the same song OVER AND OVER in this internet cafe!!!AAHHHHHH!!!!!)
Ayahuasca treatment purges both corporally and spiritually. Mixed with another plant called Chacuruna, it brings on intense visualizations and the natives here report seeing twisting serpents (not a surprise after seeing the vine), visualizing past traumatic events they had blocked out, and connecting with their ancestors. The treatment is a way of cleaning out one's fears, facing what is buried inside in order to learn from it and move on. In an informal conference at El Centro, held in French (my understanding was guesswork--although Manus' French lessons helped out, I leaned on Ana's translation skills), the curandero of El Centro talked about the importance of healing oneself, and espoused the belief that if someone cannot do the healing necessary within herself, then all the doctors in the world could not save her. Jacque raised a lot of questions within me about what illness means and the connection between emotional/spiritual struggles with physical health. It's not a stretch for me to see that they're related--for one, I feel like I inherited my dad's aching right knee after his death--but I'm not sure it works in a clear-cut cause and effect relationship. Most likely these factors go back and forth... I'm conscious of an ache in my knee and miss my father, I think of my father and tense my knee... I am far from coming to a conclusion about the nature of illness and its relationship to the rest of human experience; this is in fact the beginning of "la investigación" that Ana and I have embarked on. It's an exciting prospect to come to a better understanding of what is inside oneself and how that can accumulate and take effect. To imagine spiritual inheritance stretching back through the generations adds a depth that would be difficult to address in a regular check-up in the Dr.'s office, but I think that there's some truth in the passage of unspoken history on to each new life.
Time seemed especially tangible as Ana and I stood in a small clearing in the Amazon last week at Winston's curandero retreat near Llucanayacu. The stars here are not the ones I've known my whole life. This side of the ecuator receives the light of a different set of stars, and these stars have been sending their energy here for billions of years, looking over the rainforest and watching it grow. And, as we all learn in school, the light that was reaching us that night has traveled so far that the stars we see might not actually be there any more, might have extinguished billions of years ago. We rely on an idea of a fixed reality to go about our lives, but as Frederique, our new French anthropologist friend points out, reality is fixed within the context of its time and place. In one reality Ana and I stood beneath ancient stars while giant fireflies flitted their momentary lights. In another, stars are born and die, black holes tug on the fabric of spacetime, and a man meets his ancestor face to face. It is important to maintain a grasp on one's current reality, but not to hold on to it so tightly as to forget the variety. We're trying to keep this in mind as we learn from the people we meet what they see as true and real.
Much love to all of you!
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