Baños, Ecuador: Fuck It.

Photo Credit

He stands a lean 6 feet tall.  His dirty-blond hair is stringy, and hangs down almost into his eyes.  He is vaguely middle-aged.  His jeans are faded and stained, and his wispy, sun-bleached t-shirt could easily be from 1990.  He is missing his top left eye tooth, and quite possibly a few others behind it.  His worn, scratchy hands smell like cigarettes.  I am in Baños at Stay in Touch and this, dear readers, is my massage therapist.  When initially regarding him and looking at the price list, a part of me was hesitant.  Baños has no shortage of affordable massages, and I could have easily moved on.  But fuck it, I know that this is a good place, and why am I hung up on gender norms anyway?  I went for it, and let me tell you, it was wonderful.  One of the best massages of my life.  This decision-making process would set the tone for the rest of the weekend.

The Swing at the End of the World
Photo Credit

Geothermic activity has blessed this area with many natural hot springs.  Its location at the edge of the rain forest has given rise to an adventure sports reputation, including hiking, biking, horseback riding, canyoning, bridge jumping (video below by Eric Higginson), and of course the famous Swing at the End of the World.  For international backpackers, it is often a Spanish immersion opportunity.  But whatever the purpose of the traveler, the town should really develop some kind of slogan that cleverly embodies its niche in the tourism market.  I propose the following:

Baños, Ecuador: Fuck It.  

Crude, yes (and in need of a graphic design team), but it really does encapsulate the attitude that one should bring with them to a city such as this.  First off, it lies at the base of Tungurahua, an incredibly active volcano towards the jungle side of the country.  Standing just over 5,000 m/16,400 ft, it is a drawing of a volcano that a child would make; slowly puffing ash, and looking completely at home as the backdrop to a herd of Brontosaurs.  Whoever the first people were who stopped here and started building their homes without a doubt themselves said, "Eh, fuck it.  Feel how warm this water is!"  At least we can hope for their sake that their language contained such a nuanced yet versatile phrase.   Even the people who go there now, myself included, have likely ignored sternly worded urgings to steer clear of this region from their countries' embassies.  But fuck it, seriously, feel how warm this water is!

This town is so laid back, you can
even nap while Canyoning.  Photo
courtesy of Eric Higginson.

Getting to Baños from Quito is straightforward.  Get a taxi or take the Trole to the Quitumbe bus terminal in the South.  A taxi from the north of the city where I live costs about $8, or the Trole costs $0.25 from and to anywhere.  The Trole gets crowded sometimes and you have to watch your stuff pretty keenly, so fuck it, I took the taxi.  Baños is a pretty popular destination, so buses tend to leave from the terminal every 30-45 minutes, at least on weekends and holidays.  After a 3.5 hour bus ride, you're there.  Baños is not big at all...almost everything is a 10-15 minute walk.  Some really nice places I've stayed at are La Posada del Arte and Plantas y Blanco.  There are plenty of cheaper options as well, all the way down to $5 for a room.  You do get what you pay for, though, which may or may not be a broom closet.  For fans of Harry Potter, it might be fun.

"Still beats sharing a dorm!"
Photo Credit

There is definitely an energy to this town, both from the location itself and from the people who go there from all over the world.  It is an easy place to enjoy whether you go with friends or travel solo, which is what I decided to do for the long weekend this past Semana Santa.  This is one of those old favorites I was talking about in a previous post, and the photos and video in this post reflect the many trips I have taken here (as well as my well-honed ability to applicably reference Harry Potter at will).

Photo courtesy of Eric Higginson.

Having already been adventuring here, I decided that this time I would just relax.  This was not a plan as much as it was a lack of one, and apparently, this mindset seems to seat me at a bar.  If like me you're a fan of micro-brews and are living in a country that isn't, you will be glad to find The Stray Dog.  When I arrived in Baños at around 6:00 Thursday evening, I dropped off my bag at my hostel, and went immediately to my date with an IPA.  Sure, it's 8% alcohol and I hadn't eaten in 6 or 7 hours, but fuck it, I wanted a beer.  The owners are from Chicago, so predictably they do have some decent pub food as well, including an imitation Wendy's cheeseburger, square patty and all.

Joseline and Stacy at the Stray Dog

For anyone who has traveled alone, you know that you invariably make some new friends.  These friendships are no less significant because of their brevity, and with social media now, some may even transcend the trip.  Anyway, my first friends of the weekend were found at the Stray Dog almost as quickly as that first, hoppy beer was satisfyingly settling into my stomach and blood stream.  There was Freddy, a guy from London whose trip to South America seemed to be doubling in length, and Stacy and Joseline, a couple from Houston who were in town for the weekend.  We all left the Stray Dog together, and found our way to some live music, where Freddy joined in on the bongo drums, and then to Leprechaun Bar, which is of course the standard final destination for revelers in Baños .

Free shot upon entry at Leprechaun.  Three out of four
backpackers recommend it!  Photo courtesy of Eric
Higginson.

Well, I shouldn't say final...the bars shut down at 2 am, but then there are after parties as well.  I have found my way to two of these in my visits to Baños, and both have provided the "fuck it" counterpoint; or at least the need for this attitude to be tempered at times.  The first found me sitting in a circle of what seemed to be a living room but was probably a hostel, with what had to have been the majority of the collective bar-tending staff of the town.  As I sipped on my beer, carried on strange conversations, and wondered what I was doing there, I would be periodically hushed as the cops drove by outside.  I felt like I was a teenager again.  In a bad way.  This past time involved scaling a ladder over the outside wall of a hostel and finding myself in a heated pool in my boxers on the other side.  Admittedly, that one should have been cooler, but it wasn't.  Both found me wandering home at about 5 am, really upset with my choices and about how much of tomorrow would now have to be slept away.  I was reminded of my friend Andrew Watkins, who likes to relate to his friends in Quito the three guidelines he was given by his dad when he was younger.  I can only reliably remember two, either because I disagree with the third, or because I so consistently disregard it that it's embarrassing to think about.

The menu at Quilombo
(Photo by Eric Higginson)

1) No shots.
2) Nothing good starts after 2 am.

Whoops.  These serve as good boundaries for the "fuck it" framework, and I did better at heeding them the following day.  I met up with Stacy and Joseline again and went to Quilombo, an Argentinian steak house, for dinner.  Being Texans, it seemed an appropriate place to take my new friends, as it has long been my favorite restaurant there.  With bellies full of steak and Malbec, we staggered back outside into the cool, drizzly night, and found that the weekend crowds had really arrived.  There were now cover charges for the bars, which we found silly and annoying, and we walked off of the main strip in search of something more low key.

New club in town...get there at 10 pm
for the VIP treatment.  

Here, not 15 steps into our search, we were approached by a woman promoting a new bar/nightclub.  The three of us briefly made eye contact, shrugged, and started following this woman to her bar.  Fuck it.  We walked, and kept walking, until there was no one else around and our internal alarms began to blare.  Baños is a safe town (if you don't count the active volcano), but we were now pretty isolated, and feeling a bit like the wildebeest that had been separated from the herd.  We made a few jokes with each other about this, and with our guide, and were just about to say fuck this, when we saw the sign for our destination.  Relieved, and feeling a bit silly about our paranoia, we went inside, and there was a DJ, a stage, a massive dance floor, a 2nd level with pool tables and balconies...and a total of four other people.  Ha!  Fuck it.  We got drinks, the other four people actually left, and for the next hour, Stacy, Joseline, and I enjoyed having the club to ourselves, with our own personal DJ and a fully staffed bar to tend to us.

The club, we would later learn, was an after hours spot.  No one bothered to tell us, but we didn't really care.  Its location on the outside of town was purposeful, so that they didn't have to abide by the 2 am closing rule.  "But Andy," you may be thinking, "didn't you say that you did better at following the rules this time?"  Of course I did!  Nothing good starts after 2 am.  I was already there;)  This is not a loophole, but rather a subtle and significant distinction; it's the difference between riding a wave and graspingly trying to catch one.  At night.  In a puddle.  At the foundation, one is based on the continuation of a joy, and the other a kind of sad but hopeful desperation, as if through the brute force of your own will, the world might be a little kinder to you.  "There will be something good around this next corner.  I deserve it."  This is a silly, illogical, and fatalistic delusion, and one that reverses who can be kinder to whom.  As you may surmise, I have fallen into this trap a time or two.

As it got later and more people began to show up, we ran into our old pal Freddy once again, and I made my final weekend friends in Leah and her merry band of volunteers, who were teaching in the small nearby town of Salasaka.  It was in talking with Leah that the theme for the town was coined.  Among the troupe of do-gooders was a fire-twirler and several musicians, all of whom I met up with again on my last full day there, as they were filming a video for their band.

Pilgrims lining the far side of the street by my hostel

One of the more interesting coincidences about this weekend is that there was a yearly pilgrimage for Easter from Ambato to Baños, ending at La Cascada de la Virgen.  The Virgin Waterfall.  The trek is 35 km long and made on foot.  Pilgrims often get to Baños in the middle of the night, and will sleep on the street until mass in the morning.  I had no clue that this was a thing until pilgrims began lying down on the sidewalks, passing around food and drink, and ultimately curling up under their blankets.

This trip was only four days long, but it so effectively disrupted my routines, forcing me to live in the moment, that when I got back to my apartment in Quito, I felt that I had been gone for weeks.  This was sorely needed, as I haven't been a fan of my routines of late.  This took me by the shoulders, shook me violently, and let a few of my more needless tendencies fall to the floor to be forgotten.  Fuck'em.

I felt very strongly pulled towards this place this weekend, regardless of whether or not it meant going alone.  As it turns out, a lot of people were drawn there.  I have always seen it as an escape; a chance to get away for a little while.  But maybe, as with the pilgrims, it has been less about what I leave behind, and more about what I find there. And so goodbye Baños, you are not just a vacation spot, you are my happy place.  I will miss you most of all.

This is not a Night

This is not a night;
this is all there is,
and to fall asleep is suicide.
Tomorrow, someone else will assume my skin,
wear my voice, my face,
and this unwitting doppelgänger
will think these things his, or him.

I fear this other;
I fear what he will do with me.
Will he display my corpse in some
intersection of his mind, a ghastly warning
to passing thoughts of contented stagnation?
Will he consign me to the unmarked catacombs
of his subconscious, unworthy of our name
and ambitions?

I would like to walk with him;
as companions we could be so much more.
But then I remember what I have done 

with my own predecessor,
who now just stares at me mutely;
fatigued eyes glistening, inscrutable, oceanic.
Is it too late for a swim?

There is not much distance, or difference,
between losing and finding yourself.

Accumulation

These years I put on like a costume,
like make up,
that I may play the part of an older man.
These wiry gray sprouts,
these creases round my eyes beating me to my smiles,
belie the child lying within.

This beard,
thick and full and my greatest deception,
that you may think me reasonable,
or respectable,
or whatever people look for in people my age,
and overlook the silliness pouring from my eyes,
this glint of mischief in all its youthful glory.

You sense in my accumulation of years
an accumulation of knowledge, which may be true.
But knowledge scattered is burdensome;
it is obesity,
and just as limiting if used in place of thinking,
or thought to be insight.

Knowledge, the great confounder,
forever taking us in circles!
Coaxing us,
all we wanderers, dreamers, scientists, schemers;
intoxicating us with your come-hither wink,
and promises of solid answers.
And all we fools follow you,
stammering arduously towards you
in the steady progress of years,
only to be dropped off where we've always been.

Still, I am left a little sturdier for my troubles,
and a little sharper,
and a little stranger.
And I can catch a glimpse,
or a whiff maybe,
of the way things really are and aren't
if I catch myself off guard and come in sideways.
Myself, my surroundings,
they fall,
like memories of a dream,
showing themselves for the imitators they are.
And I turn to look,
but it's gone.

It's a Dangerous Business Going Out of Your Door

Siri and Antisana, I will miss you both!

As I am nearing the end of my time living in Ecuador, there is a lot of talk among my friends about Bucket Lists.  What should I absolutely make sure that I do before leaving here?  I have certainly explored and traveled extensively within the country during the last three and a half years, but there are many spots that yet elude me.  I haven't been to the Galapagos.  Vilcabamba remains mysterious.  And though these places and others are alluring, what I feel deep down is the need to make sure that I revisit my favorite haunts during my precious remaining weeks.  Weeks that I simultaneously want to pass swiftly, and also to linger indefinitely.  The fact that my list is almost entirely revolving around old favorites speaks a lot to how much this place has become my home.  It is a broken home where my friends keep getting robbed and relationships have gone awry, but also a home that has deeply shaped and guided me in ways that I was both unprepared for and needed desperately.  This is why rather than craving new adventures here, I am opting for a farewell tour of my adopted country and old friends.  Human friends and figurative ones alike.

Hiking with Rita, Amanda, and Justin on the clearest day
I've ever seen in this part of the country.

And so, goodbye Hike to Papallacta!  Your mockery of rational weather and blissful conclusion at a spa have made you a dear, if fickle, friend.   A couple of weeks ago, I was able to do this hike again for what I believe was the fifth time.  There are markers for guidance (wooden posts sticking up from the mushy, marshy, grass-like substance that you walk on), but I would still strongly recommend going with someone who knows the way.  The posts are about 100 meters apart from each other, which is often precisely 99 meters further than one can see through the unnatural fog that plagues this region.  A few years ago, we almost lost some student teachers.  They were found huddling for warmth in the wet, dark paramo after a panicked search by other teachers and park rangers.  So please, be careful.  

Cayambe has apparently been there all along

"It's a dangerous business going out of your door.  You step
into the Road, and if you don't keep your feet, there is no
knowing where you might be swept off to."
- Bilbo Baggins (or Tolkien, I suppose)

Pouring, with 5 hours still to go.

Also, it is worth noting, drivers on the road to and from the trailhead do not actually acknowledge that this fog exists, and insist on driving their usual 100 km per hour while passing buses on blind curves in two-way traffic.  On this most recent trip while being shuttled back to our own car after dark, we pointed out to our driver that we were not in a hurry, and in fact, had all night.  This declaration only seemed to amuse him, as did our our obvious and wide-eyed fear.  He then missed the turn, you know, due to the fog and darkness that was very real, and began to back up on the highway.  You can avoid a similar, hellish flight through the pale blindness of your own headlights by simply staying overnight at the hot springs.

Tip: Never utter the phrase,
"Can't get any wetter," while
still hiking.   That sort of
thoughtless optimism will
only anger the gods.

I highly recommend this not only for safety, but for healing purposes after the trek.  This is a high-altitude hike and while there is only one strenuous uphill section (the first 45 minutes to an hour), it is always cold and the ground will be soggy and slick regardless of current weather conditions.  In other words, you will fall.  The standard rule is that the first fall (roughly the American Football rules for being "down") costs its recipient the first round of beers upon reaching Papallacta.  These falls, while often cartoonishly exaggerated and devastating to your ego, are usually benign in terms of physical injury.  It's the near-falls that really get you.  Say, for example, that your right foot slips on the mud and shoots out in front of you.  Your reflexes then send both of your arms into the air at odd angles, and place all of your weight on your left leg, which then of course also slips, and your recovered right leg now swings back into action.  This arhythmic dance may have as many as 5 or 6 iterations, much to the enjoyment of all spectators.  The end result will be that a small muscle you had either forgotten about or never even knew you had, sometimes around a joint but often in the back, starts to ache.  So, while you may not have necessarily been in need of repair before you started, you most certainly will be when you have finished.  And the hot springs and massages are wonderful, and usually fix any ailments that were developed in reaching them.  Sure, the net gain of this is generally zero, but it is a very exciting and luxurious way to achieve exactly nothing.  

Going all the way to the hot springs on a bus:

19th century facial hair will not make
the bus arrive any sooner, but it
will improve the wait.

You can of course go all the way to Papallacta and the hot springs on a bus, and skip the hike.  You can catch this bus by going to Quitumbe terminal in the south of Quito, or by heading to the bus stop in front of the Supermaxi in Cumbaya.  Quitumbe is more reliable for getting a seat, but it takes you far out of the way if you are already living in the north of Quito, which you likely are as an expat.  You can catch the exact same buses as they make their way north by going to Cumbaya and waiting.  This cuts down the commute time drastically.  For this option, simply keep an eye out for buses that say "Tena" or "Baeza" on the sign in the windshield.  When you get on the bus, tell the driver or monitor (the guy hanging out of the door while yelling destinations) where you want to go, and they will be sure to stop for you in Papallacta.

Balneario Pools
Photo Credit

It is probably not quite 2 hours on the bus to get there, but if you get nervous that you have missed it, just ask again.  You will be dropped off in the town of Papallacta, and will need to walk up the road (going uphill) to get to the hot springs.  There are public baths in town, but you will want to keep going if you want to reach the really nice spa and resort called Termas Papallacta.  It is a really small place, so again, just ask in a tienda if you are unsure about which way to go.  You can either walk the 1-2 kilometers, if I remember correctly, or you can take a taxi from town for about a dollar.  Termas Papallacta has different options for their hot springs for day trippers.  Check out the website, but you can go to the basic pools (Balneario) for $8 per day, or the really nice ones in the spa for $21 per day.  The spa includes not only nicer pools, but nicer changing facilities, indoor showers, bathrooms, and lockers.  The Balneario has showers, bathrooms, and lockers as well, but just not quite as nice, and it can be pretty crowded on weekends.  You can also make an appointment in the spa for a massage, for which you get a 15% discount if you are an overnight guest. 

The Upgrade
Photo Credit

Taking a hike: 

For the hike, you will do everything the same except tell the bus driver or monitor that you want to get off at La Virgen (the Virgin), about a half hour before reaching Papallacta.  This is also an advantage because you can make the decision at this point about whether or not it looks like a good day to spend outdoors.  If not, you can stay on the bus and go the rest of the way in comfort.  Well, less discomfort.  If you choose to get off and test your luck with the elements, you will need to cross the highway.  Carefully, please; as I have alluded to, driving in Ecuador is more of a faith-based activity than it should be.  On the other side, you will find a dirt/gravel road that will lead you to the Ranger Station.  This is where you begin the hike.  You don't need to pay any fees, but you will be asked to sign a registration sheet with your name and passport number.  You do NOT YET want to bundle up too much, though it may be tempting.  The first 45 minutes to an hour is uphill, so even if you are cold, just start walking.  You don't want to have your base layer sweaty the whole time.  If it is raining, then of course put on rain gear, but also kick yourself a little for starting in the first place.  You are in for a long day.  Literally.  In good weather, the hike can take as little as 4-5 hours.  In bad weather, it has taken me as many as 7 hours.  The footing is so terrible that even though the conditions are sufficiently unbearable so as to prohibit long breaks, you simply can't go any faster than a shuffle through many parts without falling.  

What rain?

Anyway, leave the Ranger Station and continue on the same road that brought you there from the main highway.  This will lead you up to some antennas at the top of the hill, where the road ends.  From here it is a path of mud, rock, and squishy green stuff marked by the posts for the next 1.5 to 2 hours.  You will (presumably) see a gazebo after the antennas, which puts you at about 4200 m/14,000 ft.  It is likely very windy for you now, and will be for the next 15 minutes as you walk at a 45 degree lean in order to avoid being knocked over.  After this, you begin to descend a bit, and on nice days, the rest of the hike is really fun.  Even if not, if you are prepared with appropriate clothing and in the mood for an adventure, you will definitely enjoy yourself.  You'll follow the posts through the lake region, and ultimately find another road.  I am using the term "road" loosely here, but it is at least a very clear path.  From here it is another 2-3 hours to the 2nd Ranger Station.  You know you are almost there when this road starts to take a long series of downhill switchbacks.  From the station, they can call you a camioneta ($2 per person), or you can continue walking for another hour to reach Termas Papallacta.

Private pools at the cabins

Lodging and dining options:

If you are thinking of staying overnight, check out the rates here.  The best option, I think, is to find five other fools to do this with you, and then share a cabin for about $35 per person.  With the cabin comes access to a different set of private pools for no additional cost, as well as access to the Balneario.  However, there are cheaper options as well.  Just outside of the gates of Termas Papallacta, you can walk down the road (this would take you into town if you kept going) and find a few other hostels with pools and hot springs for about $15 per night.  Whatever you choose, you will be happy.  Especially when it is time to eat, because also just outside of the gates of Termas Papallacta you will find several restaurants where you can order fresh trout, cooked and seasoned in a variety of delicious ways, for about $5.  As with nearly all Ecuadorian dishes I have encountered, it will also come with rice, french fries, and an untrustworthy salad.  Inside the resort, mere steps away, this same thing is $12.  But hey, try it out if you want.  Perhaps it is sprinkled with joy and laughter, or better, Old Bay.  But probably not.

Trrrrucha!!! Really make sure you are rolling your r's here,
fellow gringos and gringas.  There are consequences for
an error on this one.  Photo Credit

When, sadly, it is time to leave, walk or order a taxi into town and wait at the bus stop.  Within a half an hour, you should be able to flag down a bus going to Quito.  For the bold who opted to take the long way there, you will find that over the next days and weeks, the mixture of bafflement, pain, beauty, and accomplishment that was your hiking experience will slowly mature into a grinning nostalgia and a series of inside jokes, until you find yourself planning another trip.  Don't believe me?  Give it a try.

Some old friends from Colegio Americano at the cabins, now
mostly scattered.  Photo Credit, and an awesome blog about
Seoul from Alex and Caitlin, 2 of the people pictured here.

What is Dead May Never Die. But it Can Get You Drunk on a Monday.

Danaerys, you won't abandon me, will you?
Photo Credit

"What is dead may never die."  These are the words of the Greyjoy family on Game of Thrones, as well as all Iron Islanders who worship the Drowned God.  They are not my favorite lineage, but it is a reassuring sentiment for a show in which beloved and despised characters alike tend to perish both violently and suddenly.  Although in fairness, none of us should have been surprised by this facet of the series when Sean Bean was cast to play Lord Eddard (MANY spoilers in that link for other movies).  Like any self-respecting human being, I route for the Starks (including Jon Snow, who may or may not know nothing).  But since the Red Wedding last year, there just aren't that many left.  My resolve to never again be caught with mouth agape, my own (manly) yelps still echoing in my mind, and staring wordlessly at my TV screen throughout the silent credits drove me to read all of the books last summer.  Sure, I had to get even more attached to characters I knew were going to die, but it was rewarding at the same time.  Even more than in the show, deceased characters remain a big part of the story, as they are avenged, idolized, villified, and nostalgically reflected upon by the survivors.  Reading these great, though time-consuming, books has exponentially increased my enjoyment of the show this season.  Looking at the episode names on IMDB and trying to guess exactly what is in store is really fun, especially this past week.

Foreground: Mary, Emmett, Jason, Marina, Chris.
Background: Jojen Reed

Hold on.  Let me back up.  I should have begun this post with "Nerd Alert".  In fact, let this just be a standing warning that at any moment, I may delve into the intricacies of any number of things you don't care about.  So also, sorry.  Okay, bases covered.  What I really want to talk about is an enjoyable weekly tradition that has developed among some of my friends in Quito.  Every Sunday, we download the most recent episode.  Then, on Monday, we go over to someone's house, bring food and plenty of beer and wine, and watch together.  The crowd varies a little depending on the week, but usually there are 5 - 9 of us.  So naturally, we began discussing how to turn the show into a drinking game.  Some of the ideas discussed are:

1) Drink when someone gets naked.  This alone is probably enough, but I will continue anyway.  

2) Drink when a family or religious motto is stated or referred to.  (Winter is Coming, The Night is Dark and Full of Terrors, etc.)

3) Drink when a character with a name dies.  This should really be a shot, but we are old.

That's actually it.  As alluded to, it's an incredibly captivating show, so our discussion has not really had time to bloom.  We have so far only engaged in mostly unstructured drinking.  While this has its place(s), I feel we could be on the verge of greatness here.  And so I pose it now, and offer up the comment section below as a brainstorming forum. What do you think???

Until I find a flagon, a mason jar will have to do.

Momentous

Indestructible moments,
you will always be with me.
You are my collection,
my smiling burden,
and nothing can undo you,
unmake you,
or take you from me.
Nothing can change you,
though my perception of you may change,
as I myself change.
But you do not go away;
You stay with me,
teach me,
laugh with me,
scold me.
You are time-proof,
error-proof,
and proof that for a short time I was here.
Proof that I lived,
imperfectly,
every moment through this series of choices.
And in these small, invincible moments,
I may live on.