Except when you don't. Because, sometimes, you won't.

There is a lot that can be learned from failure.  Failing 5 times, however, indicates that a certain stubbornness of character may have been inhibiting those generous heaps of said learning.  Or, perhaps, as five times is a precise stubbornness, it could just mean that I'm a little slow.  Regardless, I won't need a sixth.

I give you Andy vs. the Volcano (who knew this would be so one-sided?).

Volcán Cotopaxi is the centerpiece of Cotopaxi National Park, just an hour south of Quito once you finally get out of the city, heading south on the Panamericana highway.  Peaking at 5,897 m/19,347 ft and having last erupted in the 1940s, it is one of the highest active volcanoes in the world.  Additionally, this ridiculous, glaciated volcano can be seen from Quito on clear days.  Although these are somewhat rare, as it has to be clear in and around both Quito and Cotopaxi, the result is that the volcano is very closely associated with the city, and is a popular climb for visitors and residents alike.

Cotopaxi, from the roof of my apartment in Quito.

The process has changed a bit since the refugio closed, but basically, as hopeful climbers, you will arrive at the parking lot on the mountain at about 1 pm.  You then tote all of your gear and food up to the refugio, which is a sweaty, somewhat panting climb of about 45 minutes with that weight.  Finally, you will claim a cot and crawl into your sleeping bag, emerging only to use the restroom and to eat lunch and dinner.  You get as much sleep as you can until 11 pm or midnight, when you wake up, put on all of your gear, and eat a little more.  From the time you start (usually between midnight and 1 am), the average climber takes about 6 - 8 hours to reach the summit, and about half of that to descend.  Not being able to stay at the refugio adds some time to your climb, but it is easier to sleep and rest at lower, warmer elevations (the refugio is at 4,864 m/15,953 ft).

The tilt of the world up here can become unsettling, and I
always feel a bit like an intruder on borrowed time.

Failed Attempt 1: The Eye-Opener

This very first attempt was made in December 2010 after having been living in Quito for about four months.  Before moving here, most of my experience had been hiking and backpacking trips.  I had some climbing experience as well, but not much, and nothing above 11,000 feet.  In short, none of us knew what we were getting into.  This was the first and last time that I saw good weather on this climb.  Unbelievably good weather.  The problem?  It was the first day of good weather in months, so after climbing to about 5200 m/17,000 ft, we had to turn around because all of the accumulated snow from the previous weeks was creating avalanche danger.  We did get high enough to learn that this was nothing like anything any of us had done before.  Not only are you walking up an outrageously steep slope of snow and ice, you are doing so in an oxygen-deprived environment that turns even mundane physical tasks into soul-driven efforts.  I will also never forget how overwhelming the stars were that night with such little atmosphere and light-pollution to diminish them, and how during our descent, they dissolved into the grays, purples, and oranges of one of the most spectacular sunrises I have ever seen.

Lisa, Alyssa, and I enjoying our consolation prize.

Failed Attempt 2: I Can Smell Your Sulfur

On the second failed attempt, we made it much further.  Almost to the top...we were within 200/650 vertical meters/feet from the summit when altitude sickness and exhaustion got Lisa, and we had to turn back.  The weather on this trip could be best described as a constant, cruel, icy wind that enjoyed pointing out the flawed description of our climbing apparel as "impermeable."  The layer of ice coating our gear stayed about one inch thick, as new ice would accumulate to compensate for that which was melting from our body heat and slowly dampening our inner defenses of long johns and fleece.  While there was no sunrise this time, just a slow, indiscernible transition from black to gray, Cotopaxi is beautiful in many shades.  Because we got so much higher on this attempt, the ice falls and glacier formations were presented to us.  The silence of isolation, the eerie, dreamy light, and the gray void around us made it easy to imagine that we were walking through an alien world.

This is the view from the summit into the crater of Cotopaxi,
where puffs of smoke remind successful climbers that this
is still very much an active volcano.  Photo credit.

A short break near an ice formation, of which I was quickly
becoming a part.

Thawing out on the descent is not a very comfortable process.

Failed Attempt 3: Rough Initiation to the Heart-Breaker Route

On this attempt in October of 2013, I couldn't convince anyone to come with me, so I went on my own.  This is more expensive, but I just knew that this was going to be it for me.  I had sniffed the summit on the last attempt, which gave me a lot of confidence.  Also, as other climbers will likely agree, a mountain is easier to climb when you know what to expect.  The last attempt had given me knowledge of the normal route, and I felt that this was a big advantage.  I could tick off checkpoints, and know during the most difficult stretches about how much time they would take.  The psychological battle, I thought, would now be easier.  Unfortunately, due to glacier conditions (the damn things are always moving), the normal route was closed and my guide and I took what is known as the Heart-Breaker Route.  Rather than zigzagging up the glacier and going through really neat formations, this route leaves the refugio, goes below the north face of the glacier, and then straight up.  I mean straight, fucking up.  I cannot over-emphasize how straight up this is.  Also, there was once again bad weather, this time rain.  We left the refugio and hiked for about 20-30 minutes before deciding to head back to wait for things to clear up.  After shivering inside in my wet clothes for almost an hour, we gave it another shot.  This is the state I was in as we got to the glacier, and the Heart-Breaker Route lived up to its name.  At about 5200 m/17,000 feet, I once again had to turn around, this time because of my own altitude sickness and exhaustion.  

In yellow is the normal route, now closed after climbers died in an ice fall.
The Heart-Breaker route cuts further right after leaving the refugio, and then goes
straight up (as I believe I have mentioned) until meeting the normal route at the
crevasse labeled in the picture at 5,500 m.  Photo credit.

Failed Attempt 4: Keep an Eye on Your Guide

In one of the most absurd experiences of my life, the fourth attempt was ruined by our guide, who decided to get drunk before our climb.  A big change that had occurred between the last time and this one is that you could no longer stay at the refugio and start your hike from there, due to construction and renovations.  As a result, my friend Mike and I had to stay at a hostel just outside of the park.  While we were resting and preparing for the hike, our guide apparently saw this as a chance to throw back a few drinks.  A lot of drinks, as it turns out.  Unaware that this had transpired, we geared up and got into the car with him at about 10 pm.  He was not a very good driver to begin with, so when he continued driving erratically, we didn't immediately assume he was drunk.  That he would do something like that was not even a thought in our minds.  We entered the park and were heading towards the parking lot where we would begin our climb (adding close to an hour to the ascent), and were pulled over by the park guards for a) speeding and b) not properly checking in.  Again, still far from the assumption that our guide was drunk, we were now thinking that he was just fairly inept as he argued for 45 minutes with the guards before they ultimately let us continue.  Finally, we started the climb, with the guide in front, me following, and Mike in the back.  Right away, he was stumbling and unable to walk in a straight line.  He couldn't get his headlamp to turn on.  You know, by hitting the only button that it has.  He fell completely down twice after tripping on large, obvious rocks in the path.  During breaks (he needed 3 of them in less than half an hour), he could barely keep his very bloodshot eyes open.  And then there was the smell.  This wasn't detectable in the car, but once he started walking and sweating, the rum was pouring out of him.  Mike and I let this go on until it was blatantly obvious, and asked him several times if he was "okay."  When he didn't take this out, we told him that we were turning around because he was drunk, and we wouldn't be tying ourselves to him while he led us across a glacier.  In a classic drunk line, he told us that he had only had two beers and was fine.  This was obviously not the case, but when I told him that even this was too many, he said I was a pansy if I was drunk off of two beers.  Mike and I took the keys from him, and while I drove back, he heckled my driving from the back seat for 20 minutes before finally, thankfully, passing out.  The following morning, Mike and I walked to the Panamericana, flagged down a bus, and headed back to Quito on our own rather than riding with our guide.  We went to Ecomontes, the tour agency we had booked through, and were able to get our money back.  We put this towards the final attempt.

Every story needs a villain...

Failed Attempt 5: The Last Chance

Two weeks after the drunk guide, Mike and I found ourselves back on the mountain.  The weather forecast was promising the end of the rainy season and an unhindered climb to the summit.  The weather forecast was wrong.  With sustained winds of 50-70 km/hr and rain, sleet, and snow the whole way, we made it to about 5,300 m/17,400 ft before I once again had to call it off before reaching the top.  Being cold and wet puts additional stresses on the body at high altitudes, and apparently that is my breaking point.  Altitude sickness is no fun.  When I stopped to catch my breath, I felt fine, and got angry at myself for taking a break and interrupting the rhythm of the climb.  But then the nausea returned and increased with each step forward, and my eyes started to swim.  This is not a good feeling to have when climbing up (have I mentioned yet that it is steep?) the tilted shelf of a glacier.  Your cramponned feet have been jammed at odd angles into the slick slope, and the weight of your own body pressing on them is a constant reminder of your own potential energy, ready to carry you sickeningly downwards with a single misstep.  You want to feel at your best while doing this.  At altitude, you settle for feeling okay.  You turn around when you don't, and so I turned around.  Mike would have been able to keep going, and I hate that he couldn't because of me.  The weather made summiting unlikely anyway, although a few groups managed to get there that day.  What is really frustrating is that I have been that high and higher and been fine.  But I need to realize and admit that over 5,200 m/17,000 ft, I become unreliable.  My conditioning doesn't seem to matter.  If I encounter bad weather, it is very likely that I will have to turn around.  The problem is, at this elevation, there is quite often bad weather.

This mountain's got me all hung up in a prickly perch...
Photo credit

Where do I go from here?  Well, luckily, most mountains in the world peak below this elevation, so I can definitely maintain this hobby when I move to Barcelona at the feet of the Pyrenees next year.  Also, as mentioned previously, I love backpacking and hiking trips, and I have gotten away from that since I have been in Ecuador.  Here, most of the "hikes" are really climbs, and so I embraced it.  But perhaps the time is approaching to throw a week's worth of supplies in my pack, find a trail, and get back to my roots.

These failed attempts at summiting Cotopaxi hurt my ego a bit.  But while my oxygen efficiency may have been proven sub-par, there are some positive takeaways as well.  I threw myself at this mountain, and left nothing on the table.  My natural stubbornness was honed into a productive focus as I trained and prepared for each attempt (though I may or may not have participated in a flip cup tournament the Friday before the first climb).  I pushed my limits, but ultimately, made good decisions about what was important, and always made it home.  And having learned these limitations, I will be leaving here in a few weeks at relative peace with the fact that I wasn't able to achieve this goal.  I will not be trying to climb this mountain again.  Probably.

How to Get a Spanish Visa, or, A Practical Lesson in Bilingual Cursing

1) Go to a Hong Kong job fair to find a job in Hong Kong.

2) Return to your home in Quito three weeks later with a job in Barcelona, Spain.  Naturally.  Consult Pocket Spanish Dictionary for the phrase "Life-Plan Whiplash"

3) Make an appointment with the Spanish Consulate in Quito in order to submit documentation of your new job and apply for your visa.  

4) Discover from the consulate website that you have a giant checklist of additional documents to provide, including some kind of medical certificate.

5) Ask where you can get this vaguely defined medical certificate you apparently lack, and realize that you are weeks away from completion.  

a) Get a form from your school doctor that outlines the tests you need, and learn that you must give blood, urine, and stool samples to ensure that we savages from the New World will not bring our pestilence to Spain.  (Ha!)

b) Take the form to the clinic by your apartment after work, only to be told that the lab is only open from 8 - 10 in the morning.  You definitely recall visiting in the afternoon earlier in the year, but you decide mentioning this would not be constructive.  

c) Return the following day, a Saturday at 9 am, feeling safely buffered on both sides of the time frame.

d) After taking a number and waiting for 30 minutes, be told that the lab is only open from 7 - 9 in the morning (by the same person you spoke to the day before).

e) Consult Pocket Spanish Dictionary for the phrase "fuck nugget" hoping it is equally lyrical and expressive in both languages.

f) Attempt to return on Sunday, only to find that somewhere between turning off your lights and grabbing your keys, the electricity went out in your apartment.  Further, discover this means that the new magnetic/electric locks will not let you out of your building.

g) When the power comes back on at 9:12 am, allow an ironic laugh to escape and perform a google keyword search for "fatalities fires quito" and find a strange security in the fact that you have a rope, harness, and belay device in case you one day need to repel off of your roof.  

Although it wouldn't feel right without a wet suit.

h) On your fourth attempt, finally succeed.

i) Pick up the results, discover that you have actually been taking pretty good care of yourself, thank Mom and Dad for good genes, and bring them to your school doctor (the results, not your Mom and Dad, unless you want to).  

j) Wait another 2 days, as the doctor is always in meetings whenever you are not teaching class.  There is an algorithm to describe this process, and it will always be true no matter when you start trying.  

k) Have the doctor look at the results, nod approvingly, and write you a letter stating that you carry no contagions nor conditions that will result in the social deterioration of a nation.  This, mind you, is still not the medical certificate.

l) Take the letter and the results to the Centro Medico near your apartment.

m) Be told that you actually need to visit a Centro de Salud (Health Center) for the certificate, not a Centro Medico (Medical Center).  Don't you have a Pocket Spanish Dictionary?

n) Find a Centro de Salud, consult with the doctor, and then wait with a hoard of screaming children, all likely ill, for 30 minutes for god knows why until someone clicks "print" on the computer.  

o) Congratulations!  You finally have your medical certificate.  And possibly TB from that waiting room.  

p) Take the medical certificate to the Ministerio de Relaciones Exteriores (Ministry of Foreign Relations) to get an apostille for the document. 

q) Be told that before you can get an apostille from the Ministerio de Relaciones Exteriores, you must get a stamp or a seal or a Dementor Kiss or an elaborate ritual using bloodstones or SOME fucking thing from the Ministerio de Salud (Ministry of Health).  

r) Arrive, and be told that the person who has the special stamping/sealing/kissing/bloodstone powers has left for the day, and you must leave your medical form with them and pick it up tomorrow.

s) On your smart phone, perform google keyword search "death penalty ecuador?"  You will get no results, as the 3G service is more or less as reliable as prayer, but it will occupy your hands with non-violent pursuits.  

t) Return the following morning to pick up your consecrated medical form.  Be sure to wear sheepskin gloves and hold only the edges and corners, or else the residue from the alchemic bath in which it has been soaking overnight may induce delusions of grandeur, limb reversal, and/or a minor rash.  Sunglasses are also recommended. 

While rare, face-melting is also a risk, especially for rational creatures over the age of 11.
Talk to your doctor to see if bureaucracy is right for you.
Photo Credit

u) Return to the Ministerio de Relaciones Exteriores for the apostille, and see that the place is obscenely packed.  Seriously, it looks like a public swimming pool in July in there.

v) Take a number and look for a seat, wondering how long the incantation on the medical form will last before the fragile document is ripped from existence by its own growing frenzy of blindingly purple light and shrieks of disembodied children and...oh hey, that's your number on the screen already being called.  

w) Go to the window indicated and slowly, CAREFULLY, relinquish ownership of the medical form.  Do not forget the ancient Finnish chant that must be spoken in monotone at the exact moment of exchange.  

x) Go to the cash register and pay $10. 

y) Retrieve the medical form with the attached apostille, which has apparently banished the pan-dimensional being that had temporarily possessed it, as it has ceased vibrating and whispering your own inner monologue on a two-second delay.  

z) Unsure of what just happened or why it was so easy, leave, and never return.  As best as you can, ignore the ancient Finnish that now seems to be spoken by all those around you, as well as the fact that you can understand it.  

6) Take this and all of your other documents, both those from your own blood and sweat as well as those sent to you from Barcelona, to your next appointment with the Spanish Consulate.

7) Approach the man at the window, whose head is already shaking back and forth, presumably an anticipatory tick from denying so many supplicants.  Applicants.  I meant applicants.

8) This man, emotionless aside from a skillfully leveled air of self-importance, will tell you that the visa process cannot begin without previous authorization from the Ministerio de Extranjeros (Foreigners) in Barcelona.  You do not have this document.  It was not in the packet your school sent you.

9) Consult Pocket Spanish Dictionary so you can tell him what a cheap, lying, no-good, rotten, four-flushing, lowlife, snake-licking, dirt-eating, inbred, overstuffed, ignorant, blood-sucking, dog-kissing, brainless, dickless, hopeless, heartless, fat-assed, bug-eyed, stiff-legged, spotty-lipped, worm-headed sack of monkey shit he is!!!  Hallelujah!!  Holy Shit!!  Where's the Tylenol??  (Thank you, Chevy Chase)

10) With a herculean effort, you suppress this rant, but this man still does not even look at your visa application.  He has never seen you before, so he cannot tell from your eyes how much of your soul has wilted and fallen off in large, pungent chunks due to the sinister magic that was necessary to obtain, and activate, your documents.  He just stops talking to you, until the awkward silence that follows your protestations, indignation, and groveling becomes palpable, and you and your maimed psyche slink back into the late Quito morning.

11) Inform your school via email that you need this document, but that really you wouldn't mind just getting the damn thing when you arrive in Barcelona, so as to only deal with one country's mindless, infuriating bureaucratic labyrinth at a time.  You are sick and tired of these institutions, these new, ruthless gods who demand from us tribute and sacrifice not through animal slaughter and adherence to dogma, but through our days and weeks and our very youth!  You may want to phrase it differently before sending this to HR.

12) Perform google keyword search "bars quito 11 am"

This may not technically solve your problems.

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.

Warren Buffett Disproves the Possibility of Time Travel

Wait, how much?
Photo Credit

As many are aware, Warren Buffett and Dan Gilbert (through Berkshire Hathaway and Quicken Loans, respectively) offered $1 billion to anyone who could correctly predict the winners of all 63 games of the NCAA men's basketball tournament this year.  Before the first weekend was over, however, no perfect brackets remained in any of the online tournament challenges.  This guy was the last to fall when Dayton defeated Syracuse in the 37th game, and he wasn't even registered for the billion dollar challenge.

On one level, this simply shows what most people already knew: correctly predicting the outcomes of 63 games during a chaotic, emotional tournament with increasing parity among teams is simply borderline impossible.  What does borderline impossible look like as a ratio, you ask?  According to the rules set out by Quicken Loans, it is 9,223,372,036,854,775,808 to 1.  I can't even pronounce that.

On a deeper level, however, this challenge and its failure to be accomplished tells us much more about the universe itself.  Namely, that time travel is not possible.  If it were, or if humanity were at any future point able to invent a means to do so, it would have just been used.  Trust me, my reasoning is flawless here.  And yet there has not been a single sighting of Biff, Marty, or Doc running around with a 2015 sports almanac.  Not one.  There are exactly zero new billionaires as a result of this experiment.  We can therefore finally put this nagging question of science and science fiction behind us, and stop over-complicating and often ruining our films with logical fallacies and major plot holes (yes, this is the most important implication of the discovery).  I'm not saying it's never been done well; I just mean that these movies normally aren't well thought-out, and don't make any damn sense (I'm looking at you, Timecop).  But hey, you take the good with the bad.  At least the "Back to the Future" hoverboard is real...

...I digress.  Since it seems we are stuck on this particular plane of existence and must experience linear time together, why not head to G-Spot/Mexicali in La Mariscal to watch the rest of the NCAA tournament unfold in its proper order?  Your brackets may be soaked with tears and the blood of those who mocked you, but the tourney is just getting started!  For expats living in Quito, this is a great place to get your fix of US sports, pub food, and good beer.  Their burgers and tacos are cheap and delicious, and they have some of the best wings in the city (not quite as meaty as Ala Brava, but I think tastier).  They also have micro-brews on tap: Stout, IPA, and Hefeweizen.  You know, for the unlikely contingency that you somehow grow tired of skunky Club Verde and nearly tasteless Pilsener.  Best of all, they are currently streaming all of the March Madness games, and for the rest of the year they have NBA League Pass and NFL Game Pass.  But if the suggestive name and my glowing review aren't enough, you don't have to take my word for it.  Check out their awesomely bad adverstisement that I found on YouTube:

It is on Diego de Almagro in between Jose Calama and Mariscal Foch (one block south of Plaza Foch).  See you there!

Climbing Rucu Pichincha

At the beginning of the hike

One of my favorite things to do around Quito is to take a day to climb Rucu Pichincha.  The fact that a 4,696 m/15,406 ft mountain lies so close to my home is often too good to pass up.  Within about 20 minutes, I am no longer in a city of over 2 million people, but in the Andes mountains, trying to pretend that I am much further away from civilization than I really am.  To reach the beginning of the trail, just follow these simple steps.  Feel free to modify and/or personalize:

1) Leave your apartment and get into a taxi.  State that you wish to go to the Teleferico, and allow the driver a few moments to declare a price that is at least twice as much as it should be.

2) Depart this taxi, amicably if possible, and repeat this process until one uses the taxi meter, one names a price you know to be reasonable, or you become too fed up with the inane process and say screw the whole thing.

3) Provided you reach the Teleferico (the cable car that takes you to the trail head at about 4,000 m/13,000 ft), you will buy a round trip ticket for $8 and change.  If you are lucky enough to have been in the country for at least 3 years, you can present your expired Censo card that can still get you half price.  If you are really lucky, the photo for your Censo card will have been taken at the beginning of a misguided "Movember" experiment, and you will carry around something that looks like this for several years:

Congratulations!  You have reached the trail head.  Many people come up here for the views, while others march on.  To approach the summit, you follow a ridge line for about 1 - 1.5 hours to reach the rocky outcrop that marks the highest point.  This part of the hike is when you tend to work up a sweat, so I wear a light-weight shirt that I change out of at the end.  The temperature will often drop dramatically as you reach the rock, so be prepared.  From this point until the summit is about 1.5 - 2 hours for most climbers.  The most difficult and disheartening part is crossing the scree field just before the rock scramble to the top.  Trying to climb directly up this loose sand and rock will result in sliding back 1 step for every 2 you take forward.  Side effects of this at high altitude include holistic self-doubt, uncontrolled sobbing, and the total loss of hope.  So don't.  I recommend cutting diagonally and to your right across this part and finding a sturdier route further up to cut back to the left.

This part of the trail is easy to follow when you can see the peak in good weather, but it is not very well marked and the mountain is a bit of a cloud magnet.  If you've never been before, it's a good idea to find someone who knows the way.  On weekends, there are a lot of people on the mountain and you can usually follow the lead of other climbers, provided that they know what they're doing.  All in all, just remember that although this is one of the easier climbs in the country, it is still a massive, towering, extinct volcano and can be dangerous if the weather turns or if you're not paying attention to where you're going.  There is a rock scramble situation at the top that does not require ropes, just caution, but this can be difficult for people with a fear of heights.

A view of Quito from the top of the Teleferico as the sky tries to make up its mind

The ridge line to to the summit 

One of my favorite things about climbing Rucu Pichincha is that although I have done it many times now, I always see it in a new light.  At its most stunning, the hike affords views of the surrounding glacier volcanoes: Cotopaxi, Cayambe, and Antisana.  More commonly, however, it is somewhere in between scary fog and beautiful mist.  Today, I was able to climb during the weather pattern that most closely resembles a multiple personality disorder.

The clouds can roll in quickly and disorient climbers...do not underestimate this mountain!

At the halfway point with Mike, with the grey void in the beyond

When I started out this morning, the mountain was so engulfed with storm clouds that my taxi driver laughed at me, very hard, for a good 45 seconds.  This may not sound like a long time, but really any strong laugh unassisted by others becomes disturbing after less than 15 seconds.  That's science.  But I am glad I persevered, because despite being rained on at the end, it was a very rewarding hike, and the first in a series that I am planning this spring in order to train for the two highest peaks in Ecuador: Chimborazo and Cotopaxi.  Besides, a little rain never hurt any one (says the guy who sat down in a piping hot shower immediately upon returning home).

print ('hello world')

To be an expat is often to be a divided soul.  On the one hand, I love what I am doing, and plan to continue doing it.  I have been teaching in Quito, Ecuador for the last four years, and I have just signed a new two-year contract that will take me to Barcelona, Spain beginning this August.  To explain the excitement I feel about moving to a new city on the Mediterranean or the staggering impact of the people I have met along the way thus far would be way beyond the parameters of this particular blog post.  On the other hand, I also have strong ties to family and friends in Maryland.   I miss them.  I am compiling nieces and nephews that know me mostly as a floating head on a laptop.  The lives of my childhood friends go on, and I become the oddball they think of less and less as these years go by and they see me only a few times each summer.  And because I identify so strongly with both of these aspects, I can be defined by neither.  That truly becomes the lot of the expat: one who does not fit into either of their worlds very neatly anymore.  I suspect that many of us felt like misfits from the start, which is why this strangely appealing lifestyle suits us so well, and why we don't readily leave it.

This blog may be a way to bridge the gap; we will see.  At the very least it will provide a way to better share my experiences with those back home, to dislodge festering thoughts from my mind, and to hopefully give helpful information to any fellow travelers or expats who may want to poke around South America (and soon, Europe).  See you around.