Living and learning tortuga time

One full month on the Galapagos. In a one year sabbatical I was going to spend a full 12th of it on these islands. I had this romantic idea of what that would be like: bathing with cute sea critters, gingerly stepping my way along paths overflowing with giant land tortoises, watching in awe as black marine iguanas cliff dive into the ocean and of course learning the tricks of the trade of running a luxury resort.

I had sent a message in response to a posting I'd found for a volunteer position at this luxury resort on Santa Cruz island. At first it seemed they wouldn't need me and told me that they had all the volunteers necessary until probably July. With that sad bit of insight I just figured that I would have to skip the Galapagos on this
trip and come back one day when I had money to burn. Just when I had given up hope I got a message back saying that, well, something had come up with the other volunteers and if I'd like to come I was more
than welcome. I dove into the offer without really understanding what I ment, and I booked a ticket to spend a month among the famous wildlife of the Galapagos.

It didn't go exactly as I had imagined it would. Really in retrospect, I'm not entirely sure what I was thinking; or if I even was for that matter. Mostly, I got wrapped up in the romantic idea of some magical place...and based on the experiences I'd had thus far, my expectations didn't seem all too unreasonable.

I flew into Baltra, was picked up by a man with my name written on a sign, who then proceeded to guide me through the rather convoluted process of leaving the airport. It broke down something like this: bus to boat to bus to car. Yes, even leaving the airport requires you to get on a boat here. The color of the water took my breath away: clear, vibrant turquoise...and it's warm. Holy cow, can this be real? I get to spend a month HERE?

Well, not exactly. It turns out the airport is far away from the town...but the luxury hotel where I was slated to work was far from both. It was in the highlands, or la parte alta, in local lingo. I wouldn't find this out until nearly a week later, but town is a full 45 min drive away...and that translates into a $15 taxi ride. Hitchhiking (what I was planning on doing to get around) was a non-option. There are practically no private cars, this whole place moves on the wheels of taxis.

When I arrived to Galapagos Safari Camp I was greeted by Katrien, the manager and my point of contact. She seemed a bit frazzled, but pleasant enough and told me sweetly that I would be staying in one of the tents and she hopes I enjoy the experience. As she was expecting the paying guests to return at any moment, she apologized for not being able to show me around but directed the driver to place my things in my tent. Lunch was available if I was interested and she offered me a smorgasbord of beverage options. Help yourself to whatever you want she told me. The same goes for breakfast...just take whatever you need. I took her word at face value and assumed that her open invitation was common practice. This job was an exchange, I work for food and accomodation, a similar concept to what I did in Puerto Natales. She didn't really have anything planned for me for that day. She just invited me to take a rest, freshen up and come back up to talk to her...whenever.

So for the first time in what felt like ages, I threw down my yoga mat and practiced in privacy. This month, I thought, will really be a month of recovery, meditation, moving forward and letting go. This month, I will have some of that space to really cultivate that part of me that yearns for spiritual growth. And looking out past the porch of my $500/night luxury tent, I smiled a smile from deep inside.

It was unfortunately a short-lived bliss, one that reminded me that outside beauty, luxury and general material opulence won't bring you a step closer to genuine peace, joy or gratitude. Swaddled in these seeming riches it was a matter of days before I was fighting a loneliness I had never really expected to face on this trip and
wondered in that heavy solitude, why exactly I ever started this stupid endeavor anyway. What am I doing here without the people I really love nearby? What am I wasting all this time and money for? What did I really expect to learn by running around South America? What, really am I trying to find? And for the first time in nearly 8 months, I actually considered calling it quits...I actually considered coming home early.

But my parents didn't raise a quitter. I remembered a lonely phone call made to my parents 6 years ago when I wanted to backpack my way around western Europe. Justin had just left me to go home and I was sitting alone, in Berlin without a plan or a companion, feeling scared, lost and overwhelmed...sick with fear. My mom got on the line and told me to come on home, my dad got on the line and told me that yes, of course I could come home, but that I'd never forgive myself. He reminded me that, I actually wanted just this, and this experience that I was going through, it will pass, that all that good I envisioned was waiting right there for me to acknowledge it. He was right and look fondly on the time that followed those sad dark days. I wouldn´t have traded it for the world. This sadness, this loneliness, this frustration, it will pass too.

I'd like to believe I've grown a bit since that summer after college. In some ways surely I have, but in my first few days here on the islands I felt like that homesick little girl calling mom and dad from a payphone in Berlin. I didn't like it here. I wanted to go home. I felt aliented, isolated, unwanted, somehow in the way...purposeless and usually hungry.

I didn't get a very warm welcome from the actual owners of the resort. They made it pretty clear those first few days that I wasn't really wanted, and they saw me presence there as a bit of a nusance...and me as a freeloader. I didn't have clear direction on what my work was supposed to be, I didn't have equipment to get it done, and aside from that my tent was inhabited by me, several VERY large spiders and a couple roaches...and the food I was supposed to be getting, well...I wasn't getting it. The internet connection was spotty at best, and it served to make me feel that much more alone. I couldn't even reach out to the ones that I was missing so dearly. I knew that I was on the Galapagos, I mean I bought a ticket here, I saw a big ass turtle on the way over, but it just didn't feel like it. It was hard to remember why exactly I thought I wanted to come. What was all the hype about anyway?

Time crawled on this island, every second moving forward with tremendous effort like the giant tortoise struggling to take a step. Minutes felt like days and days like weeks...and all of it without direction. By the third day I was already going stir crazy with island fever wondering how I would last a full month.

I was unclear on what exactly my role was supposed to be. I was under the impression that I would be working with the guests more in a role of service/hostess, but Katrien had other plans. She was hoping I could do some graphic design work for them. Fairly simple things really, but the details that would pull the image if the place together stronger. Stephanie, one of the owners wanted me to sort through thousands of pictures to select the best ones for marketing materials. Problem was I didn't really have a computer. These are things that require a computer. So really there was a lot of me sitting around twiddling my thumbs. And with lots of time to twiddle thumbs the human mind can go crazy.

I think I was starting to go crazy. But then I discovered  it wasn't so bad, at least I'd have a friend to lose it with me. There was another girl here volunteering, but she actually was working with the guests. Natalie is a little rough around the edges at first, nice in a way that is hard to read, sharp and to the point, and confident in a way that could be mistaken for aggression. The first time I met her, she was tough to gauge, like a guard was up but impossible to grasp. I thought she didn't like me...I thought everyone here didn't like me.

Soon I discovered that we were not so different after all. Small, feisty things with lots of spunk and appetites for adventure. Natalie, it turns out, would become my friend, confidant and partner for yoga, sightseeing and tweenage-girl fun. With little effort her guard came down, genuine friendliness, warmth and generosity were what she was hiding. I was so glad to have her there, and in my moments of sadness, frustration and hunger, it was wonderful to have a friend.

Just like everything though, eventually you find a pattern, you find a rhythm, you find comfort in what was once unbearably uncomfortable. I was given plenty of time off to explore the island. I had access to a platform with a beautiful view of the island to lay out my mat and practice daily. I was given freedom to design fun little things for them and the equipment to pull it together. Eventually both owners warmed up to me a bit and saw the value in the work that I was producing...however there was always a shortage of food for the staff. After a while it became a bitter joke between Natalie and I, we were on the Galapagos Safari Camp diet...and my pants fit a bit looser than they had in quite some time.

Sure I still missed Justin and my family. Sure I wished that my experience there overall had been different, friendlier with more food...but I wasn't desperate to leave like the first days. Time started to move at a regular pace as I lost myself in work, yoga and nightly movies with Natalie. Before too long I was given extended time off to explore some of the other islands, and for once, it actually felt like I was on the Galapagos.  When my island hopping finished, I was sad to go back to GSC dreading all the drama and stress that seemed to plague the place.

But wouldn't you know, it wasn't sooo bad. I actually felt welcomed back, like somehow I'd managed to get liked and missed. I only had a week to go before I would be flying back to the continent and a fair amount of work that I promised Katrien I would finish, but that wasn't it...this environment had changed. Even this strange, orginally unwelcoming place had become my temporary home and the hostile hosts had softened enough to be...well...not close family, but cousins at least. Natalie was there with open arms and a pile of movies, my one true friend here, my Galapagos sister.

I never had to call my parents with tears in my eyes, even though at first I longed to go home. I mulled over the idea of quitting and realized that if I left early, my dad was still right, after 6 years, I never would forgive myself. I stared that initial homesickness in the face and it stared right back...for 4 long days we battled and won. I said my quiet prayers for comfort, for solace, for peace...to recognize the incredible opportunity that I was still being given. I wanted this and I knew that a part of this journey would not be what I expected and could be lonely. I attempted to be grateful until it wasn't so hard to realize that, yes, I DO in fact have a lot to be grateful for. My life, my existence, my experience right now, is a lot like this island - something truly different, something spectacular, one small speck in a big old world.

Galapagos - Santa Cruz Island

Galapagos - Santa Cruz Island, a set on Flickr.

nearly a month on this island...and the adventures that unfolded. Pictures are compliments of iPOD and Natalie's iPHONE. I lost my camera the first week here. :(

Hiking North along Ecuador’s spine

With teary eyes, an upset stomach and my adoptive mother Margoth firmly placing some emergency cash in my palm, I was dropped off at the terminal in Guayaquil to catch a 9-hour bus to Loja. I have an aunt that lives in Loja, and I figured that moping among family was preferable to moping around strangers. I rightfully assumed that I would need a little while to pull myself together after Justin went home, and having the support of family in a small town with not a whole lot to do seemed the ideal remedy. Like normal, I didn’t have a plan other than getting to Loja, after that, it really was all up in the air. I was thinking that I would spend a couple days there, try to explore some of the areas nearby, maybe even hike around in some of the national parks...slowly working my way up north to Quito. In the back of my mind I was debating a couple of different options. The first was whether or not I was going to go to the Galapagos and the second was whether or not I was going to head back down south to Chile for the ski season. The answer to both of these questions would help me determine a route and timeline for Ecuador. At that particular moment I had neither, just a stomach turning flips and my face stained red around the eyes from crying – I missed a boy, it was hard to think about the future.

So I didn’t. I sat around. I stared at a computer. I attempted to write blog entries. I sorted through pictures. I napped. I ate. I sat around some more. I sent a few emails. I watched bad Spanish soap operas with my aunt. I talked to my mom. I thought about thinking about what to do, then sat around again. Then, what seemed like out of the blue, I got an email and I had to make a decision and had to make it fast.  I was accepted for a volunteer position at a luxury resort in the Galapagos and they wanted me to get there soon. From that point on it was a whirlwind making up for the lazy days I spent doing nothing. I bought a flight to the Galapagos which meant I had exactly 10 days to haul out north to Quito, so much for meandering and “taking it slow.” This was a swift kick telling me that it was time to stop moping, to stop just sitting around feeling sad. I was past the halfway point on this trip. I would be heading home soon. I should be enjoying these last few months as a nomad. Before too long I’ll be a real working adult again, with limited but paid vacation time. I won’t have the freedom to decide on a whim that I want to spend a month tearing down fences, cooking lunch for a pack of hungry co-workers in a quaint mountain town, nurse and tag juvenile green turtles…to just up a go to the Galapagos. I should be excited. I should be grateful at least, and do something with the time I have left.  So I did.

LOJA – PODOCARPUS NATIONAL PARK (I lost my camera in the galapagos and didn't have a chance to upload them first. So I am stealing some from google so you get some kind of idea of what things kind of looked like.)

I looked at a map and logged onto my couchsurfing account. A little bit of effort and I had a plan, places to stay and a reasonable timeline to do it in. But before I left Loja I had to at least see Poducarpus National Park. It’s a huge expanse of land that has been preserved as a national park in the southeastern region of Ecuador. There are a variety of trails that you can take, some that last several days crossing from one side to the other, past lakes and along high mountain ridgelines. Of course you need a guide to do this and you need to have planned ahead. At this point I didn’t have the money for a guide or the time to reserve a spot, so I settled for a day hike.

As luck would have it, I picked the only day that it rained. Not just a little bit of rain either, we’re talking constant downpour. I was hiking high up too, high enough to be in the clouds and they were so thick they blocked the view at about 6ft away. But I am stubborn and said I was going for a hike. I hiked for about 6 hours that day in Poducarpus National Park and didn’t see a damn thing but clouds and rain. My only consolation was that at least there was another lunatic out there with me. I met a nice Dutchman at the trailhead and the two of us hiked together…laughing at our lot and the apparent lust of the gringo to endure unnecessary discomfort. You better believe the local people don’t hike, let alone with foul weather, and here were the two of us with mud half-way up our shins, soaked clothes and frozen fingers hiking for several hours in the rain to get a panorama of absolutely nothing.

Then it occurred to me; the locals might have something figured out.

It had been a few weeks since I’d hiked at all. The little hike Justin and I did in Huaraz and before that the Salkantay Trek were the last bit of physical exertion I’d done. It was harder than I remembered. I think all that sitting around on the beach had made me a bit soft. Only thing I needed was a pedicure and I’d be back to my pre-Patagonia self. As much as I’d love a pedicure right about now, the thought of all those months of hard hiking undone so fast was a bit depressing.  I actually did like it - I missed it I think, even the cold, dirty uncomfortable parts. I knew that I would have a couple more opportunities along the way to Quito. I would be passing through 2 other national parks and planned to hike them both – even without hiking boots.  

We (the Dutchman and I) were able to hitch a ride back into town and said goodbye. I walked to my aunt’s house. She wasn’t home, but had left me a key. I let myself in, started a load of laundry and took a shower scrubbing the mud out from in between the toes, the nails and any crease in the skin. This is the apparent downside of hiking in Keens. I did the best I could, but it would take a few rounds to get the dirt off me and warm water is a precious commodity. Besides I got the worst of it off.  By the time my family got home I was packed up and mostly clean. I was planning on leaving the following morning and it was best to be prepared.

Since I had a plan and everything now, it would work out that life would have another. Apparently it was Semana Santa, or Holy Week, and well, that meant there were no buses leaving that particular Sunday. Of course there isn’t, that would be too easy. Basically that meant I had another day to hang around Loja.

pretty much my visibility while hiking

kind of what I thought I was going to see

CUENCA – CAJAS NATIONAL PARK

When I did get myself a bus it was to head north to Cuenca. I was going to be couchsurfing again, both in Cuenca and in Riobamaba, and then spending my last couple nights in Quito in a hostel. I’d heard lots of good things about Cuenca. It’s a beautiful colonial city, home to several universities, and lively music and nightlife scene. It is relatively small, the center easily navigable by foot. The climate is ideal; neither too warm nor too cold, kind of like California but not on the coast and with a hell of a lot more history. It’s green has good water that can be drunk from the tap and lots of park space. It’s a favorite spot for ex-pats. I was told that lots of retirees move to Cuenca for exactly those reasons. I liked it. I was pleasantly surprised; if I was an expat I might live here. And to top it all off, I was couchsurfing with some great people who showed me around, introduced me to friends, tried to teach me to salsa dance and gave me the inside scoop to get to Cajas National Park.

Cajas is another gem. It’s an easy bus ride from Cuenca, maybe an hour on a well-paved highway that leads to Guayaquil. The bus just drops you off on the side of the road a little walk from a park ranger/information station. This park as well as Poducarpus, is massive. There are several trails that span from 2 hours to 3 days. Some climb, some meander, some connect into others creating more opportunity to explore. But the landscape there is special. It’s not the dense thick green, blanketing the mountains like everything surrounding it, like everything in the south. It reminded me more of Valle Chacabuco – strikingly similar, the colors, the vegetation, even the shapes of the landforms. There were lakes and lakes and lakes everywhere, 167 to be exact. It’s higher up in elevation, in that transition zone that always makes something unique. As I moved north from Loja to Cuenca to Riobamaba and finally to Quito, it wasn't just up directionally on a map it was expressed in the elevation as well. I was climbing and so were the cities. This park exists at an elevation and special microclimate that allows there to be wetland, grassland, cloud forest and high mountain forest…and all of it is shaped by an abundance of glacier formed lakes. 1 day hiking there was simply not enough. Sadly, it was all I could give.

Cajas National Park

Between my gracious hosts and this beautiful park, it was one of those times that I wished I didn’t have a plan. I would have stayed longer. Unfortunately m I did have a plan, and it had to be followed. So after 4 very fast days I was out of Cuenca and on to Riobamba.

RIOBAMBA – VOLCAN CHIMBORAZO

I didn’t really have a desire to go to Riobamba to see the town per se. I wanted to go there because it is part of the highlands and therefore the hub that gets you to Volcan Chimborazo. To any of my friends that like to climb mountains this one should be on your list. It is the tallest mountain in Ecuador at 6310meters and topped with a massive glacier. Being in Ecuador, therefore at the equator, its peak is the furthest point from the center of the earth. Technically, you could say it is the tallest peak in the world. I had to see this thing. I had to hike at least part of it.  I have sense enough to know I wasn’t going to summit the beast, at least not without training, appropriate gear and an amazing guide. I didn’t have any of those things, but I was strong enough to at least hike up past the second refuge, Refugio Whymper, and at 5000+ meters I considered that at least something. Not only did I want to see the volcano, frolic for a moment in the snow, and take a picture of myself smiling at 5000meteres, I wanted to see the vicuña.

what a vicuña looks like

Chimborazo on a clear day...definately not what I saw

Volcan Chimborazo is located within in the confines of another Ecuadorian national park. Part of what makes this park so unique is that is it a reserve for vicuña. These little critters are another of the camelid family that seems to thrive in South America. A cousin to the alpaca or llama, and more like a sister to the guanaco, I had been hoping to catch a glimpse of one of these ever since I started this trip.

You can get to the park two ways. One, take a tour and pay a shit-ton of money or two, take a local bus and follow the trail-markers for free. Like usual, I opted for option 2. It was the usual routine. The bus stops along the side of the road and I get out to be left close to a park entrance sign and miles away from anything else. It was cold here. Biting cold. I looked up at the sky and it seemed like it hadn’t quite decided. This day could clear; it would still be cold, but potentially sunny. Or those clouds in the horizon could thicken, dumping and unforgiving rain or maybe even snow at this temperature. So I did what I came to do, I started hiking.

The ride to Cajas and the landscape around it was beautiful, in that rich, teeming with life kind of way. The ride to Chimborazo and the landscape around it was beautiful, in that it comes from another planet, how is this even here, mysterious kind of way. It’s so high up, there isn’t enough oxygen for greenery to thrive, just a few little shrubby things struggling to take root in a sea of volcanic rock. Mostly black rock, but when you look closer its actually shades of grey, a gradient from black to ashy white, then spots of copper red and yellow. The whole plateau is brushed with clouds that slide along the ground, too lazy to climb any higher.  Behind it all is the peak of Chimborazo, capped in clouds, hiding the glacier that crowns it. This landscape seems dead. It seems like worlds away from anyone and anything warm and welcoming. Even the people loading and unloading from the bus at the pueblitos along the way are small, incredibly small, like every bit of oxygen is being sucked up by the volcano, and the people who live in its shadows are made tougher but shorter to compensate for its oppressive weight. The landscape seems hostile. Then, like some sort of mirage, or a joke from the gods, you see them, the beautiful vicuña.  Their shaggy reddish-gold coats, long delicate legs, big round eyes, and a weightlessness that allows them to bound through this unforgiving terrain as if it were a prairie.  Unlike the people that manage to squeak out an existence here, the vicuña seem to thrive. Beautiful. Graceful.  Everything about their presence seemed…effortless. I saw several and they brought an almost eerie sense of life to the barren landscape around the volcano.

My hike however, was not effortless. I am not a vicuña.  I took it slow, climbed with a steady pace, taking in the scene and watching the herds of vicuña in the black. In between the first refuge and the second the rain started. Every bit of the volcano was draped in clouds making it impossible to even imagine how high it really is. I stayed for a little while in the second refuge, chatting with the park ranger and warming my hands. He assured me that the weather would clear, but I would have to wait it out for quite a while. After I was thawed I took back to the trail, only to go a little further before my lack of adequate footwear (read: keens water-trekking sandals) and the snow made it impossible for me to go any further. I did the most reasonable thing; I turned around and started back down the trail.  It took a couple hours to get back down to the highway, during which the rain had turned to hail. With the wind and hail even the vicuña hunkered down. They clumped together in little groups, legs tucked up underneath them, faces buried onto their backs. They looked at me when I passed, and I imagine they laughed at the inferior creature that thought she belonged among them. But I accomplished my goal. I hiked up to and a little past the second refuge, setting a personal record of 5020meters.  I saw the volcano (well…kind of given the weather) and laid eyes on not just one, but several vicuña.

Standing down along the side of what felt like an abandoned highway in the very cold, I wondered if it was really worth it. I had no idea when the next bus was coming. It could be a matter of minutes or it could be hours. The cold is more tolerable when you’re moving, but just a minute or two of standing still, it cuts through clothes, especially wet clothes.  Within 5 minutes I was shivering, trying to breathe warm breaths into my jacket and hands. Then I decided it was better to start walking than just to stand there and freeze. There is only one highway, one lane in each direction…and I was fairly certain that a bus was stop to get me. It wouldn’t really matter if I was right outside the park sign or a mile or two up the road.

I was lucky though, I didn’t get very far before a pick-up truck came by. I stuck out my thumb, and they willingly stopped to pick me up.  It was 2 guys, travelling salesmen for some sort of auto soap. They were based in Guayaquil but regularly make the rounds through the whole country. I just happened to be on the road to Riobamba where they would stop before heading up to Quito.  They cranked up the heat and looked at me in shock, as if they couldn’t imagine what in the world would bring me to that particular strip of highway. When I told them that I had been hiking around Chimborazo that seemed even more absurd to them then my standing on the side of the road. They were friendly though, and even though we clearly had different interests, I was grateful for the ride. They took me right to the center of town and dropped off a couple blocks from the main plaza – faster, cheaper and better service than a bus.

The next morning I was back on a bus for Quito. There was more in the highlands region that I wanted to see like Baños, Ambata, Puyo, and climbing Cotopaxi. But these things would have to wait until I got back to the continent. I would only have 2 nights in Quito before my flight.  Time to organize myself, do some laundry and connect with people back home.  I wasn’t expecting to see everything there was to see there, just a taste and enough to get my bearing for when I got back. For now, it was time to say goodbye to the highlands, to colonial cities and to the cold. I was swapping those out for a month on a tropical island, with few people and hopefully, time to work on my tan. 

What's his deal with Puerto Lopez?

Guayaquil. We made it to Guayaquil and were greeted by out adoptive Ecuadorian mother, Margoth. She is another of my mother’s extensive latin American network of friends, family and colleagues who has graciously agreed to take me in, coddle, feed, clean and provide me with the comforts and luxuries I seldom find when traveling on my own.  But this time it was double duty, it wasn’t just me, it was Justin too. But Margoth, like every woman on the planet that has ever met him and his one dimple, was more than happy to give Justin whatever he wanted.

This was a welcome treat. Thinking over the day’s events it almost seemed like a miracle that were were even at the terminal in Guayaquil.  We were sweaty, smelly, and hungry…but we were there. Margoth was waiting with her sister Isabel for us at the terminal.  I had never met either of them before. In fact this has been the case with most of my hosts, with the exception of Laura and Steve in Lima. I didn’t know Veronika in Santiago or Irene in Buenos Aires, and that always made things interesting when showing up at the terminal. I know someone is here waiting for me, I just don’t know what they look like or where they are.  But Margoth and Isabel were surprisingly easy to spot, they were far too classy to be slumming it around a bus terminal….that and I had her cell number and watched her pick up the call right in front of the booth I was calling her from. 

What a wonderful welcome, to be wrapped in a strangers arms who already loved you like a daughter. “Ay, mi reina. Como estas? Como te fue? Tenemos que llamar a tu mami para que ella no esta preocupada. Tome, llámela.” Really, what could I say to that? Plus I could get used people calling me their queen, it’s a nice petname.  The way she said it just rolled right off the tongue, riena, princessa, bella…and not in the least bit condescending or sarcastic. I think I am going to like my Ecuadorian mother.

Justin and I followed the sisters out to the parking lot, into the car and further and further away from that nightmare at the Peruvian border, which now, seemed like it must’ve happened to someone else. That couldn’t have been real, that didn’t really happen, that must have been a dream.  The first stop was to drop off Isabel at her office and then all the attention was on the two homeless looking people in her back seat. We must have looked hungry because she insisted on taking us somewhere for something small to eat, you know, to hold us over until dinner. That sounded like a fantastic idea, we hadn´t really eaten anything but Doritos (our staple bus food) that whole day and it was nearing 5pm. Justin moved up to the front seat and Margoth took off, like a veteran race-car driver through the busy streets of Guayaquil. Between talking to us, swerving through traffic, adjusting the music and smoking a cigarette I wasn’t really sure what her priorities were…but did breathe a sigh of relief when she pulled into a parking spot in a swanky new strip mall.

We walked into a nice café, whose drinks cost more than most of the meals we had been eating. I looked around: nice furniture, fancy lights, tasteful art, polite uniformed servers…and all of a sudden I felt really out of place. I am dirty, with that perpetual shine of someone who can’t stop sweating, my hair frizzed and sticking out in every which way brought to life by the humidity in the air…and I actually felt bad about sitting at that prim little table. I excused myself to go the bathroom, with the hopes that some cold water splashed on my face and a thorough scrubbing to my hands and fingernails will at least bring me back to the realm of respectable human being. But let’s be honest, I was long past the point of respectable human being, what I really needed what a shower and some clean clothes. But for now, this would have to do.

We were told to order whatever we wanted. I honed in on a salad, fresh vegetables still seemed like a luxury to me. I just don’t understand why this whole continent seems to avoid fresh vegetables, like a salad is they last thing they would ever think to eat. My body craved it. After months of living on starches, carbs and meat (basically the polar opposite of what I normally eat at home) the only thing I dreamed about was fresh fruits and veggies. My dream was about to come true.

Justin ordered a Panini, we both had ice-cold lemonades and reveled in that moment. These were no small portions, the salad could have easily have been split between the two of us, but I was not about to let a single green leaf go to waste. By the time we finished I was stuffed, hoping that the dinner they were talking about would be postponed until tomorrow. I waddled my full belly back to the car and prepared myself for the ride ahead. I’d learned, Margoth was a bit of a firecracker, sweet and wonderful, but you get that woman behind the wheel of a car and it’s like she remembered her past life as a spy. She just laughed and asked as we whipped down the streets, “I’m a good driver right?” We got where we needed to go and got there very quickly…I nodded my head, told her yes, a great, great driver.

I miss my car.

We got to the house, were shown our room and instructed to be ready for dinner in a couple hours. Any dirty clothes we needed washed, we could throw in the hamper in the bathroom. The house was ours to use, help yourself to anything in the kitchen, here’s the wifi code…and please don’t judge the mess  – the kitchen is being remodeled.

Not because she wanted to pressure us, but she is a very busy woman and had some questions that she didn't just ask but demanded. What are our plans while we were in Guayaquil? How long do we plan to stay? What do we want to do? When does Justin fly out so she can be sure to take him to the airport? Where do I go when he leaves? When do I go when he leaves? These were all valid questions, none of which we had the answers to. We had a loose idea, maybe a day or two in the city then spend the week slowly working our way up the Ruta Del Sol. Pretty much just bumming around on the beach, attempting to surf, eating delectable treats, and generally enjoying our last few days together.

She had me laughing hard with her brutal honesty and was basically throwing our itinerary out the window. “First of all,” she said, “there isn’t much to see in Guayaquil. One day is more than enough time to walk down the Malecon, up the hill to the colorfully painted neighborhood, haggle a bit in a market or two and take pictures of the iguanas in the park. Seriously, that´s all there is to do here. This is not a pretty city, the Malecon is all there is to see. You’ll see.  If you want to go to the coast, 2 days is plenty of time to do that. I will take you to Salinas, we will stay at my house there, then you can go to Montanita. It’s a dump, but foreigners like it. Then you can come back, go the north, to Cuenca and Quito. They are pretty and there is a lot to see. Really, I think that is a better idea.” And you could tell she was quite pleased with her plan. But then Justin hit her with a bomb, “We want to go to Puerto Lopez.”

I swear she almost chocked on her cigarette. “Puerto Lopez?! Puerto Lopez?! What the hell do you want to go there for? Puerto Lopez? There is nothing there. Don’t waste your time, Puerto Lopez…” She almost spit the name of the town out, disgusted by how it sounded, tasted, felt. Puerto Lopez.

But Justin really wanted to go there. He’d read somewhere that it was the poor man’s Galapagos. We told her we’d think about our plans and let her know in the next day or so. Tomorrow we knew we would be wandering around the city and by the end of the day have a good idea of what we wanted for the next week. But first we had to go to dinner. I couldn’t even contemplate eating. I was still stuffed from the salad. But apparently my mother had specifically asked her to take us somewhere where we could get a bolon verde, which is basically a fried ball of plantain, cheese and pork.  This thing was huge. She ordered one for Justin and I to share, one for her and one for her husband. We barely dented out fried ball, it was so rich and I was already stuffed. I watched in wonder at how easily and effortlessly they destroyed theirs, like they hadn’t just consumed double their daily caloric intake in one appetizer. But this was just the beginning. The real dinner was still coming.

A beautiful cazuela in a ceramic pot was my round two. It was thick and wonderful and overflowing with fresh seafood. I wanted to eat it all, but there was simply no more room. That giant fried pork ball was taking the lion’s share of my stomach, and I forced myself, yes, this was gluttony, to eat half of my dinner.  I stole a look at Justin, his fish plate mostly pushed around…that bolon verde beat him too.

In the morning we were waited on hand and foot. Fresh squeezed juice, an omelet stuffed with cheese, 2 other kinds of cheeses sitting on the table for us to consume and hearty brown bread. We ate like royalty had our laundry washed and ironed, and were dropped off downtown with every phone number I might ever consider calling for when we were ready to get picked up and taken home.

Margoth was right. We did really see all there is to see in an day. The Malecon was nice, but damn this city is hot. We wandered on foot, from one side to the other, and spending a disproportionate amount of time stalking the iguanas. They were my favorite part. Justin was a good sport at let me go back to see them twice. I just couldn’t get over the little beasts. The look like dinosaurs and aren´t the least bit scared by all the people. It cracked me up to see them sitting on the park benches, napping in the walkways and strewn about in the tree branches overhead. Iguana trees. But really…that was it. After a day we had checked all the tourist attractions off the list, and around night time we gave Margoth a call to come get us. 

When she got there she asked, "So, what are you plans? I told you all there was was this. I can take you to the beach tomorrow after work. We will all go. But then what? How long will you stay?"


I dropped the bomb on her again. "We think we are going to spend the whole week on the coast, Montanita and Puerto Lopez, then come back the day or two before his flight."


I swear to beans she almost threw that car in park on the highway. 


"Puerto Lopez?! Que es, con este chico y Puerto Lopez?!!" I really didn't know what else to say, I was afraid we had somehow offended her. Instead she sucked harder on that cigarette, laughed at our response and told me, "you'll see, that there is nothing there, you'll come back early. Puerto Lopez..."


She kept her promise and the following day when she got off work, we loaded up in to the car with her, her sister and her nephew to go to Salinas. Like normal, we made great time, and pulled the car up to their humble little beach getaway. (read the sarcasm, there was nothing humble about this place.) But I was not one to complain, sitting in the lap of luxury is something, let's be honest, I rather enjoy. First of all ac is always a welcome friend, and so are unobstructed 180degree views of the beach. The lap of luxury also gets us into the yacht club. No big deal, we're just members here.


It was short lived, our life of yach club dinners and invisible helping hands to set up our shade and bring out our kayaks. But is was sweet while it lasted. On sunday we were packed up and they were taking us up the coast to leave us in Montanita. Infamous Montanita, where all the dirtbag foreigners go to lounge on on the beach. I could instantly understand way Margoth and her spotless beach house and yacht club steak dinners would be repulsed by the likes of this town, but I liked it. It was basic; shelter, food, good surf, cheap price. It was everyhthing we wanted. 


So once they say that we had a place to stay it was time to say our goodbyes. We were loaded up with every imaginable phone number, just in case, and told that if we change our minds and want to come back, to just call. Then Margoth said with a laugh, "and let me know about Puerto Lopez." With that embrace we left on the dirt streets of Montanita, shuffling our way through dread locks and dark tans.


Our time there flew by. We had all kinds of wonderful adventures. Justin found a love affair with a scooter as we zipped up and down the coast. We spent hours bobbing in the ocean on surf boards and occasionally standing up to catch a wave. We ate delicious food. We played on gorgeous virgin beaches that looked like they came from some photoshopped picture. 


We eventually went to Puerto Lopez.


The reason for going there wasn't actually to make Margoth upset. But there is an island that you can get to from there that has similar animal species to what you should see on the Galapagos. Birds more than anything, and the famous one being the blue footed boobie. Justin wouldn't have the chance to go the the Galapagos with me, but this would be a kind of sneak peak. And instead of spending hundreds or thousands of dollars it would be more like $30. We could spare $30.There really isn't much to see in the town itself, with the exception of the fisherman coming in with their morning catch....and this island. It was cool, and I loved the boobies. I mean really, who doesn't love boobies?


Then like going in rewind, back to Montanita, back to Guayaquil, back to luxury for one more night before Justin has to go home, and I well...figure out what's next.


It was almost as if I just denied it enough, then maybe he could stay. Maybe, this life we're leading could somehow manage to find a way to sustain itself. Maybe, I won't have to keep going alone.


But this year was about going alone. This is about learning and growing and getting stronger. So with warm salty tears pooling on the chest of Justin's shirt I had to say goodbye. We'll be seeing eachother soon. I'm on the downhill slope of this thing and from here it gets easier, right?

Ecuador's Ruta del Sol

Ecuador's Ruta del Sol, a set on Flickr.

playing rich in salinas at the yacht club, playing surfer in montanita and playing poor at the poor man's galapagos