Ecuador Trip

Ecuador

Our first big trip out of the country is to be Ecuador.

As much research as I tried to do concerning bicycling in the country, I could not find anything that gave me confidence that people actually bicycled around in Ecuador much. I did find some pictures of people riding bicycles, so at least I felt that they had seen one before. 

We packagd up our two Bromptons in the same boxes that are used by Brompton to ship them new. We also put in the boxes our helmets, our front bags, tools, water bottles, packing tape fro the return trip. My box weighed 46 pounds and Pam's weighed 42 pounds. There is a 50 pound weight limit before extra fees are required. We were not charged by Alaska Airlines for the luggage, which we are not sure if it was a mistake or because we were flying international. Normally, it would have cost us $25/box.

     [Our bikes on their way to Ecuador]

We had about 5 hours layover in Las Vegas, which posed a problem in finding something to do that we wanted to do. You would think that one would only be faced with the prospect of having to decide amongst the too-many choices, but our problem was that there was so much we didn't really care to do. We ended up with a double-decker bus tour that lasted 3 hours and took us to the old downtown area to wander around Freemont Street during the light show. Between bus and taxi fares, over-priced sodas and bad food, I figure we dropped $100. I'm not sure how those folks who keep track of every dime do it.

     [The old Las Vegas tied into the new.]

We arrived to a muggy hot day, which is everyday in Guayaquil this time of year. It became clear that we didn't do a good enough job of learning espanol, as we fumbled along trying to contact Sara, the owner/manager of the apartments we rented. With the help of the young man at the information desk at the airport, who understood a small amount of Ingles, we found Sara. I think she overheard me talking to him and walked up to me. Sara's Ingles is better than our espanol, but that doesn't get us too far.

[Jay and Pam at the Guayaquil Airport after Customs let us have the bikes]

The apartment is small, but Pam and I do small pretty well. We could live here and be comfortable. The modular air conditioner is directly above the bed and place is laid out to be able to only cool the bedroom area. The bathroom door keeps the heat in the bathroom and there is a sliding glass door between and kitchen for sole purpose of containing the conditioned air. 

The wonderful apartment manager, Sara]

[Apartment bedroom]

As Sara was showing us around the place, I noticed that one of the burners on the two-burner stove top was hot. Sara didn't seem concerned, as the maid was still there cleaning. I fiddled with the with the knobs with no success in turning it off. After convincing Sara that it was a problem, we tried the breakers. None of them affected the stove top. We finally pulled the small refrigerator out and unplugged the stove. The plug must be wired to some breaker outside of the box in the apartment. Looking at some of the connections to the houses outside, I figured it was probably wired like some of the remodels I've seen that were done in the 1970's.

On our first night there, we went to a KFC--yes, KFC--to get some dinner, but none of the offerings looked like anything I'd seen at a KFC. Now, it's been a few decades since I've been to one at home either. I ended up with Kung Poa chicken plates with french fries and a salad that we couldn't eat. We were advised not to eat any salad or raw vegetables, anything where we didn't know if the water used to wash it was safe. At this point, we are not sure about the water in Guayaquil.

What is most striking about Guayaquil is the focus on security. Everything is behind a wall. Steel gates cover everything. Even the call (intercom) boxes on individual residences have an iron protective box over it to prevent theft of the box. In order to get our apartment, we have to open a heavy steel gate into a narrow hallway. This hallway is open to the sky with high walls. There is a stackable washer/dryer in the hallway, but it too has it's own steel-bar door with a lock. The neighbor has another steel-bar gate off of the narrow hallway. Our door has only the lock on the door. I was beginning to wonder if we are secure enough, but we had no trouble sleeping.

     [The hallway to our apartment in Guayaquil.]

Today, Saturday, we rode our bikes to the Malecon 2000 on the waterfront of the Rio Guayas.  Making your way through the streets is the same as in any city or large suburban throughway--terrifying. No bike lanes, and these people seem to drive crazy, using the road like I ignore the lines on a piece of paper when writing. After awhile, there seems to be a sort of synchronicity between drivers, pedestrians and buses--it works, but it would be hard to drive in if you are used to another set of rules. There were a few cyclists who rode on the street, but we didn't have enough confidence with the system. We rode on the sidewalk, lifting our bikes off each steep curb and over the deep gutters. Given my riding history and being confident taking the lane at home, I still felt they were crazy riding in this traffic.  The thought makes me laugh, as I'm sure that's what people think of me as I ride down the middle of the street in Seattle. Maybe with time, I would ride on the street there too. 

It doesn't help that I don't know where the good folks at Guayaquil DOT hide the street signs. I have the same problem in every locale, so it's tough to fault them. With the help of the Galileo app on my iPhone and studying the map and asking questions to security people along the way, we stumbled upon the Malecon 2000, a specially built and gated tourist area along the river. We were soon informed that we would not be able to ride our bicicletas on the Malecon. One security person led us to his supervisor to get the ok that we could walk our bikes through there though, which was nice of him. 

     [The Barrios de Las Pinos next to the Malacon 2000.]

     [Pam on the Malacon 2000]

    [Jay and Pam on the Malacon 2000 with...elf?]

[The Guayaquil sign on the Malacon 2000]

More about security. There are a lot of security personnel--everywhere. We passed a bank today that was undergoing a transfer from armored cars and there were six guards, each with Uzis.  They were very nice, though, and waved us through after I motioned if it was ok if we passed through the middle of them. In retrospect, it probably wasn't such a good idea to even ask them. Every parking lot has security. There are check-point type gates going into parking lots or steel gates that are opened by a security person everywhere we look. There are different levels of security person. Some only have a radio. some have a bat belt with stick. Others have all that and bullet-proof vests. One thing that they all have in common is that they looked very hot and uncomfortable in their military-style uniforms.  Nearly all are quite young men who seem to take their job seriously.

The trip to the Malecon was us facing our fear of the bicycle riding situation squarely, as the night before we rode to the SuperMaxi grocery store, and that seemed like a big trip. It was possibly 4km round trip and very exhausting, dodging the debris, large holes and other obstacles. We rode on the sidewalk, lifting our bikes off the curb and back onto the high curb at each block. And crossing the busy streets was crazy. Cars have right of way. They don't stop for bicycles or pedestrians. We, also, were out of place on our strange-looking bicycles riding on the sidewalks or trying to make our way through chaotic parking lots. The locals are accustomed to what we saw as chaos, so they casually look for a break and walk across. Pedestrians cross wherever they want.  I don't think there is a jaywalking law here.

7Sept14

Sunday 

Guayaquil

It was quieter on the streets, as most people were in church in the morning. We went to a cyclovia that I found on the map not too far from us. It was a long park with a curving cement and brick and tile path of maybe a kilometer in length. It had a couple of nice restrooms along the way and each of them had some sort of security presence. The park, like all the parks we have come across have iron-work fences with gates. What looked like a creek on the map was instead a tidal slough that we saw at the low tide period. We made our way back to the apartment in a meandering route picking our way through the neighborhoods as much as possible to stay off the noisy main roads.

     [Cycle/walking path within a gated park]

It was encouraging to see a couple of organized ride groups making their way along the busy roads in the proper race gear and spandex. There were also a few brave soles riding in traffic. We tried riding in the street a couple of times, but only when necessary.

After a siesta--my favorite part of Latin American culture--we took a taxi to the Parque Historico de Guayaquil. It was our first taxi ride and we figured we paid the stupid tax and we realized that when the ride back cost half as much. The park is free and that makes it that much more awesome. It is really kept up nice, with natural areas showing different habitats with live animals in those habitats. Some call this a zoo, but it was different. They had also moved a prominent doctor's house and a hospital/church from the waterfront in downtown Guayaquil to this park and are working on restoring them. They are buildings dating back to the late 1800s. They call the reenactment Malecon 1900 to contrast against the Malecon 2000, which is gorgeous waterfront  that any city would be proud of. 

    [A fox in one of the many wildlife exhibits]

     [A lot of parrots and macaws were not caged at all]

After we made it back to the apartment, we headed down the the SuperMaxi to get snacks for the four-hour bus ride to Cuenca in the morning. We walked this time and it didn't seem so far. I love that phenomenon where once you've become familiar with something, the distanced don't seem as long!

8Sep14 

Monday

Guayaquil->Cuenca

Even though Sara offered us a drive to the bus station, but we decided to ride our bikes as we needed to leave earlier than she was able. We left  about 8:20 and didn't arrive to the hostel in Cuenca until 4:30ish. 

      [Terminal Terrestre Guayaquil--a very large bus station that has its own mall.]

Cuenca is much different from Guayaquil. Shops are open late and people are out after dark. There are 12 hours of daylight and 12 of darkness, as we are so close to the equator, but there is a different feel to the city.

After a short nap and a shower to rinse off the road dust, we headed out to explore in the dark.  From the guide book, we knew there was a popular restaurant and bar nearby called the Cafe Eucalyptus. We had a couple of mojitos and hor'dureves to make the challenge of finding our way back that much more interesting. If it weren't for GPS, or rather the Location-based services of the phone system, we'd still be wandering around looking for the hostel.

9Sept14

Tuesday

Cuenca, Ecuador

Today was the first full day spent in Cuenca. Pam woke up having to spend some quality time in the bathroom. Apparently, she ate something that didn't agree with her system.

I went for a walk to look for a plug for the sink in order to do laundry in the bathroom sink. They had a laundry service at 75 centovos (cents) per pound (why they didn't use kilograms is a mystery. Maybe it's a service that only those from the United States use.), but I think I was more for a reason to get out and interact with the shop owners than saving a few cents on laundry.  And interact I did. I mimed, drew pictures, and failed miserably at my attempts at using Spanish to try and get across my need for a sink plug. It's tough to purchase anything if you don't know the language. Through sign language, which apparently I'm not very good at either, I was able to get some of the idea across. It is called a Tapon del Fregadero (sink stopper), but I didn't get that until I got back and used Google Translate. I took this new information around again this time with Pam to find a stopper. I thought that I would remember the size of the plug correctly using the ol' reliable one knuckle on the finger method. It turns out that it is not so reliable. I found a place where they had three sizes of stopper in box of miscellaneous plumbing stuff. I picked the middle size and was wrong. It should have been the smallest one. I ended up using a wad of tissue in the drain in order to fill the sink.

We went to post office to deliver the birthday card for Sis--today is her birthday. Along the way, we met a couple from South Center (an area at the south end of Seattle), who have been in Cuenca for a couple of years. She was on her way to the farmacia to get some medicine herself to have on hand when they have visitors and she gave us the name of the medicine we needed to purchase. She said that nothing from the US will cut what ails you down here. We went and got that medicine at the first farmacia that we ran across. There are lots of little farmacias around town, almost one on every corner.

We bought some Ecuadorian soccer jerseys for the grandkids and fleece jacket for Pam to use in Banos, since she failed to bring one. That same couple also told us about this market in a large 3-story building where they had meats in the basement floor, fruits and vegetables on the main floor and cooked foods on the top floor. They specifically told us to try the cook pork on the top floor. The vendors cook up whole pigs and slice pieces of it off to make meals for their patrons. Pam and I shared a plate of pork and potatoes and veggies that were all out of this world wonderful. From the stall neighboring the roasted pig, we got a glass of fresh--like in they juice it right on order--carrot juice. The whole meal including the carrot juice was $4.50.

     [The market in Cuenca]

[The Meats floor is below ground level.]

 [The main floor is for all the wonderful fruits and veggies.]

[The top floor is for the prepared food vendors. The roast pig with potatoes was out of this world!]

We wandered back for a siesta after that filling lunch. Our siestas are running around 2-hours long each day, which feel about right. 

Afterwards, we went across the street for pizza at New York Pizza, then packed up and caught a city bus down to the river just to see if we could do it. It took us a couple of buses to figure it out, but we got on one that took us that direction. We thought we were going for joy ride when the bus started going a direction that we weren't thinking was the correct one and we couldn't figure out how to get off the bus, but it eventually swung around to parallel the river. At the first stop we got off and walked. As we were headed back--the idea was to walk back before it got to be too dark--looking into all the shops to see what was going on, we ran across a hat factory where they make Ecuadorian "Panama" hats. The young man motioned us in to to look over their little factory. We we motioned that we were looking for a hat for me and he took us up a rabbit warren of steps to the upper floor above the factory room to where the finished hats were located. He unlocked the door and turned on the lights and we began looking for a hat that would fit me just right. Then we had to get just the right color of straw. When I asked him "Cuanto questa" (how much?), I almost fell on the floor. $40 for a hat that took months of work to accomplish. Earlier in the day, I took a picture of a woman sitting on a small ledge off the sidewalk, where she was weaving the beginning of a new hat.  Maybe they have lots of these suppliers who weave the straw that is later formed into the hats on blocks that look as though they have made thousands of hats. 

[Jay and the hat maker]

With my new hat, I had a better chance of not getting my head so burned from the sun's rays. I think Cuenca is around 8,000 feet, so it didn't take long from the days walking to get a bit rosy on top.

[Cuenca woman weaving hat]

10Sept2014 

Wednesday

Banos, Ecuador (the one just outside of Cuenca)

Today's adventure was to take a taxi to Banos just up the hill from Cuenca to spend some time in the hot mineral pools up there. We luxuriated to the point where both Pam and I ended up with sun burns on our backs and heads. We didn't really realize it, though, until we were getting ready for our showers at the end of the day. After a $5 taxi ride that we shared part of with an Austrian couple who were going to Parque Nationale Cajas for a hike, we were let off at a very nice full-service spa where they had the mineral pools. For $10/each we were able to use the pools and the steam bath. After a nice lunch at the spa and another taxi ride back, we spent $55 for a wonderful morning. 

Another 2-hour nap later--it's getting to be a habit--we shared the last piece of pizza from yesterday and headed out on foot to the river and to the National Museum a little after 4pm. The museum closed at 5:30. Along the river, we met another expat--Warren from Houston. He and his wife have been down here for a couple of years now and they love it. Warren had a gorgeous American Standard Poodle that stopped traffic as we talked. We still made it to the museum in time to walk around the exhibits and the archeological site in the back. One of the main exhibits was about Ecuadorian erotica, which looks like erotica in the U.S.--go figure. 

On the diagonal path back to the hostal, we found a nice restaurant for dinner. $30 for two mojitos, two dinners and a tiramisu with mango.

Once we got back and saw how red we were, I headed down to the farmacia a block and half down the street to get some aloe vera. My Spanish pronounciation was so bad it took a few minutes for me to get across to the two farmacists what I needed. 

Tomorrow we head for a couple smaller communities around Cuenca by bus. 

11Sept2014 

Thursday

Gualeceo

The Lonely Planet guidebook lays out three towns that you should go see on a Sunday when the markets are running. The calendars do not always align, so we thought we would go on a Thursday to see what a normal day would look like in village life. We chose Gualeceo for no particular reason. A 35-minute walk down to the Termimal Terrestre (bus station) was an adventure in itself. We left the bikes in the Hostel room, as we weren't  sure if we'd have luggage on the short-run bus or whether they would be worth the hassle. 

Like all travelers the access to a place to relieve onself is of prime importance when needed. It was needed by me by the time we got off the bus. We found some at a park along the river running through town and like most places it was locked up tight. We made our way across a foot bridge to see if there was something on that side of the river. In a little building plastered with graffiti and seemingly uninhabited, there was music coming from a speaker on the porch. We approached and it was a craft market of sorts. We approached the young woman and asked about el banos. 15 centovos for a small, folded piece of tissue and access to the banos. Money well-spent.

Relieved, we wandered through what must have been the stalls for when the market was fully underway. On the other end of the stall area, was the main bridge across the river. A one-lane, wood planked, covered bridge. Since pedestrians have no rights in Ecuadorian culture, there were three areas on each side of the bridge where pedestrians could jump safely out of the way of traffic as they made their way across. 

One notable attraction to Gualeceo was the number of stray dogs that wandered the streets. These were not family-pet sort of strays. These were dogs that suffered any number of malady from starvation, which seemed to be the most common to mangled limbs and missing eyes. It seems that there are no rescue efforts in Ecuador for unwanted dogs. 

We ate in a market similar to what we found in Cuenca, only smaller. Our confidence about the cooking must have been diminished, though, as we only got a couple of empanadas and a couple of what looked like fortified pancakes. They make the carrot juice while you wait, so we went with that. The hardest part is not knowing what will leave you with an experience you'd wish you could forget or one that will be a fond memory.

After lunch, we headed back to the bus station and Cuenca. We were ready for a siesta, so we took a cab for two dollars back to the Hostel.

12Sept14

Friday

Cuenca-Guayaquil-Santa Elena-Ballenita

I think our decision to stay in Ballenita the remainder of our time in Ecuador was based on today's traveling. It was a long day of bus riding with paying the impuesto estúpido (stupid tax) several times. 

I woke up to the sound of rain on the roof of the Hostal Macondo, which told me that the forecast looked the night before for Banos was probably more correct than not. Rain was expected in Banos for the entire week. I suggest to Pam as we lay there waking up that we scrap the Banos idea and head for the coast. It was supposed to be cool (72 degrees F), but overcast. It's the dry season there, so at least we wouldn't be rained on or get too hot. I guess the Seattle rain is getting to me a bit. Pam was open to the idea, so we cancelled the reservation in Banos, or rather asked the good folks at Macondo to do that for us. They had made the reservations for us the night before. It didn't seem like the nicest way to repay them for their help, but they seemed to be okay with it. They called a taxi for us. In Ecuador, it's a good idea to have the hotel call a taxi that they feel comfortable with, as there have been instances of taxi drivers holding up their clients. Kind of a turn-around situation to what you hear about in the USA. 

We shoved the bikes into the taxi and headed for the Terminal Terrestre. We could have ridden, as it was no longer raining. We rationalized that it was probably best to not have ridden, as it was rush hour. This not only means that the narrow streets are clogged with cars, trucks and buses, but the narrow sidewalks are clogged with peopled trying to go both directions without getting thrown into the mainstream of motorized chaos.

At the bus station (Terminal Terrestre) in Cuenca, we were hustled onto the bus without tickets as the bus was loading now. Not knowing that this bus has assigned seating--the last one didn't--we were in someone else's seat. Once all the dust settled with folks getting into their assigned seats, we were able to find two open seats in the very front row. The buses are a part of the culture here. They have one of the most extensive intercity bus systems I've ever encountered. The bus driver is not some lowly employee with no rights and the customer is always right. The bus driver is the captain of his ship (whether he owns the bus or not is irrelevant) and he makes the rules. They usually have another person or two riding shotgun to help with getting people on and off the bus, ushering vendors on and off, and opening the restroom after a sufficient time period after being asked to open it to make sure that their power is fully realized. 

As the bus was making it's way out of Cuenca, the driver stopped and let a woman onto the bus. She was dressed in the stereotypical Latina outfit with everything too tight and cut low. She slipped into the seat behind ours. After we got out of town and were winding our way up the mountain, she got up and let herself into the cab. There was no knocking or having to plead her request to the driver and aide. She just stepped into the front of the bus. The area where the driver and aide are located is walled and curtained off from the passengers. They have a camera on you, but you have no idea what they are up to. My mind went straight for the gutter trying to imagine what sort of situation was underway in the front of this bus. It probably would have been nice if they ran a movie or something, as our imaginations are dangerous tools. 

We made our way back over Parque National Cajas. Someone said that the pass is 10,000 feet. Watching the reflection of our progress in the glass in front of me was enough to make most people car sick without the winding curves and cars and buses passing on all including the blind ones. Our driver was no exception. Once down in the flats, where the rice fields and banana plantations and seas of sugar cane covered the great spaces between small roadside villages, we got more vendors coming aboard. Some selling vitamin supplements, one esposing the benefits of oral hygiene and how good it would be if you bought his toothpaste and tooth brushes, others ice cream. I always got the ice cream. 

Entering Guayaquil, we had the familiarity now going for us from our three days there the week before and the stories that other travelers told about Guayaquil. The owner of the Hostal Macondo, or rather the wife of the owner as she corrected me, had spent seven years living in Guayaquil. She told me about the how the cronies of the last regime had moved out onto the island separating the two rivers. This is the same island that the Parque National Historica Guayaquil is located. The wi-fi name for her personal modem is the derogitory term given the people on this island and their Miami Beach lifestyles. 

The Terminal Terrestre in Guayaquil is so large that it has it's own mall and is three stories tall with buses coming into the ground floor and departing on the upper two floors. There are over a hundred bus companies each with their own window selling tickets for the routes that they serve. Of course, there is plenty of armed security.

I carried the bikes in and Pam got the backpacks. We piled them  onto a couple of bench/chairs and Pam went to find the banos (lower case). Then it was my turn. After four hours of a crazy bus ride and a locked restroom on the bus, it was a priority. One of us always stayed with the stuff. Pam got us some chicken terriaki and fried rice. After we shoveled that in, I went searching amongst the hundred plus vendors to figure out which one was going to Santa Elena/Libertad towns. On the second trip around, I asked the young man at the information booth and he pointed me to the correct window. I went and gathered Pam from the other end of the station and we trundled our crap to the end where the ticket window for Santa Elena was located--84. The man at the window promptly sold me a couple tickets to a bus that was set to leave in two minutes and two floors away. Like all ticket systems, these were only comprehensible by the persons who created the system and those with extensive training in the code. We had to be told twice from the ticket taker on the second floor that we needed to be on the third floor. The confusion being that the gate ticket said something different than the tickets to get on the bus. By the time we lugged the bicycles and stuff to the third floor, the bus which we purchased tickets for had already left the station. More impuesto estúpido paid as we were to be charged for two more tickets to get on the next departing bus. We agreed and were shown two seats, then we had to be moved to accomodate someone who actually had tickets. Then we got moved to the last row in the bus. It was a nice ride to Santa Elena. 

As we were leaving Guayaquil, I quickly composed an email in espanol to info@farallondillon asking if they had a room open for the night. I wasn't sure how long we would have cell service, so Pam and I teamed up to figure out what to ask and how to ask it. I checked to make sure that email actually sent and didn't get stuck in my outbox, and we were soon in the outskirts of Guayaquil. 

         Subject: ?Hay cuartos disponibles por hoy?

         From: jguett@gmail.com

         Date: Fri, 12 Sep 2014 14:30:24 -0500

         To: info@farallondillon.com

         Hola,

         Yo internet mallo, pardon.

         ?Tiene una habitacion doble?

         Gracias!

         Jay Guettler y Pam Rosenow

The ride was pleasant enough and the actually played a DVD movie for us that had the subtitles turned on to help with the Spanish lesson. 

Checking the guidebook against Galileo map, we determined that Santa Elena was the place to get off the bus. I debated this choice with La Libertad, as La Libertad looked larger and may actually have someplace for us to stay if the Hostaria Farallon Dillon didn't work out. The debate went on until I checked the email on my cell phone whose battery was at 8% and saw that Dennys had replied. It sounded like we had a room for the night.

       Si tenemos disponibilidad

       Saludos cordiales.

       Con gusto ofrecemos una Hab. para el día de hoy con balcón vista al mar.

       Atte.

        Dennys Eduardo Piza

         ADMINISTRADOR

        0991538152 – 0987978820

        042953611 – 640 – 643

Dennys asked in a second email when they could expect our arrival and I answered it once I was able to connect my phone to the lithium ion battery I had. It didn't look too far on the map, so I told him that we'd be there by la hora cinco. 

I will say that these Bromptons have never failed to draw a crowd where ever we are. At the Terminal Terrestre in Santa Elena, the bus drivers, security and baggage handlers all stopped as we unpacked our bikes and got them ready for riding. It only takes a few minutes to take the locks off, as well as the cinch strap, then pull them out out the Ikea bags and unfold them. Add on the front bag, attach the backpacks to the rack and trailer hitch and walk the bikes out the front door. The same attention was paid as we meandered through the little village of Ballenita. They definitely are interesting beasts.

The road peters out in phases as we follow the signs to get to the Hosteria. Paved with asphalt turns to a pavement of rock and concrete slurry, which then ends in a fine powdery dirt as we round the corner into the complex of the Hosteria. Then you step into a whole different environment. 

We leaned our bikes against the posts at the entrance and straggled into the reception area. The woman at the desk asked if we had reserva, which we didn't. I pulled up the email on my phone and showed her the emails from Dennys. She smiled and made a phone call. In a moment, Dennys was there. The owner asked if we wanted The Cave, which is a honeymoon suite. Dennys  showed us around to three different rooms and we decided on the one on NW corner upper floor. It was also the least costly room, but only coincidentally. We counted up the days left and decided to spend seven days here at the Hosteria. We needed to see if we could sit still for that long, I guess. 

13Sept14 

Saturday

Ballenita, EC

Today was a relaxing day, where the big outing was walking down the beach to the end of the row of houses and back. Total of about a kilometer. We came back to the hostaria, washed the clothes (because you can't walk on the beach without getting into the surf), took a shower and then I went down for a nap.  Pam read the afternoon away and I hemmed my pants. I got tired of having to roll them up and since they were 3 1/2" or 9.5cm too long I guess that they were too long.

With a northerly breeze, the cloud cover cleared away. We should be able to see the stars tonight. 

Tomorrow, we get our bikes out for a ride up the coast to Santo Domingo. It'll be about a 20km round trip.

15Sept2014

Monday

Salinas, EC

A day trip to Salinas seemed to required to at least see for ourselves what the guidebook did not like about it. There are many high-rise condos and hotels with more being built. The yacht club was created in 1940 and like a lot of things for the rich, the rabble are excluded. We are part of the rabble when it comes to this kind of money. 

We met a few expats on the street. We stand out like sore thumbs here. Even if you don't have a lot of money, you have more than most here and you wear it in the way you walk. You could wear the rattiest clothes and you would still not be able to pull off not being an Norte Americono expat/tourista. There is no hesitation when they ask how you are doing in English. All were helpful in helping us find an ATM that worked and to be careful using Internet cafes for anything like bank transactions. One guy, Mike, was from San Diego and has been here three years. He loves it and said that Salinas is the only place on the coast of Ecuador that he'd live citing the mostly paved streets and somewhat "normal" grocery stores (they have a SuperMaxi in Salinas). 

Unless you like hanging out on the beach--a lot--there isn't much in Salinas. I suppose if you ranked somewhere at all in the upper echelon of moneyed society here, there might be more to do. Yet, even then, I would think that you'd have to have a adequate drinking habit or some other diversion to occupy yourself with to live here. 

As we were poking through some market stalls of clothes and trinkets, I felt a tickle in my chest that I knew wasn't going to get better. We stopped at a Farmacia and gestured that I had a lung issue and she gave us some gel pills for bronchial maladies and I got some vitamin C tablets. Six bucks.

We walked from one end of Malecon to the other, had lunch then looked for a way to get back to the Hosteria. It was getting late for our siesta! I flagged down a bus (25 centovos each), which got us into Santa Elena. When it started heading back the other direction, we jumped off. With the greatest of luck, there was a taxi right there. For three dollars, we were back at the Hosteria.

After a swim in the pool, it was time to take a siesta although late. 

16Sept2014

Tuesday

Ballanita

I got up, ate breakfast, went back to bed. Woke up, ate lunch, went back to bed. About 3-ish, I thought the malady had left my body and, like "W", declared victory a bit premature. 

Pam and went for a wander around the tidal pools for an hour or so, and by the time we got back I knew it wasn't over yet.

We had dinner with Randy, a retired American from Austin, TX,  and made plans to go to Montanita in the morning. Details to be figured out later.

17Sept2014

Wednesday

Montanita

The problem with conducting life at this pace is that it seems very natural and you could see this continuing without too much effort. 

About 8am, we wandered downstairs for breakfast and found Randy just beginning to eat his. The waiter took our order for Americano breakfast, which I think is scrambled eggs. At a leisurely pace, yet not slow, the first course was a plate of sliced bananas and pineapple. The pineapple was ripened on the plant, as it was of a sweetness I have never experienced. Then the waiter comes out with the fresh-squeezed juice of a sort we were not familiar with. We thought it was maybe a variety of mulberry, but we really had no idea. Along with the juice is a basket of toast and a container of sliced onions, carrots, bell peppers and something to give it some bite in a watery marinade of sorts. This "relish" for lack of a better word is a treat that I look forward to with each meal. The dining ware and coffee cups are also placed out with grace.

After that delivery, comes the making of the cafe con leche', which was a bit of a mystery the first time I watched him make it. He starts by pouring the heated letche' (milk) into the cup and he keeps pouring and pouring to where you think that you're are getting a cup of heated milk. Then he pours in the coffee. Now, this isn't your mother's dishwater coffee that you can drink all day long without too much of a buzz. This was thick, dark, solid-looking liquid that when poured into the cup of hot milk quickly turned it into the familiar mocha color we'd expect in los Estados Unidos (the USA). 

Plates are gathered and then the small plate of scrambled eggs comes out. I have no idea how long this all takes, but that's the point. You don't care. It is enjoyable and relaxing. 

We gave ourselves a half hour to get cleaned up before we met out in front. Randy had a number for a taxi driver that he'd used earlier this week and he would call him when he got to his room. We went to our room and gathered up our stuff and got dressed for the day. Even though the weather is fine, we both wear long pants and long-sleeved shirts. The sun here at the Equator can be brutal on fair skin in a quick hurry. We are out front only for a moment before Randy came wandering out.

Having the number of taxi drivers that you have had good experiences with is an important resource. If they are available, you know what kind of service to expect. Some are good travel companions and safe drivers, others are more point A to Point B sort of guys. I've never seen a female taxi driver. After a few minutes, Randy called the driver to see if he was going to make it as agreed. After some negotiation, Randy asked the driver point blank if he was going to be able to come by and pick us up--"no." Yet another example of being able to understand the language used by everyone else to make it through the daily events. Randy called another taxi driver whose number he had about the same time as Maria, the front desk manager came out to make sure we were able to get ahold of someone. Maria knew of someone who was reliable, who we used.

Marcelo showed up in a few minutes and we were on our way. The original plan was to use the taxi to get to the bus station in Santa Elena, then use a bus to make our way up to Montanita. Then it morphed into taking the taxi up to Montanita and then figure out our way back somehow on the bus. The day ended up being a full-day taxi ride with Marcelo, the owner of the taxi, our guide. 

We piled in with Randy in the front with Marcelo, which only made sense since only Randy could speak with and understand espanol. The day was open with the only real plan being the destination. About an hour up the road, we felt like it should be lunch. Randy and Marcelo both knew of a nice beach town where we could get some great fish meals for a good price. We made the left turn off the highway and made our way through the little burb of Ayangue to the other side and the beach. Ayangue sits on a narrow, protected bay used by fishermen. The beach area is a local resort, or rather a resort for locals. There are many food vendors with stalls where the tables sit on   the beach sand and a corregated roof supported by bamboo poles and trusses. 

We settled in at one of the stalls and ordered our lunches. Four large meals, all with seafood fresh from the sea, a couple of large cervesas and a Coke--out the door with tip for under $30. What I like is that everything is done with a leisurely pace, including eating of meals. This goes against many decades of training my body to eat "efficiently," which is not the best thing for my body or conversation. 

After finding and using the banos, and paying the attendant for their services, we were back on the road. All public bathrooms that we used in Ecuador had an attendant or two. These folks made sure that the facilities are clean, they dispense the few sheets of toilet paper and they collect the fee. Fees for using the banos and receiving your allotment of TP ran anywhere from a dime to a quarter. It was a quarter in Ayangue, probably due to the resort nature of the place or maybe because these had showers too. This is maybe a practice we could employ in the States and be able to have usable public facilities. (yeah, I know, funny).

There was a section of this Ruta del Sol that used to be mangrove forests, which of course means swampy area. The forests were cleared out and the swamps reconfigured to make shrimp farms. The effort, it turns out, was not sustainable. The reconfigured swamps were used to capture the shrimp fry from returning to the ocean. This decimated the natural shrimp stock. Then the captured shrimp caught some disease that wiped the farmed stock out. What is left is a lot of containment basins where there used to be mangrove forests. Maybe shrimp really doesn't need to be that cheap.

Back on the highway, we pass through San Pedro, Valdivia, a hard right bend at San Antonio and across the river--Rio Cruzado--skirt the edges of Simon Bolivar, cross the Rio Atravesedo, another hard right in the highway to get through Rio Chico, pass by Manglaraito and around San Jose until we get to Montanita. We pass by it too to climb a little hill where the radio towers are to see the monastery that mostly fell into the sea. It was built on a promentory and one day the promentory fell off splitting the monastery. The cliff is several hundred feet at least. 

There is still a school right across the road from the monastery, but it doesn't seem to be in the same danger though. The monastery is still a big draw with people coming to take pictures the whole time we were doing the same. 

Stopping this time in Montanita, we walked through the streets and onto the seawall walkway. It was mid-afternoon, but the town was just starting to wake up. It's main functions seem to be surfing and partying with the order depending on the time of day. 

The little town not too far to the south, Manglaraito, we stopped there and walked on the seawall too. This is the sort of town that you could easily find a way to live in. Simple, quiet. You can see the party of the Montanita, but you probably can't hear it. 

Randy said that Montanita was hardly a spot on the map until the Jewish community in Argentina bought the place up and created what is there today. As a home for those on permanent Spring Break, it is growing on every corner giving it a real Wild West vibe to it. 

After Manglaraito, we headed back to the Hosteria. I was                       

declining fast between the chest cold and the siesta habit that is now firmly in place. 

We had dinner with Randy, where he insisted on buying us a drink. My arm should heal soon from being twisted so harshly. He apparently took different math courses when getting his Biology degree and figured we'd over-guessed the split for the day's expenses. It didn't seem like it was going to do a lot of good, trying to argue with him. Even though the Ecuadorian liquer didn't pack much of a punch, it was a tasty and beautiful drink. 

Dinner was wonderful, as always, but the special part was when the waiter brought to me a large pot of herbal tea with real lemon and ginger steeped into it. A medicinal gift from the Captain.

18Sept2014

Ballanita

Thursday

Montanita was the last big outing of the trip. Having gone to bed early, I was up early and went for an explore amongst the rocks as the tide was going out. Pam slept in, which is such an easy thing to do when your door open out to the ocean breeze and the sounds of the surf rolling up onto the beach and nearby rocks.

I spotted her taking a picture of me as I was headed back up for breakfast. The sun was strong already by 7:30-ish and I didn't have any sunscreen on. The Buff can only cover so much of my bald noggin. We wandered down for breakfast, as Randy was just finishing up his. We sat and chatted for awhile, then the Captain (cap-e-tan) joined us and we chatted for awhile more. Alberto, the Captain, made mention that today was an honorary day for bull fighters and that they were going to have oxtail on the menu for lunch. We discussed the various aspects of modern bull fighting until we sufficiently wore out the subject. By that point, I was fading again. Being sick on vacation is not any fun, but I could not think of a better place that I would like to be sick at.

By lunch, I was not sure that I wanted to even go to lunch. I rallied and Pam and I thought we'd just get a quick sandwich and head back up to rest. I got a hot herbal tea to help my throat and chest. We looked through the menu, but we knew what we wanted--a couple of chicken sandwiches. 

We had remarked at the table that we had noticed that Alberto and Yolanda had entertained from friends at earlier in the week was set again for another festivity. Simple and elegant with the plates facing downward, which is a good practice when your dining room does not have windows but on one side to block the breeze from the west. Given that the staff had such an affair underway, we just hung out for a bit until Oswaldo, the waiter had a free minute. 

Another wonderful surprise. We were going to guests for the oxtail celebration. In the bull-fighting world, if the bull fighter does well, the crowd traditionally presents him with the tail of the bull and ears. This is why the oxtail being for lunch on this honorary day for bull fighters. 

20Sept2014

Travel Guayaquil to Seattle

Saturday

Starting any day at 2:55am is a day that you know is going to be long and hard to just get through it. Within a half hour we were ready for the taxi driver that Sara had arranged to meet us at the apartment. We were there when she made the arrangements and it seemed like all was set up. Just because someone does not say "no" does not mean that they are actually agreeing to do what they say they are agreeing to do. 

Adrian, the taxi driver didn't show up at 3:30 as was the arrangement. Somehow we were going to have to get to the airport, so we moved the bikes and packs out to the street. Pam stayed with the stuff while I went out to Carlos Luis Danin to try and flag down a cab. I would have thought I would any luck at that at 3:45am, but there were lots of cabs and most of them had a fare already. It didn't take long to find one without a fare and we were on our way. $5 for a trip to the airport and we were there by 4:00am. Two hours until flight time. 

We grabbed a cart and loaded the stuff and headed for the COPA desk. We were intercepted by a scam to wrap luggage in Saran Wrap to "protect" it. They made it sound like it was a requirement and we swallowed the hook. We took the wrapped boxes over to the COPA desk. The agent, who spoke very good English got us squared away. Even though both boxes were a hair over 20kgs, we were given a pass on the overage fees. She asked me to place the boxes with the bikes onto a special cart for over-sized luggage, as it was handled differently. I asked if I needed to take the cart anywhere and she assured me that someone was going to come get it soon. 

We wandered down through security for the rest of our stuff and went and had something to eat for breakfast. By the time we got to the gate, they were calling my name to gate desk. Lucky me, my box had been chosen at random to undergo a narcotics check. I went down the stairs as instructed and then waited while others with such luck were having their exploded suitcases picked through in detail looking for drugs. 

I felt so relieved that the company who scammed me with the plastic wrap were going to re-wrap the box for free after inspection. At least, I cost them a buck or two in added expenses by having my bag checked by the narc agents. 

I instructed the agent how to best unpack the box. He cut the tape and I unboxed it. we went through the top tube after he put at least three scores in the paint with his knife blade to determine if there was anything in there. We pulled out the spare inner tube and wad of small bills that I had put in there for emergencies. I kept the wad of about $50 and put it in my pocket. I repacked the box and we taped it back up together. It was on the conveyor before I turned to go back upstairs. 

When I got to the gate, Pam was waiting for me as everyone pretty much had loaded. There was 10-15 minutes before the plane was scheduled to take off. 

The ticket agent in Guayaquil had said that we needed to make sure and collect the bikes in Las Vegas and Re-check them with Alaska for the final trip to Seattle. We had our stubs in a safe place and made plans for this transaction.

Panama City was nothing more than an extended bathroom break before we boarded on the other side of the same terminal that we arrived from Guayaquil. I will say that American domestic carriers are crap for service in comparison to our international legs of the trip. They fed us free, decent food without extortion and that included good wine and liquor if we so desired. It made for a very pleasant set of flights. 

When we arrived in Las Vegas, the line for US Residence folks was very short indeed. We were one of the first ones at carousel 29. The bags were still coming out of chute when we got there. We waited for the carousel to go a few times around before we walked around the carousel to see if the boxes were already on the floor. Nothing. Pam went and talked to the Virgin Air luggage folks to see if they knew what we needed to do. The general concensus was that there was supposed to be an attendant at our carousel too, but there was none to be found. We were advised to not leave until we had all of our luggage, as it would just sit there for who knows how long. 

We waited. And waited some more. All the Virgin flight from England had picked up all of their luggage. All of the luggage,  but for a few bags of the Panama City flight had been picked up. We were the last ones waiting at the carousel when finally someone from COPA was walking through picking up the remnants. We explained our situation. He took our stubs. He called to have the plane checked and to verify that all bags were off the plane. We heard back on the radio that the plane was empty. He made a couple of phone calls. He was confident that the boxes made it on the plane at Guayaquil, because he always got a call when freight didn't make it on the flight it was supposed to be on. I took pictures of the front and back of each stub just in case I didn't get them back. 

We were instructed by Julio to go to the Re-check desk and complete a claim on the lost goods. We met Julio's counterpart and she began to help up fill out the claim form. When we mentioned that we had another leg of our journey to go still, she realized that Las Vegas wasn't our end destination. She thought that we actually needed to fill out the claim in Seattle, otherwise we would have to travel to the airport to pick up the bikes. If the claim was filled out in Seattle, then COPA would ensure that they got to Seattle and then delivered to our home. Julio confirmed this, but the other gal called her supervisor just confirm again. Three-strikes says that was the proper way to complete the claim form--in Seattle. We thanked them both and headed for the security gates.

We got our boarding passes from the agent, as the system seemed to think that we had two other pieces of luggage and wanted to extract some fee from us. Since we didn't have the luggage, it was confused. Now, we were ready for security. 

The trip to Seattle took an extra half hour due to having to go around thunderstorms. It was still a rough ride though.