Dodging Landslides- Ecuador to Peru (part one)

Chachapoyas, Peru- The memory of easy living just two weeks ago in the Galapagos Islands is rapidly fading away. I’m on a different planet now. Peru. Finally. It hasn´t been easy getting here.

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Without really knowing what was going to happen with the protests against the TLC, I took a chance and flew back to Quito from the Galapagos islands. No problem. The indigenous coalitions announced a respite for Holy Week (Semana Santa) and I decided to take advantage of that to stick to my original plan of heading into Peru through the Andean highlands, thereby avoiding the notorious border crossing on the coast. I made it to the lovely city of Cuenca, and then further on south through winding brilliantly green mountains to the small village of Vilcabamba- a traveler´s haven in the valley of eternal spring. (typical storefront in Cuenca to the left)

Vilcabamba will suck you in and refuse to spit you out. Surrounded by verdant fruitful mountains with loads of paths leading into some of the most ecologically diverse forest in the Andes, it is also home to a pack of hostels, with travelers tending to gather in the cafes along the central plaza to laugh and smoke and drink and swap stories. And play Jenga.

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(The hills around Vilcabamba to the right) A crew of expats from various countries make their homes here, and tend to keep the passing travelers well-occupied (particularly Mick, the mad Englishman. But you will have to ask me in person about Mick). The “water of life” that springs from the nearby hillsides is said to improve longevity, with some of the residents in the area living many years beyond the norm. I stayed twice as long as planned. Many stay for weeks or years.

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The Galapagos Islands- Part Two (with videos!)

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The Angelito I is a 70ft ¨tourist superior¨ Galapagos yacht that hosts 16 passengers in double-bunk rooms (with private bathrooms) and is run by a crew of 8 (Captain, Cook, waiter/barman, mechanic, 2 sailors, cabin boy/cook’s helper, cabin-girl-in-training- all residents of Puerto Ayora). We also had along an excellent bilingual naturalist guide named Efraìn. I was late for the boat. Whereas everyone else flew directly from Quito or Guayaquil to meet Efraín at the airport in Baltra, I was already on the islands and had to get from Puerto Ayora across Santa Cruz Island to meet them. The bus left at 7am. Very late the night before I let some Brits talk me into skipping the bus and taking a taxi with them ($15) at the last possible minute. Bad idea. They were late, then had to get to the super-mercado to pick up some rum for their cruise on a different (very budget) boat, then had to pick up another friend at a hostel. When I finally arrived at the airport, everyone else was already on the ship, and one sort of frantic-looking crew member was walking around the airport calling out “¿Angelito?”

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But I made it onboard, along with 15 other people of all shapes, sizes, and ages from Switzerland, Italy, Canada, Norway, Holland/Greece, the UK, Oakland CA, Long Island, and of course, Minnesota. It comes down to this: by the end of day eight the mother/daughter team from Norway was by far the tannest, followed by the young women from Italy. They worked hard for this, spending many hours lying in the sun atop the forward deck. Amongst the remaining amateurs, the hilarious retired couple from Holland/Greece came next, although a lack of discretion in applying sunscreen lent a decidedly rosy hue to their “tanned” hides. The Brits, Canadians, and Americans fell in last, varying between pasty, crispy, and ¨pretty tan for a bunch of gringos”. I believe that I, being Norwegian by heritage, made a respectable showing and will claim first place amongst the native English speakers. (Those of you who were on the boat may weigh in with your opinion below). Continue reading

The Galapagos Islands- Part One

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There is a very strong movement amongst Los Indìgenas in Ecuador against the ratification of the free trade agreements (TLC) with the US. They are fighting for their lives, afraid that if barriers to international trade and investment are lifted, big multinational/US companies will buy off all agricultural land and rights and the traditional subsistence farming and small market life of the campesinos will be destroyed. A particulary strong group, CONAIE (The Confederation of Indigenous Nationalities) has been openly challenging the presidency of Alfredo Palacio, demanding transparency and a national referendum on the TLC, and threatening a massive uprising if the agreements are ratified without their participation. Stakes is high. Over the last few weeks, CONAIE and other groups have staged strikes throughout the Sierra (mountain) provinces, shutting down all major roads, including the panamerican highway, for days at a time.

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Due to the strikes, I was stuck in Baños for over a week. No one could get in, no one could get out. When I did manage to get back to Quito, the streets were full of national police in riot gear. Tensions were running high. Hunger strikers were camped out in the center of the Old City. (I was staying on a third floor terrace in an old decrepit hostel overlooking much of this, for $2.50 per night- but that is another story) It seemed like things could get hot. The strikes were preventing me from getting out of the country by bus. I decided to bite the very expensive bullet and spend a couple weeks away from the madness- in the Galapagos islands. (Pinnacle Rock from Bartolomè Island pictured left, marine iguana above)
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The Quilotoa Loop

Quilotoa, Ecuador The stretch of Quito continues on for half an hour or more as I head south by bus to Latacunga, diesel fumes slowly painting the small tiendas and casas gray. Rough concrete block is the dominant theme.

Once in Latacunga, I am suddenly the only gringo in town, as I settle down for some lasagna swimming in a tray of bubbling cheese in a small restaurant alongside the beautiful central park. It´s Friday night and the place is buzzing with teens cruising, couples making out, reggaeton, and some sort of political car parade, horns blasting. Cops are everywhere, stopping cars and searching them.

Up early the next morning to catch the bus to Zumbahua, and after a couple hours climbing into the picture-perfect Andean mountainside, I am once again suddenly in another world. This is el campo, the country, rural, remote, home of the Quichua-speaking idigenous folk. This Saturday market is not for tourists (I´m the only one), rather it is a trading center for the campesinos who have come miles from small villages and home-plots to buy and sell the things they need to live.

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Bread, vegetables, herbs, clothes, hardware, beans, music, llamas, pigs, chickens, piles of guts on open tables warming up close to the sun. All for sale. The bronze-skinned, wrinkled, tough, stalky, rooted women look beautiful in their felt hats, very long coal-black braided hair wrapped tightly in multi-colored woven bands. The solid red, or green, or blue shawls covering elaborate embroidered blouses or T-shirts. Black skirts. Knee-high socks of various shades and patterns pulled up tight. Simple thin black shoes, some appear plastic, offering no support and little defense. The oldest of the women are barefoot. The men in slacks, button-down shirts, and light jackets. Continue reading