Bacichx in Quito, the Sequel: Choose Your Own Adventure

They came back, they saw more than Quito, and they conquered some fears of perishing on the switchback roads of Ecuador. Ha, who am I kidding...we all feel like we might have used up one or two of our nine lives this past weekend. Conquering fears not so much; uttering words of gratitude for surviving crazy car rides is closer to the truth.

A mere three weeks ago I was sitting in my classroom when an email appeared on my screen. Linds had sent me the confirmation of her ticket to come and visit again. Cass quickly followed suit. I was immediately giddy, and I immediately began plotting how I was going to get the hermanas outside of the city this time to experience something more authentic of Ecuador. Mindo came to mind, but chocolate is more my passion than theirs. As far as favorite past-times go, these ladies will take you on a killer shopping spree (in fact, Linds did for my 30th birthday), so without further ado I booked a room at La Luna in Otavalo for the three of us and Ana. They were going to be hard-pressed to turn down a stay near the biggest artisanal market in the country, and a quick jaunt to some inexpensive leather goods in Cotacachi.

My sister sense was right on. The hermanas arrived late Thursday night and by Friday afternoon we were piled in Fanny's car with Ana, trying to beat traffic out of the city. Unfortunately we didn't. If all goes as planned--and having now spent 15 months in South America you'd think I would have banished that word from my vocabulary altogether--the drive is two hours. After four hours of fighting traffic, and then asking five people how to find La Luna, we had arrived to our rustic and quaint hostel, more than ready for vino and pizza.

We rose rather early Saturday morning to get our shop on.

Bacichx in Ecuador: keeping the economy alive since 2014

After a number of hours at the market, and then dropping plenty of dolla dolla bills in Cotacachi, we met Fanny back at La Luna to begin the drive back to Quito. I had made reservations at Rumiloma for some fine dining and a great view of the city. Departing Otavala at 3 pm, I felt certain the drive home would be less eventful and we would arrive back at 5:30 to prep and primp.

The real fun starts here, folks. It was smooth sailing for maybe 45 minutes. Then we ran into pilgrims returning to Quito after having walked the 60 km from the big city to Quinche to pay homage to la virgen there. What do you think happened next?

                          Adventure #1: Saved by Ecuadorian Bomberos                        

Adventure #2: Motorcycle Diaries

Adventure #3: The Indy 500 in Ecuador

Adventure #2

Our hearts all sank as the car exhales our heavy groans. I feel somehow responsible as I'd put out into the universe a desire for my sisters to experience Ecuador in a truer, more bona fide manner. And here we have it.

Initially we find a bit of humor in the devils and grim reapers at the back of the pack that were supposedly protecting the rest of the pilgrims. After crawling behind the good Christians--who were sprawled across the entire two-lane road--for nearly an hour, our patience wanes. As I am looking at my watch, acknowledging that we aren't going to make it back in time to make our dinner reservation, four motorcycles surround the car. Irritation quickly gives way to a feeling of excitement as this guy peers down into my open window:

Am I dreaming here?!

I come up short for words but bat my eyelashes and gave him my best "damsel in distress" look. As my Spanish vocabulary is utterly inaccessible here, Ana swiftly begins conversing with my McDreamy. As luck would have it, Buenaventura and his compadres are also heading towards Quito. They offer up their shuttle services, assuring us that they will get us back to the city at the speed of light, but safely too, of course.

Before I know it, my arms are gleefully wrapped around my newfound friend. The wind is whipping through my hair and we swerve through the throng of pilgrims. and this moment is oh so much sexier than when I was hurtling down the beach on that crazy horse mere weeks ago. The grin on my face grows as I throw my head back and laugh.

Ahh, alas, this is merely a daydream I imagined as I was squirming in my seat, antsy to get home. Here's the truth of it...

Adventure #1

Our hearts all sank as the car exhaled our heavy groans. I felt somehow responsible as I'd put out into the universe a desire for my sisters to experience Ecuador in a truer, more bona fide manner. And here we had it.

Initially we found a bit of humor in the devils and grim reapers at the back of the pack that were supposedly protecting the rest of the pilgrims. After crawling behind the good Christians--who were sprawled across the entire two-lane road--for nearly an hour, our patience waned. Suddenly, we heard the wailing of sirens behind us. A firetruck was barreling towards us. I began frantically looking around, trying to locate the fire that had clearly prompted the truck's rapid arrival. As I was whipping my head from side to side, craning to see out all of the windows, the truck screeched to a halt...right behind Fanny's car. Before we could put together what was happening, the firefighters were hopping down from the truck and knocking on the doors to the car. Feeling quite perplexed and somewhat alarmed, we all began to gingerly open our doors. Any hesitation and confusion I felt swiftly turned into something more thrilling when my eyes fell upon the faces and bods of these fine firefighters.

I was too flustered to ask for a photo at the time, but essentially our saviors looked like this.

Any greetings I may have offered these hombres never managed to materialize in my scrambled brain. Ana took the reigns here and asked the gentlemen why they had come hammering on our doors. Clearly there was no smoke coming out of Fanny´s car´s engine. The guapo I will liken to Rodrigo Santoro (from my favorite holiday movie, Love Actually) explained that the men had gotten a call that there were cinco mujeres looking quite distressed in a grey Oldsmobile ´89. There was nothing for them to do but to come to our rescue. De ley. I was swooning by this point. Finally, finally a good story featuring Latin men to write home about. A story that has potential to end up on the other blog.

My memory is a bit foggy, but somehow in the next minutes the following transpired:
Cass, Ana, Linds and I end up riding in the firetruck as the bomberos have promised to transport us back to Quito in their big, red, powerful firetruck. Trying to keep together an air of sophistication and composure, the four of us can't help but let out school girl giggles as the driver turns on the siren. The pilgrims part like the Red Sea for Moses and we began sailing towards Quito in style.

Bwahahaha. Jejejeje. I so wish this would have been the case, but it's merely the fiction I was writing while we were enduring the following...

Adventure #3

The Truth. So much less exhilarating than the fantasies I was fabricating in my mind for the five hours it took before we, thankfully, safely arrived en mi casa. 

As soon as we came up to the sea of pilgrims, we halted to a stop. We proceeded to creep forward at a snail's pace of about three kilometers per hour. After about 90 minutes, Linds and I concluded that since we couldn't beat this, we'd make like pilgrims ourselves. In addition to being able to stretch our legs as we walked alongside Grim the Reaper, as Linds called the darkly dressed dude, this would also prove to be wise, I believe, as la virgen del Quinche keeps souls safe from serious accidents. She's a popular woman amongst taxi and truck drivers. We'd soon be needing her protection.

After walking for some time, it seemed the pilgrims were stopping to gather in a pueblecito para festejar. Hopping back into the car, we grew hopeful, but the police truck that pulled in front of us and parked sideways to block traffic from proceeding dashed those hopes in a jiffy. By this point there is a cacophony of horns honking. Behind us something is about to go down, it seems, as several police officers rush to a group of angry men who have gotten out of their vehicles. Suddenly Ana is speaking to Fanny frantically. ¡Vaya! ¡Vaya! ¡Con confianza, Fanny, con confianza! Ana bellows as she directs Fanny to go around the parked police truck and make a break for it. Without hesitation, Fanny whips around the truck and we're yipping for joy, cheering her on. Hearts a-racing, we glance backwards to see if we're being followed, but all of the officers are busy trying to calm the angry mob from rioting.

So here we are having something of a celebratory dance party in the car for the next 30 kilometers. Around 6 pm, actually 6:03 to be exact, we are nearing the city limits, and we can nearly see the lights of the city beckoning us home. But what do we happen upon? Police officers shutting down the main autopista into Quito...because the pilgrims will eventually be making their way down that road. The road shut down at 6 pm sharp and wouldn't you know that this is the one thing that runs on time here. The police officer points us in the opposite direction and explains we will have to enter the city through Mitad del Mundo. Unbeknownst to us at this time, this will cost us another hour and a half. A collective groan is once again expelled from the car as we turn around, the city lights now turning into merely a mirage.

Fanny chooses this time to begin training for some big Nascar races. Actually, Cass aptly articulates that it's like we've been unwillingly transported into a game of Mario Kart.

Maybe this is fun if you're in your basement with one hand in a bowl of popcorn,
but it's really not that cool to be in Mario's kart. 

By this time it is dark, we're on the most winding roads I have experienced in Ecuador, and there aren't any roadside lights. Cass, sitting shotgun, is repeatedly uttering, "I just want to live...I just want to live." The three of us in back grip hands.

Yes, la virgen de Quinche is surely with us because we do arrive in one piece, at 8 pm, to my door. We've missed our original reservation, but I've got another nice Ecuadorian restaurant in mind and at 9 pm we are, joined by Michelle and short one Ana, walking down a street in La Mariscal towards Achiote. I reach to open the door, but it is locked. The lights are on in the restaurant, and many people are dining, but after speaking to a woman on the intercom, it is closed to any additional diners.

In a fit of exasperation, I whip around and see Cats, a restaurant I've never eaten at, but it's going to do at this time or else my nickname Jaws is gonna get real. Sipping our beverages, we decide that the only way to further cleanse ourselves of the built-up tension is to shake our booties at Bungalow.

Yep, dancing always does it. We returned to my apartment several hours later much saner sisters.

The rest of the trip was much less eventful and there were no complaints about that. Linds and Cass came with me to school on Monday; objections the students did not utter as they welcomed mis hermanas guapas into the classroom with flowers and big grins.

The sisters returned to the States this morning, in time to celebrate Thanksgiving back home. I'm off to Mindo to celebrate with my fellow extranjeros this weekend.

I turn to the words of Thoreau here:
“I am grateful for what I am and have. My thanksgiving is perpetual. It is surprising how contented one can be with nothing definite - only a sense of existence. Well, anything for variety. I am ready to try this for the next ten thousand years, and exhaust it. How sweet to think of! my extremities well charred, and my intellectual part too, so that there is no danger of worm or rot for a long while. My breath is sweet to me. O how I laugh when I think of my vague indefinite riches. No run on my bank can drain it, for my wealth is not possession but enjoyment.” 

Mi amor a ti.

Jame

Riding bareback en la playa

This week's post is brought to you in part by photographer Charles Denson.

Last weekend a group of us escaped the rainy season here in the highlands of Ecuador as we road-tripped it to Mompiche, playa numero cuatro for me.

When I was in Puerto Lopez last June (la playa que yo prefiero mas que las otras) I was reflecting on the contrasts between the beaches of Ecuador and the beaches of my adolescence, which were spent in Mexico. This latest vaca allowed me to further ponder how these playas, or my experiences at them, are really quite divergent.

First, arrival to the spring break Mexican beaches was uneventful, at least as far as my memory serves me. Arrival to Ecuadorian beaches, not so much. We stayed at Cabañas del Mar in Mompiche, a lovely hostal with delicious seafood...

which also happens to be tide-locked several times a day. Wouldn't you know that we arrived on Friday evening after the tide had come in and wouldn't be retreating for some four odd hours. The owner of the hostal (an incredibly dreamy hombre who unfortunately had five children) met us in the town so that we could swim and walk the two miles to the hostal. I am a bit embarrassed to admit that rather than stuffing my things in a hiking pack, I had my heavier, clunkier carry-on suitcase. (And I'm the most low-maintenance Baci sister.) Priapus was sweet enough to carry my suitcase over his head while I paddled behind him.

So that's that. Now let's talk del mar. From my experience, Mexico's turquoise ocean is teeming with tropical fishes that awe you with their brilliant colors...and the occasional barracuda that chases you out of the water and forces you to flop down on the sand with some chips and guac and a Corona. In contrast, Mompiche's beach is brimming with jellyfish. Thousands and thousands of little jellyfish. And flopping down on the sand with an ice cold Pilsener doesn't prove a refuge from the terrible tentacles; even the dead jellyfish that litter the sand can sting you and leave you itching for hours. Unless of course one of your friends is kind enough to Rossify you. You are now left with one option: engage in a competitive game of Beersbie.

While the frisbee may hurtle into your shins, at least you will have escaped the need to ask your friend to pee on your various sting spots.

We move on to beachside activities. While nursing beersbie bruises, we ponder what other diversions we might engage in at this secluded beach. Michelle, quite the caballera, has checked into horseback riding. Images of paseo a caballo on the beach in Cozumel surface. It was a beautiful experience as my dad, Linds and our friend Joey meandered along the ocean. On well-trained horses. With a guide. These are important details. Musing on this pleasant experience, I sign on for another horseback riding excursion, as do Charles, Alli, Prissy, Justin and Matt. Rebecca--20-some weeks pregnant-- Patrick, Chris, Greg, Luke and Cait deem sipping piña coladas out of pineapples a better option. Wise folk, they are.

On this I expound further...

Come Saturday morning, our adventurous group treks back down the beach into town. No swimming necessary as we have timed this much better than our arrival into Mompiche. After a welcome 30-minute walk, we find ourselves at Lucia's little outdoor tienda. She is taking us to the finca where we will choose our horses. First, we count seven dogs and a number more cats. Justin and Pris are already scratching their eyes. As we march behind Lucia, she explains that none of the guides wanted to work on this holiday weekend, so we'll be free to guide ourselves. A slight sense of foreboding creeps into my chest. Michelle reassures the group that her work on various Canadian ranches fully qualifies her to be our escort. I've seen Michelle on a horse. She has good command and control, but still my anxiety increases.

When we enter the little ranch area where the horses are housed, the situation becomes laughable in a #thisSouthAmericanlife kind of way. We come to find that we aren't just choosing our horses, but we are also rounding them up.

As Michelle and Lucia work on cornering and lassoing the horses, the rest of us are left with a bucket of their food, which entices the horses to nuzzle up to those of us with little caballo experience, those of us who may or may not be a bit timid when the horses come sniffing our ears and noses.

After about 45 minutes of this scene, we have enough horses for the whole group. What we don't have are saddles. Here begins my first bareback riding experience. As we make our way from finca to la playa, I grip my horse's short mane like a child hanging on to her first lollipop. Except with less excitement.

By the time we finally reach the beach, the sun is going down. We begin this part of the ride by sauntering towards the east and as I look back towards the west, I catch a glimpse of a stunning cotton candy sunset.

I breath into this moment and it's good that I appreciate it because it lasts all of 30 seconds. Soon, Michelle is suggesting we try a little trotting. I am apprehensive but all of my other amigos are game and Michelle reassures me that, while I may feel nervous, I am projecting confidence. I wonder what the horse senses. After explaining that we should trot single file so that the horses do not feel inclined to race, Michelle gives her horse a signal to kick it up a notch. As a former track girl, I get the need for speed. I understand the desire to compete. So does my horse. It doesn't matter that we began behind Michelle, my horse immediately begins to gallop. Suppressing shrieks of "¡¡Ayúdame!!," I manage to slow my horse, turn abruptly to Michelle and explain that I am about ready to walk my horse back to Lucia. How this conversation turns into an agreement to canter (because galloping is easier than trotting), I am not sure. I think it was a silly moment of "this could make for a good story for the blog" which, to be clear, is nothing like "if I do this, then I can post it on Facebook."

Like good primary teachers, we get our horses back in a single file line. At this point Alli and her horse are behind me. I have not yet mentioned that, euphemistically speaking, Alli's horse is a bit ornery and anti-social. We begin slowly. I'm practicing my yoga breathing. I can sense Alli and her horse creeping up. Tailgating is not desirable here. We've been instructed to keep our horses a horse length apart, so my apprehension increases. Without warning, Alli's horse bites my horse's ass and without further ado my horse takes off. I didn't sign up to participate in the the Kentucky Derby, but it seems my horse believes her training starts now. Hanging on for my life, I am now. audibly. shrieking. My heart is racing and, just as I did on a mountain in Montana, thoughts of not saying my final goodbyes to friends and family fly through my mind. The wind is whipping through my hair--though not in a sexy or exhilarating way--as I contemplate fight or flight. My horse clearly chose flight. Does that mean I go fight? Before I make any final decisions, Michelle is racing up on my right as the ocean is on my left. She begins to cut my horse off poco a poco and push us towards the water. Soon, water is splashing up my legs. My horse's velocidad has significantly decreased and I essentially throw myself into el mar. At this point, bring on the jelly fish because they are a better alternative than death by horse hooves. As I am submerged in water, the others come a-cantering into the ocean as well. Alli's night in shining armor bursts onto the scene wielding the machete. (Right, I forgot to mention Lucia handed Charles the cleaver when we entered the finca. Yes, bushwhacking was also part of the roundup.)

Do I laugh here? Do I cry? I compromised with both as Charles valiantly delivers the following: If a shark writes himself into this story, I´ve got your back!

To cut to the chase now, we've just passed the climax. The falling action? In the oscuridad of this noche loca we manage to get all of the horses back to Lucia, me dripping wet, soppily walking next to my horse the whole way back. The sea and sky gods are kind enough to keep the tide out long enough for us to return to our hostal without any swimming. We indulge in all manner of seafood and tropical drinks as we recount the story to our happy and dry friends who have spent the day sunbathing on the beach.

The clincher: As we are enjoying our final breakfast the next morning, I find a horse tick on my hand, its head embedded in the webbing between my fingers.

I start inspecting the rest of my exposed body to find that another tick has nestled its way into the skin behind my knee. I leave you with this final image: Michelle, Justin and I running toward the ocean, stripping down as we go, to dive into the salty sea water in order to dislodge any of these terrible vermin that have hidden themselves in our piel. Not so much the resolution I was hoping for, but certainly an experience that will lend itself to many laughs in the future.

As I write this latest post with humor, I must sign off here on a more serious note. Returning from the jungle last weekend, four of our friends were in a terrible bus accident. Please send your good energy and prayers the way of Brenda, David, Mallory and Josh. Josh was the most severely injured and was flown back to the States. Please visit Josh's fund in order to support his recovery.

Sending love out to you all,

Jame