Outside the terminal doors a cone-shaped, orange flag was blowing against a mountainous backdrop. The wind indicator was only on the periphery of my attention, though, as I was focused on the perfect ratio of grated ginger, cinnamon, cayenne pepper and number of 100% cacao squares I was going to whisk together before even unpacking when I walked back into my apartment. I was vaguely aware of the absence of any plane that would charter me back home to enjoy dessert for dinner...until muffled, staticky Spanish prompted Michelle to turn towards me with an eyebrow raised. Cancelado, Guayaquil and avion crackled through the microphone, though the message in its entirety was quite unclear. My Ecua Older Sis, as I like to call Miche, walked over to the desk to gain some clarity and came back guffawing at the news. Well, it's too windy for the incoming plane to land here right now, so they've sent it to Guayaquil to hang out for a bit. I sighed heavily because this meant postponing my chocolate consumption. After twiddling our thumbs for 20-odd minutes, the news man came on the microphone again. While our fluency in crackle-Spanish had not improved in this time, the collective groan from the other passengers was an indication of the situation having gone further awry. Michelle marched back over to the desk and reported that There are no lights on this runway (though the airport had just been renovated) and as we are approaching dusk the plane will not be able to land this evening. Also, there is no room on another flight until Tuesday. The voiceover in my head then went something like This pickle brought to you by This South American Life. I stared blankly at Michelle for a few moments, unable to conjure Plan B. She, on the other hand, had already whipped together our next move. Before too long, well, before kind of long as we had to wait in line to confirm our place on the Tuesday flight, we were making our way back from the airport in Loja to the tranquil town of Vilcabamba.
Michelle and I had landed in Vilcabamba on Friday morning as she'd read about its mystère. Known by the Incas as the Sacred Valley, a number of Vilcabambans have lived to see the turning of a century, making "the balmy air synonymous with longevity." So, in truth, while a longer stay had not been scheduled, the Absent Airplane had now made for an unfortunately fortunate turn of events.
As the taxi pulled back into Izhcayluma, I waved at my nos vemos that still hung in the air from all of five hours ago. So, here we were, getting cozy in the Land of Longevity, settling in to Round Deux.
This following is most definitely a plug for this pueblito...
While mountain climbing is my thing here in Ecuador, Michelle's thing everywhere is horseback riding. My last experience with her and her mane-y friends was in Monpiche last fall. That experience was not desirous of repeating, so when Michelle threw out the equestrian card I was a bit hesitant. Vilcabamba's cabello aficionado happened to be around our hosteria on Friday morning, so we had the opportunity to chat him up a bit. By his appearance, it did not seem that he would likely own horses with ticks and flees, nor would it be suggested that we corral the horses ourselves or ride bareback, so I felt fairly sound in a decision to give it another shot. This was a wise decision. The morning looked like this...
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| Cass gets coined the trendiest Baci sister, but I think I may be on to her style here...#readytoride. |
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| Cowgirl at heart |
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| More of breathtaking Ecuador |
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| Holgar. The fresh air and views and horses-que estan bien educados-and organic coffee that his tour offers will certainly add years, or at the very least, memorable moments to your life.
Now, if being in the saddle has one a little sore, Izhcayluma has some yoga for that. (And a kick-ass spa where you can score a 75-minute massage for $22...this may be precisely why there is an expanding expat population.)
Here is the Yoga Shala, the beautiful space and vista for aligning your chakras. Photo credit: Izhcayluma.
After the aforementioned activities, and a good meal (or two), Michelle and I felt keen to check out whatever night life Vilcabamba offered. I didn't have high expectations, per se, but one of the women working the check-in at Izhcayluma had talked up an event at the church across the street. It seems we had arrived on a weekend that celebrates the Virgin of Fatima. She enthusiastically talked about a night including a choreographed dance and music and general merry-making, so Michelle and I trekked the short distance a la iglesia to find...this...
There is music coming from that stage, and difficult to depict the whole scene in this photo, there are loads of townspeople gathered here. Staring at one another. Then staring at the empty space...a void these niños finally decided to fill with some cartwheels and games. I, the rule-obliging hermanita, kept silently willing my hips to lie, lie still that is, while Michelle, a bit more of the line-pushing rebel, was just trying to decide which note would be the best to break out her first move and see what party she could get started. Before she set out on this solo endeavor, we ran into our friend from the hostería, who was with a group of other gringas. We joined forces and started moving our groove things, but to no avail. After several songs of being the only objects of interest, a scenario that just generally makes me feel awkward, Michelle and I decided our beds and our books would be a more interesting scene. Perhaps this is another key to the valley's longevity. More rest, and more sleep. Except...except the music played until 2 am. And then played all the next day. An eclectic mix of hip-hop, bachata and new age Christian songs. And then this continued for three more nights. So much for the land of little noise pollution as Michelle had read. The last night of our stay, which was the 2nd extra night, the music was punctuated by very intermittent...bombs? shot guns firing? No, it turned out they were fireworks, but all of the extra life we had gained from the fresh air, organic food and activity in nature seemed to evaporate with each spasmodic BOOM, causing our hearts to palpitate and thrash against our ribs.
This, my friends, is quintessential Ecuador. You're standing in tree pose, listening to the chickadees chirp, breathing in the freshest mountain air, working on aligning your chakras...while the refrain of LMFAO's "I'm Sexy and I Know It" blares in the near distance. You've just finished a fine meal of locro con queso and hornado, which has gone down the pipe deliciously...but will soon awake you from your slumber with gastronomical Ecuadorian surprise. You're immersed in Michael Pollan's latest, greatest read, nestled in a cozy bed with wine by your side...when people start playing with pyrotechnics outside your door.
And herein lies the life lesson: choose what enters your consciousness. Or perhaps allow it all into your consciousness, welcome it all in even, but choose where to put your focus. Our departure, which did take place on Tuesday evening, was an excellent time to put into practice this wisdom. You could center yourself on the unsteady angle of the plane's wing...or you could observe the patchwork beauty below...
...and just as I'm finishing up here, fireworks are going off outside my window. Because this is Quito. En punto, Quito. En punto.
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“If you are irritated by every rub, how will your mirror be polished?”
― Rumi
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