The Party Never Ends in Perú

Thursday September 25. Huanchaco, Peru.



The bright sun doesn’t let me sleep in very late. We eat our breakfasts looking over the ocean. Mmmm… fresh tropical fruit, a girl could get used to this.




I found the market by accident. Smaller than in other cities, but well stocked with plenty of fruits, veggies, and meats. I got the makings of a great lunch for only a few dollars. Down by the beach, the wind was fierce and gave me goosebumbs. We climbed up to the church on a hill for the view of sand-colored houses and blue ocean. By afternoon, the sun was full and bright. I lay in the sun, half-asleep listening to the waves.

Huanchaco is a surfing town. When we walk down the street, the store owners will come out to try to sell us a day of surfing. They’ll even come across the street to get us! Nate’s not feeling great and I don’t want to try surfing on my own, so I stick to swimming. But I don’t last long in the chilly water.

We share the kitchen at dinner time. On the menu: a hearty potato, carrot, rice soup with fresh bread. And some eggs and avocados.

Beer for me. Fanta for Nate. Playing card games for both of us. Early night to prepare for an early morning.

Friday September 26. Huanchaco, Peru.

The alarm demands attention at 6:40am. We struggle out of bed and into warm clothes. The sky is light as we head down to the pier. Our breakfast glides to shore in a tiny one-person boat. We crowd around with about 5 other people. I point to the one I want, cuánto cuesta? 3 soles as he hands me the catch. Tada! Our breakfast is served!

But... um… slight problem as neither Nate or I know how to gut the fish or fillet it properly. We take it to the market, put a pathetic look on our faces and tell a stall owner that we don’t know how to clean the fish. One guy overhears our conversation, grabs the fish and a knife and heads outside. Outside the market he scales the fish with quick sporatic flicks of the knife into the back of a garbage truck. Next he slices it open and starts taking all the gooey fish parts out. When he’s finished, he rinses it and sticks it in the bag. We smile and thank him. What an awesome friendly man! We grab some bread and head back to cook our fish!

But… um… slight problem as neither Nate or I know how to fillet or cook fish. We take the kitchen’s dull, but only knife and set to work. I messily start taking the fish apart. Whack! First the head. Slice. Then the fins and bones. It wasn’t a pretty sight, but it worked. Give me a few more tries and I’ll have it down.

Mmmm… within an hour the fish came out of the water and was on our plates. Can’t get any fresher than that! And it was tender and delicious with a little bit of lime and salt.

After such an early morning, a nap was in order. Nate wasn’t feeling superb, so he slept until a pancake breakfast gave him enough sugar to perk up. With our bags packed, we hopped on a Trujillo-bound combi. It bounced along mercilessly tossing us around its metallic insides. We clung tightly to our bags since we had heard some rumors about shifty characters patrolling these combis. Even though the bus was mostly filled with school children, you can never be too careful.


The ayudante let us know when we arrived at the intersection of España and Independencia. We walked the three blocks in search of a specific hostel. We got a room on the top floor with a communal balcony.



A perimeter walk got us to the Plaza de Armas. The streets were hectic and left me feeling rather claustrophobic. We finally found a restaurant for dinner. After buying some munchie supplies from the supermercado, we settled in our hotel room to watch Barack Obama trounce John McCain in the first presidential debate.

Saturday, September 27. Trujillo, Peru


We woke up lazily. We turned our backs on the pricey tourist breakfast places and found some empanadas for breakfast. A parade went by on the calle de independencia.



A taxi took us to the bus company office of American Express. We caught a grungy bus for Chimbato. I asked the driver to let us off near the colectivos to Casma. We hopped a colectivo and sped off.

Why are we going to Casma? Well, it cuts our trip to Lima by a third and nobody likes long bus rides. Plus, there are some well preserved ruins of Sechín to go to near there. We pulled into town and got dropped off at the door of our hostel.

Lunch at a restaurante chifa (chinese food) with very friendly owners. mmm... Peruvian word of the day, tallarín= pasta. I had thought it was some kind of meat!

The sun was setting as we walked the streets looking for a bike-rental place. All of a sudden we heard a very accented "hello, how are you?" We are used to that by now. People always throw whatever English they have at Nate, but this guy seemed nice enough. We stopped and talked.

The guy's name was Peter and he was a moto-rickshaw driver. We stood there talking for a while. He said that he would find bikes for us. He sped off and we returned to our hotel room.

That night there was a parade (every night is a party here in Peru!) with firecrackers and everything. We followed it for a while, exploring a new part of town. On the walk back to the hotel, we got a couple DVDs.

Peter picked us up and we saw the bikes. Bargained. Test rode them. Bargained. At the end everyone was satisfied. It was settled we'd start biking at 9am!

Went to bed promptly after we watched a Colombian movie.

Chiclayo, Lambayeque, Túcume, Trujillo, Huanchaco. Whew.

We get up leisurely on Tuesday, September 23. After milling around the hotel, we set out around 11:20am. We wander the bustling streets in search of food. We’re caught in the awkward time between desayuno and almuerzo. We walk the friendly streets. A kid offers to give Nate’s sneakers a shoeshine!

Nestled in the hardware district of the city, we find a plastic chairs and broken tables restaurant. We greet (and are greeted) by the beer-drinking locals. Beer drinking? But it’s before noon! We eat the surprisingly delicious food (although Nate says if he has fried chicken one more time…!) for $1 apiece. We head over to the coletivos to Lambayeque. My mind is still thinking in dollars when I hear the price. What? 2? No way! Oh, 2 soles, yea I guess that’s a good deal. We hop in and speed off toward Lambayeque.

What’s in Lambayeque? A giant museum shaped like ancient pyramid tombs of the Lord of Sipán filled with recently excavated treasure. The museum was dark and contained lots of gold, jade, and history. All-in-all it was interesting, but too long. Nate got antsy. Next!

We walked back out to the main road and asked the juice-guy how to get to Túcume. An eager motor-rickshaw-taxi driver overheard and said he’d take us there... for 30 soles. The juice-guy scoffed and told us not to bother with the driver. Not only did he point to where we’d get the cheaper combis, he came out of his juice stall and hailed one for us. Only pay 2 soles each, he told us. Let them off at the path to the ruins, he told the ayudante. What a great guy! He went out of his way to help us (and protect us from people who wanted to rip us off). We waved goodbye to our new friend as the door shut.

Inside the van, we were packed in like sardines. Knee-to-knee with the people facing us, Nate’s long legs had a hard time fitting anywhere! The van lurched and bounced along the road, slowing drastically for speed bumps. Nate’s head was an inch from the ceiling. He looked like a giant in a land of tiny people.

We were let off at an intersection in Túcume. The motor taxis were ready. They pounced, trying to persuade us to jump in their vehicle. We picked one and sped off. Rrrrrrrr… through the bumpy roads lined with short houses. Rrrrrr… out into the countryside with the bright sun shining overhead. Rrrrrr... We end up at the museum and the driver lets Nate hop on the motorcycle for a picture.

We opt for the stroll up to the Mirador instead of starting with the museum. The sun is fierce overhead and we try to keep up by lathering sun screen. The pyramids that were once large and magnificent, are now crumbling piles of dirt. But the view was pretty awesome. We flew through the small museum at the base of the site and hopped in a motor taxi.




Back in downtown Túmume, we hop in a combi for Chiclayo. Two girls realized that we only got 5 soles in change and told us that they owed us a sol. We told the ayudante and he pretended that it was just a careless error. We knew better. The girls stood up for us and started shaming him. They became our unofficial guardians. They got off the combi with us, hailed us a cab, told me to keep my bag in front and negotiated the price down. For every one person that thinks about ripping us off, there are three more waiting to defend us. I like Peru.

It was dark a few moments after we returned back to the hotel exhausted. We ended up eating a disappointing dinner in a LP-recommended restaurant. We walked around to the sounds of a marching band in La Plaza de Armas in search of an elusive dessert place.



Wednesday September 24. Treated ourselves to a posh restaurant with free wifi. Caught the 2pm bus to Trujillo for Alien vs. Predator and Cindarella Man. I asked the driver if he could let us off close to where the colectivos left for Huanchaco so we could avoid the bag-snatching chaos of the terminal that we had heard about. We were dumped on a random street corner and, with the help of two old men sitting there, found our way onto the colectivo. I think the guy overcharged us, but for 40 céptimos, I’m not worried.

The colectivo practically dropped us off right in front of our hostel. Wow. The Pacific Ocean and we have beach-side property! By the time we dropped our bags in the room and whipped out the camera, the sun had set behind the curtain of haze.



Excited to stretch our legs after buses and sitting all day, we jogged down the beach into town. After scoping out all the restaurants, we ended up at El Tramboyo, owned by the enthusiastic chef himself. He had just started up the grill and convinced us both to have parrillada dishes. I chose the mixed seafood, Nate the corvina. Wait… corvina is a kind of fish. Nate ordered fish!! And liked it! It was a lot of food to battle through, but we almost licked our plates clean. Straight from the ocean to our plates, it was delicious.








Next up, dessert. We turned the corner for cake. Nate had chocolate and I had a frozen chirimoya cake. Mmmmm…





The ocean played the soundtrack as we walked back to the hostel.

Yahoooo Peru!

The alarm goes off at 5:30am. The sun isn’t out yet. It is cold.

After a shivering shower and last minute packing, we shoulder our packs for the Terminal Terrestre. At the terminal we buy our breakfast, heart-shaped loafs of sweet bread. I dump my chain-secured bag under the bus and we take our seats.

The sun is rising, but my eyes can’t stay open to watch the view emerge. We stop for desayuno, but neither Nate or myself can stomach greasy meat at that hour. I grab a jugo de tomate de árbol. We’re both pretty sniffly with sore throats. I think I’ve gotten sympathy sick and mirror Nate’s symptoms.

We doze as the hills come out. Every time I wake up I catch a glimpse of beautiful scenery. We stop again for almuerzo. This time Nate and I split one. But the chicken is dry and not warm, so we don’t eat all of it. The bathrooms are the grossest ones I’ve seen since the Syria-Lebanon border.

Back on the bus and off to the border. We hop out with passports in hand. Nate doesn’t have his immigration card. He says they didn’t give him one when he entered the country. This could be a problem. I’ve argued myself across borders, but never someone else. I mentally plan what I’m going to say.

We get to the window and I greet the official. I get my Ecuadorian exit stamp and as he turns to Nate, I explain the situation. The official shakes his head. Nate needs to have the card in order to get the exit stamp. I say that they didn’t give him one. The official doesn’t budge. I pull out my stubbornness. I’m not going anywhere until he lets Nate over. The official pulls out a deal: we pay $10 and we get a new card. I reject the offer. $10?! No way. This kid doesn’t lose things, I say. They really didn’t give him one. The guard says that the immigration cards serve as a system of keeping track of who’s in the country and for how long. It’s the law. I counter with another argument. This goes on and on until the exasperated official searches the desk and produces a blank form. Nate fills it out and the official unhappily gives us the stamp. Nate’s first international land border crossing AND it’s slightly illegal!

We high-five and skip across the bridge to the Peruvian side. I am so excited to get out of Ecuador; this day couldn’t have come soon enough! We get our Peruvian stamps and the border-control woman and I roll our eyes at an annoying American traveler ahead in line. We cross into Peru… and don’t look back!

I like Peru. The people are nice, if you play by the rules. The guards exchange a buenos días and smile! A smile! I haven’t seen one of those since Colombia!

We hop back on the bus. My eyes are glued out of the window. It’s funny how each country has a different vibe. Despite the proximity, each country is distinct with its own custom, culture, and way of life. The houses are different in Peru. The graffiti is different: no more voting on the constitutional reform. The people are different. The countryside is different.


Peru seems more wild. But also more conservative. We arrive in Piura at 4pm after nine hours on the road. There isn’t a single bus terminal, but rather bus company offices scattered around. The sun is beating down overhead. We put our packs on our backs and hit the road. We walk the four blocks to the Linea office. Peru reminds me of a less populated Bangladesh. Motorized rickshaws everywhere. Horns blaring. Chaotic streets. Cars that don’t follow traffic rules and pedestrians dodging for their lives. We pass the market and find a window in the traffic to cross the street. We buy our tickets for Chiclayo and wait for the bus. The energy is raw and the streets are alive.

In some ways Peru is modern and organized. The big bus companies have an elaborate system for checked bags. They give you the metal detector test before you get on the bus. Then they video tape you once you’re in your seat. Plus they accept credit cards. And there are restaurants that are open past 7pm! In other ways Peru is chaotic and frantic. The rules of the road are that there aren’t any. The combis are vans that stuff passengers in like sardines. The rickshaws own the road.

But people are amazing. What a relief after Ecuador! For every person who tries to cheat you out of 1 sole (33 US cents), there are 5 more who go out of their way to look after you! Our hotel receptionist not only leant us 2.5 soles for the cab, but also made us hot water in a thermos for tea in the morning. Plus he’s all smiles and knocked 5 soles off of our hotel price. Or the two girls on the combi back from Túcume. They saw that the ayudante only gave us 5 soles back in change and harassed him until he gave us 1 more sole. They made sure we got off at the right place, told me to be careful of my bag, negotiated a taxi for us, and took care of us! They were so nice. I could fill a page with all the people who have looked out for us in the short time we’ve been in this country. It is unbelievable.

And everyone smiles. Not only smiles, but greets us and wishes us good days. They thank us and say goodbye to us. I can’t believe it. It is so refreshing to have renewed faith in human kindness after it was shattered in Ecuador.

Our hotel is pretty awesome. There are plants everywhere and the hotel staff is super nice.

I think the only complaint I have about Peru is that all the food is fried to a crisp. I feel the oil coming out of my pores. But I can’t wait to try the ceviche!

Yes. That's a picture of Nate. Yes, he is eating banana chips. BANANA chips.

Get me out of Ecuador!

Back in Loja. We decided to splurge for Hotel Acapulco with its private bathroom, free WIFI, hot and cold drinking water and onsite restaurant. It was pretty swank, but pricey. And the bathroom smelled strange.

We woke up on Sunday, September 21. Click click. Umm… the lights didn’t turn on. The reception said that it was our sector had a power outage. When pressed for a time frame, they said an hour or two. I went in search of a panadería. The woman overcharged me for the yummy bread. Next I looked for a lavandería. Found a few, but all-in-all Loja is pretty closed on Sunday.

The electricity wasn’t on by the time I got back to the hotel. We spent the rest of the day trying to stay busy outside of the hostel because our room was dark. We found a laundry place, but the owner wasn’t there. We left our bag of laundry with the woman who ran the cafeteria downstairs. Don’t worry, she said, when we asked the price per kilo.


We spent the day walking around and hanging out in a park. I bargained with the receptionist at the hotel saying that we never spend that much for hotels and that we can’t pay for the services we didn’t receive. We paid half price (plus internet priviledges when the electricity returned). Finally the electricity went on around 5pm. We moved next door to the reliable cheapie Hotel Londres.

At 7pm we left to pick up the laundry. It had been down and returned. $2? No. $12. Twelve dollars?! I argued, but it was too late. I left angry, but happy to have our clothes cleaned.

After an expensive meal at the only place open on Sunday night, we returned to the hotel. As we started packing, Nate noticed that one of his shirts was missing. He also held up a sock; it had been mangled! Thinking we had been robbed, we ran back to the laundry place. We confronted the cafeteria lady, who had overcharged us earlier. She refused to be able to call the Laundromat owner, but after I insisted, she dialed. Yes, the shirt was there at her house. Could she bring it tomorrow? NO! We’re leaving tomorrow. I insisted that she come into town that night to bring us the shirt. The cafeteria woman mumbled something mean over the phone and hung up.

We waited for the Laundromat woman. The cafeteria woman muttered something about this being our fault. I lost it. OUR fault? Was she crazy? There was no way that this way our fault! If anything, it was her fault, and if this all didn’t go well, I would hold her responsible.

Finally the laundry woman showed up with the shirt. I showed her the sock and she denied it saying that she washes everything by hand. I told that we were traveling and only had a few pairs of socks. All we wanted was to be reimbursed for the damages. She refused and scoffed when we told her how much the socks cost (it is a little extreme for Ecuadorian prices). Then she told me that maybe we shouldn’t come to her country at all. That’s when the mierda hit the fan.

Next came a screaming match between us. My Spanish is definitely not up to par with hers, but I think I held my own. She was rude and racist and unacceptable. She basically told us that we aren’t wanted in her country. Then she proceeded to deeply insult me and that’s when I had had enough. I told her that I’d call the police and stormed out of the complex. I was so mad that I was shaking and near tears. I wanted nothing more to do with her or Loja. I was done with Ecuador. Ready to move on. I had never been so upset and infuriated and insulted in my life. This is not what traveling is about.

Dear Ecuador,

On this trip we have been robbed, had our bag sliced into, been given chicken feet in our soup, had nasty looks casted our way, been attacked by ferocious dogs, been ripped off so many times, been stereotyped, been harassed, been insulted and been lied to. I have never, in my 22 years of traveling, ever had a more negative experience in any one country; I’ve never had anything thing even come close. I hope I never have to return.

Shape up,

Alisa

That night I’m so upset. I go over the shoulda-coulda-wouldas in my head. I should have said this or I would have shut her down if I had said this. We watch a little bit of WALL-E to make us feel better. It’s an early morning the next day.

Vilcadventures!

Yes, we're both fine. Sorry for the last cliff hanger... apparently I put people on edge. I won't do that anymore.
Vilcabamba, a beautiful small town snug in the mountains, is almost too relaxing! It’s no wonder that so many tourists stay so long and that so many ex-pats go there to retire. The weather is gorgeous, there are avocado and papaya trees, and the locals are friendly. Really, what more can we ask for?

The colectivo dropped us off on the main road leading in and out of town. And from there we (and our heavy bags) went hostal hopping. We stopped in every hostal in town to check the price and take a mental picture of the accommodations. In the end we decided on the Rendez-vous, a quiet clean hostel with hammocks, a beautiful garden, breakfast served to your room, and… wait for it… WIFI! What a great place.

We walk into town and run into people from Chugchilán. Brief catchup session, but tummy grumblings interrupted. We sat down to journal-doodle and ordered some pan de ajo and some burgers of the meat and veggie varieties. Veggie burgers exist in sudamerica?! Yes, oh yes. And sometimes they come with a whole lot of fresh veggies as well. Horchata here is not the same as in Mexico. Here it is bright pink, lemony, and served warm. Fresh avocados are fantastic.

We begin walking in the direction of our hostal and meet an Austrailian-French couple. We begin chatting and they decide to walk with us. We talk and talk and hours pass. Down to the river and back. We agree to meet for dinner.

Despite a mediocre dinner, we spend hours in the restaurant talking about everything from the pros and cons of supermarkets to Middle East politics. Some kind of festivities were going on in the main parque including live music and la vaca loca, which involves a homemade wire cow that someone puts on and runs around the park. The excitement doesn't end there, however, because the cow was rigged with fireworks that were set off in domino-fashion. It is really quite terrifying when it is running toward you.

Only one restaurant is open late, so we sat around playing jenga and dominos drinking a very potent aguardiente-derived drink.

The next morning, why that's gotta be Friday, September 19, we got up to breakfast brought right to our room. We sat outside on our porch looking over a beautiful garden eating our fresh fruit and homemade bed. Paradise? Yea. I think so.

But the hostel was booked for that night. In fact all of the hostels were booked. Weekends are a busy time in Vilcabamba. Our new friends (I guess they have names: Becky and Olivier) sweet talked the receptionist at Hosteleria Izhcayluma to let the four of us share a room. So we packed our backs and took a rip-off taxi 2km to our new home. We left our bags in the room, packed a day pack, and set off for the waterfall trail.

It was late in the day to start, so we took a cab. Nate and I opted for the back of the pickup truck even though there was room inside. The driver took us to the start of the trail and we set off. Nate fashioned a dog-whacking stick out of a piece of bamboo.



The trail led us through the trees and along the river. The terrain was doable and we wound up and down and around. At one point we crossed the river on a wobbly tree trunk bride.

Then we climbed up up up through the forest, sidestepping horse messes, and having our calves scraped up by thorns. Suddenly the forest opened up and the view was incredible.




The hike wasn't over. We found the main path and continued past a group of trees with old men's beards, cows, and barbed wire. Oh, and spectacular views!


But wait. Why were we hiking at all? Oh yea, to get to the waterfalls. We got there! After a quick dip in the freezing water, we sat down for a picnic.

Then it was time to head back. We started walking and the clouds rolled in. Drip. Drip. Oh no. The clouds opened up to reveal their water contents. Nate and I start running. The other two tell us not to wait for them. So we jog along the path as we are pelted by big fat rain drops. The thunder quickens our pace.

The dirt path turns to mud as we jog past the cows (and the watchful bull). The hill becomes steep and we slide beside the small rivers that are forming. The storm reaches monsoon strength as we keep our speed in our now very heavy clothes. Finally we reach the refuge! We wring out our sopping wet clothes and wait for the others. A sneak peak at our watch says that we did the whole 3-hour return trip in 45 minutes!

When the others return, we call a cab. A hot shower and clean dry clothes are more than welcome! The four of us get expensive, but filling dinners and stay up late playing card games. The time flew as we joked and talked the night away. I love meeting wonderful people on the road!



We woke up on Saturday, September 20 with the intentions of an early morning hike and a departure for Loja. Nate wasn't feeling well. In fact, he hadn't been feeling well for the past few days. No more tummy issues. This time it was sniffly nose, sore throat, fever, cough, phelgm! Yum. He rested while the rest of us walked into town. The sun was fierce and bright. It was a beautiful day.

The pharmacists said that I should take him to the hospital. I explained that we couldn't spend a lot of money and that he really didn't qualify for the emergency room. But the emergency room was like a clinic and the best news: it was free!

I hiked up the hill to the hostel. I practically yanked Nate out of bed and we took at taxi down to the hospital. The doctor was super friendly and examined Nate. We were in and out quickly! We got a few prescriptions and ate a hardy lunch with some friends we seem to keep running into!

Back at the hostel, we packed up our bags. The rain came at a prompt 4:30pm like the day before. And we headed down to the bus station. Becky and Olivier waited with us for the bus. It was so great to meet them. It's not everyday you meet people you get along well with (and don't mind sharing close quarters with!). It was tough saying goodbye, but we know that we'll run into them on the road!
Safe travels, you two! And we're looking forward to homecooked meals and a few good games of Egyptian Ratscrew in Chile!

A Political Interjection

Ecuador, like so many countries, is going through a period of political reformation. The story changes depending on who’s telling it and where they got their information, but here’s how I understand it:

Ecuador’s President, Rafael Correra Delgado, is proposing a rewrite of the constitution. This can mean lots of different things. According to some people in favor of this move, this reform is a well-needed change for the country that will move it in a more positive and progressive direction. Gone will be the government corruption that benefit the wealthy and in its place will be more social programs for the poorer populations who need it the most. Not only would primary education and health care be free, but it would also decrease the price of university. Individuals will have more rights under the new constitution, catered to the modern and changing times.

On the other hand, this leap can be seen as a bold Socialist move fueled by the anti-Capitalist rhetoric-spewing Hugo Chavez. The new constitution would increase the Presidential term to 10 years, which will make it harder to implement change in the future. The new constitution will no only be anti-USA, but also take away from the core traditionalist values ingrained in the deeply religious Ecuadorian public.

So what’s it gonna be: the conservative capitalistic old-politics traditionalists or the liberal socialistic new-politics reformers?! Stay tuned, the election will be on September 28!

Now in hopes of deterring those of you who will write me to complain of egregious errors in my political accounts… a brief disclaimer:

I have not done my research on the matter. I am not a political scientist. I am merely an observer who has talked to a few very opinionated people here in Ecuador. I don’t claim to fully understand the ins and outs of this very complicated election. And in the words of the smirking taxi driver here in Loja, “Who cares, the government has no control over anything anyway!” and then goes on to mutter something about delinquents.


So Loja, eh? I bet there’s a story in that journey.



As we were clearing up our breakfast dishes, a Loja-bound American traveler bounced in the kitchen. We decided to split a cab to the Terminal.



It only took me a few minutes to realize that I couldn’t stand this guy. His manner of speaking was nose-in-the-air and matter-of-fact. His tone and word choice made it clear that he was speaking the absolute truth and there would be no arguing against him. Taking that as a challenge, I argued against him. I realized that this was futile when it became evident that he was not listening to a word I was saying and when I was interrupted time and time again. I wanted nothing more to do with him, so I stared out the cab window quietly listening to his loud obnoxious rambling about how South Americans are animals who can’t govern themselves. His words not mine. I bit my lip to refrain from verbally ripping him apart.

In the bus station, we searched for buses to Loja. And as luck would have it there was one practically pulling out of the terminal. They held it long enough for us to jump aboard. Nate and I grabbed the front seats so that our bags rested nicely on the floor and not our laps. A chatty group of Israelis were right behind us. 5 hours.

A cloud descended on central Ecuador. Not metaphorically, but figuratively. The fog was so dense that we couldn’t see more than a few feet from the bus window! We drove through the mist for 5 hours stopping in local pueblos picking up school children and indigenous folks.

We pulled into Loja and said a wellneeded goodbye to our new American friend and caught a cab into el centro. The cab driver was friendly and chatty, but then left us on a random street. Good thing it was walking distance to a lot of hostels. We turned our backs on the nicer, more expensive ones and headed to Hotel Londres, a creeky floor, saggy bed, shared bathroom kind of deal. But we had a third floor room with great big doors that opened up onto Sucre street! No bad for the price and we decided to stay.



Perimeter walk. Got acquainted with the small streets with the smaller sidewalks. We hopped around Central Park and noticed an abundance of taxis.




Our next thought was food! We didn't have a roach-infested kitchen at our disposal to cook according to Nate's dietary requirements. So we took to the streets to find an appropriate restaurant. We found a vegetarian restaurant that had good intentions, but wasn't quite up to our quality standards.

Long story short: Not very tasty and lots of beets.

Nate was unsatisfied so we took to the streets in search of a panadería. Two pastries later, he was feeling much better! The sun set and we felt safe wandering the streets. Such is Loja.


Winnie the Pooh was dancing outside of the supermarket. So I did too.



We took it easy that night and watched Hancock with animal crackers and bubbly water.

The next day was Thursday, September 18. It was travel day. We began by getting me a fresh carrot juice from the mercado. Next stop panadería for breakfast munchies. Shoulder our heavy packs and, instead of grabbing a cab, we walk to terminal 11 de mayo for our colectivo to Vilcabamba.

We wait a couple minutes for the 4 people necessary to fill the colectivo and then we're off. I'm wedged between Nate and a woman who promptly falls asleep. We listen to the President over the radio supporting the new constitution and bounce along the road.

We had high hopes for the beautiful, relaxing Vilcabamba, but little did we know that despite the tranquil environment, posh accomodations, and gringo food, one of us would wind up in the hospital's emergency room.


The fun never ends!