10 January
We are in Chugchilan at the Casa Mama Hilda Hostal on the other side of a huge and forbidding valley. The crater lake of Quilotoa is only a bump on the far horizon. We came down from Quilotoa at 4000 meters to 3150 meters above sea level. It is beautiful here with the clouds once again above us and the sun shining brightly on a clean courtyard surrounded by a dining hall, two guest houses and a bath house. The yellowing warmth and lush green growth of this place and the solid, immediate songs of birds are a sharp contrast to the empty wet chill of the highlands, where sound seems to be sucked away as quickly as it is created. Somehow absorbed into the fast, wispy clouds.
The walk from Manuel’s house to here was crazy beautiful amazing unending breathtaking awesome. I look back at the mountain and valley that we traveled and I feel proud and humble and full of life. Life is full of me. It staggers me to think that Manuel is going to run the whole way back to his home to arrive before sunset, which is what he tells us nonchalantly as we near our destination. Still he takes his time, visits quietly with the caretaker at the Casa Mama Hilda.
Chugchilan is quiet and very small but there are several hostals and a scattering of small houses around the empty, dusty central plaza. The only person in the plaza when we arrive, red-faced, smiling and sweaty is a woman sitting in the shade of a doorway watching the grill where she is cooking and selling some sort of meat.
We have seen tourists but not that many. I met some really great Germans named Hanis and Vipka. They started in Mexico City last May. Now, in January they are here. The contrast between the 2 sisters and these 2 new German friends make me think that many people come to travel this land with blinders. People like the sisters see certain things and may have great experiences but they do not leave behind their judgments, preconceived ideas or cultural baggage. Hanis and Vipka seem open; honest, observant, interested and interesting, respectful but quietly radical in their ability to cut through the bullshit and say what really matters. They speak quietly and respectfully in Spanish to the owner of the hostal for a long time after a delicious dinner. They seem to have internalized the slow, quiet and deliberate manner of the mountain people. I recognize parts of myself in them and they in me I think. We speak easily to each other almost instantly.
We leave behind a long line of stinky rooms: sweat, socks, food, shoes, wet towels, traveling funk.
11 January
As the bus to Zumbahua/Quilotoa filled up on Monday with boxes and animals and bags and people I almost lost it. I was in the back over the wheel thinking of the 3-4 hour ride they say it is to Quilotoa. I had to pee again and was totally blocked in. Claustrophobia. Panic receded as we drove out of Latacunga -- the air on my face, sun on my skin, chicha music bopping in my ears -- and bumped our way up through beautiful vivid countryside into the high country. People everywhere even in these mountains.
Later – up and up and up again today. We ascended from Chugchilan probably 500 meters up the side of the mountain behind Casa Mama Hilda. We seemed to be hiking straight up looking for the cloud forest Juan had told us about. We stopped along the way to save a huge spider from certain death by drowning in a well. We were not successful. At a certain height we were way above the clouds in a wide, grassy field looking toward where the Pacific ocean should be. It was an ocean of clouds far below us. The forest rolling down the slopes like water and eventually disappearing into a sea of white. We hiked with Hanis and Vipka. They are beautiful and I feel so comfortable with them.
Our friendship was cemented by a conversation sparked by the Adbusters Magazine I was traveling with. It was the first post-September 11th issue and the front and back cover showed the American flag. On the front were the words “You’re either with us” written over the flag , and on the back was an upside down flag with the corner on fire and the words “Or against us.” We talked of politics, traveling, culture, books, moving easily from one subject to the next. I am interested to know everything about their vast experience and knowledge and humbleness and sensibility after spending the past 9 months traveling the spine of two continents. I wish I could remember specifics of our conversation, but it is always like this with the best conversations – they are so fluid and dynamic that any attempt to recreate them is met with failure.
The hostal dog came with us for the whole walk – wanting to play fetch the entire time. He protected us from other dogs (who are everywhere in the rural areas – scraggly, mean, territorial, fought off only with rocks and sticks at times). The first strange rumblings are happening in my bowels. I had diarrhea on top of the mountain and felt pukey on and off all day. Hanis tells me that raw garlic in boiled water with lemon for flavor is a good remedy for stomach ills. I will try this – on an empty stomach in the morning. [I realize later that this was the first time I felt altitude sickness but at the time I thought it was something I ate.]
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