It All Comes Full Circle- Villcabama to Quito, Ecuador

It is now 5:41 in the morning. Molly and I have been at the Quito airport since 3AM waiting to begin our long journey home. I am tired; very, very tired. To tell the truth its hard to discern whether I'm awake or dreaming. Airports are funny like that. They have that indistinct quality that you get in dreams where all locations could be any location. (I was at my Grandma's house.. but it was also a movie theater) Like dreams, they exist between worlds. Dreams exist between waking and unconciousness and airports exist between where you are coming from and where you are going. Airports are also like dreams in that sometimes it feels like you are never going to get out of there.

When I look back on this trip to South America, it too seems like a dream. How else could you describe such an incredible, intense and, at times, utterly insane experience? The things that we have done on this trip are tattooed in my memory and will travel with me to the end of my days, and the last week really brought it all full circle.

After spending a few days surfing in the Pervian town of Mancora, Molly and I scurried through our final border crossing of the trip into Ecuador. Our destination was the town of Vilcabamba nestled in a wonderful green valley in the Andes mountains. The valley itself is known as 'the valley of longevity' because of the extremely long lifespans of its inhabitants. Many have pondered what special powers this valley holds for granting long life. The physicist in me loves the idea that time actually moves slower here.

One aspect of the theory of relativity is called time dilation. It states that the faster an object moves relative to an observer, the slower time appears to move for that object. Because of the shape of the earth and the direction of its daily rotation, objects on the equator move faster than objects closer to the poles, therefore time actually moves slower for people living in Ecuador than for people living in New York. (This idea is not hard to to believe if you've ever spent much time in Manhattan.) Although time dialation would only account for about one extra second every thousand years, its still something. 

There are of course other theories:

Molly and I arrived in Vilcabamba and started searching for a place to stay. As we were walking by a pub on the central square the grizzled old Brit behind the bar saw us looking a bit confused. He called us into the pub to have a drink and give us directions. When we got inside, who should come running up to us but the same Chilean flute player that we'd met months ago on the beach in Huanchaco, Peru! Small world, eh? He was VERY happy to see us again and quickly pulled us over to his table. We drank a couple beers and played some songs together before heading out.

We eventually took up residence at a eco-lodge called Rumi Wilco. It is a collection of cabins inside a nature preserve. Rumi Wilco is an thoroughly enchanting place run by an Argentine naturalist named Orlando who spent most of his life working with his wife on the Galapagos Islands. They fell in love with Vilcabamba while traveling through Ecuador and when the time came to settle down and raise kids they decided to settle there. They opened the eco-lodge and spent a great deal of energy getting locals and the government to recognize and protect the rich and unique biodiversity that exist in this small region. Today the preserve boasts 40 hectares and is home to 124 species of bird, 500 species of plants as well as a host of other organisms.  

We spent most of our first few days relaxing in the cabin and checking out the grounds. There are some wonderful paths that lead up the hill behind the cabins. Orlando, his family and other volunteers have carefully maintained the paths, using signs to point out plants of interest, geological formations and contemplation points where you are simply meant  to stop and soak in the beauty around you. We climbed for a few hours through dense sub-tropical forests until we finally reached a vista from which you could see the entire valley below. 

It is the begining of the rainy season here in Ecuador so that means that most days you have to put up with a shower or two. Scattered clouds roll over the green mountains thick and heavy with precipitation ready to drop their contents at a moments notice. Fortunately, it doesn't rain every day. Between rains the air is sharp and clear, cleansed of any dirt or dust and the ecuatorial sun shines brightly on the land below. We took advantage of one of those sunny days to rent horses and get up into the high country around the town. This was one of the best things we did on the entire trip.

Our guide, Wilson, was very knowledgeable about the land and brought us on a spectacular ride high into the mountains. We rode on narrow paths along the sides of a steep valley up to a wide green pasture. We left the horses to graze while we hiked down beautiful, hidden  waterfall and took a swim to cool off.

After leaving Vilcabamba we hopped back on the bus and started north. After a brief stop in at a volcanic crater lake called Quilotoa we reached the famous market of Otavalo. On Saturdays this small Andean town is over-run with peddlers from all over Ecuador hawking their wares. The streets are a veritable rainbow of fruits, vegetables, ponchos, blankets, masks, dyes, hand crafts and jewelry of every description. We stalked the vendors and honed our barganing skills as we loaded up on gifts for the folks back home.

Our last bus ride of the trip was a short, two hour jaunt back to Quito where it had all began. The city seemed so different from the one that we had arrived in just four months ago. We had truly come full circle, but we were not in the same place. All in all we'd traveled 10,337 miles in 127 days while visiting 5 countries. We met people that we will always remember and saw things that no one could ever forget. We learned a new language (Hola!) and tried some of the most bizzare foods you could imagine. When we got off the plane in August we couldn't even order soup in a restaurant, now we were having political discusions with cab drivers as they whizzed through the busy streets. It was exhausting, exhilarating and above all extraordinary. I am so thankful that I got to have such an experience with my best friend, my wife. I am even more thankful that I get to come home and share the stories with the people that I love.  I am the most thankful that in a few weeks I am going to get on a plane and start the whole cycle over again.

Of Buses and Beaches: Quintay, Chile to Mancora, Peru.

I guess it happens to everyone. You make a plan that seems like a great idea at the time only to have the ramifications become plainfully clear upon closer inspection. Like General Custer at Little Big Horn turning to his troops and saying "Oh, come on men, there are only a few Indians down there" or Napolean's idea to invade Russia in the winter (They'll never expect it!), your intrepid travelers also fell victim to one of the classic blunders. The most well-known of course is never get into a land war in Asia, but only slightly less well known is never try to make a four day, three thousand mile journey up the coast of South America  BY BUS!

Ah, the best laid schemes o' mice an' men gang aft angley. But, as many of you may know, the key to traveling is adaptation and improvisation. Fortunately, we are masters of both and everything turned out alright in the end. The solution, as it is so often in life, was to head to the beach.

Whale loading ramp in 1944

We spent one of our last days in Chile in the small whaling village of Quintay. Thankfully the whaling industry has been long since shut down leaving only a few rickety buildings on the outskirts of town as a reminder of the slaughter that was once an everyday occurrence. 

Whale loading ramp today

Nowadays, the town is home to waterfront restuarants and international diving schools. The small harbor of Quintay is quiet and relaxing. We stopped for a while to enjoy one last bowl of camarones al pil pil and revel in the spectacular views of the jagged coastline as it was pounded by the mighty Pacific. It was the deep breath before the plunge.

With the date of our return flight from Quito to New York rapidly approaching, we were feeling the pinch to get north as fast as we could. Our original plan, which was to fly from Santiago to Quito, had been scrapped due to cost so we were left with only buses. On the map it was only 4 small inches from Santiago to Mancora, Peru. How bad could it be? We were about to find out.

We left the bus terminal in Santiago at 7:30 pm and got into Copiapo in the Atacama desert around 6 the next morning. Copiapo is a mining town without much to do and we didn't want to spend the night there. This meant that we also didn't have a hostel and were, in effect, homeless. So we did what most homeless people do, we went to the park. Along with the usual vagrants and stray dogs, it seems that Copiapo also has a sizable population of Gypsies. I know that is not the politically correct term but that's what they were, right down to the long flowing skirts and tarot cards. We spent 17 hours in Copiapo turning down offers to have our fortunes read while fending off overly friendly dogs and keeping all our packs directly under us so that nobody could steal them. The life of the homeless is not all it's cracked up to be. At least the park was nice.

Around midnight we boarded a bus to Arica, just south of the Peruvian boarder and a mere 18 hours later we arrived. It was time for a break. We spent the next two days running on the beach, sunbathing and trying to gear up for the next part of the journey. Those two days, incidentally, included Thanksgiving so we went out for the most American meal we could find; burgers.

After a short one and a half hour train across the border we arrived in the Peruvian town of Tacna only to jump onto the bus for a 19 hour haul to Lima. The capital city of Peru actually has some of the best food in all of South America. It's placement on the ocean makes it home to some of the best ceviche in the world and the intermingling of the indigenous, European and Asian cultures that thrive there make for some top-notch cuisine. We spent the night and refueled our tanks on the ocean's bounty before starting the final 18 hour leg of our sojourn to the surf-town of Mancora on the Equadorian border. 

Yes, the even deep fried the shells

This is all Molly ate for 3 straight days

Luckily, the bus gods took pity on us that night. Some of the buses in Peru are really nice and actually have stewardesses that come around and give you snacks and drinks. Now it's not an easy task to pour and carry a tray full of drinks on a bus that is knocking down the highway and around curves at 100 kph and I noticed our girl was having a little trouble. I offered to help her with the service and she was very grateful. ln fact, a little later she noticed that the overhead lights on our chairs were not working while we were trying to read. She said that that wouldn't do and took us down to two empty seats in the first class cabin. Some good deeds really are rewarded. We spend the remainder of the bus ride lounging in double wide leather recliners as soft as clouds while watching badly dubbed Wayans brothers comedies on flat screen TVs. I really didn't want the bus ride to end.

We arrived at our destination the next morning and stumbled off the bus into the bright sunshine of northern Peru. All in all, we'd taken 67 hours of buses in a little over a week, and traveled about 2,995 miles. Needless to say we needed a break and Mancora was just that. It's really just a tiny surf town right on the edge of the desert but it is all we needed. It has palm trees, white sands and warm, blue waters. We spent the next few days surfing, sunbathing and eating ceviche. Not a bad way to start the month of December, but I really feel like we earned it.

My life in a Corona commercial