For the last 2 years or so my brother Brian had been raving about some little town in Ecuador called Vilcabamba, the Valley of Longevity. Good Title. Brian would talk all about how the residents in this tiny community had the good (or bad, depending on how you look at things) fortune of living up to the age of 135. I didn't really notice anyone especially ancient, but we did meet a crazy dude from New Zealand who had lived there for 27 years and was clearly as insane as I would imagine someone that old must be. He told us he owned a mountain, ya that one right over there behind those other ones, and that he was the author of a book about the town entitled the Valley of Rare Fruits. Oh the irony. Turns out that is an actual book, but written by someone slightly less delusional (I assume). But he certainly was the rarest of fruits.
We arrived in the charming Valley in the evening and saw a bunch of bleachers and a stage set up outside the main...well, they only square. Turns out we were there the same weekend Vilcabamba was celebrating its Anniversary and they were having a weekend-long celebration. Well timed Vilcy, well timed indeed. The first evening's festivities consisted of a band and man spinning around wearing a suit made entirely of metal from which fireworks were unpredictably launched. Us paranoid Americans watched in horror as he chased the village children sending embers flying into their little faces.
The next day we decided to take a hike up to Mandango, the "sleeping woman" shaped rock above the town. After a good 45 minutes of circling around the outskirts of town aimlessly, we finally found what appeared to be the trailhead, pried open the locked entryway, climbed over some barbed wire and were finally on our way. The hike was straight uphill and along a very ridgey ridge but was a breathtaking landscape and a perfect intro to Andean trekking for us aspiring Inca trailers. Once again I must redirect you to kipptastic.blogspot.com if you'd like to get a cinematic view of the amazing day, but here is a clip of Jesse fucking with us and some visuals of the gorgeous scenery:
After our slightly tearful goodbye with the Angeltio group and reuniting with Jesse, we flew back to the mainland and hopped on a bus to Cuenca, a charming colonial city up in the Ecuadorian Andes. Cuenca was a nice landlocked refuge to regroup after our 2 weeks of island hopping. Colonial architecture, cobblestone streets, traditional handicrafts and indiginous culture was about all we could ask for. We managed to find an amazing apartment style hostel and happily planted ourselves for about 5 days exploring the city. We be Cuencstas.
On our final day, we were sitting in the little cafe under our balcony enjoying some jugo when suddenly Jesse lept up and yelled "JESSE!?" It seemed like an odd thing to yell one's own name in such a shocked an questioning tone, but then suddenly he was high-fiving some random dude on the street who we soon learned was also named Jesse. Mystery solved. Jesse and Jesse met each other traveling in Thailand a year ago and now just happened to run into each other on the other side of the world on the same street here in Cuenca. Disney didn't lie, it really is a small world after all.
Turned out the other Jesse had been traveling for a few months with his 2 cousins Cassie and Mary and they, like us, were headed south to the Peruvian border in a few days. After a night of hookah, poorly played pool and beer bonding, we persuaded them to take a quick detour with us to the town of Vilcabamba before heading to Peru. That was the beginning of a beautiful friendship...
Call me Ishmael. I totally lied about that last entry...I actually do want to share one story from the Angelito week cuz it's just too good not to.
Before we met up with our tour group at the airport in Baltra, Grace and I had some mild anxiety at being stuck on a boat with 12 other people for 8 days. I mean, there arent many escape routes on a boat, especially a small one with cabins that only allow for one person to stand at a time. But pretty instantly we learned we had hit the jackpot with our Angelito shipmates. On board we had british couple Jill and Rob Gwilliam, possibly the most adorable couple I have ever encountered, celebrating their 40th anniversary. I want to be them when (if) I grow up. But there was also another contender for most adorable couple ever, Anu and Velu, speech pathologist professor and engineer/pre-med/birdwatcher extraordinaire from Indiana via India. Next there was Dave, the Harvard geneticist/professor, his lovely wife Leah and science brainiac kids Tam and Corrine from Brookline MA, and Robert and Elles from the Netherlands, Ursula from Switzerland and Vittorio from Canada. Add to that roster our amazing Swiss guide Maja and 7 local crew members and there you have it. Over the course of the week we got to know one another quite well, seeing as how there was little choice in the matter, but we really did seem to become one big family in no time, and this was the moment that really solidified it-
On the 5tth evening together, we had a long navigation to make around the tip of Isla Isabela. We had been told to keep an eye out for whales and dolphins on the way, but were pretty sure Maja just was telling us that to keep us out of her hair for the 5 hour ride. Sensing this tone, I decided I would go below and shower. Part of me knew that if I did, I would miss something amazing, but I was salty from our epic snorkel sesh and needed to rinse. Sure enough, as soon as Im covered head to toe in suds I hear an alarm bell go off and feel the boast slow to a halt. I tried to rinse off as much as I can and start throwing what appear to be clothes as the footsteps and voices of everyone on board are thundering above taunting me. As soon as I reach the top deck I see spout in the distance behind everyone on the deck. And then another spout, and then another. We were smack dab in the middle of a POD of whales swimming right next to our boat. I grew up in Southern California, I have seen my fair share of whales, but never so many and never so close. We circled around them running screaming at every spout that spouted for a good 20 minutes. I finally noticed that like me, Jill was only half dressed and better yet, Velu had shaving cream all over his face and was jumping and screaming like a 2 year old about to try ice cream for the first time...or something really exciting. I caught a very crappy video right before my camera died:
Let me give some context: prior to this our group had had some of the best luck imaginable in terms of seeing wildlife in the Galapagos. We had seen everything we expected to and more, and this was only 4 days in! But there was one thing we had pretty much no chance of seeing, the Galapagos Albatross, a bird who who only resided on Genovesa, an island not on our tour. Big deal, who cares, birds suck anyways (in my humble opinion). But to Velu, the Albatross was at least half the reason for even coming to the Galapagos. I really have never seen a more enthusiatic bird freak in my life...spotting these puny little finches and distinguishing ground finch from tree finch (ancient torture mechanism for someone like me) was like the highlight of this mans life. It would be sad if he weren´t the coolest guy ever.
Anyways, after the excitement of seeing all these whales we calmed down and were all feeling pretty satisfied and reflective. As he started descending to finish his half-shaven grill, Velu jokingly said ´´Now all we need to see is the Albatross and I can die happy.´´ Ask and ye shall recieve my friend.
2 minutes later the quiet content of the boat was interrupted by the highest pitched most erractic skrieking I have ever heard. Everyone ran down a level to find Velu, still twofaced with shaving cream, jumping, squealing and pointing at some average looking bird sitting on the water surface. Contrary to appearance, it was...drumroll...an ALBATROSS! Miles and miles away from the only island it is supposed to be chillin at.
Like I said, I could have cared less, the thing looked like a fat seagull to me, but seeing the sheer joy that it brought Velu, the way it united the whole boat, passengers and crew, and and the impossibility of the situation was beyond perfect. So ya, I know you had to be there, but it was one of those days where all I could do was sigh, grab a beer, watch the idyllic sunset off the bow and appreciate how lucky I am to be here.
Okay, there is seriously neither time nor space enough to go into much detail about the boat tour that Grace and I did for 8 days in the Galapagos. Apart from having to leave Jesse behind, it was such an amazing, completely action-packed experience every day, so I think it's best just to illustrate a bit with my nerdy pic collages. Sea lions and crabs and herons and giant tortoises and sea turtles and finches and warblers and vermilion flycatchers and frigatebirds and penguins and flamingos and boobies (blue-footed you dirty minded kids you) and flightless cormorants and marine iguanas and land iguanas and sharks and rays and whales and whale sharks OH MY!
The next island we visited, Santa Cruz, is the most populated/developed and its main city is Puerto Ayora. We spent 3 days before Grace and I left Jesse for a week to go on our boat trip, and got to experience a lot of what Puerto Ayora had to offer. Our first day we went to the Darwin Center to see some giant tortoises up close and personal. Turns out we got a little too up close and personal...it was a pretty empty day as far as tourists and any kind of law enforcement went and we "accidentally" entered the enclosure from the back where there were no signs telling us not to get so up close and personal. Whoopsies! Don't try this at home kids.
Also, there are really really awesome movies that Jesse put together of this and the rest of our Galapagos/Ecuador time, but I forgot to steal them from him before we parted so you have to go check them out at his, far superior blog: kipptastic.blogspot.com. They are not to be missed, trust. Anyhow,The next day we set out for a brackish water swimming hole we'd heard about called Las Grietas. It was hot as hell and a perfect day to take some dips. We did some pretty lame cliff jumping and were soon schooled by 8 year olds jumping the entire length of the 60-70 foot crevasse. Nothing like an ego boost to start your day off right. Again, see Jesse's blog for evidence. The final day in Puerto Ayora we went to see Tortuga Bay, a GORGEOUS white sand beach about a 45 minute walk from town. Probably the most beautiful beach in the Galapagos, and a strong contender for most others I have seen.
Obviously one has to take advantage of these settings for a little photo shoot attempt:
The Galapagos has been one of those things in the world that I have always been dying to see. When Grace and I first started talking about our trip it was the one thing I was absolutely insistent on doing. But man, it is not a cheap thing to do. After forking over a huge chunk of our budget to Fernando and Dougie Dougie for our 8-day crusie tour, we figured we should also do some exploring on our own and see some of the other islands we wouldn't see on the tour.
Anyone thinking about going to the Galapagos, I highly recommend you do the same.
Our first stop was Puerto Baquerizo Moreno on San Cristobal Island, the farthest east in the Archipelago. Literally the minute we arrived we were swarmed by sea lions, blue footed boobies, pelicans, and sally lightfoot crabs. We took a long walk up to the Darwin Interpretation Center and watched the sunset with the sea lions at Lover's beach, off the lighthouse in the southwest corner of the isle. SIGH.
The next day we toured around the rest of the island, stumbling upon an amazing treehouse, La Casa del Ceibo about 20 minutes outside of town. We could have stayed there for only 15 bucks a night, but there were only 2 very small beds for us 3...next time, next time. We continued along to a gorgeous crater lake, a giant tortoise reserve, and gorgeous beach whose beauty was eclipsed by a giant horsefly ambush. Another GREAT day in the life.
Fourscore and 8 years ago Grace took a trip to Ecuador by herself and went to a cute little surf town north of Guayaquil called Montanita. We had booked our Galapagos boat tour in a buzzy haze the day prior and had a few extra days before heading to the islands to chill on the beach, max and relax.
Montanita was different than Grace had remembered, still small and surfy, but it had changed a lot in 8 years. The cute thatched roof shacks of yore were now thatched roof 3-story buildings. Not that there's anything wrong with that per se, it had just become like most small beach towns that got found out in the world; developed and generic. You could have told us we were in Thailand and we'd have believed you...my stellar navigational instincts aside of course.
Anyway we had a nice time chillin on the playa and getting some good introductory tans and bug bites to make us look 2 Legit to quit.
Sometimes you have one of those nights. One of those nights where you seem drift outside of your body, hover over to a popcorn machine and sit in a plush recliner to watch the scene you are participating in as it unfolds before you.
We just had one of those nights.
Our first day in Guayaquil consisted of investigating the best way to visit the Galapagos. In fact, we debated whether we even needed to go that far since the first city park we happened upon had enough Iguanas to satisfy my reptilian curiosity (or so I thought at the time). Don't believe what your parents tell you kids, Iguanas DO grow on trees:
It's crazy yo, they're like the pigeons of Guayaquil. The best part was, as I was snapping pic after pic of these gigantorasauruses, the locals were doing the same with squirrels. Squirrels! Bizarroland.
After we left the park we went to see our friend Fernando who we had met 30 minutes prior at Centro Viajero travel agency. We had compared a few options elsewhere, but we returned to Fernando cuz we thought he had a nice face and he had offered us a beer. Tough sell I know. 5 beers later, we wound up in the living room of the travel agency owner, Douglas (aka Doogie Doogie), a delightful lunatic who made us Chinese food and gave us more beers. Then Fernando's wife Stephania shows up and they all decide they are taking us to Fernando's hometown of Pedro Carbo, a suburb about an hour away.
Relying on the kindness of strangers, off we go. Jesse, brave soul, had posted up in the backseat with DD who had brought a bottle of "Something Special" for the long ride. That is not a euphemism, it's the actual name of the whiskey. 60 minutes later, there we are, in the teensy village of Pedro Carbo with maybe 7 streets, none of them paved. We pull up to Fernando's humble abode and are greeted by his whole extended family, 10 or so adorable kids...nieces, nephews, and Fernando's 2 year old son, Benjamin. Into the van we all pile and headed out to a delicious dinner at the local grill. We also happened to be in Pedro Carbo the night before Mother's Day and they had a local Carnival to celebrate. It had the sketchiest ferris wheel I have ever seen in real life, jimmy-rigged to a lawnmower motor and tied together with rope. Naturally we had to ride it.
Survival of the fittest, but it wasn't over yet. We were whisked off yet again to the local discoteca where Jesse was harassed by go-go dancers calling out his every awesome dance move over loudspeaker. According to Fernando, we were the first Gringos to ever go to this town, and it did not go unnoticed with the locals.
Around 4am or so we finally made it back to Guayaquil for 4 hours of sleep before catching our bus to Montanita. Did that really just happen? On our first night here? Hang on to your hats and glasses, cuz this here's the wildest ride in the wilderness.
The eagles have landed. The eagles have landed first in Panama City, then Quito, then finally Guayaquil; gateway to the Galapagos. Magically enough, the eagles managed to keep 10 fingers, 10 toes (per person), and all items packed in tact...save one: Grace`s backpack.
When we reunited in LAX to start our journey, Grace and I did a quick run through of what we had each packed and how our preperations compared. We were pretty proud of ourselves for not forgetting toothpaste, a lil disappointed we had each brought the same free reading book (Let the Great World Spin by Collum McCann, nice one), but it seemed we had done a pretty thorough job of packing the next 6 months. We half-jokingly discussed the poor odds of both our bags not geand thought it was a little strange that when I checked in in LA, the Copa woman strongly emphasized that I must pick up my checked bag when we arrived in Quito, because our last flight leg was domestic and I needed to re-check my bag there. ``Hmmmmm, my dude didn`t tell me anything...`` quoth Grace. Oh, well, s`probably fine.
S`probably not so much. Arrival in Guayaquil, thar my bag blows! Thar Grace`s doesn`t.
Apparently down in yonder Sur America, people only work at the baggage counters when a flight is arriving. One would think that would cooincide nicely with our arrival, but I guess it took us too long to find the appropriate counter with which to discuss our conundrum. Don't fear, it all ends well, it always does. We left the airport for a few hours, got some din and headed back to wait for the next flight fleets to arrive. After many hoops had been jumped, many beers consumed and Grace's Spanish skills put to a major first test, we made it out with all wordly items in tow, and one other-worldy; our friend Jesse!
Jesse decided on a whim to join us for the first month of our journey and it was the perfect start to see his smiling face there to meet us at the airport. And so the adventure begins...
Me + Spanish = Sad. I have never been the kind of person that just "picks up" a language. They don't resemble fallen coins on the corner so much in my mind. My lame attempts at French and Italian were both thwarted by my lack of confidence combined with other people`s reations when I spake it. Some may think this would make South America a poor choice to set up shop for many meses, but think again! That`s what I brought Grace for. I kid, I kid...mostly. So far what I know of hablaring the Español is what I've learned from my mentors Chris Farley and Keanu Reeves. "Yo soy El Nino" and "Vaya con Dios" are about all I feel completely comfortable with, but I have been successful at one aspect of the language: the rolling of the Rs. Contrary to popular belief, this talent is not hereditary. See Exhibit A: I`m relly sorry fambles, but I just couldn`t resist. Love you and miss you already.
In case you missed it, I used one up above in yonder blahhhg description.
But today I'd like to discuss the other kind of morons. The kind that started planning a trip to South America many many moons ago (like a years worth of moons), and yet somehow did not realize that they had booked their flights one day apart from one another til T-minus 2 days prior to departure. Yep, the morons I am referring to are none other than myself and my travel companion Grace.
Let me rewind a bit. Ever since my first international experience at age 12, I have been mildly obsessed with the idea of traveling and as I gained more wisdom (age) and independence (financial) it became an easier and more important thing to incorporate into my life. Henceforth, I would call myself a bit of a wanderer. I roam aroundwowowowound and can`t get enough of exploring/seeing/being in new places near and far. There's something about that initial sensation of complete unfamiliarity and anonymity when you arrive somewhere new that is so freeing. In that moment, the possibilities are infinite and there is so much yet to be learned that my inner school nerd, which I've never been successful at hiding, completely takes over.
Over a year ago, I started thinking how I really needed to listen those astute Spice Girls and spice up my life already. Now, to be fair, it was already fairly picante. I had been at the same awesome job for 4 1/2 years, was living in a city I loved with amazing friends and roommates, had traveled a ton and seen a pretty good chunk of the world...so basically I was the luckiest person ever, but my wanderlust kept begging me to feed it Seymour. As is typical with everyday life and any kind of life that just finds you (as opposed to one you actively seek out), there was an inexplicable void haunting me. A comfortable, content kind of boredom that I felt I was too young to be settling into. I still had a lot of things I wanted to do, risks to take and some major antalones in my pantalones feeding the itch. You know what I'm talkin about...the really freakishly gigantic kinds in Africa that haunt your nightmares? They were IN MY PANTALONES! It was clearly time to take dem reins and move 'em out, head 'em up Raaawwwhiiiiiiddde. And what better place to crank up the spice than a whole continent full of Latin culture? Also, going to South America meant I could travel almost an entire continent on one language. We'll ignore Brazilian Portuguese for now.
SO I devised a plan for myself... I said SELF, in a year I will quit my very comfy job, leave my lovely city and go travel for as long as I can/want to. Once that decision had been made, I had the good fortune to stumble upon Grace, a friend in the exact same situation, wanting to do the exact same thing. I told you, I have crazy luck (I prefer to think of it as karma). So we chatted, procrastinated and finally bought our tickets some 3-4 months ago. We bought them at the same time, in front of each other, confirmed we had the same flight numbers, departing on the same day. Grace would be coming from SF and I would hop on to meet her in LA so I could spend my final week with family. Dandy candy rainbows and unicorns.
Fast forward to yesterday, when after quitting work, packing up my life, flailing around and trying to squeeze in as much QT with my loved ones as possible, I thought I should probably double check my flight times and print my boarding pass. Ticket from LAX to Guayaquil, Ecuador? Check. Departing 5/7 at 2am. Chhhhhheck? Hmmmm, wait a tick, since it's leaving at 2am shouldn't that be 5/8? Grace is departing San Francisco on 5/7 at 10pm right? So then that would mean she'd depart LA at 2am on 5/8? But mine says 5/7 at 2am. um. fuuuuuuuuck.
Now I know what you're thinking, I've spent this whole time setting you up for a catastrophe, but the truth is, I just called the Airline and they magically charged me one easy payment of $6.99 to change my flight to the next day. Karmalamadingdong. So what's my point other than making you crazy jealous of me? If every blog out there needed to have a purpose aside from self-indulgence, I think there might be only 3 left. I just thought I would take this opportunity to illustrate and introduce what this blog is likely to contain; the musings of two idealistic morons with a shared dream. I hope you will find our adventures to be mildly entertaining if nothing else. Tune in right here folks.
Did I mention that I didn't get my passport mailed back from the Bolivian embassy until today? Now that's a horse of a different color, but it's probably a good thing I pushed that flight back a day. Morons or not, wander we must and wander we shall!
