Def. non footy - tall tales from Sth America

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OK, for the terminal insomniacs amongst you who requested assorted ramblings from our trip to Sth America. Beware, it´s long (4 sections) so you´ll probably want to print and read at leisure with a good atlas, it actually only covers Ecuador and not yet Peru/Bolivia & you´ll have to excuse the typos and occasional inside jokes/references as they were originally written for closest mates. Oh yeh, and I can´t be held responsible for any medical conditions that reading this worsens considerably...

##Travel notes from far-flung places: Santiago & Quito

I'm afraid I can't recall what Breda may have told some of you already so I'll just launch into it - apologies for any repetition. As I type this she's just around the corner from me, knocking out an account of our amazing time in the Galapagos Islands, so this may arrive a little out of sync at your end. By the way, don't believe her if she says the sea-lion only gave me a love bite. It was a monster of a man-eating mammal - not to mention the fact she was sitting shivering in the dinghy 50 yards away at the time! Anyway, to roll back the clock a bit, the day we flew out of Sydney seems an absolute eternity ago now. If only time went as slowly during your average 2 week holiday from work eh (it's not been much more than that since we left)? Crossing the date line somewhere over the Pacific, the Sunday itself was like Groundhog Day Part 2 I can tell you. Santiago, where we stopped to break the journey, had a nice feel to it. Actually a very central European feel to my mind - big, solid concrete buildings interspersed with incredibly ornate churches & government buildings. Not to mention the colossal, imposing cast-iron statues of all the national heroes - I'm sure you know the deal, glazed of eye, pointing heroically into the distance, while dozens of their compatriots (scaled in miniature, naturally) struggle to support them on their backs. Speaks volume about the revolution so far? As well as experiencing their spanking new international terminal, to be fair we stayed in the embassy district, so perhaps hardly managed to see the true city. What we did was all very clean and impressive however. Damned chilly too - I was well chuffed to take my new, red fleece out for a bit of a stroll, which had many an admiring glance cast my way by the locals. I think I may also have managed to stop a fair bit of traffic ... And then there's Quito - actually it's not at all a bad place, neither ugly nor handsome. Thankfully, it seems safer than the dire warnings had us believe before our arrival. Though the fact the main tourist centre has numerous paramilitary-style security guards with thumping great rottweilers may have something to do with that I dunno? Uniforms. Now there's something they seem to like over her, or in Ecuador at least. You're obviously a complete nobody if you don't get each morning to don a peaked cap or a set of cavalry boots, spurs and sword (honestly). The food so far has been good, though there's always the possibility it may get a tad monotonous over the coming weeks . It is dirt cheap though if you choose to go for the menu of the day. This typically consists of a wholesome bowl of meat & veggy broth, a plate of chicken, beans, rice & salad, fruit juice and maybe some fresh fruit if you're lucky - all for the princely sum of about $1.5 or 3 Aussie dollars. Now I realise the question on all your lips is whether we've been keeping regular? To be fair it did take several days for things to get moving in that department, if you know what I mean. Though if I keep forgetting I shouldn't be eating food washed in the local water then it won't be long until that situation is dramatically reversed - I'm sure you'll be wanting us to keep you posted? Still on the water theme, you wouldn't believe how much bottled water Breda is managing to get through. All well and good you might think - until we read in a paper (bought in the vain hope it might improve our Spanish) that only 17 of 42 local bottling plants were producing drinkable water - and the rest were in danger of being shut down for unhygienic practices! Let's hope our immunity systems are still high from the famous recent Sydney giardia and cryptosporidium outbreaks. The locals we've encountered in the first few days have seemed pleasant enough (in a weary sort of a way) You'll usually get a smile out of them, though you'll have to crack one first. So far I've not really managed to tap much into the famed South American passion for football, though I'm confident that will come. I was hoping to watch heaps of the World Under 20 Championships currently happening in Argentina (which Ecuador are in). The problem is that, for some bizarre reason, their cable TV is cabled in from Peru and seeing as their juniors didn't make it to the tournament they spat the dummy and refuse to screen any live games. Things should be different when the Copa America starts in a few weeks time though. At which point I fully intend to produce the mini football bought just before leaving so I can have a few kickabouts with the bairns. About aged 2 or 3 I reckon should be OK if my skill level isn't to be shown up ...

##Galapagos Islands

Hola! ¿Que tal? This may well be the condensed version of our trip to the Enchanted Islands which is probably not a bad thing...... So here it goes... After just spending a couple of days in Quito we flew to the island of Baltra in the Galapagos and from there caught a bus, then a ferry and another bus to the port town of Puerta Ayora. This is a working port of about 12,000 people and is a very friendly and relaxed place to hang out. The first couple of days we did nothing but stroll around the town and take in the local sights - one of these was a trip to the Darwin Centre which amongst other things is concerned with the conservation of the Islands as well as helping to keep the Galapagos Tortoise from extinction - they breed them at the centre and once they have reached the age of 2 or 3 release them into the wild (back to the islands from hence they originate). We also saw Lonesome George who is a giant Galapagos Tortoise and at the age of 80 + is the only one of his species left - he isn´t so lonesome anymore though as he has a couple of females from another island to keep him company. The giant tortoise is amazing to see up close - part reptile, part prehistoric beast and we luckily got the chance to see them in the wild on a local farmers land! No more tilling the soil for this farmer - he has a great business going, allowing the tourists to tramp all over his land in the quest for getting up close to these wonderful timid creatures. Though big and awkward looking they are nevertheless majestic. Locals used to keep them as pets before it became necessary to preserve them from extinction. Hundreds of thousands of these harmless creatures have been slaughtered by fishermen and early settlers for their fat (used as oil for lamps) and also for their meat. Quite a sad story but at least now they are a protected species. On another of our lazy days we walked the 3 kms to Tortuga Playa (Turtle Beach) - this is a fabulous white sand beach about 800 metres long and the site of my one and only jog so far....... I am blaming my slow acclimatisation to the altitude for my laziness though Seymour has no empathy for me whatsoever. Whilst here we also saw some marine turtles close to shore as well as lots of sally light crabs. These are an amazing red in colour and in the afternoon the beach is covered with them and as you walk towards them they disappear down little holes in the sand creating the illusion of a shifting red carpet. And so after a few days of the easy life we decided it was time to tackle the travel agents. There are only about a half dozen in the town so it wasn´t a hard task. Most of the cruise ships dock at Puerta Ayora and so we were able to ask to see the boats we were interested in. This in itself is good fun as it means jumping on a panga (dinghy) to motor out to the moored boats, then clambouring on board and having a good sticky beak around. Having done this a few times we settled on a lovely looking sailing boat called the Free Enterprise and joined the boat that evening for dinner and a briefing on our trip. As most people were suffering from seasickness (including his truly) it was an early night for all and after surviving a night of rolling on the high seas it was with relief that we got up at 6.00 am to see the first of our islands - Rabida. Well we were in for a bit of a shock as the boat had never left port due to engine trouble........ and so it was back to the travel agents to find a new boat to take us on our trip. And so we found ourselves on the Dorado which turned out to be a fantastic boat. Great crew, great group we travelled with (13 in total, including 3 kids and us) and a great itinerary with an excellent guide, Peter who knew everything about the islands and even Seymour's quest for knowledge was satisified. As for the trip itself, it was an awesome experience and each day held something different for us - most days we did at least one hike and a snorkel and each island had something new and wonderful to offer. We saw sealions galore and swam with them which was beautiful - they are so graceful in the water and love to swim up to your face mask and then duck under and around you. Of course, Seymour met one that wanted to get even closer and it grabbed him by the upper arm (leaving a wonderful bruise and some great scratch marks) - when Seymour refused to play with him cause he (the sealion) was too rough it tried to grab his flipper - this was when Seymour decided that he had enough and hailed for the panga to pick him up - what a spoilsport! I then got to practice my first aid and Seymour has made a full recovery. Not sure about the sealion. We saw many wonderful and colourful fish and on one lucky day a sea turtle which was so cute. Fortunately we saw no sharks whilst snorkelling but did see them from the beach and also from the panga as well as many different types of rays and lots more sea turtles. Then of course there are all the wonderful birds which are endemic to the islands - blue footed boobies, cormorants, magnificent frigate birds, Darwin finches and one solitary flamingo. We saw lots of marine iguanas and land iguanas and it is amazing how close these birds and other creatures will allow you to get to them. You have to be so careful not to step on them as they pay no heed to the gringo walkways and this goes for the sealions too who blend in so well with their surroundings. I could go on and on about the wonder of nature and the beauty of these islands but I daren't risk the computer crashing again. I know I haven't even touched on the flora of these enchanted islands but it is everything and more than we had expected and even without the animals was itself majestic and unforgettable. Our trip was for 7 nights and 8 days and was a wonderful introduction to Ecuador and its people. I am truly impressed with what I have seen so far and probably because we have for the most part kept to the Gringo trail, have found it a very easy country to get around. There is a great selection of hostels, hotels, restaurants/cafes and food to die for. So, the transition from Sydney to South America has been far easier than I expected and I can only suppose that Peru and Bolivia may present a few more challenges for us! I will leave Seymour to fill you in on our journey after the Galapagos - Otavalo, Banos, El Tambo, Ingapirca ruins and Cuenca where we currently are - a fantastic colonial city which I have already fallen in love with - after only 1 day! Best wishes to you all and keep those emails coming.

##Travel notes from far-flung places: Tears of a Clown (Ecuador Pt2)

Rooftop bedroom, Hostal Irina, Otavalo, early hours of Saturday morning: I´ve no idea if Irina was a saint, but she would´ve needed the patience of one being located next door to this peña (ie. "niteklub, with god local acts"). Trust me, never before has Aqua´s heinous renditioning of "Barbie Girl" been greeted so deliriously by so few at 3 am. And, in the background, you could just hear the sobs of Ramal (formerly one of the "god local acts") as he contemplated the end of his singing career. Not to mention the sound of me bawling into my pillow - initially with delight that I´d actually survived the aural assault that passes for a top night out in Otavalo, and then with despair as I recalled the earlier words of the bread shop owner that "Friday night is OK, but on Saturdays we REALLY like to party." Things had all started quite reasonably. Breda and myself had decided on an early night after yet another hard (!) day´s travelling, safe in the knowledge that we were way too shattered to let a little noise bother us from the nightclub directly below our terrace. Big mistake! We´d dozed through the evening´s preliminaries, with only minor disturbance whenever the resident DJ insisted on ramping up the volume another notch. We´d even survived Ramal´s initial, shorter set of the night around midnight, muttering words to each other to the effect of how nice it was to hear some South American music. But between 12 and 2 am. the éntertainer´must have been racking up a fair tab on the local firewater before returning centre stage. The result was the loudest brass section you´ve (hopefully never) heard, accompanied by a the mighty Ramal´s voice all-a-quaver (some tragic attempt at injecting some soulfulness?), regularly interspersed by demonic howls, conjuring images of mournful wolves being fed through a mangle ... extremely slowly. As each ´song´passed, the initially enthusiastic applause reduced noticeably as even the most inebriated revellers realised that aliens must´ve kidnapped the "god local act" for which they had shelled out their had-earned and replaced him with a third-rate karaoke wannabe. By Ramal´s third or fourth track (you´ll forgive me for not memorising his repertoire) any clapping seemed to be restricted to Ramal´s own mother ... as even she headed for the exit to have her hearing aid tuned. Though I´d be surprised if the unfortunate woman made it that far, doubtless stampeded by the horde tearing the joint apart in search of the main fuse box. But, come hell or high water, Ramal the Magnificent was going to complete his set: "Gracias, gracias" he would utter at the conclusion of each affliction. "Tengo su attencion?" "Yes, yes, Ramal" I screamed back from our rooftop, "You have my undivided attention, you %&*^@." I didn´t know the Spanish for "encore", but Ramal must have sensed he still had at least the semblance of an audience, albeit a captive one consisting of us two, as he promptly launched into another of his slow numbers. As it all dragged itself to some sort of an agonising conclusion, in the distance could be heard the faint wailing of police sirens and gun shots as, presumably, Otavalo´s finest tried to restrain the compere responsible for the original booking from torching Casa Ramal. That´s not to say that we didn´t have a grand time in the town though! Returning from the Galapagos, we´d spent only an additional couple of nights in the capital Quito before taking a bus some two hours north. This was our first real experience of public transport South American style - for example, how they´ll happily sell you a bus ticket in the concourse, then charge you again to get through a turnstile to reach the area it departs from. Or how your bus will cruise around town for a full hour trying to pick up additional passengers, before returning to exactly the same spot where your taxi dropped you off an hour and a half earlier. All good, wholesome fun. Though you wouldn´t want to be on any sort of a schedule I guess - which, of course, we most certainly aren´t. Then there´s the bus drivers´ love of playing chicken with oncoming vehicles, in which overtaking the wide loads in front is of only passing concern; there´s being besieged by hawkers clambering onto the bus every time it slows below thirty, trying to sell you all manner of foods and drinks; not forgetting the eardrum-piercingly loud music they delight in inflicting on their passengers etc. etc. Never a dull moment to be had, I can tell you. But back to Otavalo. A bit of a dry and dusty town that is nationally, even internationally renown for its Saturday market - so huge that it spills not just into endless streets surrounding the main plaza, but also into Sunday, Monday, Tuesday ... All well and good if we´d been at the end of our trip, but unfortunately we were restricted to window-shopping, faced with the less-than-enticing reality either of having to carry stuff around for several months, or alternatively entrusting it to the Ecuadorian postal service and its reputation for ´recycling´stamps from letters which, perhaps unsurprisingly, rarely seem to make it to their destinations. It was also here that we enjoyed our first experience of fighting off feral dogs - also known as ´trekking´ in the beautiful Ecuadorian countryside. One sunny morning we set off over a nearby hillside with a Kiwi girl we had befriended, intent on a pleasant stroll around Lago San Pablo with views of the impressive surrounding hills and mountains. We were feeling pleased at ourselves for acquiring a bag full of fruit, bread, goat´s cheese and ripe avocados (for butter) in the atmospheric produce market , but were soon to rue the fact we hadn´t also bartered for large sticks and assorted munitions to fend off the army of savage mongrels, not to mention pigs, that came snapping at our heels every few steps. Loose pebbles had to suffice - the piece of soggy bamboo I´d initially picked up proving somewhat inefficient - until we could get properly tooled up further down the track. The rest of the walk by the lakeside was most scenic, passing the locals as they went about their daily business - the women and kids furiously scrubbing clothes and trying to keep myriad cows and sheep under control, while the menfolk worked up a real sweat ... playing football nearby. Sadly the "paved road right around the lake" promised by the Lonely Planet guide book proved somewhat optimistic, forcing us to do some serious hedge-hopping and swamp-wading as, increasingly desperately, we tried to make it the whole way home. As light started to fall, however, we were forced to admit defeat and hop on a local bus - in 6 hours, we still hadn´t managed to get half-way around the piddlingly-small waterway, but we were happy and certainly dusty enough at our 1Ð5 7POST http://viki.latinchat.com/eshare/s Have I mentioned the fortune-telling monkey yet? And no, before anyone suggests it, I haven´t been chewing on the coca leaves. In Otavalo Market there really was a monkey, dressed in quite a fetching cowboy hat (and little else) who, whenever someone paid a dollar, would reach into a drawer and select out three folded pieces of paper bearing news of their imminent fate. And that has to be healthier than chewing your way through a bagful of Chinese fortune cookies, right? From Otavalo it was south again to a beautiful spot called Baños, nestled amongst the greenest, steepest hills I´ve had the pleasure of clambering up in quite some while. It was quickly apparent that there still lingered some of the wet weather that had resulted in those deathly earthslides a couple of months back (thanks for all those reports of calamities, folks, and do keep them coming as we´re not sufficiently wired-in to know what havoc Mother Nature is reaping down our path). Still, it was great fun slithering our way over the mountainside directly behind the beautifully relaxing hostal that Breda had located for us. You can imagine how pleased we were with ourselves at completing in 3.5 hours a round trip to the village of Runtun that the guides had claimed would take around six hours. There again, in the heavy morning fog, we might just as easily have taken a wrong step and ended up sliding back into town even faster! I think we ended up staying in Baños for about 5 days, just lounging around reading in hammocks, eating beautiful local and French food, and playing with the resident pet sloth brought in from the Amazon. Well, when I say we played with him, it would probably be more accurate to say that Bolino (Little Ball) was far more intent on playing with Breda - the little minx hung upside down off a branch directly behind her and try to cosy up to her. My god, I´m getting jealous of an animal that can´t even make up it´s mind whether it´s a bear or a monkey! Another highlight of the Baños leg was a trip to the Rio Verde waterfall or, more particularly, the impressive Devil´s Cauldron at its foot. Probably not the highest falls I´ve seen, but the water hits the rocky bowl at its foot with such force that there´s just this seething, hissing, roaring mass of white water, the spray from which soaks you in seconds as you stand on the viewing platform. Many gringos choose to hire mountain bikes to travel the 20 km. there, but I can assure you that taking the small public bus wasn´t exactly a breeze either. ´Small´ being the operative word - leaping up to offer my seat to some old lady laden down with a couple of tons of baggage on her back, I smacked my head off the ceiling and had to stand the rest of the way practically bent double. Even from that position it was easy at first to feel superior to the poor cyclists having to pedal gingerly in the dark through a long mountain tunnel as we hammered past them (our driver clearly enjoying the challenge of avoiding mowing any down without needing to put the bus headlights on). But the shoe was on the other foot a mile or two further on, however, when we met another bus coming in the opposite direction. Question. How do two vehicles, each three metres wide, pass one another on a road approximately four metres wide when neither is prepared to reverse to a slightly wider spot? And let´s not forget the sheer drop into the gorge below. After much gesticulating on the part of both bus crews, ours eventually backs down - and starts reversing at speed back along said narrow track. Of course, my head is still wedged somewhere around my belly button at this point, so I could clearly hear the butterflies in my stomach when even the locals, who you´d assume were used to such shenanigans, began screaming to the driver "No mas! No mas!". I´ve no idea whether our rear wheels were actually hanging over the drop at this point, but thankfully our driver calmed down and obviously agreed it would be the height of foolhardiness to reverse any further. As the other bus somehow squeezed past us, exchanging coats of paint in the process, it would be safe to say that the hand signals between the respective drivers meant that they wouldn´t be buying each other rounds of drinks that evening at least. Following Baños came my first opportunity to crawl around some piles of ancient rubble. We had a delightful night´s stay in the finest and most hygienic hostal that the small hamlet of El Tambo could muster up for us when we arrived late at night ... but best not ask Breda about that one for a few weeks yet! In the morning we just about managed not to get fleeced by one of the locals en route to the site of Ingapirca . The sort of colourful local character who tried to offer us a "taxi" for four times as much as we ended up paying when the local bus service arrived ... a mini truck driven by the very same lovable rogue! It was a picturesque drive some 8 km. up the valley - or so Breda tells me. I was way too busy going very pale with concentration at preventing an embarrassingly premature evacuation of the nether regions. You can imagine, I´m sure, how pleased I was to throw some dollars in the vague direction of the entrance booth and sprint straight for the toilet block! A little faster than an Inca trots, if you get my drift. (By the way, thanks for your many kind enquiries about the state of our digestive systems. Things seem to have improved quite noticeably since that first report you´ll be pleased to hear). Ingapirca itself was small, yet pleasant introduction to the acres and acres of Inca and other, pre-Colonial sites that we will shortly be seeing, most notably in Peru. First impressions, though, were that they were damned skilled rock carvers. Not just with the immaculately-shaped masonry blocks that require no mud or plaster to keep their ceremonial buildings standing, but also the number of other rock sculptures they seemed to do simply for fun - turtles, thrones, giant faces carved out of hillsides etc. This is all getting a tad on the long side so I´ll break off here and, for anyone still awake, I´ll cover the beautiful colonial city of Cuenca, legwaxing in Vilcabamba and our border crossing into Peru in a separate email. Hasta pronto amigos.

##Travel notes from far-flung places: Adios Ecuador

A funny thing happened to us after leaving the ruins of Ingapirca. South of Riobamba the bus apparently took a detour via the Scottish Highlands. No really! One moment we were watching the scenic, yet by now familiar, Ecuadorian countryside. The next we were staring in disbelief at towering hillsides swarthed in heather and coated with thistles blooming purple flowers. As if to complete the picture, before long schoolgirls began boarding our bus sporting red tartan tunics. In a state of some anxiety I waited for the first skirls of bagpipes to blast through the speakers, or maybe a hawker trying to sell me a bag of haggis and ´nips ... Still feeling a wee bit disoriented, we pulled up in the city of Cuenca ... and were immediately dumped back into Latin American reality when a gaggle of taxi drivers tried to wrest the bags out of our hands, all the while jockeying us towards impossibly battered, yellow Skodas. Cuenca is truly a relaxing place to visit, taking in its many colonial houses (unlike in most other parts of the country, here they have actually been restored) and wandering its cobbled streets. As long, that is, as you don´t tumble into the dirt ditches around the town centre, marking the path of what presumably were once streets. Now, either the local council is busy installing impressive new telecommunication networks, or they have an extremely serious problem with giant moles. Without question, internet connections were cheaper and more plentiful than anywhere else we'd thus far found ... which I suppose leaves only the mole theory ? We checked into Hotel Paredes, a mostly empty colonial mansion that in truth had only been semi-restored and was now being run by a scary, young Russian girl whose Spanish appeared to be as limited as mine (yes, that poor). Hour after silent, lonely hour she would sit at reception, staring at the pigeon-holes where the numerous room keys sat. Very possibly she was deep in thought about ways of better marketing her business, though I prefer to think she was trying to relocate a portal to the parallel universe that had sucked her without notice from Vladivostock and deposited her in deepest Ecuador. And, albeit only occasionally, sometimes you think you know just how she feels. Cuenca, for example, is something of a contradiction. At first glance you feel you´re somewhere safe and cheerful. Then, within minutes of arriving, you start noticing all the weapons - private security guards at every turn who are armed not with those piddling little spud guns we´ve grown to ignore elsewhere, but bearing huge shotguns and fully automatic rifles. If I´m not mistaken, at one point I noticed one guy pull out a saw and start hacking away, though thought it best he not catch me making eye contact. As things turned out though, Cuenca was a charming and secure place after all. In all likelihood because all the people with the serious money (and there seemed to be no shortage either of them or their wealthy offspring) had got in first by hiring private armies before the baddies had thought to part-exchange their bow and arrows for something more potent. We did several beautiful walks down by the river. Hell, we even managed a run down that way too, then back around by the excellent Museo de Banco Central where it would´ve been hard not to enjoy the various ethnological and archaeological exhibits. We even manged the whole of the religious iconography section, though frankly it wasn´t half as impressive as seeing similar stuff in situ in the ´new´ cathedral on the main square (actually late 19th century - they know how to move with the times here you know). The food was plentiful and blessedly varied. At times it was even a touch on the surreal side, such as when we had dinner in splendid isolation on a large lawn that would´ve made an Englishman weep ... complete with two fluffy white bunnies hopping around our feet that everyone else seemed quite oblivious to. I don´t know, perhaps we were in Wonderland and Alice was back at our hotel trying to out-stare the Cheshire Cat hidden in one of the pigeon-holes ? One excellent day trip entailed a short bus ride out to Baños (another one) where, surprise surprise, there were more hot and cold springs, something that most definitely aren´t in short supply in Ecuador. Of even less surprise was the ferocity of the dogs that snapped at our heels practically throughout the whole of our hike in the surrounding foothills. After all that stress - and I realise, folks, just how much sympathy you must be directing our way at this stage - I was well up for relaxing in the local ´Turkish sulphur baths´. After cajoling Breda in with the promise of something from the cafeteria afterwards (haha), each of us coughed up a dollar and in we went. Now I don´t know what you would have expected to find in a Turkish sulphur bath. I certainly had no clue, but basically it consisted of a handful of changing booths, some reclining couches, hot and cold showers and a wet sauna. After discretely checking the chances of being forcibly stripped and pummelled by huge, sweating, moustachioed Mediterranean wrestlers sporting tiny towels were negligible, I soon got in the swing of things. Well, as much as one can when keeping your swimmers on, that is! I´m not at all sure where the sulphur figured. Breda swears she could smell something unusual in the women´s section, but I thought it wise not to go there (in any sense of the phrase). I can report however that they do throw green-leafed branches onto the coals which give off quite a heady aroma. Anyway, about an hour later I heard a plaintive call emanating from the entrance hall - Breda summoning me back out into the now chilly air - and so reluctantly left my relaxing haven. She had had a fairly good time too, or so she said, so I assumed she hadn´t also spotted the labourers from the next-door building site mooning the ladies´ quarters. There again ... !! Our continuing drive south towards Vilcabamba was quite stunning, particularly once we had left Loja. Or so I was told. I was way too busy doing my usual impersonation of a catatonic vegetable, as I do out of self-preservation on long bus journeys. Arriving there in the first drizzle we´d experienced in some time, our first-choice accommodation was booked out so we allowed ourselves to be spirited up to the muchly popular Hostal Las Ruinas. No doubt about it, the swimming pool, jacuzzi, 24 hour movies piped into every room, and both wet and dry saunas must seem like heaven to those gringos heading north from dusty Peru. And, while we certainly did our best to add a little more dried skin to the whirlpool and cracked a couple extra table tennis balls, it wasn´t quite the relaxing Vilcabamba experience we craved and so the next day we moved out. Or, in Breda´s case, collapsed in a slipperey heap while attempting to extract herself from one of the saunas, damaging her elbow in the process, and then moved on ! Still, at least she got to have herself treated by a rather hunky doctor ... Rumi Wilco Ecolodge may not exactly sound the sort of place where Absolutely Fabulous´ Patsy and Edina might select for a spot of binge drinking, but it was pure heaven-on-earth for us. You should have seen Breda fall on the home-grown coffee after several weeks of suffering the strange, chicory liquid that sits on cafe tables to be poured directly into your cracked glass of lukewarm water. And then there was home-made granola to pour onto our breakfast yoghurt, most welcome after seemingly endless days of scrambled eggs alongside fresh air dressed up as bread rolls. Fresh water was taken straight from the owners´ well (and I´m even still alive to write this); our cabin came with a funky blue wall mural in the bedroom, separate dining and cooking area, hammock outside the front door, huge wooden shutters to throw open in the morning etc; walks were taken up the mountainside directly behind our cabin, then across various donkey tracks - and some poor old fella´s banana plantation as we tried to find the way back. Even more spectacular was a walk we did up to Mandango, one of the lookouts (with cross) or "mirador" so beloved in these parts. It actually turned out to be one of the more comfortable hikes we´ve done to date, but with sensational views in return for our exertions. And if that wasn´t reward enough - are you still paying attention Gail? - who should we meet at the summit but a woman from Potters Bar. On the run from the place these past 10 years ... and still hiding out in the hills it would seem ! We were sad to leave Vilcabamba, but thought if we didn´t make an especial effort we might never escape the soothing clutches of Ecuador. We´d failed to book a riding trip with one of the cowboys who seemed to frequent the town´s main square, but at least Breda had been for an enjoyable Fanny´s Massage (or a legwaxing at least). So, rather reluctantly, we booked ourselves onto a night bus for the border and headed for Peru. Adios Ecuador y hasta la vista. P.S. it´s become increasingly clear to us that these ramblings aren´t purely designed to induce narcolepsy in our nearest and dearest, but effectively also act as a keepsake or kind of diary of our travels. As a result, please forgive (and feel free to skip) the following, random observations to date. In no particular order then, MISCELLANEOUS DISLIKES: being asked to pay ´tourist prices´ for travel, entry to museums & sites etc; brand new toilets that are lacking toilet seats; music quality and selection on buses; excitable old gadgies who start by shaking females´ hands and enquiring where they´re from, before moving through a predictable routine including their loneliness since their wife´s death, turning increasingly tactile and ending up with a request for money; carrying a backpack half-full of gear I never touch but value too much to discard; music quality and selection on buses; feeling simultaneous guilt and impotence when approached by child beggars whenever you´re eating; having the dilemma of risking adding to a developing culture of dependency by giving money to adults, or sweets to kiddies when out trekking; our lack of progress with spoken Spanish; did I mention the music quality and selection on buses? ; the animal ´dawn´ choruses, starting around 3 am. and often continuing quite bizarrely well after midday. MISCELLANEOUS LIKES: scenery so eye-catching you forget you´re holding your camera; Inca Kola (similar to the cream soda you used to get as a bairn); banana chips/crisps tasting the same as, but way cheaper than, those made from potato; the sound of Andean pipes; forgetting what getting up for work is all about; the lack of any hostility towards the impossibly rich foreigners we must regularly seem to be /downright friendliness in fact, even allowing for the Ecuadorian reserve; the sometimes touching, sometimes sad lack of business and marketing acumen; easily avoiding having to hang out with other gringos when you don´t want to; cable TV, even in many budget hostals; internet at approx. one quarter the price it is in Sydney; realising that guide books are just guides - and that you often have a better experience if you read them only after you´ve been out exploring; Latin American travel being way more comfortable than I ever remember it throughout Asia.

-- Anonymous, September 03, 2001


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