Puentes

Canoa, in the Manabi province of Ecuador (Pacific coast)



Puente = bridge.  I remember this from my time in Spain:  If there is a holiday on a Thursday, for example, and maybe another holiday on the following Tuesday, the government will declare a puente, or long weekend.  This past weekend, Ecuador enjoyed a series of dias feriados (Day of the Dead, Cuenca's Independence Day, etc.).  Some lovely new Quito-based girlfriends were kind enough to invite me on their road trip to the coast.

Our destination was Canoa, a "sleepy village with a heart of gold" (according to Lonely Planet, a source whose printed bits of guidance are often suspiciously flawed).  The noise emitted by competing sound systems from the myriad seaside dance "clubs" (discotecas y salsotecas) was relentless, and the bass was often strong enough to set off car alarms.  [A side note: I've thought many times in the past month that a better name for this blog might be "No One Cares About Your Car Alarm."]  Restful sleep was hard to come by, there was no sunshine or heat to speak of, and the beach was disappointingly just as dirty as the streets of Latacunga.  On the other hand, it was absolutely dreamy to escape to sea level, breathe air rich with oxygen, swim in the perfectly tepid equatorial Pacific, and eat fresh seafood. 

Locals claim that Canoa is on most weekends quiet with few visiting tourists.  The aggressive bass, the hordes of Ecuadorian vacationers, and the piles of broken glass are characteristic of a feriado weekend.  The second curious proclamation is that "beach season," with it's warm weather and sunny skies, begins next weekend.  I am not convinced of either assertion.

The beach is phenomenal: grayish sand battered by persistent waves, tall and apparently inaccessible cliffs at one end, the strangely upscale town of Bahia de Caraques at the other.  The water is clean and the air smells good.  The conversation was beyond pleasant, the food delectable, and the car ride (thankfully NOT a bus ride) was beautiful. 

The most memorable moment of the vacation most certainly was the following:

Our hotel bar housed a prominent sign that promoted beach maintenance by offering a free cocktail for every bag of trash gathered by guests.  On our first walk toward the cliffs, we took a large trash bag with us.  Despite awareness of the fact that our efforts in trash collection would attract unwanted stares and quizzical comments from the Ecuadorians, we began to pick up garbage (plastic cocktail cups, food containers, kitchen appliances, etc.).  The steady stream of comments and consistent stares were at first discouraging, but then the most beautiful thing happened: a girl, probably thirteen years old, brought a wad of paper/plastic/something to my open bag and dropped it in without a word.  And she wasn't the last to do so.  Our enthusiastic and laughable team effort to remove junk from the Canoa beach was unexpectedly supported by sporadic contributions from individual Ecuadorians.  This made my heart pound.



Trash collection.  So American (foreign).

Below are some more photos of our little trip.  Anne (fellow Fulbrighter), Mandy and Eva (human rights lawyers) are stellar travel partners.  These girls work/volunteer for an NGO in Quito that works to protect the rights of refugees and women in the country.  They are smart and engaging and find humor in things that I, too, think are funny. 

Ice cream and black shirts in Bahia de Caraques.

Rental wind/sun/rain shelters.



Girls.



Girls.  In hammocks this time.