Tena, otra vez



Nuevas amigas on the Rio Jatunyacu.

On the morning of February 12, I caught a cab to the Fulbright Commission in Quito.  On the way, I asked the driver if he knew where I could buy some #2 pencils at 7:30 on a Saturday morning.  He knew.  He took me to a small store in La Floresta neighborhood (maybe the only store open in all of Quito at that hour), dropped me off at the Commission, and wished me good luck.  I then spent the next four hours in a room with photos of Barack Obama, Hilary Clinton, and Mr. Fulbright himself, all watching patiently as a dozen nervous humans scrambled to demonstrate their understanding of the three Rs, hoping that their weeks of recent study and years as a student subjected to too many tests just like this one would pay off.  They were hoping that admissions committees would deem them worthy of entrance into their programs, that their schools of choice would welcome them back to the States with open arms, or (in some cases) that the U.S. university system would choose them as the next Ecuadorian to represent their country in a fabled land of scholastic opportunity.  That was the GRE.  I was glad when it was over.

After the test, I met up with Rosada again.  This time she was just back from the Galapagos and accompanied by her manfriend, Joe.  We had lunch in Quito and then almost immediately began taking steps to get back to the jungle - back to Tena.  The bus ride from Quito to Tena via the northern route is only four hours long.  I boarded the bus wearing a down puffy and wool socks and exited wearing flip flops and a t-shirt.  The ride is, needless to say, steep and fast - terrifying. 

We spent a day on the Jatunyacu and another (el dia de San Valentin) on the Jondachi-Hollin.  The latter run is perfect - beautiful, fun, and full of the butterflies.  

Joe adjusting his boat, assistants at the ready.  Rio Jatunyacu.

Rio Jondachi.

Cascada - Rio Jondachi.

Joe and Ro - Rio Jondachi.

Vines and ferns and me - Rio Jondachi.

Fiestas de Saquilsili

A colleague at the Universidad Tecnica de Cotopaxi was kind enough to invite me (months ago) to the fiestas of his hometown, Saquisili, which culminated yesterday in a big parade and fairly epic street party.  The town's fiestas pay tribute to the Virgen and all she provides, showcase local music, and celebrate Ecuador's favorite beer: Pilsener.   (Yesterday somone informed me of the fact that if Ecuador were ever to change its name, it would change to "Pilsener."  Somehow I don't think they were kidding too much.)  We left shortly after noon, arriving in Saquisili with two other companeros from the university.  We ate lunch at Carlos' sister's home and when we arrived, we were immediately seated in a living room filled with the sounds and visual distraction of a New Kids on the Block DVD ("Baby I Believe in You," live Jordan Knight solo, complete with a white linen shirt, unbuttoned and billowing in front of a crowd of screaming 12 year-olds; incredible).  As usual, my vegetarian tendencies upset the older generation at lunch, forcing Carlos' 89 year-old uncle to scoff and scowl at my refusal to eat the chicken soup.  Because it is common knowledge here that chicken is not meat.  It's chicken.  ("It smells so good, but no thank you.  No really, no thank you.  Thank you, no.") 



This is meat.  Chicken doesn't fall into the same wheelbarrow as pigs and cows. 

After lunch, we joined Carlos' amazing and generous family on the curb to watch the parade.  In this tiny town, where everyone smiles and beers are shared with strangers and family alike, the typical Ecuadorian parade seemed especially charming.  I'm sure I was the only "outsider" in the town yesterday, and I felt honored to share the party with Carlos (one-time Ecuadorian National Boxing Champion) and his family. 

This white stuff is basically Silly String, but wetter, stickier, and without the "string."  By the end of the day, no one had been spared a dousing.  The crowd's favorite places to spray it: in one's eyes, in one's mouth, in the hood of my jacket.

Later, after the parade, the crowd gathered in the main square.  The smells were of beer (mostly), fried things (tortillas, empanadas, y chancho frito - fried pork), and sulphur from fireworks. 

Saquisili's main square as the parade finished up.

As the sun set, the crowd got a little messier.  People drink here.  They start early on fiesta days and don't stop until they have run out of energy, Pilsener, or music.  On every block, a different sound system blared popular music and revelers formed fabulous little dance parties.  Bandstands were set up on tiny one-way streets and in the plazas and throngs of salsa-dancing Ecuadorians enjoyed the brassy sounds of 12-piece bands until late in the evening.  This may be hard to imagine for some, but try (because it's pretty incredible): One can wander down a street, dancing the entire way, stopping to stay in front of a storefront that happens to be playing a song you like, and then continuing on to the next party where maybe the sound is better or the crowd won't let you pass through.  It's surreal, and when my colleague Pablo asked me, "Why don't you have parties like this in Alaska?" I didn't have a good answer.  We should. 

With the boxing champ.

With Pablo and Mayra, language professor friends from the university.

Ilinizas attempt and furry Ecua-animals

He's no Arlo, but I love him just the same.

I was invited by Miss Kim Lewis (of Fulbright fame) to join a group of Peace Corps volunteers as they attempted to make their way to the top of Ilinizas Norte, a retired volcano to the south of Quito.  These Peace Corps folks have resolved to climb Cotopaxi sometime in the coming weeks or months, and they had settled on Ilinizas Norte as an appropriate "training hike."  It should be noted that his mountain was scouted (and sent) by Uncle Keith (of Skier Boyz International Division) in October 2010. 

  


Ilinizas Sur (left) and Norte (right) at dawn.



I miss them so.

 Organizing even a small trip with a large group is never simple and never without dischord.  To lessen the number of schedules and ideas that needed accommodating, I encouraged Kim to join me on a separate-but-equal journey with the same goals: victory and close encounters with local fauna.  She accepted and we made our way to the Hostal La Llovizna in El Chaupi.  Bladamir, the climbing guide and hostel owner that Keith had met and adored on his initial Ilinizas mission, met us with a smile, good wine, and disheartening news of exceptionally dangerous conditions at the summit.  The Peace Corps volunteers turned around about halfway to the climbing refuge and joined us at the hostel for beers and a game called Telepictionary.  The Brazilian kids (also enjoying the warmth of the hostel) didn't find it quite as entertaining as my North American comrades did. 

Cotopaxi in the early morning.

Cotopaxi, still looking smokin' hot.

The Brazilians and their local climbing guide started walking the next morning at 3:00 a.m. and never made it to the top.  The Peace Corps volunteers, discouraged by the rain, fog, and bad news from Bladamir, opted to head south in the morning.  After breakfast and coffee, Kim, our new Swiss friend, and I were rewarded with bluebird skies and views of every volcano in the country as we walked above the clouds and toward the sunshine.

Ilinizas Sur (left) and Norte (right).



Cotopaxi, once again.  It's fairly photogenic.

We made it to the climbing refuge and a little farther, but the top indeed looked unattainable due to the fresh snow, changing conditions, and limited number of PB & Js. 

This is the car that my new Swiss friend bought in Alaska last summer.  He drove it from Anchorage to Ecuador, delayed only slightly during the crossing between Panama and Columbia.  This was, to me, quite precious.