I had paid a 50% deposit for my stay in Limón Indanza at Buglas Birding Lodge, in an area of Amazonian cloud forest about two hours west of Cuenca, on the recommendation of a friend who was a frequent guest. But events conspired to delay my stay. 

My one-week-a-month travel to various Ecuadorian locales was interrupted initially by the paro (national strike) last year which made interprovincial bus travel difficult for about a month.  And I supported the right of the Ecuadorian indigenous to strike; I’m not one to cross a picket line. So no Buglas. And shortly before I was to leave on a subsequent rescheduled date, the ceiling collapsed in the living room of my apartment.

Yes.  Workers were repairing the tile roof of my adobe building and apparently miscalculated the load.  I had stepped out for coffee and returned to a disaster.  Luckily the workers did not fall in with it so they were OK, and my cats (as usual) were in the bedroom and thus unharmed.  But the apartment was a disaster.  None of my possessions were damaged, but there was the dust of several hundred years of adobe building everywhere. In addition to having no living room ceiling.  

Fortunately I have a great duena (landlord) who immediately offered to pay for an Airbnb.  The cats and I stayed with a friend so that wasn’t necessary.  And she got workers in to renovate the entire apartment, repaint all the walls, and steam clean everything, beginning on a holiday weekend and continuing straight through for eight days.  Unheard of in Ecuador; she truly was a miracle worker. I returned to a structurally sound apartment that was better than before, and with new-to-me furniture as a bonus.

So that was Limón Indanza delay number two.

Rodrigo at Buglas was totally understanding through all this.  And it took me a few months to get my act together, but I finally rescheduled for a week in mid-May. And wow, was it worth the wait.

Normally I just ride the interprovincial buses, slow and cheap.  This time to get to Buglas, which is a bit off the beaten path, I tried a buseta (smaller van) service.  Very slightly more expensive, but with door to door service. The Cuenca-to-Macas route went through the town of Limón. I was expecting a passenger van or shortbus, and was pleasantly surprised to be picked up in a comfortable SUV with three other passengers and a private driver. The trip with Alexander was pleasant and safe, although with the usual passing on blind mountain roads that I’ve grown used to and which no longer scares me. Chatting in Spanish passed the time.

On my late afternoon arrival to Buglas I was greeted by Rodrigo, who got me settled in.  I’d seen pictures of the cabins on their website, but the in-person experience far exceeded my expectations.  Each one is large and modern, with a private bathroom, and the fourth wall facing the cloud forest and mountains is completely glass on sliders. In the front is a full-length patio with amazing views and comfy outdoor furniture; my particular cabin patio also had a jacuzzi. Luxe for me as I usually stay in hostels at $15 or $20 per night.  This was $65 and was probably the best lodging bargain I’ve ever had. Large breakfast included. I generally skipped lunch and mostly ate dinner on-site.  Totally yummy comida típica (typical Ecuadorian food) and some other special entrees.

I’m not much of a bird person.  I was at Buglas more as a getaway than anything. But when in Rome.  I re-downloaded the Merlin app and spent some of my days (when not doing absolutely nothing) doing my version of birdwatching, which was to have the app listen and identify birds, and then use the provided binoculars to try to spot and match birds. I saw lots I couldn’t identify, and heard lots I couldn’t spot. But, as it was in the Amazon at Kapawi, still surprisingly relaxing. I can totally understand why people get into it.  But it’s an expensive hobby and collecting Pokemon virtually is easier and cheaper.

Buglas is a self-contained sanctuary for birders, so I had lots of areas to explore.  Rodrigo took me to his special overlook to see the legendary cock-of-the-rock.  People come to South America specifically for the chance that they might see one, and sometimes they don’t.  At Buglas there is a group that numbers around twelve, and on the random afternoon we hiked out, there were five in plain sight, close enough to get decent pictures with my cellphone.  Most birders use Canons or Nikons with long, expensive lenses, so I was thrilled.

There was also a blind situated along one of the trails.  At Rodrigo’s suggestion I would get there around 6:45am and then, around 7:00am like clockwork, the birds would start arriving.  Some on the ground, others in various levels of the trees. And again, often close enough for cellphone pictures. I used the Merlin app to try to cross-reference what I saw and heard, but honestly, I didn’t care much about that part. I stayed each day until 8:00am breakfast.

I also just walked the trails with the Merlin app open.  And, when being lazy, I could just sit on the patio and do my birding from there.  Birds everywhere. Including the colibri (hummingbird) which flew into the large glass window. It lay there on the patio stunned for a while, chilled out and recuperated, and then flew off.  Given the recent arc of my life, I could relate.

Most of my six days here were like that. I fell into a nice rhythm:  big breakfast, big dinner, no lunch, some time listening and watching on my patio, doing whatever with no responsibilities. But I did feel that I should spend at least one day as a tourist.  And I’m glad I did.

Rodrigo arranged for a local mixto (4-wheel drive truck that serve as a taxi in remote areas) driver to take me to see some local cascadas (waterfalls) and petroglyphs.  Roberto was great.  No English which is fine with me.  These weeks for me are an immersion; I rarely speak or even think in English.  And he was more than patient with my occasional “mandé?”, the local version of “huh?”. 

We started by driving to the Cascadas Coloradas, where we hiked to most of nine waterfalls.  It had been raining and the trails which followed the river were muddy.  We carefully picked our way from waterfall to waterfall, fording the river when we needed to. Started by taking off our shoes each time and crossing the river barefoot, progressed to rock hopping with our shoes on, and finally, giving up, just got our shoes wet and waded across. Some trails had ropes or structures to hang onto, others didn’t.  It was challenging hiking, but not difficult.

My favorite waterfall was the one with the swimming hole in front.  Just deep enough to enjoy splashing around. You could walk around the back of the waterfall as well.  I spent some time doing that, not seeing the cock-of-the-rock that nested there.  Thankfully Roberto took a picture of it. I also asked Roberto for some time alone to use the waterfall in my private purification ritual. Through personal experience I’ve come to appreciate the power of running water to carry away negativity and attract positive energy. Under the falling water for several minutes, I reflected on my recent life, on an acquaintance tragically killed, and on my future life direction.

In the middle of the waterfall hiking we ate lunch.  There was a restaurant on-site serving tilapia fresh from the owner’s private hatchery.  This is not your grocery store freezer’s tilapia. A whole fish cooked in banana leaves with heart of palm, served with rice, yucca, salad, patacones (twice-fried disks of green plantain) with cheese, and some bonus camarones (shrimp). That and a Club beer — a delicious, enormous, and much needed break.

After lunch Roberto took me to Don Giovanni’s private petroglyph site in nearby Chiviaza. What a treat. There was a circular trail which was mostly downhill.  At the start was a rustic and lovely orchid garden which wound around to the first petroglyphs. Don Giovanni discovered the petroglyphs on his expansive property, uncovered them, and maintains them now as a gift to local tourists with guides in the know. 

The petroglyphs predate any known civilization and are a mystery open to interpretation.  Each rock has symbols, and a line carved which serves as a map pointing to the next petroglyph.  We followed the established trails and had a lot of fun discussing what we thought the symbols stood for.  Was it a monkey? A frog? Differentiated male and female stick figures? Insects? What was clear was that all of what I saw was part of an intentional system.  Many of the rocks, and one large rock toward the end in particular, had the same system of carved shallow holes that I saw in Ingapirca.  Were they the same artisans? What were the holes for? We tossed theories back and forth all afternoon; the fun was addressing the unknowable.

In the middle of our loop Roberto used his machete to cut a dragon’s blood tree.  There’s a dark red sap or resin that comes out, which he puddled into a leaf. It had a bitter flavor, kind of like a Campari before dinner.  It’s reputed to have medicinal uses, and Roberto said it was good for digestion. Given the unusual-for-me vast quantity of food I ate over the course of the day, I think he was right. You can also rub it into your skin.  It turns white, like a soap or lotion, and then disappears.  Very cool stuff.

At the end of the loop we took time at Don Giovanni’s distillery. He has a manual cane press, and Roberto and I together were the oxen turning the large pole that presses out the fresh cane juice. With a little lime, it was a really refreshing way to recover after a long afternoon second hike.  And of course, Don Giovanni ferments that juice, and I sampled a bit of that as well.  Hooch, but flavorful hooch. Cane juice, hooch, and a herd of friendly cats to remind me how much I missed my own.

Roberto then took me back to Buglas via one last very tall waterfall, which had a great swimming hole for a future visit. 

After a couple of hours rest and a shower, Roberto drove me to Limón for a dinner at Ñatos, a local steakhouse. Steak isn’t a meal I bother with unless it’s really good, and there were several local restaurants specializing in res (beef). In fact, every December the town hosts ResFest.  Yep I’m coming back for ResFest.  Because this was the best steak I’ve had in ages, and miles past anything else I’ve had in Ecuador. An aged ribeye (my favorite cut), not trimmed too closely, charred perfectly medium rare with plenty of salt, which did not get mealy after sitting on the plate cooling off, and was not mealy for the next day’s leftover snack.  Side of perfect fries and a salad, some grilled vegetables. Although I generally just want to eat a steak naked, there were two sauces: chimichurri (yes please, in moderation for a few steak pieces) and mushroom (delicious but nope, want to enhance the flavor, not mask it, but thank you for the effort).  With a couple of local IPAs and a Nutella torte for dessert, an amazing meal.

Buglas, and Limón in general, was the most relaxing of my monthly escapes.  Rodrigo was an amazing host; there when I needed him and absent when I didn’t.  And Roberto was a perfect guide and driver. This is definitely going to be my happy place where I can escape if I need time to myself. 

When Kirk and I got married in New York in 2012, we had three choices of last name. 

Choice number one: I took his name or he took mine. 

Choice number two: combine the two names into one. This was Kirk’s choice. He wanted “Laward”. He liked it because it was “going toward the law.” I vetoed it because it sounded like “lard”.

That left the third choice: hyphenation. That’s what we went with, to our future consternation. On reflection, I should’ve taken his name. You would think that, given the large numbers of people that hyphenate, there would be no issues. 

You would be wrong. 

It’s confusing to people and businesses in general. Filling out forms raises questions. Manual data entry by clerks is always hit and miss. Also computer systems are generally not set up consistently to deal with the hyphen. So online, sometimes I was hyphenated and sometimes I wasn’t. If the site didn’t accept a hyphen, you had to leave a space. Unless the system wouldn’t accept that. Which made me Lawrencehoward. 

The problem was tangentially exacerbated when we moved to Reading. Our address had a slash for 15 1/2 Street.  And if I thought the hyphen was a problem, the slash was even worse. I was 15 and One Half Street all over the Internet.

Which brings me to Ecuador. It’s very common here, even universal, to have two last names. And a couple of first names. But nobody hyphenates. 

When my temporary visa was issued here, the visa computer system allowed for special characters. That matched my US passport, which also had the hyphen.  But the cedula (a cedula is your ID here in Ecuador), in a different system, did not allow for that. So my cedula has my first name, middle name, and both last names. Four names. No guion en mi cedula. 

That’s actually perfect, because every last Ecuadorian has four names. And so do I! I love it. For the first time in a very long time, I’m officially like everyone else.

Fast forward two years. I have applied for my permanent visa here in Ecuador. They have a new visa system to improve things. It’s all online and streamlined. Except that what used to take three weeks now takes, I’m told, eight weeks. I apply 12 weeks in advance.

12 weeks later, my visa has expired. I’m told by my visa agent that there is a backlog and not to worry. As long as the application is in, I’m legal.

And then, I learn the reason for the delay. The guion comes back to haunt me. The new visa system, online and streamlined, you guessed it, does not allow for special characters. This evidently explains the delay in processing my permanent visa. They don’t know what to do with me. And so, we have to have a Microsoft Teams meeting with all concerned, to discuss my problematic guion. 

I’m glad I hired a visa agency, Gringo Visas, to handle all this. They have made the whole process painless. And they know all the players and the ins-and-outs of an ever changing and sometimes obscure process. Not cheap but worth every penny. 

We met in their office and the Teams meeting went smoothly. It was solely to document my agreement with the omission of my guion. I held up my passport, stated I had no objections, and that was that. 

A lot of gringos here complain about the excessive bureaucracy. I try to look at it from a local perspective. Yeah there’s lots of government and process, but that also keeps a lot of people employed in a country where the vast majority of university graduates are underemployed or unemployed.  Not to mention people with lesser qualifications. One of my good Ecuadorian friends has a 4-year degree and pumps gas on rotating shifts.  So really, a meeting to document and confirm everything is fine with me. 

My visa agent confirmed that our contact’s supervisor received all the original paperwork and my guion confirmation, and that the supervisor could issue my visa and the order for my new cedula. 

And it took three more weeks for a total of four months. But it finally happened, and I am now a legal permanent resident of Ecuador. 

Citizenship is an option. I wouldn’t really need it, but it might be nice to have a second passport. After you are 65 you don’t have to take a citizenship test; you only have to do an interview in Spanish. Age 65 would also coincide with the five years I’d need to be here to be eligible for citizenship. 

I’ll cross that bridge later. Right now, I’m just happy to be secure in my adopted new country. 

After a delay of a couple of months due to the paro (national strike that briefly affected intercity travel), I headed to Kapawi Ecolodge in the Pastaza province, near the southeastern border with Peru. There was only one time during which buses went from Cuenca to Puyo, the jumping-off point for travel to Kapawi, and that was an eight hour bus starting at 9pm.  Overnight bus travel is always a bit riskier, so I opted to go stay with my friend Irma at Casa de Marmol in Riobamba. That broke the travel up into three days:  Saturday six hours by bus Cuenca to Riobamba, Sunday three hours by bus Riobamba to Puyo, an overnight stay at El Jardin Puyo, and a short taxi ride to the airport in nearby Shell on Monday morning for my small plane ride to Kapawi.

I was nursing the beginnings of a cold on the morning of my departure to Riobamba, and it got worse as the day went on.  I’m a firm believer, right or not, in sweating out a cold.  Piled on the blankets in my comfy Casa de Marmol room, and awakened the next morning feeling much better, though congested.  The travel from Riobamba to Puyo meant a descent to close to sea level, and it was several hours before my ears cleared.  El Jardin Puyo was a little paradise; the grounds were gorgeous and my room was well-appointed.

Monday morning I met my Kapawi traveling companion Helene from Belgium, who was also staying at El Jardin Puyo, and who graciously shared her prepaid ride to the Shell airport. Helene was a very well-seasoned traveler and a dedicated birdwatcher with all the right camera equipment.  We bonded over breakfast and headed out.

The plane ride to Kapawi from Shell was about an hour, in a four-seat Cessna.  It was, to be honest, a bit daunting at first.  I had the seat to the right of the pilot, with all the duplicate controls I had to avoid touching with my hands and feet. But the pilot clearly knew what he was doing, and I settled in and took pictures as we went.

The airport in Shell had a small terminal and paved landing strip, but SEKB (the Kapawi airport’s nomenclature) was literally a dirt strip and a grass hut.  Smooth landing though, and the Kapawi staff quickly got us into a launch for the thirty-minute river ride to the Lodge.

On arrival we had a welcome drink, a brief orientation, and then a delicious fish lunch.  I’ll briefly describe all of the lunches and dinners, but they were uniformly delicious and nicely presented, and each lunch and dinner ended with incredible desserts. Also on arrival I slathered on the sunblock and insect repellent.  It’s worth noting that, unlike my poor father who attracted every biting insect in the immediate area, my natural body chemistry combined with applied chemicals meant that I was rarely bitten by anything. I’d had the yellow fever vaccine before moving to Ecuador, and my doctor had me taking doxycycline as a preventative for malaria, so I was totally safe and unbothered.

Helene and I formed a group with our own guide Chumpi, an indigenous man who spoke four languages, including English, had lived in San Francisco, and had been a guide in this area for over thirty years.  He splits his time between administrative duties and being a guide.  There were two other small groups, each with their own guide, but Helene and I definitely felt we had the best one.

After lunch Chumpi took us into the rainforest for a welcome hike, where we were introduced to the grandfather and grandmother kapok trees which have stood for centuries, before the arrival of the Spanish. Chumpi explained that they are guiding spirits for the indigenous in the area.  We also had an inhaled tobacco juice ceremony, and spent some time after the inhalation meditating with the trees. Chumpi had taught us three words in the Achuar language: wiñajai (good morning, welcome, good day, good evening — depends on time); maketai (thank you); and weajai (goodbye).  Wiñajai was the word we used to greet the trees and ask their permission to spend time in the forest.

After the welcome hike we settled into our rooms.  Nothing much happened for the entire week during the afternoon heat of the day, and the first day was no exception. I was in my room — two person room with a private bathroom that I had to myself without paying a single supplement fee. The porch had a nice hammock, and daily I snoozed in the afternoon heat.  Which, by the way, was much less oppressive than I had imagined.  I noticed the humidity far more than the heat, and nights were cool and comfortable under the sheets, blanket, and mosquito net.

Dinner the first night was beef cubes in gravy, green beans, and cole slaw. We went around the table and introduced ourselves.  Everyone else save Helene was from the U.S., and there was immediate interest and lots of questions about my expat status.  As usual, though, no one had heard of Cuenca, so there was much explaining.

After dinner there was a night hike, where the guides used infrared lights to show us the various insects and plants.  Totally cool: with that light you saw insects you would never otherwise be aware of.  Scorpions, spiders, frogs.

Back in my room, I started what became a nightly habit of evening showers.  As Helene said, no reason to wash off all the assorted chemicals during the day.  Kapawi doesn’t have hot water in the bathrooms, but I came to enjoy the lukewarm water. The humidity, though much less at night, was doing wonders to improve my cold. And the room was maintained by staff in constant readiness — every time I left, the water was refilled and the little points put back on the toilet paper. During dinner, the bed was turned down and the mosquito net deployed. This night, and every night, I slept like a rock.

And it’s a good thing I did, as I was up at 4:30am for a guayusa ceremony.  The community meets often at this early morning hour to drink guayusa (a herbal caffeinated tea) and share dreams they had for group interpretation.  They share the bad ones, and keep the good dreams for themselves.  Guayusa consumed rapidly in large quantities causes vomiting, and this purging is part of the morning process.  I was ready to purge, but no other guests and only one indigenous person did, so I skipped that part.

After that we had an early AM sunrise birdwatching boat ride, my first birdwatching experience there.  And to be honest, I felt a little bit like Morales describing her acting class exercise in “A Chorus Line”.  “And everybody’s goin’ “Whooooosh, whooooosh…I feel the snow…I feel the cold…I feel the air.” And Mr. Karp turns to me and he says, “Okay, Morales. What did you feel?” And I said…”Nothing.”  In this scene, our guide Chumpi is Mr. Karp, and everyone else in the boat is the acting class.  Everyone is seeing birds and monkeys. And I’m seeing…nothing. But your brain adapts, and toward the end of the one hour boat ride, things clarified.  I was reminded of a friend who could easily spot four-leaf clovers.  She said she just ignored everything that wasn’t a four-leaf clover.  Applied to birds, that made sense eventually.  My brain started seeing slight movement in consistent types of spots.  It was pretty cool.

I play Pokemon Go, and I decided that birdwatching was like that.  You have a list of a finite universe of things, and you check them off as you find them.  Honestly I’ll never be a hobbyist birdwatcher.  But I did come to enjoy the process and understand the attraction.

Next up was a post-breakfast boat ride to a jungle hike. Chumpi spotted things and explained them.  He also kept me supplied with wild garlic leaves to chew, which he said would help my cold.  And they did. Then came lunch, a veggie quinoa salad with vegetables.  Delicious. Helene and I then did our one obligatory swim-in-the-Amazon.  It felt great to cool off, but we didn’t venture very far past the boat dock, as the current was very strong and I’m an average swimmer.

Time between swimming and 4pm was spent napping in my hammock.  Then came the dreaded kayak adventure, about which I knew little but had much trepidation.  Kirk and I had terrible watercraft experiences.  Every time we rented a canoe or a kayak or even just a paddleboat, it ended in disaster.  The last kayak we rented had a hole and sank in mid-lake.  I seriously considered skipping the whole enterprise, but decided what the hell.  

I’m glad I went.  It was a great way to break the boat karma cycle.  They put the kayaks in a launch, took you and them upstream, and then put you out to drift back to the lodge with the current. Much like the lazy river pool at the Hilton, except without the piña colada.  I had a paddle but barely used it.  I spun in slow circles and looked at the things that serendipity showed me. So relaxing.  I saw pink dolphins surface for air, and large river otters too. My newfound monkey and birdspotting talents were put to good use.

Mealtimes normally included everyone in the group, but this gathering was sparse as there was a visiting shaman and some people had chosen to experience ayahuasca.  Chumpi had previously described the plant medicine use of the indigenous in the Achuar community.  He initially indicated that ayahuasca was mainly used by the shamans.  Not so much by everyone else — they used tobacco and something he called datura.  

With additional probing, I figured out that datura is scopolamine, which is used for nefarious purposes in South American cities.  Scopolamine can last up to three days and you lose your self-control. In the jungle setting, among the indigenous users, that loss of self-control means that you spend three days in the jungle with nature and animal spirits guiding you.  In the cities, it means that someone drains your bank account via ATMs.  

To be clear, datura was not on offer.  But the ayahuasca was, and I chose not to use it in that setting.  I have read quite a bit about it, and I personally know people with vast experience using it.  It’s nothing to be taken lightly, and taking it as a one-off wasn’t the right approach for me.  If I choose to do it in the future, it will be as part of a more integrated and comprehensive program.

So our little remaining group enjoyed a cube steak dinner. Afterwards, with our guide Chumpi in and out of the lodge at the funeral of a relative, we took an evening hike with another group’s guide Roberto, and a second guide who was very good at reproducing the animal sounds we heard.

Day three started with a pre-breakfast boat ride.  Helene took pictures with her tricked-out Nikon while I watched and occasionally acted as a spotter while she and Chumpi’s attentions were focused elsewhere.  I had gotten pretty good at not only spotting, but filtering.  By now I could tell if it was a common bird or something they had already spotted and photographed.  I’d like to think I was at least somewhat useful.  I honestly never got tired of the trips either.  I could always have opted out, but I took every opportunity available.  The trips were uniformly relaxing and interesting.  And on this trip we plucked an unsuspecting terrapin out of the water and had fun holding and photographing it before gently placing it back in the water.

Our post-breakfast activity today was a boat ride to a new trail.  Helene was a little late arriving at the boat launch, so Chumpi took me to the employee area where we hung out and drank chicha.  Chicha is a fermented beverage made from yucca or maize.  In the cities it’s made with a more normal process, but in the indigenous areas the fermentation comes from women chewing the yucca or maize and spitting it out into a container.  Water is then added and the resulting slurry ferments over a few days.  It was surprisingly refreshing.  And hanging out with the normal peeps is always my preferred jam.  My Spanish was good enough to understand the drift of the conversation and even to crack a joke that people laughed at.

This morning hike was my favorite of the trip.  We went to a very cool jungle waterfall, and while hiking, Chumpi found a branch off a grandfather kapok tree on the trail.  Helene noticed that it was cleanly cut off, and Chumpi got all excited.  Apparently there is a beetle that chews off the branch cleanly, and when you find this specific type of branch, it’s a harbinger of a baby boy.  Chumpi and Helene both had daughters who are currently pregnant, so they promised to stay in contact to see if the prediction comes true.

If this all seems like a lot of hiking and boat rides, well, it was.  But they were all individual experiences, made distinct by being on different trails, on different rivers, and occasionally with different guides. It never got repetitive or dull.

Lunch was chicken and veggies, after which I skipped my usual hammock nap for a small group conversation.  One of the two women who took ayahuasca described her experience.  Then she and the others extensively quizzed me about expat life. It was a fun exchange.

Then came the second of the two kayak drifting sessions.  This time we drifted downstream from the boat launch and got ferried back.   I tended to hang back from the other kayaks during both of these trips. Both times I had my own kayak, and the others were in two-person kayaks with guides, taking their bird pictures, and frantically paddling from bank to bank to get this bird or that one.  I used these two trips as opportunities to take a break from the active birdwatching in favor of my more passive approach. Let the river take me where it wants to, and look at what it shows me.  It was during this trip that I thought of my new mantra for life:

Drift more, paddle less.

Not a bad approach, I think.

This was the last night for most of the others who were there Sunday through Thursday.  Helene and I were Monday to Friday, which meant that the next night would just be us.  So Kapawi had their special going-away dinner for the larger group this evening.  Manioc, fruit, grilled fish, and fish and heart of palm wrapped and cooked in leaves.  So special, and so delicious.  And a great way to say goodbye to our new friends.

Generally I slept well and like a rock through the night, comfortable with the slight chill under the covers.  But you are in the jungle, and you never know what the night will bring.  Others had various invaders: bats; spiders; ants. I never had any of those.  Tonight my “invasion” was to be awakened by a pleasant chorus of three frogs, located separately in a triangle surrounding my hut.  Until I fell back asleep, I listened to them, in turn, consistent and clockwise, with their “wooooow” calls to each other.  Magical.

Pre-breakfast day four found me on my favorite boat ride of the week: to the clay licks to see parrots, macaws, and parakeets.  Flocks and flocks of all of them, easy to spot and enjoy. After breakfast the boat ride was completely different — on a much smaller and more shallow river.  Navigation was slow and the experience was completely different from being on the wider and deeper rivers with stronger currents. This trip also had the only rain I experienced in the rainforest.  It was cool to see the color changes, and also to see the slow re-emergence of the animals when the rain stopped.

After lunch (chicken soup, shrimp, rice, green beans) we went by boat to a local village to meet the chief, his wife and children, and the rest of the villagers. There was a welcoming process; Helene and I were asked to introduce ourselves after the wife gave us chicha.  I drank all of mine and had seconds, but I’m not sure that Helene drank any of hers, which Chumpi said was fine as they understood that not everyone wanted it and they weren’t offended. After that we asked each other questions.  I spoke in Spanish and Chumpi translated for Helene.  The first question was how many children I had with my wife.  For the first time in a very long time I played the pronoun game.  I’m not sure why I did, to be honest, but the assumptive nature of the question threw me off and the situation was unusual.  In general it was a very easygoing exchange and the chief repeatedly expressed thanks for our visit and asked that we explain our visit and their ways to our friends, to foster cultural understanding.

After the intercambio the children of the village brought out their handicrafts to sell and raise money for school supplies. There were a lot of kids, and to be honest the prices were unexpectedly high.  I had brought what I thought was sufficient money to buy a little something from every kid, but I was woefully short.  Chumpi said that the kids understood that not everyone would sell something, but I remember how it felt to get picked last in gym class, and it was a little heartbreaking.  I spread the money out as well as I could, and later asked Chumpi if I could just send a lump sum to the community for the chief to use for the kids as he thought best.  We worked that out.

As we were leaving we met a young couple who were living in the community for a month, teaching English.  It was their last day, and the community was having a party and a soccer game to celebrate.  As it turned out, they were from Reading, England so we each told a few self-deprecating jokes about our respective Readings.

Dinner that night was just Helene and I along with a couple of staff members, but it was just as well prepared as any other:  tilapia; yucca; and a tomato salad. I spent the evening packing and slept like my usual rock.

After breakfast and goodbyes, the morning boat ride to SEKB and the flight back to Puyo was uneventful; this time I sat behind the pilot and could actually stretch out my legs a little.  Another night at El Jardin Puyo, and I was psyched to find a day bus directly to Cuenca via Macas.  Eight and a half long hours leaving at 8:30am, but better than a two day trip.

I’d had such a good time and had so many cool new experiences that, while I was glad to get home, I really regretted having to leave.  It was such a privilege to experience the Amazon in a way that both honored local traditions and supported the local community with my tourist dollars. Most people go a more high-end route, and most lodges aren’t owned by the locals.  

I’m glad I made the choice I did.

Panoramic pictures

Regular pictures; all animal pictures courtesy of Helene Goessaert

I headed to Loja, Ecuador in mid-November for a long weekend (Friday to Tuesday) at their annual Arte en Vivo festival. It’s two weeks of live performances — dance, theater, and music, and most of the events are free.

Kirk and I were interested in Loja as a place to settle down, but didn’t have time to visit on our exploratory trip. Ironically we had reserved an Airbnb, a driver, and a guide to go there the week that Kirk went into the hospital.  With everything cancelled more than a year ago, the guide Jonathan Poma was kind enough to bank our prepayment, and he took me around Loja for Saturday (tour of Loja) and Sunday (real estate tour of the area) for this November trip.

I liked Loja quite a bit.  It was most of what Cuenca is, but smaller, and without the gringos.  I absolutely loved the downtown — compact but with lots of great restaurants, bars, and shops.  Very good vibe.  Interestingly price wise food and housing was generally comparable to Cuenca.  Most of the places I visit are cheaper.  Rentals are scarce now, as parts of Loja currently have a water crisis due to some infrastructure issues, which raises the prices in the unaffected areas.

The other thing I loved about Loja was the Spanish that was spoken.  Very slow and musical, with all syllables pronounced clearly.  I liked that aspect so much that I worked out a deal with my Airbnb owner to have his place for the month of March.  My plan is to spend the month there and do some intensive Spanish classes, away from any opportunity to speak English.  My Spanish is basic and transactional, but I’m certainly past the gringos who only use present tense for everything.  And I have no illusions of being fluent.  But I know how much harder it is to keep Spanish in my head, a task that will only get more difficult with passing years.  Hopefully an intensive month will cement it in my remaining cells.

The first day there I befriended someone who was there with slack rope performers.  I ended up hanging out with them for most of the night, and occasionally going off to see other performances.  They were a blast.  They even had me try — with assistance from two people I could make it all the way across the slack rope. 

While hanging there I met a friend of theirs, a performer with a children’s puppet theatre. I saw them the next night and really enjoyed them.  Their show was a cultural history of Ecuador and the show, being aimed at children, was right on my level.

I also saw a local heavy metal singer (great voice, but basically a lip-sync); took in several folkloric dance troupes (entertaining, even in the rain), and stumbled into an organizational meeting of the festival when I went for a beer (interesting to see the process).

Loja is famous for the high quality of their coffee.  Apparently they currently have the Golden Spoon, signifying the best coffee in the world.  The really good stuff goes for hundreds of dollars a kilo and every bean is hand-selected.  The normal stuff is markedly better tasting than the coffee I’m used to, and for me to tell the difference, there must be a huge difference.  They have a free passport book that lists the top coffee shops in town, and you can go around and get it stamped.  Which I did.  It’s milder Arabica coffee, so I could drink several cups a day if I generally confined my consumption to mornings.  And there was a coffee festival in the historic center, so I could knock off several places in one stop.

Also had some great food, especially breakfasts at the coffee places.  There was a wide variety of cuisines, plenty of vegetarian options, and tasty Lojano specialties.

I’m not sure I could live there permanently — I admit I might miss the ease of having a gringo community available if I wanted it.  But I’ll find out in March.  I was surprised at how much I liked Loja.

We’ll see.

Kirk and Jamie Christmas Song Playlist on YouTube

Kirk and I always made our own Christmas cards, and in 2001 we made a CD and mailed it to our distribution list at the time. It was somewhat simple (MIDI files and GarageBand) but fun and people seemed to like it.

I got a couple of requests for the files this year — a few people played it as a Christmas tradition (no accounting for taste, I guess) and so rather than just rip my copy of the CD, I went back into Kirk’s GarageBand files to process the originals.

Boy am I glad I did.

In addition to the 2001 original CD, there were a few Christmas songs from a limited distribution 2009 CD. And a slew of others that he recorded and I didn’t know about. In all, there are 28 Christmas songs, most of them featuring Kirk solo. A few from 2001 feature my attempts to sing, solo and with Kirk, to varying degrees of success. We had fun, though.

There’s also a bonus song #29 – “A You’re Adorable”, which was originally recorded for our godson Zane Pagano. There are a lot of other non-Christmas Kirk songs that I found, which I will post at a later date.

As our Christmas card distribution list changed over time, some of you might not be at all aware of the existence of these songs. Maybe for you this is a pleasant surprise and I hope you enjoy it. For the rest of you, it may be a reminder of something you forgot about.

I’ve converted the songs into YouTube videos with a static title slide, and put them into a playlist. The playlist is set to private, but feel free to share the link if you so choose.

Kirk and Jamie Christmas Song Playlist on YouTube

After traveling north four and a half hours on the bus from Cuenca, I arrived in Alausí for my 2pm train ride to Nariz Del Diablo — the world famous Devil’s Nose train, billed as “the most dangerous train in the world.”

A bit of background: Ecuador once had a fairly extensive train system that over time fell into disuse and disrepair and was shut down after a couple of revival attempts. Part of that system was the engineering marvel at Nariz Del Diablo. Ecuador is bisected by the Andes, and trains can’t easily climb mountains. The railway generally ran through valleys and gentle climbs up and down, but near Alausí, this was impossible due to an 800 meter sheer cliff called the Devil’s Nose. So a series of switchbacks at a 3.5% grade enabled the train to climb the cliff. At a cost of 2500 human lives, it was completed in 1902. The Nariz Del Diablo section of track was long operated as a tourist attraction, has been closed for several years, but reopened a couple of months ago. 

The bus dropped me off on the side of the autopista in Alausí, and I walked through town and dropped my backpack off at my hostel, Killa Wasi. It’s on a farm about a 15 minute walk from the center of Alausí.  Very cool place, and my private room with private bath was $20. If you are staying in Alausí, it’s worth the schlep. 

I had time for lunch so I had the $3 almuerzo at Bukardia — the recommended place was empty and Bukardia was full of Ecuadorians, and for me a restaurant full of locals is a good sign. Delicious: first course of soup with a little beef on the bone, second course of pollo and sauce, potato salad, and rice with ahi, a dessert of stewed apples and pineapple, and watermelon juice. Watermelons were for sale everywhere so they must be grown locally. 

Coming out from lunch I saw the cutest guy walking the street on stilts. The whole thing surprised so much I forgot to take a picture. So random. I recovered my composure and tried to find him but he had gone. You would think someone on stilts would be easy to find. I swear I did not hallucinate him. 

Took a walk around Alausí’s very nice downtown area. Lots of people, lots of shops, and lots of tourists. I’m told the town was suffering for several years due to the train’s closure, and you can tell the locals are excited to have everything back. Everyone was so friendly and welcoming. 

I always check out the mercado in a new town. It’s a good way to judge a city. Nice mercado here. It is being partly renovated so a lot of the vendors were outside on the street. But it was clean, and busy. 

At 1:30pm I headed for the train station for my 2pm departure — they have three daily trips at 8am, 11am, and 2pm. They had a band playing on the platform, and people were dancing and clapping. Ecuadorians know how to have fun. They will sing and dance at the drop of a hat. The platform was packed — every trip on this train is completely sold out, and you need to book well in advance. Ticket sales open online the first of the month, for that month only. 

My coche (coach) number 252 was in front by the engine, which I liked. There are pairs of single seats facing each other along one side of the aisle, and four seats in the same configuration on the other side. I had a single side seat at the very front. 

Nota bene: there are not 252 cars on the train. There are six, and they are randomly numbered. 

As the train departed, there were lots of townspeople waving us away — again clear that everyone appreciated that it was back in service. 

The scenery was breathtakingly beautiful. For much of the journey, you are quite literally on a carved out edge, with the cliff face on one side and a sheer drop of hundreds of feet on the other. You go out at a higher altitude and then go back and forth down the switchbacks to go down the cliff and through another train station (Pistishi) to a Nariz Del Diablo viewpoint at the bottom. 

We had a few minutes to enjoy looking at what we had just traversed, and then went back to Pistishi Station for the indigenous house museum, train station, indigenous dancing, and the gift shop. Touristy but definitely fun. The train station had a restaurant and if I’d known I might have waited for lunch there. It looked and smelled really good. 

The return trip is the same trip, in reverse up the cliff. On the way back though the engine was at the other end and my car 252 had great unimpeded views. I’d definitely recommend booking either the first or last car. 

Spending a nice quiet night at Killa Wasi Hostel and then getting a bus back to Cuenca at some point in the morning. 

Alausí and the Nariz Del Diablo is definitely worth a trip from Cuenca. You could do it in a day but it would be a very long day. I’m thankful I took the extra time and got to spend time in the town. Charming and fun place. 

Left The Secret Garden around 10am for the journey to Chugchilan and The Black Sheep Inn for my Quilatoa visit. 

Two things made the trip’s start more pleasant. The mixto (pickup truck taxi) driver for the trip to Latacunga, where I’d get my bus, was Johana, who picked me up three days earlier in Machachi. Also just before leaving, a Dutch couple asked if they could share the ride, which cut the cost for me by two-thirds. They were both teachers and interesting people, which made the two-hour drive more pleasant. 

I could have just taken a bus for both legs of the trip, but I would have had to pay a mixto to get back to Machachi anyway. And then taken a bus to Latacunga from there. So as long as I’m in the mixto anyway, might as well get another chunk of trip done, and have only one bus ride. 

Arrived in Latacunga around noon, and just missed the noon bus. They run hourly, so not a big deal. The bus to Chugchilan from there is a very local bus, servicing small local communities. I was the only passenger going any distance. There were never more than three or four other passengers, and people got on and off frequently, often with large bags of things bought or to sell stored in the hold under the passenger compartment. 

Beautiful trip though, with frequently changing scenery that was hard to photograph from the moving bus. Picturesque small towns, winding roads, and, nearing Quilatoa, a tangled landscape of small shallow canyons. As my inn was past Quilatoa, I got a glimpse of the volcano from the outside, but not of the crater lake. The bus dropped me right at the entrance to the inn, which was not far up a steep, twisting hill. 

The Black Sheep Inn is an award-winning ecolodge. And when I say ecolodge, I don’t mean that they put out a sign asking you to reuse towels to save water, and call it good. All the food is vegetarian. Absolutely everything is recycled or reused. There’s a basket where you put your teabag sleeve, and they use them for scratch paper. Then, after that, they can be firestarters. Or, along with other paper products (everything is recycled paper), they can be shredded and used in the composting toilets. 

After the tolerable shared bathroom experience of the previous few days, I had WhatsApped and asked for a private room with private bath, to replace my reserved private room with shared bathroom. They had the space and happily accommodated. So in my room’s bathroom is a urinal with a bucket of water. And after peeing, you pour a cup of water down to “flush”. The toilet is something like a pit toilet, except it is filled with wood shavings and shredded paper. And beside the toilet seat is a box of shredded paper, and a scoop. After you poop, you sprinkle the shredded paper over your leavings. And, unlike my previous camping pit toilet experiences, there is surprisingly little odor. Maybe an occasional whiff of musty acid, but nothing unpleasant. 

It’s a beautiful bathroom, and if you weren’t aware it was a composting toilet, you’d never know otherwise. And the room itself is lovely as well, in a rustic lodge way, with a great view of the valley below. There’s a loft bedroom, which I don’t use, and a wood burning stove, which I also don’t use. I prefer sleeping in a cold room under piles of blankets. And I’m sure the room would be a sauna with that stove going. 

Three vegetarian meals a day are included, as is unlimited coffee and tea. Breakfast is fruit, yogurt, and muesli, with eggs your way and a roll; at breakfast you get a packed lunch with a cheese sandwich, popcorn, raw veggies, fruit, and something sweet; and dinner is soup, main course and dessert. The vegetarian dinners have been spectacular — some of the best vegetarian food I’ve ever had. Dinner after my late afternoon arrival was stuffed squash; second night (after returning from my Quilatoa hike — read on) was a huge quiche slice made from mostly roasted vegetables and a crust, with just enough egg and cheese to hold it together. And I had my daily Pilsener beer. All so good. I looked forward to every dinner. 

As in most hostels, there was a changing cast of characters. First night was busy. Three older Belgian gentlemen who were summiting various peaks. They had successfully done Cotopaxi, were on their way to Chimborazo, and stopped off to see Quilatoa. There was a Polish woman and her French husband, and their child. So lots of French being spoken, some of which I could understand but unable anymore to speak. There was a Canadian photography professor named Tom who coincidentally had just returned from Kapawi Ecolodge in the Amazon, where I am going in September. He told me of his experiences there, and let’s say only that they were authentic, and reinforced my choice of going there versus the many other Amazonian options. Great info, Tom. Dinner conversation that first night was a multilingual mix of French and Spanish, with people defaulting as usual to English when needed. In these trips, I have encountered very few people who spoke only one language; you can probably guess which language it was, and where they were from. 

I’ve fallen into the pattern of doing my big experience on the first full day, giving myself the remainder of my stay for recovery or other options. Did that for Chimborazo and Cotopaxi, and repeated it for Quilatoa. 

And I’m glad I did. 

Quilatoa is a town and it’s also the name of the inactive volcano with a large central crater that is a lake. There were several options for hikes. I could do a partial hike of the rim, about an hour, and then veer off and hike back to the inn. Other hiking options took you to various villages, or to the local cheese factory, founded and originally funded by the Swiss. There were horseback options. I decided to do the hike around the rim of the crater — typically four to six hours. 

I did little research about the hike. There wasn’t much info out there. Most of what I could find was about the Quilatoa Loop, which is a multi-day hike that includes the town of Quilatoa but also many other area towns. So, armed with little good information, my packed lunch, and some water, I waved down a bus, went to Quilatoa, and set out. 

Upon reflection, I was somewhat dumb about this. Up until now, I had done my difficult hikes up volcanoes in a group, with a guide. This time I was hiking alone around a volcano, had no cellphone connection as my Ecuadorian carrier doesn’t work here, and had no idea of the terrain. On the positive side, I’m a fairly experienced hiker, I’m in good shape, and I’m totally acclimated to the altitude (just under 13,000 feet / 4000 meters). 

Looking out onto the crater, there was a visible circle of peaks surrounding the lake, and the tallest one about a third of the way around looked steep on one side and flatter on the other. The rest seemed within a relatively consistent range of up and down. So I chose to hike the circle counterclockwise, which meant that I would be hiking up the steep side of the tallest peak. I personally prefer hiking up more than down, as down is harder on my legs and knees. And my somewhat early start (10am) gave me plenty of time to get around. 

Off I went. The start of the path was narrow and difficult at times, but it was mostly solid ground. I went through a small forest with a trail down to a nearby community, past a nicely constructed overlook with glass walls, and then started seriously going up. And the terrain changed to a combination of scrambling over sometimes loose rocks, and walking in steep, narrow sandy washes (the channels where rainfall runs down from the peaks).

It was here that I realized I had inadvertently come at a good time — dry season. The chances of rain were minimal. For me, it would have been a perhaps insurmountable challenge to go either up or down these washes with rain or mud. As it was, the sand and loose gravel still made things slippery, so I took my time and went very slowly, with breaks when needed. 

Near the top of the highest peak, there was a small plateau with a closed store named “Juyende”, which means “walk” in Kichwa. There were some benches with a nice view of the lake and the crater. And there was no one there — I only encountered four hikers during the entire five hours. Perfect spot. Scattered some ashes of Kirk, downwind, while I sang the end of “Origin of Love”. 

After that, more rock scrambling and trudging through washes to the top of the highest peak. At this point, as I started to go across a mostly flat part to the next peak, I realized what was going to be the hardest part of the hike. Flat up here was not necessarily good. Flat meant that you were walking the ridge. Walking the ridge meant you were walking on a one foot wide path, with sheer drops on both sides. To complicate matters, these were the areas with the most wind. In these areas, I mostly did a very slow penguin walk, keeping both feet on the ground as much as possible, and crouching when the wind really gusted hard. I do not particularly have a fear of heights. But these parts frightened me. 

While hiking these five hours, I practiced mindfulness — I focused on my feet, and on each step, rather than on the amazing vistas. This was necessary as I had to be constantly aware of the changing terrain. For example, using a rock to hold onto, or to step on.  Some rocks were loose. Some rocks looked firm but would come loose. Some rocks were firm and would not move. Some sand in the washes was firm, and some looked the same but I would slip depending on the angle of ascent or descent. So each step would be a constant evaluation of terrain, often on a one foot wide path with sheer drops on one or both sides. Focus was critical. I’d had to do this on hikes before, but for short distances within a longer hike. Never for an entire five hour hike, step by step. 

For a while I alternated between the scrambling, the washes, and the ridges. Many times there were divergent paths — one directly up and over the very peak, and one slightly lower and to the right around the back of the peak. Because they were generally flatter and afforded views of the valley outside the crater, I mostly chose going to the right. A couple of times these trails dead-ended and I had to backtrack. But I liked the variety. 

In this way I made it to the approximate halfway point. Where there was an open snack bar. It speaks to the dedication of the indigenous, and perhaps to the lack of opportunity, that people would hike this distance each day to sell cold drinks and coca tea to the few people who wander by. But you betcha I bought a coca tea. And had a nice chat in Spanish with the couple. My obvious question? Answer: two more hours, mas o menos (more or less). Their obvious question? I had seen three people coming their way. They had two dogs, and I had brought the small baggie of dog food I had appropriated at The Secret Garden. After asking permission, I made two puppers very happy. 

About an hour later, I saw a figure coming at me. Hello, Tom! He had decided to hike a partial ridge path, clockwise from the town of Quilatoa, and veer off back to Chugchilan and the inn. I backtracked a bit to a bench and we had a rest and a nice chat. 

From there, finished the hike in about another hour. As I came off the trail, there was a guy in a truck. Want a ride? I didn’t feel like waiting for the bus. I was exhausted and sore, and my right leg was starting to hurt behind the knee quite a bit.  So after a slight bit of back and forth about the price, we agreed and off I went. Back at around four to The Black Sheep Inn, a shower and a nap, and the aforementioned dinner quiche. And a well earned Pilsener. 

Should I have done this hike? Common sense says no. If I had known the difficulty of the multiple terrains, I probably would have opted out. Or have at the very least prepared better. But I now have, along with exhaustion and aches, a definite sense of accomplishment. My mom, who traveled a lot in her later life until she no longer could, told me repeatedly to do these things while you can, because at some point you can’t. And you can’t take money with you. Considering that, I’m glad I set out, and I’m glad I had the skills and presence of mind to make it a success. As Steve Jobs said, via the Whole Earth Catalog: 

Stay hungry. Stay foolish. 

Morning after, following a lengthy stretching session and a hearty breakfast, I decided to make it a recovery day. Or, perhaps, the first in a string of recovery days. Took my packed lunch back to my room, left the door open to get the breezes and noises, read some, wrote some, napped some. A perfect day followed a perfect day. And when I got to dinner after my chill day, my new friend Lorna was back from the same crater rim hike. 

Lorna had arrived the previous evening and we had immediately liked each other. At that evening’s dinner, she said was going to do the same crater rim hike, the one I had just completed.  At breakfast the next morning, just before she left for her hike, I tried to strike a balance between “nosy interloper” and “concerned father”.  I had thought a lot about it, and I did not want to give the impression that I thought she wasn’t capable of making her own decisions. I just wanted her to be aware of risks, in a way I wasn’t. So I showed her some pictures and told her my experiences. She seemed appreciative at the time, and on her return, at dinner, thanked me again. She, unlike me, had enough sense to have a cell signal. Lorna, you’re awesome in my book. 

Also had a nice conversation, during that dinner and the following day’s breakfast, with a couple who were digital nomads and hikers. They were constantly on the move but were currently spending a month…in (yay!) Cuenca. And they are just down Calle Larga from me. They go to one of my coffee places all the time. Very cool couple; they slow travel constantly. Inspirational for me, as that’s what I’d like to do someday if I can. Minus the working. I’m not sure if she was inspired by our conversation, or came to an independent decision, but Lorna says she’s coming to Cuenca after spending time on the coast. A convert! I’ll take it. 

My last full day at The Black Sheep Inn was also chill. They have a yoga studio, and I used it to start every day with my half hour exercise and stretching routine. Breakfast followed, read a bit, and then played frisbee golf. 

That might seem an odd choice among available activities. But Kirk and I used to play frisbee golf while at Tuckahoe State Park in Maryland, one of our favorite camping destinations. And the inn’s course here was touted as the highest in the world. A karmic combination. So off I went, nine holes on the very steep side of a mountain. At the center of the course there were several holes within a fenced-in area populated with very curious llamas. I played through, while they watched and I regretted not bringing them some carrots or banana peels to eat.  I never threw the frisbee very far — it was free to play but if you lose a frisbee out of bounds it’s ten dollars to replace it. Got back with both of my frisbees and a smile on my face. 

I had decided to decline the usual packed lunch in favor of walking into Chugchilan for an almuerzo (lunch) and the Sunday market.  Bought a pair of sweat pants, had a bowl of sopa de pollo (chicken soup), and enjoyed the people and the ambiance. 

The rest of the day was spent relaxing with a book, interrupted only by the arrival of a large loud group of Utahns, commotion constantly left in their wake. I continued reading and was polite to the woman who wandered in my room’s open door. Then at dinner I sat with them and got to know them, and my first impression was dispelled. They were charming, engaging, and fun. They had rented a bus and a driver and were traveling as a large group on a family vacation.  Left them in the dining room and turned in early, to get some sleep before my long travel day to Riobamba, Irma, and Casa de Marmol, followed by another travel day back home to Cuenca. 

Bottom line for The Black Sheep Inn? Much more my speed. My private room with private bath was $50 a night but that included three meals a day and a lot of extras, so I was pleased. Food was consistently outstanding, staff was friendly and helpful, and the amenities were fun. There’s a lot more in this area I could explore, and I can see myself returning. 

And much like my Cotopaxi experience, I’m relaxing into solo travel, and with sharing hostel space and meals with other travelers. It bodes well for my tentative future slow travel plans. 

Looking forward to Izhcayluma next month. That will be a different experience as I will be going with friends. It will be a nice comparison. 

On I go. 

Round two of the monthly one week trips and I returned to Casa de Marmol and my new friend Irma and her family. I added a night in her Riobamba hostel going and coming. It is a nice halfway-ish point between Cuenca and Quito, and makes the length of the bus trip (5-6 hours Cuenca to Riobamba) bearable. 

I arrived at Casa de Marmol in the early afternoon, and Irma invited me to go with her and her family for Sunday lunch. There is a criollo (Venezuelan) restaurant nearby that they chose and I was glad to go there. I’d eaten there on my last trip and really enjoyed it. But it was made better with family. I had caldo de pata to start (cow’s foot soup, a yummy broth with a bone that had tasty cartilaginous goo to munch on).  Second course was the same as last time — ensalada, potatoes with a sauce, rice — but this time lamb instead of rabbit. Saving the cuy for the next visit. Dessert was a little bit of pineapple, and the drink was avena (oat milk). Totally delicious, and Irma’s young granddaughter misbehaved charmingly, riding her small trike around the restaurant. Nobody minded. 

After our late lunch, Irma’s husband invited me to go with him up to his place in the mountains above Riobamba. He runs a charity that renovates living spaces for families that live in more remote areas. And so he knows the country quite well, and I enjoyed the ride and the guide. We spent a very nice couple of hours watering plants and enjoying the amazing view — Chimborazo was cloudy but the clouds were beautiful, and we had a panoramic view of Riobamba and the surrounding small towns.  Cold cold cold and windy; July is winter below the equator. Achachay! 

After a restful sleep and a great breakfast courtesy of Irma (fruit, granola, and yogurt; ham on a roll; and coffee — I declined the omelet) I was on the bus to Machachi. The usual bad bus movies; no subtitles and low volume so I just watched the views roll by out the window. Irma had predicted three to three-and-a-half hours but it was closer to two-and-a-half. The bus was hauling, and the usual brief stops were very quick. 

A word about buses. You can buy tickets at the terminal for your destination, or you can just get on and pay cash. I buy tickets out of habit, and that way you get a seat number to kick someone out of. The bus has regular stops along the way, and people get on and off constantly. You can flag down the bus at random places. Very few people travel the entire route. Buses have a driver, and another person who runs the rest; this person handles baggage, collects tickets and money, and generally keeps track of who has paid to go how far. Some buses have bathrooms, but in my experience they are never ever used. The bus will very occasionally — once per trip? — make a stop of a few minutes and that is your cue to jump off and find a place to go. Sometimes a pay bathroom (ten cents mostly), sometimes a restaurant, sometimes the bus office. This is why I limit the length of my bus trips. My bladder is old, and even with restricted liquid intake prior to departure, the bouncing bus takes a toll. It’s organized chaos, but it works well, is slow but extremely cheap, and everyone knows the rules. 

I was met in Machachi by Johana, my mixto (4×4 pickup truck that serves as a taxi service in remote areas) driver who took me for the 45 minute drive to The Secret Garden. 

The Secret Garden, a definite splurge for me, is one of those Insta-famous places that YouTubers love to post about. Known for their Hobbit Houses in the ground, they also have Birdhouses above the vegetation line, cabins, and group bunk beds. A Birdhouse was my choice.  By Ecuadorian standards, it’s very expensive all-inclusive glamping. My Birdhouse was slightly larger than my double bed and had electricity. When I came in it was roasting hot from what I thought was a space heater. That heat went away though, and the office says it’s only a humidifier. Hot air comes out sporadically so I’m mostly cold, and confused.  The bathrooms are down the hill. You can can your can on the can, and poop while looking at Cotopaxi. 

My initial take was that this is a Very Groovy Place, and to the extent I ever was, I am no longer a Very Groovy Person. Lots of comparatively young people sitting in the somewhat small lodge strumming guitars, munching on falafel balls, and wearing obligatory ponchos which are thoughtfully provided to give everyone a uniform uniform. I just mindlessly booked here thinking it would be fun. 

And it will be because I shall make it so, I tell myself. I can sit in my Birdhouse and look directly at Cotopaxi, I tell myself. But I can’t help thinking what Kirk would think of all this. He would not mind all of this one little bit, because he likely would not be here. He would have done his due diligence, sussed out the Grooviness, and vetoed it irascibly and immediately. If for no other reason: communal mealtime. 

I’m slowly finding, though, that I’m a different person as a solo traveler than I was traveling as part of a couple. The Secret Garden is full of couples and groups, and as a solo traveler, you definitely need to put on your extrovert hat and gently put yourself out there. Be pleasant, ask about them, don’t talk too much about yourself until asked.  It’s a very international crowd with lots of different languages, with a few North Americans sprinkled in, and while English is usually a common factor, it isn’t always. After the initial shock, I found the challenge fun, and the multilingual young people were generally welcoming to this non-young solo guy.  I was glad to have found that my initial impression was wrong. 

I went to 5pm activity sign up and snack time (crudite, dips). I did have a very nice, if fractured, conversation with someone’s mother. The only other person I saw who was remotely close to my age. She spoke only French, and my high school French has evidently been squeezed out of my remaining limited brain capacity by Spanish. So I walked to the WiFi spot (they limit it to one area and for short periods twice a day, so you can Enjoy Nature) and downloaded French into my Google Translate app. And then we had a pleasant, if stilted, conversation. 

Dinner at seven was somewhat comida típica (basic Ecuadorian food), slightly elevated. Seco de pollo (chicken in a sauce), a salad, and what everyone thought were two rolls but were mashed potato shaped like a potato. Basically it was the second course of a typical almuerzo (Ecuadorian lunch) without the first soup course. No caldo de pata for this crowd.

I had a Pilsener. That, along with Club, is a default beer in Ecuador. Basically, a Bud. It’s not generally a great idea to have alcohol at altitude if you are freshly arrived to the heights. I am not, and one isn’t going to hurt me.  Wisely, everyone around me was drinking water. I sensed some askance looks whenever I took a swig, as if they knew better than me. Whatever.

I introduced myself to the people around me at one of the three family style dinner tables. A mother with I think three older kids, one of whom was in the Peace Corps. All very nice, although the college-age boy called me “sir” all the time. Very annoying. Across from me was a quiet man there alone for the second time. He was a climber who wanted to summit Cotopaxi, and the first time had been turned away halfway up by an ice storm. Yesterday apparently was the first day in two weeks that anyone was able to summit. Good luck, quiet dude. And next to me was a young couple from Switzerland; he Belgian, she Italian. Isn’t the EU wonderful? They had rented a car and were driving their trip. 

My group had various pleasant dinner conversations. They were all amazed that I lived in Ecuador. None of them had ever heard of Cuenca. As I learned, most people fly into Quito. And from there they do some combination of Amazon, Baños/Mindo, and the Galapagos. Maybe a day trip north of Quito, to Otavalo. For a lot of them, there is little awareness of an Ecuador south of the easy trip to Cotopaxi from Quito. I asked if anyone was going to Riobamba. “What is there to do there?” Only, I thought to myself, Chimborazo, the highest mountain on the planet (not Everest, Google it) and the place on earth closest to the sun, among other things. But I dissembled and politely asked them more about their various trips. 

When dessert came, the staff asked each person if they wanted dessert. Nearly all declined. They did not ask the guy with the beer. It was plopped down in front of me without question. Good call, staff.  Intuitive. 

I slept, finally and fitfully, but comfortably, if a bit chilly, in my Birdhouse. Awoke early to shower before the crowd hit, and prepared for my day trip to Cotopaxi. 

After a quick, communal breakfast, the Cotopaxi group piled in the van for the journey. Lots of participants, which drove the sliding scale price down. Thank you, kids. I sat next to yet another mother with older kids, and…she was from Cuenca! Originally. Lives in Jacksonville FL now, but keeps an apartment in Cuenca. We had much to talk about, and I liked her quite a bit. 

Mountain biking down was an add-on. Having done that at Chimborazo, I decided to skip that. Glad I did. The hike up to the refugio at 4864 meters was steeper than Chimborazo and much more strenuous. I paced myself, and made it there, but with great effort. Too late for the further hike a bit farther up, to a glacier. Which was fine. I was in the snow and ice where I was. It’s all water, right? And I’ve glaciered before. 

My glacial ascent gave me time to enjoy the refugio. Had a hot chocolate, ate my provided snacky pack, shared my remaining Riobamba mercado fruit with my neighbors, ceremoniously and surreptitiously scattered a little Kirk over the wall, and gathered my strength for the descent. 

You’d think that going down would be the easy part. It’s not. It’s just a different skill set. Going up is incremental steps with frequent rest stops. Going down is all mindfulness. Each step is a conscious decision to avoid sliding off into the void. My descent was made much more entertaining by a young geology student who greatly enjoyed explaining all the rocks to me. I managed fine with only one minor slip and enjoyed the return trip from the comfort of our van, while most, but not all of the young people biked down. 

I must have good volcano karma. Just like at Chimborazo, the morning clouds lifted and we had an all day spectacular view of Cotopaxi. I can’t emphasize how rare that can be.

Relaxed a bit upon returning, booked myself for an easy next-afternoon waterfall hike, checked WhatsApp and email in my appointed limited time, and headed for dinner. Where my charm offensive totally failed. I took an available place between two new groups who ignored me despite my tentative efforts, to the point where they didn’t even pass me the salad and bread. The perils of potentially being invisible. At least the staff brought pizza (no comida típica tonight), and I asked my tablemates for the rest. At first I was a bit down on myself. As the dinner wore on, I found the group to my left was obnoxious in obvious ways. Hassling staff, derogatory comments, throwing attitude. And, perhaps unwisely, downing copious amounts of wine. The group to my right seemed nicer, but seemed a mostly insular family. I thought about the solo climber at dinner the previous night, and I was glad I made an effort to talk to him. To the left, I’m better off. To the right, their loss.  At least there was no attitude regarding my Pilsener. 

I have a smile I’m starting to use for such occasions. It’s slightly more than a Mona Lisa, and much less than an idiot grin. I hope it signals “I’m content with myself in this situation” and not sarcasm or judgement.  

All told, a good day. And, perhaps as slight recompense, the humidifier pumped out heat, and I had a perfectly clear starry night sky to admire. 

Up around five the next morning. While getting ready to get my ahead-of-the-crowd shower, I saw flashes of lights going up the side of the volcano. Apparently the summiters start ascending to the second base camp very early in the morning. It was magical to briefly see their twinkling. 

I got a hot tea and went out onto the deck to see the sunrise with a few nice folks. One couple had a drone and a lot of equipment; maybe YouTubers. From Philly but now living in Paraguay. They were on their way to Cuenca (yay!) so we had a brief chat about the Cajas, the national park outside the city. 

Went to get a refill of my tea and reused my teabag. I was instantly flooded with a memory — my mom’s first job was at a ceramics factory with four other women. They were all very poor, and shared one teabag among them every day. They rotated, so that a different person every day would get the weakest tea. I so often am wrapped up with memories of Kirk that I forget the others who have been in my life and gotten me here. And it was comforting to think about my mom, and imagine her here. All the younguns would absolutely have adopted her as their mascot. 

Spent the morning reading my Kindle in various places. Burroughs. I moved between the lodge, my Birdhouse, and an indoor hammock room, all with a view of Cotopaxi now obscured by clouds. In the move back to the lodge from my Birdhouse there sat the quiet climber. Second time was the charm. And he confirmed that the lights I saw around five were probably him. They left the second refuge around midnight and summited around dawn. That made me very happy, and peaceful. 

Also had one of several nice chats with my favorite person I met, Rachel. She and her partner Sam are traveling basically everywhere, much of the time finding online volunteering gigs to defray their expenses. They came to volunteer at The Secret Garden after a similar gig at a coffee farm above Ibarra. And from here, maybe the Galapagos. Maybe not.  There are apps and websites to use to get these gigs, but she often bypasses them and directly contacts places she wants to go using WhatsApp; ergo, she is at The Secret Garden. That impressed me. She had an intrepid spirit and beatific manner which was genuine and engaging, and I found her to be personally inspiring. 

After lunch (minestrone) I went on a two hour waterfall hike with mostly Brits and Aussies, with a Dutch woman and an Ecuadorian family (mom, dad, two sons) thrown in. The hike was not for the faint of heart, but was not terribly strenuous; I was never out of breath. You had to wear waders/gum boots/Wellies (pick your country) and there was a fair amount of fording and scrambling — up, down, and around wet rocks and the stream, using ropes and no ropes. That said, with a steady slow pace and some mindfulness (always think of the two steps after your current one), I was absolutely fine. Better actually than some of the younguns who slipped and fell and were also fine. 

The group was very friendly. As the pace of the single file hiking line ebbed and flowed, the order changed and I had very nice conversations with several people, some of which I did not initiate (!). A Dutch physiotherapist who is in Ecuador for two months and is definitely going to Cuenca (yay!) was particularly interesting. Also the madre and padre of the family; we chatted a bit in Spanish (haven’t been able to use that often on this trip). 

On arrival at the waterfall, lots of people went swimming in the frigid water, including mamá y sus dos hijos. I didn’t think to bring a swimsuit on this trip, so not an option for me.  But I definitely would have.  There was also a trail dog that walked with us there and back, and that’s also a thing on the Quilatoa trails. So after the hike I, um, borrowed some dog food from the storage shed for Quilatoa. 

Skipped five o’clock snack for some Birdhouse time — I didn’t need to sign up for anything and I wanted to organize my departure tomorrow.  I did have a tea before leaving the lodge, and my favorite Beatles song “Across The Universe” was in the mix. Limitless undying love that shines around me like a million suns. Indeed. Hello Kirk. I started to tear up and left before I got gratuitous.

After organizing and napping, headed out to the lodge for my final dinner (chicken leg quarter, cole slaw, mashed potatoes) and the high school aged son from the Ecuadorian family asked if he could join me for dinner to practice his English. Thank goodness. One of the main benefits of these trips is total immersion in Spanish, and The Secret Garden has been anything but. I spoke Spanish, he spoke English, and our intercambio was interesting. Then, off to bed early for a mid-morning departure to Chugchilan via Latacunga for my Quilatoa adventure. 

So, The Secret Garden bottom line. At about $90 per night for basic private glamping, it’s very expensive given I normally spend $20 to $30 a night max for a private room with a private bath. No frills group hostel accommodations can be $5 to $10. But except for tours The Secret Garden is all inclusive. And it is absolutely unique. Food was good, staff was great, vibe was fun. I will miss peeing while looking at Cotopaxi. Would I come back? No reason to. But ultimately I’m glad I came. 

On arrival I thought I’d made a huge mistake. But as my stay at The Secret Garden progressed, and I reflected on Irma and Casa de Marmol, I realized that Kirk’s perspective was tangled in mine. And when I focused on how I alone would enjoy it, I found that I mostly did. 

Maybe like the quiet solo climber, I need to try again. 

Well, I’m broken in. 

Arrived in Mindo Friday around 10am after about two hours on the bus that left from Terminal Ofelia in Quito. My taxi driver parked right in front of the bus, saving me the 10 cent terminal entry fee. Righteous. 

Very scenic bus ride (you cross the equator four times) down to 1600 meters / 5300 feet. Yes, after spending my entire life near sea level, that’s now low for me. The bus was packed with young foreign tourists, most going for a weekend getaway. It was amusing when we got to Mindo. In small towns you can ask to get off near where you are going. There was a general babble in multiple languages and accents: “When do we get off?” I looked at Google Maps, walked to the front of the bus amid confused stares, and popped off about a block from my hostel. Good luck, adventurers. Follow my example. 

I tried to book all my accommodations directly with the hostels through WhatsApp – they save the online booking fees and so do you. Couldn’t book Quito that way as it was an actual hotel, and couldn’t find a WhatsApp for El Descanso in Mindo. I have it now, though, and will reserve directly with them in the future. A bit of confusion at check in: I booked online and mistakenly reserved for 2 people. Totally my error. So I gladly paid for two people. Which came to $40 a night. In the big picture, who cares. 

After unpacking, and getting a small late breakfast, I set out to walk around Mindo and familiarize myself with the one main street and its spurs. It’s a gringo joke that eventually you trip on the uneven sidewalks of Ecuadorian cities. Having experience with them in inner city Reading PA, I made it a year and a half without falling, without being broken in. Until today. I was looking at my cellphone and not paying attention and boom. Face plant. I scraped a small bit on my chin, and right knee and hand, but I’m basically fine. I absolutely terrified the two abuelas across the street in their restaurant, though. They screamed frantically for me to come over, which I did. And they let me clean up in their bathroom. Hilariously, there was a customer in there, and they made him get out. After, I stopped at a pharmacy to buy bandaids, and the abuela there refused to sell them to me. It needs air, she said. Sold me some alcohol wipes for 50 cents. Thank you, abuelas. 

After all that, I went to El Quetzal Chocolate Factory for a tour. Perfect timing. I missed the large group that left 10 minutes before me, and got an individual guide through. Miguel was great, and I chose to tour in Spanish and understood everything, so I’m very proud of myself. I got to do everything: roast the cacao, separate the shells from the nibs, grind them, and mix the paste with various sweeteners and flavorings. And I bought a bag of 100% chocolate drops, no sugar. One a day. I can hardly wait to dig in. 

Dinner was a splurge at El Cheff. Numerous references online recounted how amazing their lomo a la piedra (steak on a rock) was. Steak is an option that I never choose unless I’m sure it’s worth it, especially in Ecuador which is not Argentina in this regard. Like I need to be Peter Luger level sure. I’m glad I took the chance. It surprisingly was the bomb. Sides were great and a large Club (Ecuadorian beer) accompanied perfectly.  And the walking home drizzle turned into a sonorous steady rain to sleep by. 

Saturday morning I got up at 5am to go to Casa Amarilla (Yellow House) for some hiking and birdwatching. Serious birdwatchers, and Mindo has many as it holds the record for most species spotted in 24 hours, hire guides for $50+ to take them to secret spots where rare birds congregate. If, as it is for me, “birdwatching” is a checklist item next to “chocolate tour”, then you pay $6 and wander unguided around the trails of the Yellow House. 

I had no expectations, and they were met. It was a lovely three hour hike, 6am to 9am, through amazing microclimates. There were so many birds — there was a constant din — but seeing them was challenging. Early on I decided my tactic would be to listen for something different and close by, and look for that. In this way, I saw a woodpecker, which I am sure must be the low hanging fruit of birdwatching. You hear the distinctive pecking noise, you look at the tree, and there it is. It was a grayish green and had a red head. 

I had the trails to myself except for one other solo woman I encountered. She was young and had sharp eyes, and used my travel binoculars (basically, opera glasses) to spot a bird she heard. It looked like a small turkey but up in the trees, and had a red head. So for me that was identifiable bird two of two.  I asked her if she had seen any other birds. “Yes!” she said excitedly. “A woodpecker with a red head!”

Low hanging woodpecker fruit. 

I walked slowly in general and heard many distinctive noises, none of which I could identify. I did see a lot of birds, but generally they were small and unidentifiable, or flying and unidentifiable, or in the distance and unidentifiable. By the time I got my binoculars to my eyes and tried to triangulate where the bird was, either I couldn’t find it or it was gone. 

The Yellow House provided a map which showed the trails and indicated areas where there were monkeys, toucans, rare birds, and such. I’m guessing I heard all of them, and you need guides to spot them and show them to you with their high powered telescopes. Either that or someone saw a toucan and a monkey once in 1955 and onto the map it went. I kid. What I wanted was a nice hike through the woods, with wild noises and smells and sights, and $44 extra dollars in my pocket, and that’s what I got. I totally had a great time. 

And I’ll mention: I liked that, while there are options for everything farther afield, options for the non-zipliney-type activities are available within an easy walk of anywhere within Mindo proper. This was also true of the butterfly enclosure. 

I went to the one in town in the early afternoon and was astounded at how much time I spent there.  Mariposario Nathaly was a five minute walk from my room, was $7, and I surprised myself by spending nearly two hours there. She had a diverse orchid garden, a koi pond, a hummingbird area, and of course a butterfly enclosure.  I couldn’t believe how close I could get to them, with a little patience, and the quality pictures I got with my crappy out-and-about iPhone SE are not to be believed. So much fun, unexpectedly. There is a larger mariposario a taxi ride away, but honestly, for me, this was more than enough. And I thought of Kirk the whole time: he detested butterflies when we met, although his hatred moderated a bit over time. 

I noticed on the walk back to El Descanso that there are now orange cones placed where I took my tumble. I guess now, around Mindo, I’m the gringo that fell. 

Dinner was at Mishqui Quinde. I hesitated to go there as it is the #1 rated TripAdvisor restaurant in Mindo and you know what that means. But it’s vegetarian/vegan and I was in the mood for that. Glad I went. The owner was gracious and the quinoa burger was delicious. Plus I got a yapa (bonus): a glass of chicha (corn beer, this version was nonalcoholic). Stop by if you are in the neighborhood. 

At some point, definitely returning to Mindo for a few days. It’s a great vibe, it’s cheap, and there is plenty to do that I haven’t done yet. 

Sunday morning departure at 6:30am, after leaving a bit of Kirk in the bushes outside El Descanso. I am breaking up the return trip to Cuenca into two days, stopping for a night in Riobamba at Casa de Marmol. Tomorrow’s travel will be two hour bus Mindo to Quito, cab ride from Terminal Ofelia to Terminal Quitumbe (you can take a city bus, but I’m not doing that with two backpacks, and the cab will be under $10), and a four hour bus from Quito to Riobamba. Then a five hour bus ride Riobamba to Cuenca the next day. 

I started this week’s expedition to see if I could be intrepid on my own, and if I liked solo travel. 

Yes, and yes.  More adventures to come. 

I spent a week-plus in Quito with Kirk during our Ecuador exploratory trip. At the time we were besotted with our Cuenca visit immediately prior, and we didn’t explore Quito much. We mainly used it as a base for day trips (Mitad del Mundo, Ibarra, Otavalo, Cotacachi) and in retrospect we didn’t give it a fair shake. And with that mistaken perception in mind, on my current trip, I gave it two days — one for dinner with my friends Lisa, Bill, and son Charlie from Minnesota, and one to get my tattoo done. Then, with a brief stop to accomplish things, off to Mindo. 

That was a mistake. 

I’m going to return to Quito at some point and stay a week, and do a deep dive into it from the perspective of a prospective place to live — explore neighborhoods, live like a resident. I probably will never leave Cuenca, but after this visit I feel I owe Quito that. 

I arrived in Quito yesterday mid-afternoon after a four hour bus ride from Riobamba. One thing I’ve learned is that five hours on a bus is about my limit. Eight hours when I rode from Baños to Cuenca was a stretch. I’ve added Riobamba nights at Casa de Marmol before and after my Cotopaxi + Quilatoa trip next month, to break up the travel. See you there soon, my dear host Irma. 

I did some sightseeing yesterday afternoon, mainly close to Plaza de la Independencia,  near my home for two nights, Hotel San Francisco de Quito. Went to the park and had a malta. It’s a delicious foamy, thick drink topped with a sweet liquid, and tastes malty like beer. There are only a few remaining people who sell it, near the park. They wear a distinctive white uniform. Kirk and I loved it before and it was great to revisit it. Also, oddly, bomberos (firemen) came in a fire truck, with full sirens and lights, to rescue a bird from a tree, to the crowd’s approval. Not sure what that was about. 

I also walked up to Basilica Del Voto Nacional (the huge gothic church), down to Iglesia de Compañía de Jesus (baroque and everything covered in gold; DT would approve), and down to La Ronda (alley- like street with arty stuff and cool nightlife). La Ronda was empty as it was 4pm, but not so empty that a clearly nearsighted working woman without radar propositioned me. I politely declined. 

Then it was time for dinner at Vista Hermosa, a rooftop restaurant with a 360 degree view of Quito. My friends Lisa, Bill, and their son Charlie met me there. We met them in Cuenca at Apartmentos Otorongo when they were on their exploratory trip and we had just arrived permanently. They settled in Quito and love it. Charlie is here for an extended visit before starting his first job after college graduation. We had a very tasty dinner and dessert — auspiciously, there was a rainbow in the sky as we dined and caught up. A lovely evening with lovely people. 

My room at Hotel San Francisco de Quito was comfortable and well-appointed. It’s a beautifully restored 17th century building and pictures don’t do it justice. The restaurant is located in tunnels below the building — they served as a prison during the Spanish Inquisition. Quite a history. 

Today, my last day before departing for Mindo, was completely devoted to my tattoo. Carlos at Tattoo Z in Quito designed it, with minimal direction and input from me. Kirk got a tattoo of a stylized condor when we were here, which we loved, and I wanted to have Carlos do one for me. He did not disappoint. It’s a brazalete (bracelet) around the upper part of my left forearm, depicting animals that represent the four areas of Ecuador (Galapagos, Coast, Sierra, Amazon) along with some indigenous symbology. Carlos was aware of Kirk’s death, and was sensitive to my need to have the process, not just the result, be meaningful. It was a tattoo, and also a personal journey for me. I could not be happier with the experience, and with the result. 

So hopefully a good night’s sleep tonight, and then an early departure for Mindo. 

See ya soon, Quito. 

Irma, the host of Casa de Marmol, hooked me up with Paulito, a very cool and knowledgeable young guide who took me on a trip to Chimborazo volcano. It was a long day but worth every minute and dollar. 

Paulito picked me up in his SUV, with a mountain bike on the rack on the back.  That was for me, should I choose to accept the challenge. More on that later. We started our day at 8am and went to San Juan, just outside Riobamba. 

We began at Tambo Pak Samay, a hostel and restaurant in San Juan. We had tea with canelazo (a cane sugar liquor) and discussed the plans for the day. We were joined by his friend, a taxi driver, who had two young French women who were going to our first stop and no farther. They were sure that Chimborazo would give them altitude sickness. I have hiked previously near the altitude at Chimborazo (5000 meters/16,400 feet) and had no such fears. Tambo Pak Samay had coca candy and leaves for sale, and I got some candy. Unprocessed coca from the leaves is a vasodilator and helps with exertion at altitude. It is a totally different thing from processed coca, which is the drug cocaine. Indigenous people chew the raw leaves for energy. I’ve done it before and it works a treat with no harmful effects. 

Our first stop as a group was the Canyon de Chimborazo. Chimborazo the volcano was in the background as we drove there, but it was mostly obscured by clouds. This is very common. Many people go to Chimborazo and never actually see it from a distance. I was extremely fortunate though; the clouds lifted as we arrived at the canyon and we had a perfect view of the volcano in the background. And, miracle of miracles, they stayed away for the rest of the day. 

The women were hiking the rim of the canyon and doing nothing else. We all went down to the rim, took pictures, hiked to the top of a waterfall, and spent some time with Paulito while he explained the area in context of the history and beliefs of the indigenous people of the area. He explained a lot about the plants in the area, one of which was a mildly hallucinogenic flower. And we put on the colorful indigenous masks and danced. It was a blast. 

Paulito and I then left them for their canyon rim hike and we left for the volcano. Chimborazo is currently inactive; Cotopaxi (my July destination) has been active as recently as a year ago. 

During the entire day, Paulito and I conversed totally in Spanish. These trips are going to be great for my Spanish — I’m not going to speak any English all week. Outside Cuenca, far fewer people speak English. And I’m not going to even try to speak English. Ecuadorians are very kind people, generally appreciate your attempts at Spanish, and generally speak clearly and more slowly in an attempt to help you understand. I’m going to take advantage of that. 

Chimborazo has two refugios — shelters for people summiting the peak. (As an aside, if you summit the peak, due to the bulge of the earth at the equator, you are at the closest point to space on planet Earth.) We drove to a parking lot, hiked up to the first refugio (around 4400 meters in altitude) and then to the second one (5000 meters in altitude). We took our time, rested periodically, and ate our coca candy as we hiked. From the second refugio we hiked up an additional 100 meters in altitude, to 5100 meters, where the snow field was. At that altitude, it’s there permanently. And then we hiked down the snow field back to the first refugio. 

It’s difficult to explain the reverence you feel, looking up at the summit (which, again, with great fortune, I could actually see) and knowing that there, you are farther from the center of the earth than anywhere else you could be. It was incredibly calming, and I genuinely felt at peace and as one with nature, more than any other natural place I’ve ever been. Perhaps it was the remoteness. 

On arrival back at the parking lot, I was energized and decided to tackle the mountain bike. You never forget how, right? It’s true! Paulito recommended we drive down a bit to where it was a gentler slope down, so we did. And then I rode all the way down to the park entrance, maybe half an hour. More accurately, I coasted there at a comfortable speed and used the brakes frequently. The dirt road was often rough due to erosion and runoff from rain, but I persevered. It was all downhill. It was glorious. 

On the way back, Paulito chose a special place with a great view of the volcano, and I took a few minutes alone to spread a bit of Kirk’s ashes into the wind, while singing “Origin Of Love” from Hedwig and the Angry Inch. I’ve decided I’m going to take a bit of his ashes with me on my various travels, and repeat my new tradition whenever I’m in a new place. I’ll be doing the same in Mindo. And yes, I stood upwind. 

After that, we returned to Tambo Pak Samay and had a late 3pm lunch. Food never tasted so good. And, coincidentally, the food was good. 

Paulito dropped me off at Casa de Marmol about 4:30pm. Truthfully, I am exhausted. But it’s the best kind of exhaustion, the kind that’s combined with accomplishment. 

Thank you, Paulito. 

Si se puede. 

“I’m off, on a great adventure,” wrote the lyricist Larry Fecho. Kirk and I would often sing that before leaving on, well, you know.  And today is day one of the first of my monthly trips within Ecuador. 

I took a bus from Cuenca to Riobamba. It was about a five hour trip on the bus — 7am to around noon. Very comfortable bus, good WiFi, and the usual action movies dubbed into Spanish. Today was Overdrive, a flop from 2017. The other was some French movie based on Speed, except it was a family in a car, and it was a comedy. Odd choice for a bus ride but whatever. 

My hostel in Riobamba is Casa de Marmol, which I like very much. Very nice NYC sized hotel room with a private bath, but unlike NYC it’s $22 cash per night. I’ll take it. The host is very kind and helpful — WhatsApp-ed me many things to do, and gave me a slice of homemade almond flour bread with dried fruit. She also hooked me up with a tour of Chimborazo tomorrow. Uphill in a vehicle, stopping at sights along the way, and then the downhill option on a mountain bike. We’ll see. 

It’s Monday and both of her recommended almuerzo (lunch) places were closed, so I winged it. Looked for a place that was busy, local, and cheap. Very nice lunch – soup to start, rice with beef and a fried egg, some salad and avocado, French fries, strawberries and cream for dessert, and tamarind juice. All for $2.50 which is about $1 cheaper than the Cuenca equivalent. And the older couple running the place was adorable. 

I spent the afternoon walking around Riobamba. Much like Cuenca it has a large and great historic downtown. Unlike Cuenca the streets are not narrow and one way. The mostly wide two way streets make Riobamba feel more urban, and I like that. Street lights are sporadic and traffic is chaotic. Also there are far fewer crosswalks for drivers to ignore. So it’s every vehicle and pedestrian for themselves. I like the vibe quite a bit. 

I had a rompenuca at a mercado, which is an iced drink with fruit. The twist is that the ice comes down every day from the glaciers of Chimborazo. There used to be a lot of people that brought the ice, but now there’s just one guy left. A very old man. The rompenuca lady was sweet and gave me yapa (a little extra for free).

If you like old cars Ecuador is a paradise, and Riobamba is no exception. It amazes me how many people’s everyday transportation is a vehicle that in the States would sell at Barrett-Jackson’s car auction for immense prices.  Just today I spotted an Avanti, an International Harvester jeep, and several JDM (Japanese Domestic Market) Datsuns and the like. 

Lots of parks, green spaces, churches, upscale shopping and restaurants, and crowded streets with people patronizing them. 

Riobamba? I like it. 

My monthly trip schedule for the remainder of 2025 is complete now, and the reservations have all been made. All the trips are within Ecuador. I’ll be writing individual posts for each place listed below. If you have questions about any of the destinations, put them in the comments and I’ll do my best to address them.

June 2025: Chimborazo (staying at Casa de Marmol), Quito (staying at Hotel San Francisco de Quito), and Mindo (staying at El Descanso

July 2025: Cotopaxi (staying at The Secret Garden in a “Birdhouse” by choice, but not in one of the world famous “Hobbit Homes”) and Quilatoa (staying at The Black Sheep Inn)

August 2025: Izhcayluma Eco Resort

September 2025: Kapawi Ecolodge in the Amazon jungle – doing the 5 day/4 night program

October 2025: Buglas Birdwatching Lodge in Limón Indanza

November 2025: Loja for the International Festival of Live Arts

December is amazing in Cuenca with tons of holiday activities, so I’ll be around home for that.

I’m taking public buses for all my transportation. Ecuador has a great system and most trips are well under $10. Exceptions: Izhcayluma has their own bus that takes you there from Cuenca. And Kapawi flies you into the middle of the Amazon, once I take a bus to Puyo.

I know…what about the Galapagos? It’s expensive, although citizens and visa holders get some discounts. And Kapawi Ecolodge is a huge splurge already (the other stays are amazingly cheap). So maybe next year for the Galapagos.

I’m so grateful to be living in the most biodiverse country in the world, to be able to explore it for practically nothing, and to be able to take Kirk with me in my heart.

my dad was quite an eeyore.

our extended family lived in florida when i grew up, and my dad would often elucidate lengthy lists of complaints about the state of the state, and indeed, nearly any other place in the world, always ending with a wish to return to one nirvanic location.

if only he could be in his home state of kentucky, all of his problems would be solved.

apparently at some point my grandmother, who was tough enough for chicago speakeasies and whose biting wit lives on in me, had enough, and told him “things are bad all over, even in kentucky.”

no doubt with her offhand glance that would ice over hell.

the marriage to my mother lasted about a year.

the family saying lives on to this day.

…to queerspace.com. i’m rather proud of being prescient enough to figure out how register a url in 1998, and hand-code a website. you can see the old site at archive dot org (sadly no archive of the first two years).

it’s a boring ass wordpress site now, and it’s a miracle if you are reading this as the site has a nofollow tag to block search engines.

take a moment though and click around. there’s some cool stuff here.