The good, the Bad, and the Terribly Painful

The Painful

Saturday in Baños six of us girls from Arutam, the volunteering in the jungle, decided to go horseback riding. It´ll write more about that later. A four hour ride up the volcanic hills surrounding the town, past waterfalls and farms and gorgeous houses, up to the lookout where you can see the entire city. All for $10 each. And my horse was amazing, much more responsive and better than any other trail horse I´ve used at home.

The ride was almost over when I realized my arms were getting sunburnt. I had thought that since I had been in the Amazon for two weeks and my arms had darkened consideraly, that I wouldn´t really need protection on my arms. I used the sunscreen out of my bag, but it was too late. Wearing a t-shirt, by late afternoon I had a glowing red farmers-burn. Ha ha.

There was too much pain to sleep; I felt like someone had seared my flesh with a hot iron. My skin was unbelievably hot and an angry, angry red. I decided to slather my skin with lotion, until it was white. Then I soaked two tank tops, and tied them onto my arms, using dozens of the cheap hair elastics I had bought in Otavalo. From the innumerable sunburns I´ve experienced in my life, I knew that as the water evaporated all night, it would suck the heat from my skin, and perhaps lessen the pain. Arms bundled like a mummy, I took two painkillers and slept.

The Bad

Two days later, arms still glowing but now also peeleing, Cali, my Calgarian friend and I, decided to take an overnight bus from Baños to the coast. It left at 5:30 pm, and was to go to Salinas in approximately 12 hours, and then from there, we would catch a bus up the coast to Montañita.

We settled in for the long haul. About 2 hours in, I decided it was time for some music. But the knapsack, which had been in full sight the entire time, was suddenly lacking my Ipod. I pulled everything out, certain it had to be there. No luck, it was gone. I have no idea how it happened, or why they did not take my camera and/or money as well. It´s still a mystery.

But it has really made me frustrated.... it´s not the loss of the Ipod itself. It can be replaced, in fact, it is insured. But I am in South America for another two and a half months, and my music is my security blanket. Anyone who knows me me, has seen that I turn music on the minute I walk into a room, when I get up in the morning, when I´m in the car. When I am nervous and my stomach is upset, it calms me. When I am tired it soothes me. But most of all, it is a familiar peice of home when everything you see, eat, smell, and do, is completely foreign.

I still have to report it missing and get the vital police report for the insurers. But there are no police in Montañita; it is too small. I will go to Guayaquil next week.

The Good

We arrived, after a detour into Guayaquil, the largest city in Ecuador, near the Southern coast, in the small hamlet of Salinas, pop 1000. It was 5:30 in the morning and we were completely groggy from intermittent sleep and the jostling of the bus. The bus dropped us off somewhere near the coast, in a sort of industrial/commercial area. There was no one around, not even the dogs I´ve come to expect everywhere.

In a stroke of luck, we managed to snag a solo passing taxi, and asked for the bus to Montañita. We wound up and about, away from the coast, past firmly shut stores and dark deserted streets. It was too far and complicated to have walked, and we were indeed grateful for the taxi. We pulled up in a small little parking lot where three or four dark, small, buses sat. I assumed we would end up sitting there until one of them left, likely for a few hours until the sun rose. A few bus drivers, tired, hardworking, older Ecuadorian men, lounged nearby. We once again inquired for the bus to Montañita. To our surprise, it was leaving in 20 minutes. We climbed aboard.

Another two hour nap and we were jolted awake. We´d arrived in Montañita. Dazed from the sleep, we stumbled off the bus, which disappeared down the road in a swirl of ochre dust.

We walked towards the town. It was now 7:30, the sun well up but hidden by a veil of grey clouds. Where other towns would have been bustling, Montañita still slept. Nary a soul stirred, save the two Canadian backbackers just arriving. Every store was shut tight.

It was definitely a surf town, and we knew it before we saw the Pacific. The buildings all had roofs of thached palm, and bamboo seemed to be a major structural element. I could see half a dozen surf shops, boards and clothing visible through the large windows. Suddenly, two surfer boys appeared, walking down the intersecting street. With lean, perfectly muscled bodies typical of the sport, and boards under their arms. they made a pretty picture. I felt a sudden surge of excitement. I´m going to be surfing before I know it!

Tired of walking with our heavy knapsacks, we picked a fairly reasonable, $7 a night hostal on the main street. Our room had a balcony, complete with hammock, that overlooked the main drag. A row of coconut trees completed the view. Tired, we dropped our bags and slept, the single fan, a real luxury, keeping the heat at bay.