In Which I (Literally) Don't Know Where My Towel Is

Week 0
“No plan of battle survives first contact with the enemy.” - Helmuth von Moltke

I've been on the road for five days now, and the greatest lesson I've learned is the important of patience and flexibility. As a traveler you can make airtight plans on paper, but they're sure to spring a leak as soon as you step out your front door. Speaking of which...

“It's a dangerous business, going out your front door. You step onto the road, and if you don't keep your feet, there's no knowing where you might be swept off to.” - J.R.R. Tolkien

The plane from Hell

There have been a lot of leaks—and casualties—so far. Things went wrong early when my flight from Miami was unable to land in Quito due to poor weather conditions. After circling Quito for half an hour, we flew to Guayaquil (a 30-minute flight) to refuel (another half an hour) flew back to Quito, circled for half an hour more waiting for a break in the fog, and then flew back to Guayaquil. By the time we landed in Guayaquil everyone on that plane was frothing at the mouth and ready to lynch the pilot; even the stewards were pissed. The kind of heart might say, “better to be diverted and delayed than dead,” but we learned later that we were almost the only flight to not land in Quito that night. Everyone agreed that, even if it really wasn't safe to land (and the pilot wasn't just being a sissy) we should have just stayed in Guayquil the first time.

The airline put us up in hotels, which was both nice and only right, but meant we had to stand in line for another hour or so waiting for vouchers, and then for a shuttle to pick us up. I made friends with a group of Jehovah's Witness missionaries who were sitting next to me on the plane, and we stuck together during the ordeal, which was good because I don't think I could have survived on my own. Samantha, the woman leading the missionary trip, was an absolute pillar of strength. There was a point, while waiting in line in the Guayaquil airport, when I was so tired and so hungry and so upset that I wanted to just collapse on the floor, cry for a little while, and then pass out. If it wasn't for Samantha, Cassandra and the others I think I would have. I know the four of you will never read this, but thank you.

Amazing bed

On the bright side, I wound up in the Hilton, which is probably the nicest hotel I've ever stayed in. I shot off a quick email to let my mother know I wasn't dead (in retrospect, the email sounded slightly hysterical, which I put down to lack of sleep) and passed on the bed. It was a very nice bed, though I can't say I was in any state to appreciate it.

Because Puerto Lopez is a 4-hour bus ride from Guayaquil and a 10-hour bus ride from Quito I tried to get my hands on my checked luggage (still safely in the hold of airplane) so I could go straight from Guayaquil to Puerto Lopez. After an enormous amount of stress, a couple of expensive taxi rides, and a lot of fumbling in Spanish, I found the right place—but discovered that I was two hours too late and everyone had already left for the day. I went back to the Hilton and burst into tears. I'd gotten so set on this new plan, which was faster and cheaper and more comfortable—and had the added advantage of another free night in the Hilton—that I just couldn't handle the disappointment. I was angry with airline for putting me Guayaquil in the first place and I was angry with the airline reps for not keeping normal, sane, American hours, but mostly I was angry with myself for not going to the airport earlier. There's nothing worse than having no one to blame but yourself.

So I flew back to Quito with the rest of the passengers Friday night. Miracle of miracles the shuttle, which was supposed the pick me up the night before, was at the airport and waiting for me. Cristina, my future boss, had made reservations for me at a hostel for Thursday and Friday. They'd cancelled my reservation when I didn't show up, but they still had an open space. I said I wasn't sure if I wanted more than one night—after the Hilton the Posada de Maple seemed uncomfortable and dodgy—and crashed on a bunkbed in my dorm.

Amazing shower

After a good night's sleep and a truly amazing shower put things in perspective, I decided I wanted to stay a second night after all. Unfortunately, the open slot had disappeared sometime during the night, so I had to pack up all my stuff (forgetting my towel in the process) and take a taxi to a different hotel. After that difficult Spanish conversation, I spent a few minutes looking out over the Posada's courtyard honestly wondering what I was doing. I'd had second thoughts before, but they were mostly just really loud nerves. This was my first real moment of doubt as I wondered what I thought I could do here in Ecuador when I could barely understand the language. It was not a pleasant question, I can't say I've answered it.

“Courage isn't having the strength to go on—it's going on when you don't have strength.” - Napolean Bonaparte

I picked the hostel “Secret Garden” out my Lonely Planet guide, which was something of a mistake. First of all, the cabby couldn't find it for ages, and kept the meter running the whole time he was circling and idling, so I paid $7 for what should have been a $2 ride. Then, it turns out the Secret Garden has five floors, and the reception desk is at the very top. Who does that? Those were the steepest, tallest stairs I have ever seen in my life. The Secret Garden wasn't bad, but the Posada was better and cheaper, too.

So Saturday was spent buying my bus ticket and buying food for the trip. The closest grocery store was probably a couple miles away, but by that point I was sick of taxis so I walked. It was fun exploring Quito's New Town on foot, but I got a couple blisters and had the uncomfortable experience of being the only gringa within a 1-mile radius. I learned that Ecuadorian grocery stores carry Nutella but not peanut butter, and that they drive their grocery carts the same way they drive their cars—which is to say, like absolute lunatics.

View from the Quitumbe bus terminal

This morning I took a taxi bright and early to the bus terminal. I settled in to wait—I'd got there early on purpose—and waited... and waited... and waited. Finally, about 10 minutes after my bus should have left, a man came and started rounding up passengers waiting close to me and directing them off somewhere else. With some limited Spanish and the visual aid of my ticket we managed to tell each other that I was trying to Puerto Lopez but that the bus I had purchased a ticket for wasn't coming. He made it clear that I should come with him to get to Puerto Lopez, so I grabbed my bags and followed him completely out of the bus terminal and across the street, past a gas station. Now I know this sounds crazy and dangerous, but he had a manifest with my name on it, which he could only have got from the bus company, and all the other passengers—whose destinations were presumably close to mine, since they were waiting in the same area—had done as he directed. So followed him and got on his bus and settled in for a long bus ride.

Ugly photo of beautiful scenery

Oh, Lady, was it long. At first it wasn't bad. At the higher elevations the weather was pleasantly cool and the terrain was tropical rainforest like I'd never seen before, but as we left the Sierra behind the temperature spiked and the air became wet and sticky. The towns we passed through were poor, poorer than anything I've seen in the States, poorer than anything I've even heard of in the States. Santo Domingo was especially depressing. It must have once been a much larger, more prosperous city, but at least a dozen large buildings—once hotels or apartment buildings—stood empty and decaying. It had a post-apocalyptic look, and reminded me of pictures I'd seen of Cherobyl.

Ten hours later I finally got off the damn bus in Puerto Lopez. It's probably the most prosperous town I've seen since leaving Quito, and my first impressions were good. I found Equilibrio Azul just fine, but the gate was locked and no matter how hard I pounded no one opened it. There was a very large dog just inside; he licked my hand when I reached under the gate to pet his nuzzle. He was very sweet, but didn't fetch anyone to let me in.

“A journey is like marriage. The certain way to be wrong is to think you control it.” - John Steinbeck

I'd lost my cell phone in Quito so I couldn't call anyone. It was getting dark, I was tired, thirsty, hungry, sticky, sweaty and smelly. I wanted a shower and a bed and somewhere to take my shoes off. Somewhat warily I consulted my not-so-trusty Lonely Planet and dragged my bags to a nearby hotel. No one was at the desk and no one showed up when I rang the bell so, I grumpily hauled myself to a different hotel I had passed on the way over.

I seem to have bad luck in picking hotels, because this was a real mistake. I'm writing this from my room right now, and I can tell you that if you come to Puerto Lopez you should not stay in the El Ruta del Sol hotel. It's ridiculously loud—street noise, TV downstairs, radio next door, dogs outside—unbelievably overpriced—$20 for a bare-bones room—and the receptionist tried to kiss me. Who does that?

After I locked myself in my room—and stuck the chair under the door—I took a shower, but I can't say it did me much good because the air conditioner doesn't work and I'm sticky again. At least I don't smell. Much.

I know that was really long, but on the bright side you're all caught up on my adventures! Tune in next Sunday for the next installment. In the meantime, you might enjoy the50 most inspiring travel quotes of all time. I sure did.

Ciao!