He had breakfast and had to check out by 1pm. I didn’t get the blog up-dated, so we headed for the airport. No sooner than the kid at the front desk of the hostel set the phone down after calling a cab, the cabby came through the door. Kathleen and I were a tad suspicious that the cab was unmarked; however, the driver was well dressed, and quite courteous and professional. And being broad daylight we figured on little chance of any hanky-panky.
The streets of Quito were nearly empty. The Christmas holiday made travel to the airport a quick ride. This was something Kathleen and I made note when we come down this way again on our motorcycles. To get through or out of a big city, travel on the holiday or very early in the morning.
We had about two and a half hours to kill before boarding our flight to Loja (Low-ha) in southern Ecuador. Our plan was to fly to the southern end of the country and work our way north. We had reservations at Cabañas Rio Yambala hostel east of Vilcabamba. Kathleen and I found the Quito airport to be rather small for a city so huge, yet the facility seemed to get the job done. Check-in and security was, again, a veritable breeze. No need to look at gels, liquids, or laptops.
Right on time, the plane backed out of the gate at 4:30pm. We hit the sky and less than 50-minutes later we were making our landing in Catamayo which is the airport for Loja 40-minutes away. From Quito to Loja by bus would have been 13-hours. In Ecuador, the bus would have been half the $190 USD paid to fly both of us. Yet, we sure as roaches wouldn’t have endured the trip nearly as well.
At the Loja terminal Kathleen and I waltzed straight by baggage claim as all we had were our day packs and motorcycle helmets. We got outside and saw a line of taxis. As we walked to the taxi at the head of the row a man intercepted us and tried to lead us away; presumably to his ‘taxi’. Kathleen and I performed evasive maneuvers and continued our path to the uniformed taxi drivers. Upon approach, the taxi driver we picked told us that if another two people could be found, we could split the $20 cost. While Kathleen was discussing this deal, a 7 or 8 year-old boy and girl came up to us and presented an empty hand. I said ‘no’ and turned away. They both came around in from of me with hands out. “NO!” And again, I turned away and then walked over to Kathleen and the taxi driver. They were still engaged in negotiating the fare. The little girl tugged on my shirt near where my wallet was in my shorts. I turned into her and she immediately flashed open her hand. While talking to the taxi driver, Kathleen was being harassed by the little boy. The little girl kept maneuvering herself to be in front of me, and whenever I got close to Kathleen, she’d try to wedge herself between us. I actually began to play with this little escapade some as I began to look for the adult that I knew was just waiting for either Kathleen or I to lay a hand on either of these kids. I wanted to get a picture of all this, however, I knew if one of the kids saw me photographing them, we would have to pay.
Finished with the cabby, Kathleen launched into the two micro-beggars in Spanish. The little boy had nerve, and continued to demand money even as Kathleen repeatedly asked him why he should received money for nothing. The little girl was smarter, the terminal was disgorging those who claimed their baggage, and she went to find another mark. I saw a Caucasian couple emerge just as Kathleen threateningly told the little boy beggar to go away. Both he and the little girl homed-in on the couple I was hoping needed a taxi to Loja. I pointed them out to Kathleen just as the little kids came up to them. Hands went out and the woman snapped something in Spanish that immediately caused little hands to withdraw and the kids to move on. Kathleen intercepted the couple as a taxi driver began to court them for business. They redirected to our taxi instead.
Rob and Amber were from San Jose, California and Amber was quite fluent in Spanish and had spent years in South America and Spain studying the language. She taught Spanish in San Jose. Amber had barked at the boy and girl as if she were native Ecuadoran and they believed she was. Thus, figuring they had no chance.
We hopped into the cab and traded adventures with each other. Ambers’ parents were missionaries currently living in Loja. Like me, Robs’ Spanish was seriously lacking. He was originally from small-town Idaho so, he too was not enthralled with big cities like Quito. They had come from a lodge in the Amazon and had thoroughly enjoyed themselves.
Kathleen and I were dropped off at the bus terminal in Loja. We needed to take an hour trip into Vilcabamba. We boarded the bus and soon, nearly a half hour later, the bus backed out and we were off. Yeah, we did all the obligatory stopping along the way where a number of the folks we picked up and dropped off were definitely in goods holiday spirits as they had noticeably drank plenty of spirits. Just don’t erupt on us while you’re standing in the isle.
By 7:30pm we arrived in Vilcabamba. We had told our hostel that we’d be in around 8ish. We needed to buy water and wanted some dinner. We walked to the plaza and found a diner. We noticed since being in South America, that once you sit down for a meal, they don’t take long to receive your order and within 10-minutes you’ve got your food. Well, this place was definitely a distant outlier in our sample size. In fact, Pluto doesn’t seem so far out now. We finally received our orders by nearly 9pm. Almost 45-minutes after our requests were taken. Obviously, the beef Kathleen ordered had to be raised and butchered, and the wheat and basil grown for my pasta and pesto.
We ate and went in search of a taxi. They had been driving by frequently while we were waiting for our dinner. Now, none were to be seen. Finally, we flagged one down and Kathleen told him where we needed to go. He headed off down a dark and pot-holed dirt road. Soon we came to a dead-end with a covered bridge over the Rio Yambala. We couldn’t see much past the bridge. In English, the cabby asks “Is this it?” The sign on the bridge said ‘Charlie’s Place’ and we had told the cabby that we were looking for the Cabañas Rio Yambala hostel. With that we turned around and drove back down the road about a quarter mile. The cabby stopped again and said “this is it” with a certain amount of conviction. A shabby bridge crossed the river. Two logs with a few boards placed between the timbers at distances Shaquille O’Neal would have found a stretch. The driver started to help us across and retreated when large sounding dogs began barking on the other side of the bridge. Kathleen and I continued across the bridge and associated crevasses and walked towards a dark structure. This couldn’t possibly be a hostel as the front yard area was completely void of vegetation and appeared to be a bare-bones house. Almost appearing long abandoned. However, sure enough, lights came on and a woman appeared out of a doorway pulling on a shirt and hiking up her pants. A young girl appeared too, nearly clothed, holding a puppy.
Kathleen asked if this was Cabañas Rio Yambala hostel, we both knew the answer to that. The woman explained this wasn’t and that we needed to go to Charlie’s Place up the road. Grrrrrrr!! With many ‘sorries’ and ‘good nights’ Kathleen and I backed out and crossed back over the bridge. The large sounding dogs were just that, and ensured that we continue on our way with vicious growls and barks. They were just doin’ their job.
We walked back the Charlie’s Place and after crossing the bridge realized that this was definitely a hostel. We found a sign directing us to use the intercom to alert the proprietors. Soon, a lanky middle-aged man who had U.S. mid-westerner all over him, walked up and introduced himself as Charlie. We gave a brief synopsis of our trials and tribulations getting to the hostel by 8ish, to which he found the bit about the taxi driver highly annoying.
Kathleen and I were lead to our cabin which we found a delight. Something we often thought we would build on a hunk of land in the mountains.
Just a bed, a door, and some windows to look out to a view. Frogs and crickets sang above the roar of the river down in the canyon.
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