A Little Quality Time With the Quito Police

Last summer I had a close encounter with the police in Cusco, Peru. And, again, in Lima. It was one thing for the Cuzqueño chief of police to fingerprint me, but when Lima’s armed guards pulled me out of the line in which I had been standing, mostly innocently, for a very long time, confiscated my camera because I had snapped a picture of the U.S. Embassy in Lima, and grilled me about my activities, that was another matter entirely. However, that was last year.

I only had one run-in with the police on this year’s trip. The night we flew out of Quito, Josh thought he heard a page for me in the airport. How in the world could Josh decipher that garbled communiqué? We had barely understood anything during the entire trip!

Sure enough, when Amy and I checked in at the gate, the armed security guard immediately whisked us both down the stairs, out of the airport, into the night, past the drug-sniffing dog, and onto the edge of the tarmac, in the rain. The guard deposited us in front of a small glug of luggage and asked us each to identify ours. The police and soldiers forced us to go through everything, asking intimidating questions the whole time. These fellows were the embodiment of stoicism. None smiled. Ever. One rested his hand on his semi-automatic while a colleague pulled each item from the suitcases. Most of the things were boring travel items. The guy grimaced when he unbundled wet, sandy cargo pants. I wanted to explain we had been rafting, but this guy was Señor Focus. As it turned out, the luggage they asked me to inspect was actually Steve's, but I was thankful they pegged me instead of him because Steve doesn't speak a syllable of Spanish and these guys didn’t appear to have an ounce of English in them.

What I was too terrified to tell the armed guys was that there were items in Steve's suitcase I had never seen. A spray can of Coppertone SPF 50, a large bottle of Pantene Pro V conditioning shampoo, hairclips, nighttime lotion, Krazy Glue, and more. It was so weird. Then it hit me! Someone must have planted that stuff, along with a Ziploc baggie of cocaine. They had likely stuffed the bag of drugs into one of Steve's wet, sandy tennis shoes. It was only a matter of time before I was history. The longer the guy dug in the bag, the more my forehead became sweaty, and my hands grew clammy, just like they used to do at junior high dances when Mike Carriker and his dimple smiled at me.

Farther down the line, Amy seemed to be holding her own just fine. I took slow, deep breaths and tried not to look as rattled as I felt. This was no small matter. We had a problem, Houston. I’d read a few accounts of FARC guerrillas crossing the Ecuadorian borders and accusing North Americans of international espionage. According to them, we were all members of the CIA. Would I get a trial? A phone call? A Marlboro? After a few grueling hours, or perhaps just 17 minutes, they released both of us. I was happy to be alive. Amy whispered, “That wasn’t too bad, was it?” I mumbled something about how we’d talk about it later. She and I held soggy hands as the guard escorted us out of the rain, past the drug dog, into the lighted airport, and up the stairs.

At the gate, the security guards detained us again, until our plane boarded. One policeman kept talking on his walkie-talkie, glancing at us, and nodding. I figured he must have been informed about that baggie in the tennis shoe. Finally, he approached us and wanted a breakdown of what had happened downstairs, outside. Amy and I looked at each other and didn’t say anything. He asked again, noticed our blanks, pointed to our group, and then said, “Pues, vayanse con sus amigos.” Whew!

Once reunited, everyone pressed us for details. I told Steve about all the weird stuff in his bag. He laughed. When Marci had left our hotel at 4:15 that morning to catch her flight she had given him a Wal-Mart bag of all the stuff that wouldn't fit in her suitcase! Funny. Real funny.

Good thing those guys didn't find the picture I took of the U.S. Embassy in Quito. . .

Salsa-ing with the best of them!

It's hard to believe one week ago today we were squaring off in a mirror-lined room, ready to begin Salsa lessons in Quito. One would think that after investing a childhood learning to play the clarinet that I would have some sense of rhythm. Not so. Every time I’ve tried to take dance lessons, the result has been a predictable imbroglio. The best dancing I’ve ever done was at Jenny & Joe’s wedding reception. I’ve heard there’s a family video and I suppose if someone were ever desperate enough, it would make incredible blackmail material.

All of us were stoked for the lessons. Well, perhaps "stoked" is an exaggeration. We were all “committed.” Now that I think of it, “all” is an exaggeration also. Juan Pablo insisted on babysitting our bus, instead of joining us on the dance floor. Red flag.

I don’t recall hearing the names of our four instructors. Frankly, they intimidated me. Two of them specialized in scrutinizing our group, then pointing, and laughing. Our principal instructor barked broken English over the throbbing CD. He sprinkled jabs throughout his instruction. “Come on, you Colorados. You don’t dance in that ways in Colorado, do you? Oh, Colorados, you don’t got it.” The fourth guy didn’t teach at all; he was adept at watching himself gyrate in the mirrors.

A teacher, among other things, ought to inspire confidence; I began having my doubts when ours instructed us to count the dance steps like this uno, dos, tres, cinco, seis, siete. What the heck happened to cuatro? I’ll admit cuatro is not my favorite number, but it’s functional. “Now, class, two plus two equals………um, let’s see, we abolished cuatro, so we’ll have to think of something else. While we’re thinking, let’s do a little art lesson. This geometric shape is a rectangle. Rectangles have………wait-a-min-ute….. we killed cuatro. Um, class, rectangles have two sides here and two sides there. Let’s go outdoors for recess.”

When we were planning this trip to Ecuador I had asked the kids if they would like to take salsa lessons. Only one girl said yes. So, I explored options and discussed them with Peter: take an art lesson with one of Ecuador's up and coming artists, listen to a reading by one of Quito's writers, or take salsa lessons. The kids then voted unanimously for salsa lessons. While we were dancing I could tell they loved it! They really loved it.

And, without naming names, I will say that all but two of us got the hang of salsa-ing. Since Steve and I had exhausted ourselves by providing everyone with comic relief on the dance floor, we felt it was important to use the remainder of the class time to fortify the group with encouraging words, and cold botellas de agua sin gas.

Next time, I will flip Juan Pablo for the babysitting job.

Ciao Ecuador

Alejandra says there are more than 1,000 guides in Quito. It just so happens that she and Fabricio are friends! So, last night she called him and he contacted the bus driver. He had found our camera while cleaning the bus!! After talking with Fab, he arranged to deliver the camera to a central location. Alejandra and Juan Pablo rendezvoused with them while we were at salsa lessons. I’m so grateful for the level of integrity these guys possess. Latin Frontiers chose well when they contracted with them.

This morning we walked to the Museo Nacional del Banco Central del Ecuador. My favorite section was the displays of elaborately designed artifacts of gold and silver. And, I liked the mummy. Mummies intrigue me. Three years ago, Steve and I saw the famous Peruvian mummy, Juanita. I probably have the details goofed up, but I remember hers being a morbid, tragic story. Juanita was a young teen, appropriately groomed to be a chaste sacrifice. It seems “they” forced her to walk from Cuzco to Arequipa. The trek likely left her exhausted and malnutritioned. When they reached the destination, a priest bludgeoned her in the head and left her to die on the mountain.

Modern art occupied another section of the museum. When I entered the large room, I was shocked to see an Asian businessman peeing on the floor. I kept averting my eyes, but he continued to stand there with his pants around his ankles. Then I realized he was a statue.

For some warped reason, I could not tear myself from the black and white video of the slaughterhouses. It was horrifying, yet magnetic and persuasive. No doubt, the tofu industry had produced it.

We left the museum and I surprised the kids by letting them eat lunch at McDonald’s. It was the first American food we had eaten in a week and a half. None of them had displayed any obvious withdrawal symptoms.

We did volunteer work at the orphanage, Hogar del niño San Vicente de Paul. Alejandra had never been there. She and Amy cried while we were cuddling babies in the infant ward. Later, I learned that Amy had been adopted out of an orphanage at the age of three. We played with the kids for a long time and left our gifts with the secretary. It was fun watching Steve play trucks in the grass with one of the little boys. Devin gave a soccer ball to a mentally retarded teen boy. They connected; I love priceless gifts.

River Rats

We went white water rafting today down a Class III/IV river. It was the biggest adrenaline rush of this trip! Alejandra couldn’t join us so Fabricio and Arturo were the experienced river runners with us. I liked both of them.

The entry point was about a three-hour drive from Quito. The highest point of the drive was 14,000’ and we continued to drop in elevation until we reached the river at 1500’. As we wound through the mountains those river guys rarely spoke. However, as soon as the river came into view, they all slid to the windows and fixated on the water. Their talk became animated and their eyes widened. I got excited just watching them get excited!

Fabricio gave the best rafting instructions I’ve ever received. He taught us several codes for paddling and we practiced maneuvers for half an hour in calm water before entering white water. Steve’s favorite command was “Inside, Inside!”

Three kids went overboard, but didn’t suffer. Two sections of the river were dramatic Class IVs. Fabricio and Arturo opted for us to skirt the worst section on foot. They and the other guide maneuvered the two rafts through the narrow part by themselves. The danger of this particular area was the presence of underwater caves. They didn’t want to risk any of us toppling overboard and becoming trapped in a cave. Steve and I appreciated their cautionary judgment.

When we arrived at the end of the trip four hours later, our bus driver had prepared dinner for us. He had assembled three tables topped with blue tablecloths and had prepared a do-it-yourself chicken burrito bar beyond my imagination. The food was delicious and our favorite was his homemade guacamole.

As soon as we finished eating, I offered to help pack up all the containers of leftovers. The driver immediately stopped me and said in Spanish, “We will share our food with the villagers who are playing and washing in the river.” And, that’s exactly what we did. He hollered at the splashing villagers and they joined our picnic. Then he told the kids to go to their casas and bring back their parents. They did. Two moms toted home the remainders. The kids in our group, and all of us, really, were amazed. One of the things I really like on a trip with teens is for them to be privy to cultural differences. They noted that we could likely never reenact that picnic in the States. Strangers aren’t that approachable. And, even if someone would allow an invitation, who would accept it? We are leery of contamination, lawsuits, and ill will.

Steve liked Arturo just as he liked Marco when we were on the Amazon two years ago. On the drive back to Quito, Steve asked me to see if Arturo would trade work caps with him. Arturo didn’t hesitate a moment before removing his cool Ecuador Adventure Active Travel hat and handing it to Steve. Their smiles defy description.

Back at our hotel, we dragged out of the bus, wet, tired, sandy, and weatherworn. It’s often difficult for me to be intentional with planning, particularly when teens are involved. Even though we were all shot from the rafting, I wanted everyone to experience one more moment. Kelsey chose not to be a team player. I asked everyone to clean up and then meet in the lobby in half an hour. In the meantime, I arranged for three taxis to pick us up. The kids were amazed to be using taxis! Half of them actually squealed! Most had never ridden in a taxi. We arrived at Café Mosaico, an old house set high atop a hill overlooking Old Town. Our table was inlaid with beautiful hand painted mosaic tiles. The name “café” is misleading; it is more like an assembling of Ecuador’s elite, and we river runners were allowed to crash the party. The Mosaico offers a panoply of spectacular views—particularly stunning at night. While waiting for our food, I asked Marci to debrief the group. She taught about reverse culture shock and the kids absorbed it. Then we spent a few minutes recording reflections of the trip.

When we returned to the hotel, Marcelo called our room to make sure we’d had a good day rafting and to see if he could assist us with anything. Latin Frontiers has taken excellent care of us just as Peru Gateway has done in the past. In fact, yesterday there were small gifts at the desk for each of us from Latin Frontiers: shadow boxes filled with various sculpted scenes from everyday life in Ecuador: a bakery making empanadas, a balcony terrace, a bunch of cuy on a grill, etc. Peter could not have suggested a better itinerary for us!

Before climbing into bed, I decided to look at the day’s pictures. It was then that I realized I had left our camera on the bus. My heart sank. I figured we’d never see the camera again. When we were in Honduras two years ago, Tom left his camera in the van and never regained it. Even though I truly believe God can do the impossible, I had only a shred of faith as I asked him to help us recover our camera. As soon as I finished praying, the phone rang. It was Marcelo again. He finalized the time we would do volunteer work at the orphanage tomorrow. I told him about the camera and he said he would do everything he could to help us.

I suppose I shouldn’t have written that I “finished” praying. I actually spent a fitful night praying. I wasn't attached to the camera; I wanted the pictures.

Tucanopy Zip Lining

Last night was the best night’s sleep I’ve had in about a month. I could have stayed in the cloud forest at least a week. This morning we took a beautiful long difficult hike. We began at the top of the forest and wound our way to the bottom, often hiking through the middle of a rushing stream. At one point, we tied a rope around our waists and scaled a large boulder. Marci missed the first foothold and swung under a waterfall. When it was my turn to cross, I couldn’t get adequate traction halfway through the crossing so Steve immediately scaled the rock without a rope and rescued me. All but two of our group waded through waist deep water to stand beneath a gorgeous waterfall before hiking back to the top of the forest.

We left Bellavista and headed to the Tucanopy in the cloud forest, near Nanegalito, northwest of Quito. Three years ago, this family run business sprouted as a means of improving the local economic base. The income also helps them pursue conservation projects. This family of biologists conducts several studies and hosts research teams. One of the daughters had just returned from studying in Alamosa, Colorado. Something I learned is that palm trees are becoming endangered because of the high demand by churches to use fronds on Palm Sunday. This type of zip lining was a new experience for all of us. We wore helmets and halters and listened attentively to instructions. The pet pig, Julia, inspected us. Tucanopy has six runs of various lengths and is the longest canopy in Ecuador. It was tons of fun! A few times, we could actually touch trees and palm branches while zipping. The amazing thing was the brake. It was a thick rectangular piece of leather with finger holes. When we approached the end of a run, the instructor held up one arm for us to apply the brake onto the cable. If she held up two arms, we would top the brake with both hands and pull down. My biggest fear was that I wouldn’t be able to see any arms through the clouds and would crash into the steel pillar. On the drive back to Quito Alejandra found a roadside restaurant for us. There were fourteen of us total. She ran into the kitchen to see if they had sufficient food for all of us. I had never considered that a restaurant might not have adequate food. We live in such a surplus society. When she returned, she told us the cook had enough food to make six small pizzas, six truchas, and two chicken platters. Amazing! It was delicious and some of the kids said it was the best pizza they had ever eaten.

Clouds, clouds, clouds

We are in the cloud forest and I LOVE it! It has the ambience of The Great Smoky Mountains. Peter could not have chosen a more beautiful place for us.

On our way here, we stopped at a butterfly farm

near Mindo. Marci said butterflies creep her out. I didn’t know that. I also learned that birds creep out Aimee. More insights. I’m only the mother. Anyway, we watched two butterflies emerge from cocoons and dry their wings. Very cool! I will have to admit that the Owl’s Eye butterfly is creepy. It looks like a fish head. My favorite butterfly is that cool fluorescent blue one, the Blue Morpho Butterfly. It's very difficult to capture with a camera. We saw orchids growing in the wild.

We enjoyed a delicious trout lunch with pumpkin soup here at the bamboo & brick Bellavista Lodge. We are the only ones overnighting here, besides the staff. Steve is sick. He stayed in bed under layers of wool blankets and I turned on the portable electric heater for him. Our place is cool. Steve and I have six beds, two on the main floor, and four upstairs in the loft. It reminds me of the speaker’s cabin at Twin Peaks. Marci and Leah each have their own room below us.

The view from
our deck is incredible. I love swinging in the hammock, watching the clouds play tag with our trees.

Erik is our hiking guide. He’s so knowledgeable. We each selected a pair of sturdy rubber boots, a long walking stick, and heavy-duty hooded poncho.

He said today’s hike was a test so he could evaluate our stamina for tomorrow’s hike. Marci said Erik looks like a hooded Moses in rubber boots leading the children of Israel! I acted like an adult and told the kids to pay attention to everything Erik told us because rain forests and cloud forests are grocery stores and pharmacies. He didn’t let us down. Local women use the first plant he showed us as a contraceptive. A few of the teen girls were interested in the next plant because it helps relieve cramps and mood swings. He said it wouldn’t do them any good because they would have to use it for at least a month, not just today! I liked the healing tree. When one cuts the bark and applies the sap to a wound, the owie will close over and heal quickly.

Leah and Marci used the monkey tail vine to morph into monkeys. We ate a few of the purple flowers that Erik said were edible. He also showed us strands of black pearl berries. He said we could sample one or two but they are hallucinogenic when consumed in larger quantities. We all watched him pop a handful into his mouth. Shortly afterward, he acted a little funny. I asked him a question and noticed his glazed eyes. He just stared at me for a long time before saying anything. Marci and Leah laughed. At dinner, Leah and Marci entertained our group with hilarious stories. Marci feigned ignorance of Spanish and invented a lot of Spanglish like "coconates," sending the teens into fits of uncontrollable laughter. The guys in our group were chivalrous on the hikes. Alejandra commented that they were gentlemen and of the quality she would like to find. I will remember to tell their parents.

Andes Mountain High

We left Baños, sigh, and headed to the Porvenir Hacienda, three hours away. The last volcanic eruption had destroyed some of the highway of our route, so we had to skirt construction crews clearing the grey material. Alejandra explained about the homemade, AKA redneck, bullfights in Machachi. Btw, Machachi has to be my new favorite word! I love Spanish words with many “ch” sounds. Once a year self-proclaimed boozed-up chagras set up a bullfighting ring in a street near the town’s plaza using sheets of plywood. It is a popular destination for spectators from neighboring towns, villages, and Quito. Someone releases a bull and the chagras swing into action. Since they are pretty well pickled, the bull makes a bunch of gore scores. ¡Viva el machismo!

The road to Porvenir is a massage--miles and miles of cobblestones. Poor Juan Pablo and those tires. He bought a new baseball bat at the wooden spoon stand so he could use it for checking the tires. I never understood what he did with that bat and those tires, but on every trip, he would periodically pull over and check the tires by smacking each one with the bat, jump back on the bus with a happy bobbing head, and flash his dimpled grin. He is twenty-nine and the father of three children. The oldest is thirteen and the youngest is a toddler. He and his wife are divorced. She and the kids live in Guayaquil and he in Quito. He told me it’s very difficult. Divorce is one of those deaths that rarely die.

We saw amazing living fences. Ranch hands cut fence posts from the Survivor Tree. These posts eventually take root and branch out, creating a thick windrow.

As we pulled into the driveway of the hacienda, Marci walked through the doorway and ran toward us. Marci! It was a happy reunion. Marci, being Marci, will love her way into everyone’s heart and our group will become stitched to her just as if they’d known her for years. That’s just Marci. She loves easily and freely and is everyone’s best friend.

The chagras saddled the horses while we ate a delicious lunch. We each wore wooly chaps and woven wool ponchos. My horse’s name was Chuliguay, a Quechuan name. People at the hacienda couldn’t translate it because they only speak Spanish. Steve wants to name our first grandson Chuliguay because it rolls off the tongue so easily and sounds cool!

The weather, Marci reminded me, was exactly like the scene in Man from Snowy River where they are riding in the mountaintops and Jim Craig talks about how great the mountains are and then storms roll in. “One minute they’re your best friend and the next they’re trying to kill you.” Steve and I had a good visit with the chagra who rode at the rear with us. His name is Selso and he has worked for the hacienda for thirteen years. The hacienda owners live in Quito. Selso and his wife own a house near the hacienda; have four kids, two horses, one cow, and twenty chickens. I asked if they would have more children because at one time Alejandra told us it is common for mountain families to have ten or more. He smiled and said, “No, la fábrica está cerrada!” Steve found a $10 bill in the grass as we rode back to the hacienda. We asked our group and couldn’t find the owner, so we told Selso it was un regalo del cielo for him.

The kitchen staff had prepared cups of hot cider for us after the ride. Alejandra added brandy to each of our cups—always the personal touch! It didn’t take long to warm up and dry off and then we were on the road again.

Back in Quito, we took Marci to Yayuna for dinner. It is so her kind of place. She loved it, as I knew she would. She took several pictures to tuck away for decorating ideas.