For the first time, literally, in months, I come to a place with decent computers, and with the ability to access them frequently enough that internet 'homework' can be taken care of, family can be spoken with, and, all that finished, blog can be written in. Maybe I can even catch up on some of the adventures that we've had earlier, adventures that were beautiful and that took us to places and introduced us to people who we will remember always. Maybe I can add pictures to some of the previous entries that I scribbled (e-scribbled?) while in Bolivia, with computers that only half-functioned. My internet 'cafe' is in a papeleria (place that sells paper and office products), my computer has a flat screen, and when there are not wailing children and ATVs in the street outside, it is a calm enough place to be. It is in Puyo, Ecuador, where for now, I'm working at an orchid garden, with a myriad of orchids flourishing in the midst of a total of some 1150 plant species on 7 hectares.

Orchid at the reserve

We left the beautiful city of Chachapoyas, in the northern highlands of Peru, heading north to enter Ecuador. I'd like to add a separate segment about Chachas, a wonderful place with gracious people, pre-Incan ruins, quaint villages, and lovely countryside.

We left Chachapoyas, heading north, having chosen the border crossing of La Balsa-Zumba, the most remote but real border crossing between the two countries. I enjoy the extremely out-of-the-way places one can experience with a few more painful hours of travel; they are vale la pena worth the pain) in rewards of solitude and authenticity, of scenery and opportunities to speak with people less accustomed to turistas.

Mototaxis: photo from San Ignacio, but rode on one in Jaen.

It was a day of quick transitions: a 3 hour bus to Bagua Grande, a one hour hop in a collectivo (shared taxi) to Jaen, and another 2.5 hour collectivo to San Ignacio, the largest town close to the border. Along the way, the scenery sank from dramatic drop-offs in the mountains near Chacas to rolling, carpeted, sunken hills near the low elevation San Ignacio. We saw flooded rice fields filled with the grain in about every stage of growth, we melted in the heat of the midday in cars with no aire acondicionado and strong, equatorial sun, we saw mototaxis (think 3-wheeled rickshaws of Asia) decorated with streamers, multicolored lights (headlights that changed colors -- really!), plastered with posters de modo, and blasting local music. We saw a papaya as big as a watermelon, and I don't mean one of those little trendy small watermelons, but a big, hunkin'15¨ long watermelon. We passed hundreds of coffee and cocoa plantations, saw coffee beans in various stages of secando (drying) on blankets, on cement pads, with people raking them, turning them, gathering them. We walked the streets in San Ignacio, and when we tried to buy a final bottle of pisco (traditional Peruvian hard liquor), we were instead talked into sampling, and then purchasing (of course) a few sips of the local liquers de cocoa y café. Delicious!

San Ignacio is the city of bosques y cafe, as their town welcome sign proclaims. Indeed there were gorgeous forests and mountains extending in every direction, in this very undeveloped area of the country. It is fascinating how far one can go on dirt roads...

In the morning, we had a 3 hour ride to the border, in another collectivo, on an entirely dirt road, this time in a station wagon with a full trunk, and four adults in the back seat, three in the front, quite uncomfortable on the bumpy ride. Here, we saw coffee, coffee, coffee, if only we could get a decent cup that was not NesCafé! The remoteness of the villages we passed astounded me, little groups of coffee growers, clustered together, like coffee beans at the end of a raeceme, in a wilderness of leaves.

La Balsa, on the border, was about 10 houses, a restaurant, and a casa de cambio (money-changing place). Ecuador is on the US dollar, so we didn't need to do that. Because we were advised to leave very early to make it to our destination, Vilcabamba, by a San Ignacian local, we woke at the crack of dawn and were at the border by shortly after 9am. Unfortunately, there was no transportation to the nearest town on the other end until 12:30, and though our guidebook indicates this town is 10 km, this did not seem to be the case. (Thanks, Lonely Planet, for forgetting this crucial info in your writeup.)

So we waited. In our hammocks.


The truck arrived. It was similar to a camion, or cargo truck style, but the back was opened up, had a roof to provide shade, and hard wooden benches. Luxury, I tell you! It creeped, it crawled, it slithered slowly, it sank into potholes and climbed up the other sides, it grumbled and griped ascending hills, it maneuvered hairpin turns skillfully, it moved like a snail but more slowly. We bumped and bounced about (no seatbelts here!), clinging to the bench in front of us, we breathed in the aire puro, felt the breeze, and the sun, felt the branches of the encroaching vegetation as we moved through this labyrinth of forest and mountain. I likened it to paying $30 to enter an amusement park, I think some people enjoy bodily self-torture in that way, as well. It took an hour and a half, and though our bums were a bit sore, it was one of my favorite rides.

Our truck.

A bus was about to pull out to Vilcabamba and we jumped off to board it. We stayed two days in this pueblo of longevity, as it is known, with its influx of ex-pats (where we did find real coffee), perfect climate, and moved on up to begin our volunteering positions.

Jameson and I parted in Loja. We booked buses to different places that departed at the same time. We embraced at the terminal, with wishes for our independent journeys. After 6 months of traveling together, of experiencing together, of growing together, we chose to learn about life on this continent solito for a little while. It was something we had dabbeled in with thoughts and conversations, but realizing separation was difficult, as we wanted to make sure we would be safe. Having a partner to travel with is not only enjoyable, but provides a thousand conveniences (most importantly, having someone watch your bag in the bus terminal when you have to pee). We have two volunteer opportunities in Ecuador in which we will alternate: one at the orchid garden (where I am now), and the other at a dry tropical forest on the coast (where he is now). We thought that this would provide us safety, companionship, purpose, and a place to lay a few roots, while growing and experiencing South America on our own.

Twenty-five men, all with brown faces, in twenty-five hats, sun protection. All of them sitting on the side of a dirt road, surrounded by maize, brown, slain, baking in the sun from the morning's work. All of them grinning, and calling out, 'Hola, chica, chicha? Como estan, amigos? Fueran a Choquequirao? Quieran chicha, un vaso?'

The two of us, tired, sweating, hungry, arriving back to the pueblito of Cachora around lunchtime after 4 days of trekking in the steep, mountainous terrain of the eastern Andes in Peru to a complex of ruins that is said to match the importance of Macchu Pichu, but was only (relatively) recently discovered, and is still being excavated. We encountered the group of campesinos in a corn field that had been high as an elephant's eye when we departed for the trip.

We accepted a glass of chicha, which is a fermented corn drink. Jameson had not tried it before, and it would be almost rude not to take it. It was being poured from an old gas can container.

They were all in good spirits. 'Where are you from?' 'Estados Unidos.' 'Do you have a muleta?' 'No, we probably should have gotten one, we have our heavy packs...' 'Next time find me, I will take your goods with my mule. When are you coming back to Cachora? Tell your friends to come!'

The banter continued, and we enjoyed the respite of the company and the beverage, and the knowledge that the town was so close. Then, things got better: they invited us to take part in almuerzo (lunch) with them. It was a delicious and wholesome meal of fava beans, a squash soup, salad, a piece of pork, cancha (a usually toasted, but on this occassion boiled, corn kernel snack). These were being served up by a group of 4 women, in traditional clothing, from huge buckets. Despite the bulk nature of the food, it was delicious. We sat on the side of the road with them, next to huge bags of corn, beautiful corn, deep reds, flecked kernels of orange, maroon, and blue, small and large. This was a bad corn year due to the rain, they are usually larger. They would consume much of it but also sell a good portion to Lima. We continued talking with them until it was apparent that it was time for them to get back to work.

It is hard to describe just how welcoming, authentic, and treasured this experience was, and how it will remain in our memories for a very long time.

Choquequirao was an intense and rewarding journey. From the offset, we met a French guy who suggested we get a mule to carry our bags. Though he seemed in shape (equivalent to us, anyhow), we didn't pursue this. The first day was fairly easy. We had camp in a perfect place to hang hammocks, under huge trees that bear a fruit quite similar to chiramoya (though I can't remember the name right now). We slept wonderfully, and the second day were quite ambitious. We descended another 600 meters, and then ascended 1700 meters to reach the archaeological site, and then back down another 900 meters to reach our camp, hiking a total of about 26 km in this day. The switchbacks were grueling, cruel, never-ending, the mountainside steep, descending into the river canyon of the Rio Apurimac and back up to cloud forest, where the civilization was centered. Que pena!

However, it was worth the difficulty. Though probably not as magnificent as the world-renowned MP, it is an extensive archaeological site, with excavations stretching over the hillside: the main plaza, a lookout area, a housing collection, and farming terraces on hillsides so steep one could only imagine. And between some areas lay unbroken tracts of forest, so that one could only imagine what other surprises are hidden underneath the dense vegetation. The site was relatively quiet, and we saw only a few other people while we wandered the ancient rocks. We could only marvel at the civilization that lived here, close our eyes and try to imagine what life was, and also how it evolved from that into the tiny villages we passed along the way (inhabited by about 10-20 people each, in these rugged, remote lands without cars or any real type of modern convenience, however, complete with coca-cola!)

Cachora, the main pueblo which is the access point, was in almost every way the complete opposite of Cuzco. Not much English spoken here (where there were signs, guides, etc in English everywhere in Cuzco), little tourist infrastrucutre but a brand new tourist office (open about 7 months) that was happy to give us a little map and enough information to DIY (whereas in Cuzco there were plenty of places advertising tourist information but it was hard to get info on how to just DO something without a guide or tour), about 4 restaurants in the entire town all serving a 'menu del dia' but not much else (no sweet specialties like the amazing diversity one can find in Cuzco). It was a welcome change after we had soaked up enough of being spoiled in the big city.

From there we headed straight to Lima on a 16 hour bus, stayed a day in the city enjoying ceviche, pisco sours, and the city sights in the centre, and caught a 22 hour bus to Chachapoyas, in the northern highlands of Peru. What a long stretch of travel, but I don't think we'll have to do that again, thank goodness!

Now we are enjoying Chachas, which hosts pre-Incan ruins, most notably in Kuelap, in hazy cloud forest, remnants of a group of people who were not conquered by the Incas until about the 1400s. We'll be heading to the main site tomorrow.