It really is time that I wrote something more positive here. Luckily my neck issues are now sorting themselves out and I've been able to make some visits out of Loja, so let's talk about that.
On January 11th I headed out with my Colombian friend James (pronounced ha-mezz) to Vilcabamba, the local laid-back hippie/gringo commune for a spot of hiking. The place is interesting as it not only showcases the huge climatic diversity of Ecuador, since a windy 40 minute bus journey brings you to a slightly lower altitude and with it a sultry tropical world of colour far removed from the monochromatic fresh mountain slopes of Loja, but the influx of gringos on the search for cheap land and daily massages lends it a much more laid back feel than Loja.
After said bus journey we headed straight for mandango, one of the many mountains that tower over the village. Not knowing the way to the path, we stopped by 'Hostal Mandango' in the presumption that the owner would have some inkling as to the whereabouts of the hotel after which he named his business. As it was his terrible directions cost us a good half an hour of walking time. We finally found the actual path, and after a decent slog up the top (some of the time on our hands and knees up a rubble path with a sheer drop to one side), we were soon making Jesus poses on the cross at the top. Most exciting of all was the wildlife - we saw an iguana camouflaging itself in the dry grass, had to poke a tarantula out of our path with a long stick, and when we reached the top a grand old eagle swooped over to say hi.
After we stopped for pizza in a well established American-owned joint where the owners spoke barely a single word of Spanish. It left me with a warm glow of self-satisfaction to compare myself with him, out for the day with an entirely non English-speaking friend chatting constant Spanish, and that after only 4 months of learning and immersion. My friendship with James has been funny in a way because it's given me a guide to how I'm improving. When I think back to when I got to know him 2 months ago and was basically latching onto singular words I'd understood and forming any acceptable sentence about the perceived conversation topic, I honestly do feel quite smug that now we can have real back-and-forth conversations, and I understand 95% of what he says. It's strange in a way that a friendship can work in those circumstances but with enough hand signals and 'eyyyy's we somehow muddle through.
The second trip was last weekend, to the village of Zapotillo down by the Peruvian border in order to see the guayacanes trees, which flower brilliant yellow annually, but only for one week, so we knew we had to go for it. Now, due to the the remote Andean location of Loja I've come to approach the interminable slaloming bus journeys required to reach anywhere of note with a Zen-like calm, seeing the endless hours as opportunity to immerse myself in favourite books and albums, alone withy my thoughts. However this journey tested my tolerance to the i limit.
We took the bus from Loja at 15.30 on the Saturday, arriving in Zapotillo at 23.00. Due to the one-off nature of the event all hostels were fully booked, so we looked for salvation in the bus station. The building closed for the night at midnight, but the woman kindly offered us some cardboard boxes from the storeroom and some scissors that we might make ourselves some beds and sleep outside on the concrete behind the buses. This actually seemed like our best option until we saw that the bus we'd arrived on was still open and containing several fellow bums sprawled across the seats. There we 'slept' (the bus station was next door to a late night music club) until 5am.
At 5 the engines started up and the bus driver told us he was heading towards the village where all the yellow was. Liar. We overshot the turning for the village by a good 10km and greeted the sunrise with our thumbs out on the side of the road after working our way back there from the dead end village we'd been dropped off in. Luckily hitchhiking is super easy over here due to all the pickup trucks, so three lifts later we made it back to the turning and at 7.30 jumped on the back of one of the many army trucks running a free service to the trees.
I guess you could say we got what we paid for. Between there and the trees was only 2 hours of windy dirt track. Cue much headbanging (ironic since the doc had told me the day before to avoid heavy metal concerts due to my neck) and furious breathing through the nose, if at all. By the time we arrived at 9.30 we'd been on the road and sleeping rough for 18 hours. To be fair the site that met our eyes was beautiful - an entire valley decked out in daffodil yellow, definitely a site for sore eyes and necks, and we gulped down our morning chivo al hueco (goat in the hole) gratefully.
Due to work on Monday and the ridiculously long journey we'd have to take back, we only had 3 hours in the actual village we'd been aiming for. We spent those eating goat, walking alongside a herd of goats towards some old Inca bathing pool before hitching on a pickup instead, which we shared with a travel sick goat on our way back from the baths. To me this was such a south american thing to happen - chilled out about giving us a lift and then springing the surprise of a retching goat in our travel space with no apology or explanation, hilarious. So we huddled at the far end of the back of the truck, grimacing with each goaty retch as we knew that if anything came out of its mouth it would trickle down to us and our bags sitting downhill from it.
After another army truck journey from hell it was back on the bus. Luckily I was armed with my neck brace, which is brilliant for sleeping on buses as it stops your neck moving around with the movement of the bus, and my secret weapon - the unabridged Moby Dick audiobook. Works every time.
