and onward

this post dedicated to Madamoiselle Julia Winkels, who will soon discover regularly updating a blog whilst in another country is not nearly as easy as anticipated!

“Sometimes there just aren’t any beautiful words.
Sometimes it isn’t poetry,
it’s enchantment
and that just leaves you
speechless.”

Isn’t that the most hackneyed thing I’ve ever written? The thing is, it’s good hackneyed, as in I know the type of person who would find it charming and buy it for some sort of novelty product. I almost hesitate publishing it on this blog, as I fully intend to sell it to Hallmark and soon you will all be buying mugs with this blazened across a photoshopped image of a meadow or the like in a nice cursive font (not too small, so grandma can still read it and enjoy.) So, above quote? © Anna S. Kunin, future Miles Kimball catalog writer.

But seriously, I was sitting in a grove of ecualyptus trees this morning at the Parque Metropolitano, about a 15 minute from where I live – and almost straight up the side of the mountain, so let me tell you, it’s not an easy 15 minutes – and that is what I came up with while trying to start writing this next section of my blog catch-up.

What can I say? I travelled for almost a month – from the colonial town of Cuenca, then to Guayaquil (only for a few extremely early hours in the morning, where we were repeatedly accosted by security guards to not sleep on the ground on our backpacks, por favor, even though it was 3 in the morning and no one was there to look upon us and frown at our boorish gringo manners) and then up the coast.

Well, I can say it was wonderful.

But I can’t say something like that without a little more elaboration, can I? Not if I want to get my writing skills in shape enough to become head writer of Miles Kimball Inc, and god knows I have some pretty sharp descriptions for ceramic dress-up gooses bewing around my head that the world needs to know and appreciate, and then spend $29.99 on. (http://www.mileskimball.com/MilesKimball/Browsing/Category.aspx?CID=Outdoor&SCID=Goose+Outfits)

So! Starting at last week’s cliffhanger, CUENCA. Alright, class, there are three main cities to Ecuador – Guayaquil, the biggest population wise and historic home of commercial power (it’s a port city), Quito, second biggest population and historic home of political power (it’s the capital), and Cuenca, pretty dwarfish in comparison with the population giants above, historic home of the aristocracy, a much more obsolete power center. Cuenca hasn’t dominated Ecuador news channels quite so much since the 19th century I would say, but it’s still an impressive – and beautiful – city. Lots of colonial architecture. Very pretty, very quiet, very rich. Older. Still in the mountains, but not quite as rugged of ones like Quito.

If Quito were Minneapolis, Cuenca would be St. Paul. That analogy about covers it.

So! The important thing that happened in Cuenca happened in a Cuban bar/karaoke bar down by the river, where we were somewhat drunkenly singingly along to Shakira and Juanes with an equally eclectic assortment of travelers – the rest from Latin America, most of them artsenal nomads (There is a subculture that runs through a lot of LA, pretty much hippies, who constantly travel and make their way through some artsenal craft, whether it be jewelry making/selling or performance. They are a cool group and anyone who spends more then 12 hours at a South American beach will instantly recognize the type of people I’m  talking about. )

One of these people was a Colombian named Lina, who we hung out with pretty much all the night and tomorrow. She made me a rasta and braided seeds into my hair. We were enchanted to say the least, with the lifestyle – not always easy, such as the day she woke up with exactly 25 cents to her name, bought a bunch of empanadas and resold them at a higher price, gaining a little more and little more each time – and with the people.

Lina was the one who told us about La Playa Negra, a “secret” beach much farther north which, as you might infer from the name, had black sand. She told us about all sorts of beaches that we had to visit. She sat us down, lit up her 15th cigarette, and drew maps on paper napkins. She spun visions of waves and warmth and fruit and sand and we said, aw hell.
Hence, our split-minute decision to change directions and head to the beach.

Let’s see…this is for my own sake right here…we went from Cuenca to Guayaquil (already covered), Guayaquil to Montañita, Montañita to Canoa, Canoa to Mompiche and La Playa Negra. Detour back to Quito to pick up MN friends. Montanita for New Year’s, Montañita to Puerto Viejo, Isla de la Plata and Los Frailes. Los Frailes, home to Quito and the start of classes.

jesus. alright, let’s try at least to get through to New Year’s. The thing is, each of these beaches has a very specific personality, very specific experiences, I could write an individual blog post on each. no time for that. already doing new stuff! don’t want another 2 month gap again.

okay. Montañita.

Mateo says: “¡Que bestia!”

Que bestia indeed.

Montañita is, I would say, the best known/talked about beach in Ecuador. It is the compelling mixture of a hippie-haven, tourist trap and surfer’s club. I saw a book being sold there which was titled “Montañita – Sex, Drugs, Rock ‘n’ Roll and Surf.” I suppose an adequate enough description. There are definitely all of these things in abundance.

We just swung here for a day on this part of the trip. I had been there before, so we contented ourselves to revisiting all the little gems we discovered last time – the thirty cent ice-cream cone man, the dollar batido ( which is fruit milkshake essentially, very delicious) woman, the artsenal bread hole-in the – wall shop, the super-chill surf-shack owner/weed dealer (oops, did I say that?) Hey, travelers – look for the gems. the non-adventrous will stay on the main street and end up paying 1.50 for their batidos, the suckers 50 cents! that’s 10 bananas! that’s 5 mandarinas! That’s 2 and a half empanadas! That’s two bus rides! That’s 1/3 of an almuerzo! 50 cents goes a long way. This woman is precious, and you can mix flavors. I suggest mora (a type of blackberry) and pina.

Right. We knew we were going back here for new year’s, so we travelled up to Canoa.

Canoa.

Mateo says: |So good, you want to run in the morning|

Canoa has a lot of the surfer-hippie vibe of Montanita but a lot less locura, a lot less partying. A lot more tranquilo. A lot of egg, plantano nescafe breakfasts. Early morning runs on the beach to heat up the blood and then – plunge into the ocean. Book exchanges. I found the Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay by Micheal Chabon, which is itself an amazing book exchange find when most exchanges are dominated by awful Nora Roberts romances or trash-novel mysteries. Not my favorite reading material, which is why the string of amazing book exchange luck I’ve had since this find has made Canoa an especially fond memory. (Since then I’ve switched it out for The Illustrated Man by Ray Bradbury, The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao by Junot Diaz, and then Beloved by Toni Morris. All these books are highly reccomended. I’m visualizing a Kurt Vonnegut find next, something I haven’t read yet.)

Something about these beaches that is very common to Ecuador, is they aren’t as sunny as you might imagine. Canoa is grey a lot of the time, but don’t be fooled. You are still on the Equator. You will fry right through the clouds, the sun is so strong. Close your eyes, tilt your face to the sky and you will swear to god it feels like it’s incredibly sunny out, but open them and by met by clouds. My friend Emily got some second degree sunburns – yes, you read that right. Slather it on, pale Midwest folks. Slather it on.

One of the highlights from Canoa was exploring the point and the sea caves. Of course I fell at one point – those rocks are damn slippery – but don’t worry Mom, I came away with only minor scratches. Well, one a bit deeper then other, but the salt water cleaned the blood up right away! Scarring should be minimal.

Collected a lot of sea shellsSlightly awkward bonfire moment with a crowd of all-male surfers. . Drank some of the national beer, Pilsner, at midnight, watching the moon on the waves.

But Canoa can’t really compare to what was waiting for us farther north at Mompiche and much later, Machilla National Park, and waiting for you on the next blog post.

chau for now