This past weekend I had the treasured opportunity of leaving metropolitan Quito and visiting Baños, a small tourist town nestled like an egg in a valley of mountains, where the high ranges first start to transform into the jungles to the east.
It was there I finally felt I was living the liberated dream as a group of us rode bicycles through the volcano valleys past waterfalls, white rivers, and gorging canyons. In Baños, like all of Ecuador, there are many possibilities. On the way to a waterfall, I took the unique opportunity to jump off a bridge. I wore a bungee chord, of course, but despite this safety feature, I was instinctively scared. There is something very unnatural about jumping off high bridges, and as I stood on the rail looking down at the rocky river a few hundred feet below, I wondered if I wasn´t three-quarters crazy. But when the two assisting men yelled, "uno, dos, tres, salte! Salte!” I stopped thinking and jumped. All fear falls below you once you snap at the bottom and float freely above the rocks.
From there we rode bikes to the small town of Rio Verde, where most houses appeared without electricity, and the vegetation immediately changed to more tropical greens. We left our bikes and descended to Pailon del Diablo (picture above), a waterfall more than 80 meters high. Water generally inoculates tranquility in me, but standing under the head of the Devil of Pailon, I was respectfully astonished by the violence of its waters.
To return, we rode in the back of a truck, fulfilling a juvenile fantasy of mine that has always produced envy when I see the locals traveling so carefree-ly, hanging off the back and sides of pick-ups and other vehicles. It was a wonderful way to feel the valley blow by and witness our earlier journey in rapid regression.
Like Quito, Baños is a town guarded by volcanoes. In Quito, Pichincha overlooks the city with certain authority, but it does not exhibit much menace. But in Baños, if unobscured by clouds or the smaller mountains below it, Tungurahua looms over the town like a true bad-ass, impermissively erupting with grand flatulence, hawking fire or billowing ash on whatever poor town the wind delivers it to.
The indigenous translation (Quechua) of Tungurahua means “throat of fire.” On Sunday, I saw it erupt, (picture above) as I hiked through the rural farming village of Runtún in the mountains below, its ash floating wayward like a smashed feather pillow.. Nature here is a whole different kind of freak.
It was there I finally felt I was living the liberated dream as a group of us rode bicycles through the volcano valleys past waterfalls, white rivers, and gorging canyons. In Baños, like all of Ecuador, there are many possibilities. On the way to a waterfall, I took the unique opportunity to jump off a bridge. I wore a bungee chord, of course, but despite this safety feature, I was instinctively scared. There is something very unnatural about jumping off high bridges, and as I stood on the rail looking down at the rocky river a few hundred feet below, I wondered if I wasn´t three-quarters crazy. But when the two assisting men yelled, "uno, dos, tres, salte! Salte!” I stopped thinking and jumped. All fear falls below you once you snap at the bottom and float freely above the rocks.
From there we rode bikes to the small town of Rio Verde, where most houses appeared without electricity, and the vegetation immediately changed to more tropical greens. We left our bikes and descended to Pailon del Diablo (picture above), a waterfall more than 80 meters high. Water generally inoculates tranquility in me, but standing under the head of the Devil of Pailon, I was respectfully astonished by the violence of its waters.
To return, we rode in the back of a truck, fulfilling a juvenile fantasy of mine that has always produced envy when I see the locals traveling so carefree-ly, hanging off the back and sides of pick-ups and other vehicles. It was a wonderful way to feel the valley blow by and witness our earlier journey in rapid regression.
Like Quito, Baños is a town guarded by volcanoes. In Quito, Pichincha overlooks the city with certain authority, but it does not exhibit much menace. But in Baños, if unobscured by clouds or the smaller mountains below it, Tungurahua looms over the town like a true bad-ass, impermissively erupting with grand flatulence, hawking fire or billowing ash on whatever poor town the wind delivers it to.
The indigenous translation (Quechua) of Tungurahua means “throat of fire.” On Sunday, I saw it erupt, (picture above) as I hiked through the rural farming village of Runtún in the mountains below, its ash floating wayward like a smashed feather pillow.. Nature here is a whole different kind of freak.
It is always good to see you headed in the right direction my friend. Thanks.
ReplyDeleteSam, eres un escritor fantastico. Tus palabras de Banos son perfectas. Es un placer leer tus cuentitos.
ReplyDeleteI think a few solid days in the jungle would be a good choice for you.
Though, it seems a shame to leave Ecuador without seeing the Galapagos, if you have the money and don't mind cozy boat life for a few days.
Cuidate, amigo.