The Gringo Back Road

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This trip is different. Despite the obvious. It is different from the last time I flew off to Ecuador. My approach this time, and thus my experience, is different. It is not at all how it was two years and some months ago. My intentions, different. My time frame, different. My goals, different. My route, different.

Last time I arrived I checked in to a "party hostel." A backpacker haunt full of other seekers. I met people instantly, and those I met that first night would factor in again and again throughout my two months in this tiny country. It began a link--the Gringo Trail was more than a route, it was a network. I would meet people who would lead me to places where I would meet other people who often knew the first group. A reccomended hosteria in the hills would turn into a gathering of friends who had met at one time or another throughout the country or the continent. Then I would meet the old friends of my new friends, and so on. It was amazing. My 3 weeks volunteering in the jungle left weekends free for exploring, and the 4 or 5 great people I'd met there would accompany me on a 2 day adventure away from the planting of trees and the silent racket of jungle nights. I had company the entire time.

Now, a full month into this trip, other than Cherie at the Hippie Den, I have been pretty much alone. Blazing a gringo back road, not a well traversed trail. Part of this happens to do with the "season." Traveler infestation is at its peak during our summer months. Now I observe lots more couples and, quite unexpectedly, many middle aged or genuinely O-L-D people. Many are on tours, but regardless, it warms my heart and makes me smile to see the 70 year old French-Canadian with his 27 friends, huffing up the steep climb from the tour bus to the lodge in Cotopaxi Park, all kitted out in his brand spanking new khaki, convertible, waterproof hiking pants--not a speck of dirt on them! But hey, at least he's prepared.

The other part of this lonely equation is that I have sought solitude, partially with the intention for it, and partially because something unconscious pushed me in this direction. I chose the cheapest, shittiest hostel possible in Quito upon arrival, and then I went out to a lodge that is written up in only one guidebook, and it's the guidebook rarely used by the "typical" backpacker (Lonely Planet is the most popular choice, but I prefer Rough Guides, for the obvious reasons I suppose.). And then I went for a whole week, whereas most stay for one or two nights. Tambopaxi is most popular with tour agencies and climbing guides. It serves as a luxury luncheon spot where there are no other choices but for brown bagging, and other than the mountain refuge, it is the only acclimitization lodging option. It is a departure point for those ascending the Volcano. As I have zero budget for alpine climbing, and a terrible fear of those icy heights, I was alone at Tambopaxi--no guide, no plans except to wander. I watched many a group come and go, while I bonded with the staff! Well, there was Matt, but he was 20, and could talk of nothing but his iPod and climbing the Volcano and he complained that no one spoke English. Not my first choice in company.

In Otavalo I met Marco, the sexy Swiss. He was staying at my hostel with me, but then I only stayed for 3 nights before moving in with Cherie. I loved her. I loved my time there, but mostly, if I wasn't hanging out with her, I was studying or in class, or, you guessed it...wandering some more. Otavalo is "dead" midweek, as the typical traveler only comes for the Saturday market. Having spent 2 and half weeks there, I can tell you this is a shame. I purposefully chose to study Spanish there and not in Quito, even though prices were slightly higher. Why? Because Quito can be a madhouse and distractions abound. (I am very easily distracted.) And I had just left the mad, distracting house of NYC! Quito and its bars and parties and people were the last thing on my mind. Otavalo was perfect. And I did meet Jan, a 64 year old Alaskan who had studied indigenous "Eskimo" tribes for the last 2 decades and was here scoping out a place to retire. I met Deb, a friend of Cherie's, who was a retired adevertising big wig from New York. She and her husband Tom moved here permenantly 2 years ago. They bought property in a "development," yup, a white adobe suburb outside of Otavalo, close to Laguna Cuicocha, reputedly a portal to the center of the world. We went to the Chachimbiro baths together, got stoned, and swam and talked about the energy of the equator. She's invited me to visit her at her home when I head back up north, and I plan to take her up on it. How she ended up here, the story of her life, it fascinates me!

Then, as soon as I completed my lessons, despite Cherie's pleas for me to stay with her (for free!) I left for this first farm--The Tungurahua Tea Room--where I am, for now, the sole volunteer. Always budgeting, I stayed farm-bound for the first 6 days, spending a total of $12 at the local tienda on eggs and milk and things we don't produce. I`ve only just ventured into the town center this weekend. I have spent my time with Mario, the head worker, and even more time with just the dogs, Ellá, Leo and Princessa (the Lady, the Lion and the Princess). Carol, the Dueña, or owner, is rarely there, and though our few encounters have been full of incredible conversation, they have been brief.

Baños, the town I'm closest to, is the place in Ecuador from which to base outdoors-ing adventures. And so what I have observed this weekend are groups of tourists all on 4-wheel, ATV contraptions or bicycles or atop garishly colored tour busses blasting music, bounding off on their way to fun. Anyone who has traveled alone will confirm that you are much more open and willing to meet people than you are when you're ensconsed in the safety net of friends. You are much more willing to engage with the local population, much more open to being open, much more likely to look in windows or explore doors to nowhere. You have a quiet in your head that gets drowned out by company. A bus ride becomes a tour, or time for refelction. You are looking out the window, not gossiping about life at home. You ask questions of yourself, not of your seatmate. You read the map. You figure out where you're going. You lead. You don't follow. What you are not more open to are group activities, or chatting up tightly knit circles of other travelers. At least I 'm not. I remember Africa, and being in Bolgatanga, the northermost town in Ghana, at the border of Burkina Faso. I remember how desperate I was for some companionship that I perservered and pursued this very unfriendly girl who I met while we were both on seperate guided hikes to visit some sacred crocodiles. I was determined to hang out with her, friendly or not, because that was near the end of my trip and my only other alternative was more conversation with prepubescent boys who all wanted to "guide" me further or become my "friend." My determination paid off and Kate and I had a dinner and a few beers and it turned out she wasn't horrible--just not as desperate as me, at least not yet.

Ecuador is completely different in this regard to Africa. No one here is desperate, not even me. I am relishing this quiet for I predict it will change soon and I will be again wishing for solitude. This is me, trying to enjoy exactly where I am while I'm there. Already a month has passed. Too soon it will be over, I know.

On Tuesday, 2 new volunteers are scheduled to arrive at TTR. I look forward to it. People my age, on a similar mission if you will. I will have company while I fertilize the mandarin orchard and weed the broad beans. We'll be cooking for 5 and the kitchen atmosphere will be livlier, and messier! Tomorrow, my last day alone, I will pay close attention to the silence, a quiet broken only by the rumbling volcano, the rustling of the cane grass, the flapping of the tattered banana palms as the wind whips up the canyon. I will head to my mosquito-netted bed around 7:30 , just as the rhino beetles begin to descend in earnest, and I will read myself to sleep after a cup of freshly picked peppermint tea. At 6 am I will hear Mario arrive and unlock the shed, turn on the radio and begin boiling the kettle for coffee. I will rise, and share coffee, pull on my rubber boots and smelly socks, and prepare to meet, at some point in the day, my new compatriots, who will break the silence but offer me new stories and a new path to follow, for however long it lasts, until I pack up and happily move on to the next place, alone.