Have you ever tried explaining a cultural oddity or superstition to someone in another language, and how did that go?
If a bird craps on your head, I now know that in many cultures as well as Britain, it’s considered good luck. Mexico favours parrots, specifically; in Puerto Rico it’s doves. In Colombia and Venezuela, seeing a colorful bird like a toucan defecate as you start a new project is a good omen that it will go well. And in Argentina, if a blackbird in particular empties the contents of its bowels upon you, supposedly it’s a sign of difficulties ahead that you will overcome (ever the pessimists).
I’m not sure if the guano rule holds much sway in Ecuador, unfortunately and for several reasons, but first and foremost because when I tried to explain this to our non-English speaking guide on the hike up Cotopaxi volcano last week, it was quite painful indeed.
He told us we'd brought good luck with our positive attitudes: wind and snow had led to zero visibility the day before our hike, and so the path had been closed and the few people attempting it had been forced to turn back.
Yes, we share a positive attitude, I agreed. But also a bird shat on both of us while walking through a park in Quito that week, and so obviously we were due some good luck. Segundo looked perturbed by this information on my first attempt at explaining it. When I failed to see his face light up in recognition, I doubled down and went further, reaching into deeper and deeper crevices for Spanish phrases never attempted before in moments of sobriety, coming out with laboratory-fresh, potential new versions of “poop” and “bad omens” and “sorcery”, until he looked just about ready to call the police.
Yes, we got hit with a defecacion bomb, and in the moment it was annoying – I was wearing my prized linen jumpsuit and Dave his new Peruvian hoodie. I’m not sure why, as we were only going out to the shopping centre. In the park, a slightly strange man had insisted on trying to rub both of us with tissues, even though we told him it was ok. Now we both stank of half-digested fish, were covered in small pieces of tissue, and would be staying out for several hours yet. But after the event, our luck did very much seem to be up.
In the same way it's very easy to decide that the world is against you if you've had one bad turn, getting crapped on by a bird suddenly led both of us to see the good fortune in everything. Relentless positivity is usually Dave’s go-to emotion, but this week I couldn’t help but join him. That I finally found the H&M trousers I’d been after in my size? Lucky. When we stumbled upon a gorgeous little bar in a square and had time for a drink before last orders? Lucky.
That England had equalised in the 95th minute of a very poor performance, before overcoming Slovakia in extra-time: bird poo lucky. Oh, and that same week, I won a not insignificant amount of cash on the Premium Bonds.
So yes, of course we were lucky that the sun had come out for us on Cotopaxi, and that we'd accidentally ended up on a private tour for the price of a bigger one. Not to mention the fact we'd survived our first serious earthquake unscathed.
Perhaps, like gamblers flying high on the idea that fate would always be on our side, we were due a fall.
It happened on Saturday. There was only one direct bus out of Latacunga to Baños, our next destination (literal translation: toilets. And also bathrooms, and bathing. It makes more sense once you learn it's a hotbed for natural springs, but still. You'd think the Spanish language would differentiate.) There was only one direct bus to Baños, and it was supposed to leave at midday. But the traffic on the way to the bus terminal was terrible, and when we got there we learned the bus had left a full ten minutes early, because the conductor "had somewhere to be". Bad luck.
Fortunately, there was another option: we just had to get a connection from Ambato, a larger industrial town south of Quito. And the journey went smoothly: the bus station staff we met in Ambato were helpful and we made it across town just in time to catch the next bus bound for Baños.
We must have taken 100 buses by now on this trip, and many more including all the local connections. For every bus the routine is largely the same: our big backpacks go underneath in the storage compartment and all our valuables come with us up top in our day bags. Maybe you can see where this long and tedious anecdote is heading. Here it comes.
Somewhere between Ambato and Baños, a chaotic family got on board. They sat behind us and were making a fair bit of noise but I didn't think too much of it. I was on my laptop, writing, and Dave was watching a cycling documentary on his phone and falling asleep (but not because it was boring, he insists). The family got off the bus. And when we came to our stop a few minutes later, Dave realised his bag was empty.
It’s always pointless to play the “what if” game, but if the first bus hadn’t left early and we hadn’t had to get an alternative connection, would this have happened? What frustrates me is that until now we've always put our small bags in the overhead compartments above us, with phones, wallets, usually my laptop and other things in a small cross body bag on my lap for easy access. But a few days ago, a bus driver told us we couldn't keep our bags up there because the road would be bumpy and dangerous. He asked us to store our bags between our feet, and so since then that's exactly where we've put them.
What frustrates me even more is remembering the bus driver's reaction when I asked him for help. Obviously the stuff was gone, obviously nobody was going to try hunting down the family to get it back. But I could see there was CCTV. "No, nothing inside the bus," he claimed. Ok, so what did he suggest we do now, was there a police station in town? He didn't answer that, just gave me a lecture on looking after my possessions. And then his mate joined in, complete with props and demonstrations. "Yes I get it, we are idiot tourists," I eventually snapped. "Exactly," the friend replied, poker-faced.
Dave was understandably distraught, but only for a little while. It wasn't that the stuff mattered too much – we lost his small travel-sized laptop, some cash, all of our chargers (very annoying) and my Galapagos water bottle and Nazca baseball cap. The gadgets were all replaceable, my Peru and Galapagos souveniers less so. But the worst part of any theft is the feeling of regret afterwards – that you could have done something differently. Nobody needs a lecture in keeping valuables safe after the event. Ese barco ya ha zarpado, the ship has already sailed, lesson already learned.
And I suspect much like showergate, Dave will be traumatised into paranoia for some time. (After the Rio de Janeiro Airbnb's glass screen fell on him mid-shower, he is scared of shower doors and refuses to close them.) As I sit writing this on the bus to Tena, our next destination, Dave sits clutching his Kindle like a teddy bear, day bag quietly suffocating between his legs. What few valuables we have left have never been so secure.
I feel philosophical about it. We have what I hope is decent insurance cover. We still have our passports and phones – it could have been so much worse. In almost nine months of travelling across seven countries (or eight territories, including Antarctica), losing a bag is the first unfortunate thing to happen to us – and that's pretty good luck, is it not?
Theft aside, we've packed a lot into this past week. Baños is a beautiful jungle town situated right at the point where the Andes finish to the west and the Ecuadorian Amazon starts to creep in from the east. Upon arrival on Saturday, we checked in to our Airbnb and headed straight to the place on the map dubiously marked police station see what it could offer. The staff were friendly enough, but surprised to see us and a little confused about why we’d bothered to come. Clearly, Ecuadorians don’t tend to waste their afternoons reporting crimes that aren’t murders, and even then it’s probably not the best use of time.
It took three attempts with different people to convince someone to take enough of an interest to print us out a report for the insurance claim. I gave up trying to explain that it really was worth putting “toiletries” down in the itemised report of things stolen with the bag (to be fair, they’d probably be horrified at how much I can spend on a face cream), and then we took shelter from the rain in a bar, where I demolished a burger and we both had a beer.
Baños is brimming with natural thermal springs coming from the surrounding volcanoes, and arguably the nicest ones are on the east side of town. Soaking up the minerals and mystery extras in a hot rooftop pool with a view of a waterfall, it was hard to feel too stressed about things. Whenever we’ve been to baths on this trip, we always think we’ll just have a quick dip for half an hour or so, but then before we know it three hours have passed of sleepily bobbing about (the one exception to this being the creepy steam cave in Huaraz). Bodies limp and eyes heavy, we strolled home via a pizza stand and both fell into the deepest sleep. I've had far worse Saturday nights.
Sunday began lazily, with lunch at Casa Hood before taking a local bus up the mountain to see what TripAdvisor claims to be Ecuador's most popular attraction: the Casa del Árbol, or “treehouse”. Have I mentioned before that I don't like heights? Well this one really took the piss. It’s a beautiful view of the lush, green valley and volcanoes above it, but they had to go and ruin it by putting a swing up there and throwing me around on it. Here’s some video evidence to support my court case.
The swingset from hell turned out to just be a warmup for more height-based dramas on Monday, when a “casual” cycle ride to see some waterfalls really brought the adrenaline.
We hired bikes (only $5 for the day) from a place in town, which gave us a map and bid us good luck. “Is it a busy road?” I asked. “There’s some traffic,” she said.
Some traffic / a busy highway full of industrial vehicles racing past us… same same. Highlights on the route out of Baños included the moment when Dave led us through a 900m-long tunnel and I threw myself off my bike and into a muddy ditch, shouting “I HATE THIS” when I thought a lorry was too close and about to kill me. Later on, while studying the map a bit more, Dave casually mentioned that we weren’t meant to cycle through the tunnel after all… in fact we should have taken a workaround path just for bikes. I managed not to shout that I hated him.
The route took us past at least eight official waterfalls and countless more landslides that had created additional waterfalls, not to mention destroyed half the road in some places, adding to my road safety terror. We were both glad to stop for a break at the Cascada Manta de la Novia or “Bride’s Veil”, our first significant waterfall accessed by the first of many precarious suspension bridges of the day. When we got to the other side of the river, a little troll-like man appeared and asked us for a dollar to enter the waterfall. If it was a scam, he was very dedicated to it, having build his little house right next to the waterfall where he lived in solitude tending to his coffee plants and pointing helpfully at the waterfall for the benefit of tourists.
Before we left, he insisted on sitting us down at his table to look at every picture in a 170-page book about Ecuadorian landscapes. We humoured him with variations of “wow!” and “que lindo!” for each one, unsure as to whether he was a murderer who ate gringos for breakfast with his home-grown coffee, or just a bit lonely.
Death narrowly avoided once again, we headed onwards to our second and third significant waterfalls at Pailon del Diablo in the small town of Rio Verde. This site was $3 each to get in, but to be fair to it came with significantly more infrastructure and safety rails. Dave copied the locals in posing for some thirsty snaps; I declined, happy enough with having survived two more rickety suspension bridges.
The afternoon starting to dwindle, we decided to peg it uphill to see one final waterfall, Cascada Machay. This one came with the promise of swimming, although when we climbed the 480 steps down to the water, the only suggestion of a safe swimming area were the remains of a stone wall that had long been washed away by the torrent. Like a lot of things in Ecuador, the place was deserted and the so-called swimming area hadn’t been maintained in a long while. The river itself looked like it might chew me up and spit me out in Peru if I dared to try it, so we sat for a while and then hiked up the hill ready to find our way home.
Rumour had clearly spread in the region of two gringos on wheels, because when we got to the road again, a truck was waiting for us with the offer of a ride back for us and our bikes. This was very welcome, since in all honesty the 30km trip down here had been mostly downhill, and neither of us much fancied climbing back all the way back up to Baños in the fading light.
Annoyingly, the guy completely ripped us off by charging $12 despite an initial understanding of $6… but what can you do. It would have been a hairy ride back in the dark otherwise, and he knew it. I grumbled about this to the bike hire lady afterwards and she laughed and slapped me on the back: “Welcome to Ecuador!”
I wouldn’t say that our theft and getting overcharged for stuff was inevitable or justified, but if it were to happen anywhere, Ecuador is an obvious contender. As I’ve mentioned before, the country is politically insecure right now and there are large areas we’re advised not to travel to as foreigners.
People are clearly struggling financially – there can’t be much public money going around, just looking at the many abandoned tourist attractions – and petty crime is on the rise. In fact, the only story I’ve heard on this entire South American trip of someone getting a phone stolen was in Quito. And as tempting as it was to take the easier route up through western Peru to cross the border on the coast of Ecuador, our insurance would have been invalid – so it’s a good job we’ve stayed in the green zones for that reason.
But it’s a real shame, because I’m loving Ecuador. For a place that’s only about the size of the UK, it packs a lot in and has incredibly diverse landscapes and culture. Our trip here has been full of surprises (mostly good ones) and it’s a beautiful country that deserves some responsible tourism.
From Baños, we braved the buses once again to head deeper into the jungle, staying in the even more beautiful Tena, where we all but forgot about theft and misfortune. It’s a magical place full of wildlife and natural swimming pools – but I’ll tell you more about that next time because it’s time for a beer, says Dave.
Travel bits and tips from this week
In Baños we stayed in this Airbnb. It was right in town, and what it lacked in the way of lightbulbs it made up for in space – and in particular many wood panelled walls to hang out drying socks on (I don’t think that was their intended function).
That Saturday night we soaked away our troubles at Termas de la Virgen, so named because obviously the hot springs have to have some kind of religious miracle involved.
Lunch the following day was at Casa Hood, a nice hangout with bookshelves and music from passing guitarists, where I had a very good veggie menu del dia and Dave had spaghetti carbonara.
We took a local “Luna Sanchez” bus up the hill to the Casa del Árbol, which also passed by additional, unexpected wonders such as Dinoworld and Animal Kingdom. We had to ask a guy standing by a bus for directions and schedules – it’s pretty unofficial – but the bus stop is located on Pastaza and Vicente Rocafuerte streets (corner), in front of the popular "Don Gato" bakery.
That night we walked to the opposite end of town to try out the Balneario El Salado baths. These were a little more rustico, but we made friends with some of the locals who found us inexplicably hilarious.
Dinner was pasta-based at Parpadelle restaurant, which was very good, though we were the only customers and we felt like we were keeping them up at the late hour of 9pm.
To fuel up for our bike ride on Monday, we had an epic breakfast at Blah Blah café.
Then we hired bikes for $5 for the whole day, from Wonderful Ecuador cycle hire and tourism agency.
It was back to the Termas de la Virgen that evening for some recovery time.
Dinner was at the very colourful Sativa Studio Café – more excellent veggie food in huge portions, possibly because the proprietors were very stoned and once again, we were the only customers.
To gear up for the next bus on to Tema, we enjoyed a menu del dia at Mestizart Ecuadorian Restaurant, overlooking the main square. This one came with a salad buffet!