The ameobas in my belly and other authentic Ecuadorian experiences.
So it's been a long week. I think that last time I wrote, we were in Latacunga, staying at the Hotel San Carlos, overlooking the main square of a little town called Saquisili. So let's start there...
We learned a lot of Spanish vocabulary at the San Carlos. Lavaba, for example, which means sink, as in, "Our lavaba is leaking all over the floor." Or ducha, shower, as in, "There's no water in our ducha. Still plenty on the floor though!" Or bela, candle, as in, "Can we please purchase a bela, since we have no electricity."
Having had enough of the authentic Ecuadorian experience for the moment, we left Saquisili after the market on Thursday morning (which was actually very cool) and took the bus to the supposed sanctuary of the Black Sheep Inn.
The Black Sheep is an ecolodge located high in the very remote mountains west of Quito. The four hour bus ride was an experience in itself - Will and I usually fight over the window seat, but this time the view was so terrifying that I was glad to trade halfway through. The road isn't paved, which is probably a good thing, because no driver should be allowed the illusion that it's safe to go faster than about 15 km per hour. It's also what I would consider one lane wide for most of the way, not to mention carved into almost vertical cliffs, but somehow the buses manage to pass each other anyway.
We got there safely, and were greeted by some old friends of mine from California. Buff Adams and Claudine Williams, formerly of Emandal, a farm where I worked in Mendocino County, are managing the Inn for about eight months.
The weekend at the Inn was supposed to be really nice. We'd been looking forward to it for weeks - it was Will's birthday present, so actually we'd been looking forward to it since April. And when we first got there, everything seemed perfect, from the delicious food, to the cozy lodge with real coffee and banana bread, to the woodstove in our room, to the millions and millions and millions of stars we could see the first night. I don't think I've ever seen more.
It was Friday afternoon when disaster struck. We were hiking, luckily not too far from home, when I started to feel really sick. "Damn this altitude!" we thought, and at 3200 meters it wasn't an unreasonable thought, but for once that wasn't it. A few hours later, I was doubled over in pain, and hardly got out of bed for the rest of the weekend.
It wasn't a bad place to be sick. At least we had a comfortable room, even if the walk up the hill from the lodge was almost as breath-taking as the view. And we had Buff and Claudine to give us advice and make me secret Ecuadorian remedies...anyone ever tried oregano tea made with salt water? It's delicious! I love it! But we missed out on the sauna and the amazing hikes around the Laguna Quilotoa, and I missed on most of the home-cooked vegetarian food which is such a rare find in South America.
Read some good books, though.
And yesterday we finally came back to Quito, limped back to civilization to our favorite hostal, the Secret Garden, and the doctor's office. I hate going to the doctor. It's one of those tendencies I've inherited from my mother that I just can't seem to shake, even though I know it's generally a good idea, especially when someone has been sticking knives into your gut for four days. Even so, I was reluctant to go, but Will dragged me there and I'm glad he did. Turns out I have ameobas, a not uncommon problem caused by drinking contaminated water. There is no water in Ecuador that isn't contaminated - water treatment facilities are essentially nonexistent, and it's never, ever safe to drink tap water. Which is fine - but then you think, are my hands really cleaner now that I've washed them? Did I accidentally get water in my mouth when I washed my face? And what about that shower? We've been drinking only bottled water, but there's only so much you can do. I'm just glad it's easily taken care of now that we are here in the city. And next time you get a glass of cold water straight from your sink - appreciate it, please!
We learned a lot of Spanish vocabulary at the San Carlos. Lavaba, for example, which means sink, as in, "Our lavaba is leaking all over the floor." Or ducha, shower, as in, "There's no water in our ducha. Still plenty on the floor though!" Or bela, candle, as in, "Can we please purchase a bela, since we have no electricity."
Having had enough of the authentic Ecuadorian experience for the moment, we left Saquisili after the market on Thursday morning (which was actually very cool) and took the bus to the supposed sanctuary of the Black Sheep Inn.
The Black Sheep is an ecolodge located high in the very remote mountains west of Quito. The four hour bus ride was an experience in itself - Will and I usually fight over the window seat, but this time the view was so terrifying that I was glad to trade halfway through. The road isn't paved, which is probably a good thing, because no driver should be allowed the illusion that it's safe to go faster than about 15 km per hour. It's also what I would consider one lane wide for most of the way, not to mention carved into almost vertical cliffs, but somehow the buses manage to pass each other anyway.
We got there safely, and were greeted by some old friends of mine from California. Buff Adams and Claudine Williams, formerly of Emandal, a farm where I worked in Mendocino County, are managing the Inn for about eight months.
The weekend at the Inn was supposed to be really nice. We'd been looking forward to it for weeks - it was Will's birthday present, so actually we'd been looking forward to it since April. And when we first got there, everything seemed perfect, from the delicious food, to the cozy lodge with real coffee and banana bread, to the woodstove in our room, to the millions and millions and millions of stars we could see the first night. I don't think I've ever seen more.
It was Friday afternoon when disaster struck. We were hiking, luckily not too far from home, when I started to feel really sick. "Damn this altitude!" we thought, and at 3200 meters it wasn't an unreasonable thought, but for once that wasn't it. A few hours later, I was doubled over in pain, and hardly got out of bed for the rest of the weekend.
It wasn't a bad place to be sick. At least we had a comfortable room, even if the walk up the hill from the lodge was almost as breath-taking as the view. And we had Buff and Claudine to give us advice and make me secret Ecuadorian remedies...anyone ever tried oregano tea made with salt water? It's delicious! I love it! But we missed out on the sauna and the amazing hikes around the Laguna Quilotoa, and I missed on most of the home-cooked vegetarian food which is such a rare find in South America.
Read some good books, though.
And yesterday we finally came back to Quito, limped back to civilization to our favorite hostal, the Secret Garden, and the doctor's office. I hate going to the doctor. It's one of those tendencies I've inherited from my mother that I just can't seem to shake, even though I know it's generally a good idea, especially when someone has been sticking knives into your gut for four days. Even so, I was reluctant to go, but Will dragged me there and I'm glad he did. Turns out I have ameobas, a not uncommon problem caused by drinking contaminated water. There is no water in Ecuador that isn't contaminated - water treatment facilities are essentially nonexistent, and it's never, ever safe to drink tap water. Which is fine - but then you think, are my hands really cleaner now that I've washed them? Did I accidentally get water in my mouth when I washed my face? And what about that shower? We've been drinking only bottled water, but there's only so much you can do. I'm just glad it's easily taken care of now that we are here in the city. And next time you get a glass of cold water straight from your sink - appreciate it, please!
posted by Will and Katy @ 10:11 AM
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