Plan b turns into Plan c

Baños really hadn’t really captured us like I expected. We’d had fun in with the whitewater rafting (although my arms would argue otherwise) but there really wasn’t much more to keep us here. Plus, we needed a fresh place to help us get over the sting of being robbed. Our next stop was Riobamba, a not so distant town famous for the Devil Nose rail ride. We hadn’t ridden on a train yet and with the promise of spectacular scenery was enough of a reason to get us on board. But first we had to get Riobamba (my fingers can’t make up their mind if they’re typing La Bamba or Obama, even though both are wrong).

We checked out of the hostel and walked to the bus station. The next bus was in 45 minutes so we bought our tickets and joined the pile of gringos on the benches and chairs. When the bus did arrive, we were all dragged out of the station and on to the street. Very odd. Of course without the benefit of a bus platform, it was chaos trying to get on board. As all the gringos put their big packs underneath the bus, the locals rushed on and took all the seats – so much for the assigned seats on our tickets – meaning we had to stand. The ayudante blamed the ticket seller at the station for overselling the bus but he didn’t bother to kick out the locals most of whom didn’t have tickets. My love for Ecuadorian transportation was soon fading. It wasn’t fun standing up as the bus navigated the twisty mountain roads but as people got off, seats cleared and Adrian and I were able to sit down, together even, for the last 90 minutes of the ride.

Our luck changed in Riobamba when we found a room at the Oasis hostel – $20 for a private room with hot water and cable tv. (plus it had a dog and a cat which we always take as a good sign). It would be lovely to stay here if only briefly. Now it was time to arrange that spectacular train ride. As I took advantage of the hostel’s wifi, Adrian went out to arrange our train tickets. While he was gone, I chatted with one of the other guests, another Canadian named Annie who had left her grown kids behind to work down in Central America. Previous to her time in Ecuador she’d worked for an NGO in the Guatemalan jails back before the war officially ended. She was also an archivist and had worked with Ecuadorian church archives that went all the way back to the conquest. Not only was she interesting and nice and she was also just fun to chat with.

When Adrian returned he had dinner and bad news. The train that you supposedly couldn’t book in advance was sold out and not just for tomorrow but for the next week and a half. Stupid high season and stupid tour groups. So what were we going to do in Riobamba? I guess we’d figure that out tomorrow.

Without an early train to catch we lazily woke up and took our time with breakfast. Adrian went out to find both breakfast and money on a Sunday morning in a town that was closed up tight. Unlike Belize, the food was easier to find than the money but it took a few attempts to get the money out. But he succeeded thanks to Annie’s tips on local bank machines. Now it was time to figure out what we were actually going to do today. Our guidebook suggested a visit and hike to the base camp of Chimborazo, the volocan/mountain that loomed over Riobamba. It’s the furthest you can get from the centre of the earth (actually I’m not sure how that works but that’s what the guidebooks all say) but you don’t have to be a mountain climber to get that way. It’s possible to take a bus up to the base camp road and then walk 30 minutes to the refugio. So being of the non-mountain climbing variety that’s what we planned to do. Annie had been and offered some great advice like wear sunscreen, bring warm clothes and definitely wear a hat. And when she found out I didn’t have one, graciously lent me one of hers.

We grabbed a taxi to the bus station, and the taxi driver was friendly and made sure we got on the right bus which was just about to leave. I confirmed with the taxi driver that the bus indeed went to “el camino a Chimborazo” and then again with the ticket guy. I was surprised at the cost $1.50 (because it was high), but just assumed that the turnoff was a lot further down the highway than we originally thought. And then it was time to enjoy the ride through the spectacular scenery. We hadn’t been able to catch the train which would take us through the countryside but for a fraction of the cost I think we had a view that was just as awesome. We rode up through the clouds past some vicuñas and then Chimborazo (photo above) loomed high and mighty over us. The snow on top reminded us of what we left behind in Toronto when we left almost 5 months ago.

We got closer and closer to Chimborazo as the road circumnavigated it and then we started to turn away from it. As I looked back I saw the sign welcoming visitors to the park getting smaller and smaller. What appeared to be the distant base camp and even crosses memorializing dead hikers were getting further away not closer. I looked up at the driver and ticket guy. The driver was speeding ahead and the ticket guy was asleep. Even if we got them to stop now it would be a long walk back to the turnoff and then we’d still have to hike up to the refuge. So much for plan b. I guess we were moving onto plan c. Adrian and I consulted our map and discovered that the town the bus was heading to was famed for its cheese and chocolate. Well, maybe this wouldn’t be such a bad change of plans after all.

The bus pulled into the town of Guaranda and were immediately disappointed. The town was not very attractive and mostly shut up. It was so unattractive we didn’t take a single picture. We pulled out the map and set off in search of the cheese store. Of course in the 5+ years since the book was published, the cheese store had moved. A gentleman saw us looking at the map and came to our rescue, directing us to a cheese store. We purchase a block of cheese, some chocolate and bread and sit in the main square munching on sandwiches. Then with nothing keeping us in Guaranda we headed to the bus station to get back to Riobamba.

The bus was packed but sitting on the left side we had front row seats for the view of Chimborazo. We passed through the clouds and through the desert like foothills that were dotted with vicuñas and alpacas. And as the clouds cleared, we saw Chimburazo. It was just as breathtaking the second time around. And for the next 45 minutes we got to view it at sunset as the bus made its way around it before heading down into Riobamba just after dark.

Okay so we hadn’t taken the iconic train, climbed the iconic mountain, but we’d eaten some icon cheese and chocolate and my stomach tells me that’s even better.

Making mud pies.

When trying to decide on activities we have two criteria. 1. Do they highlight the place we’re visiting? 2. Are they unique? For example caving in Belize was unique because we’d never done anything like it before but it was also representative of the place we were visiting. San blas wasn’t just a beach it was an opportunity to experience the indigenous culture. Today we were definitely going to do something unique but would it be cool? We were going to visit Volcán de Lodo El Totumo. Yes another volcano. But not just any volcano but a mud volcano. And we were paying $20 each to go sit in the mud and make mud pies with a tour group. This was one of those things that would either be super cool or totally stupid. I hoped it would end up in the super cool column.

(Just a little digression: the one cool thing so far – our new hostel room, we paid an extra $5 and upgraded to an air conditioned room, much needed in Cartagena. And not only was it cooler but it was also cleaner and comfier. I now return you to your regularly scheduled programming, erm, blogging)

We could have done the trip ourselves but it sounded a bit complicated and a lot like our hot springs experience (and we all know how that didn’t turn out so well). The good thing was Geoff and Matt would be there so we’d be in good company even if it didn’t turn out well. So after a quick breakfast around the corner at the Black Cat, we went to catch out 8am tour bus. It didn’t arrive until 8:30 and then drove around the corner to another hostel where we were placed on another bus (really, they sent a bus to drive us one block!) which was already full with 20 others including Geoff and Matt. Then it was off down the highway towards Barranquilla. I’m sure it was a scenic drive but I nodded off and didn’t come too until we hit the gravel road leading to the volcano. Beside the road, there were small pools of bubbling mud pointed out by the tour guide as she described the minerals in the mud that give it its healing power. It looked more like a wet cement than magical mud and the volcano looked like a giant mud pie (actually a giant zit comes to mind but that's kinda gross isn't it).

Before we could climb the steps, the tour guide let us know about all the hidden costs and how to avoid them. 1) Only the bath/change rooms marked with the tour company name are free. 2) There is a man who will take our camera to take pictures of us in the mud For a fee. 3) There is another man who will offer us a mud massage. This is not free so if we don’t want it say no, often. 4) Afterwards, we can wash the mud off in the lagoon. There are women there who will help us and wash our clothes. Their services aren’t free either so if we don’t want it, we have to say no, often, and repeatedly. Suddenly this little side trip was getting potentially pricey.

We avoided the first fee by whipping off our clothes in front of the bus. Don’t worry our bathing suits were on underneath. At the bottom of the rickety steps up the volcano we deposited our sandals in the sack the tour guide held open and then carefully climbed up. At the top, I watched everyone in front drop slowly into the grey mud and struggle to stay upright and then struggle to shake off the masseuses. The volcano opening was smaller than I expected more like a large hot tub and there were at least 20 of us that had to fit in their. Hmm, I guess we were going to get to know our tour mates very well. Adrian climbed in first. He squealed like a pig in erm, mud and then squealed some more when the masseuse began slathering him with the mud. Adrian soon snapped out of it and began declining the massage but it was too late, the massage had started. The masseuse continued for a bit and then slid Adrian across the surface and into those crowded at one end. The objective seemed to be how many people they could cram into the little mud bath.

Now it was my turn. I handed our camera to the willing cameraman and tentatively stepped in. The mud was surprisingly cool to the touch but not cold. It was smooth but there were mysterious lumps suspended in it. It was also super thick and dense and once I managed to get upright (floating standing up rather than floating on my back) there was incredible pressure from the goop that pushed me up, making it impossible to get my shoulders under the surface. It was the strangest feeling in the world that caused most of us to laugh out of the uncanny nature of it all. And indeed we were so close together we bumped invisible body parts. But no one cared. One brave and strong guy actually managed to get his head under. He looked like the blue guy from the Watchmen when he resurfaced and soon discovered that the thick mud clung to his eyes, ears, lips and nose. And it was almost impossible to clear away.

Up on the deck, the camerman now had about 30 cameras dangling from his arm (one for each person crammed in the volcano) but he somehow remembered which one belonged to each of us. He snapped pictures of the right grey blobs with the right camera. Meanwhile we went slipping and sliding in the mud. But the excuse was that it was good for the skin. At one point my legs popped up from under me and it was impossible to get them back down. I had to get Adrian to push them back under the surface. And I wasn’t the only one – legs popped up left and right and someone or some people was/were always there to push them under.

Eventually when the next tour bus pulled up and we were pushed and ordered out of the mud. But getting out of the mud was a lot harder than getting in. Not only were the rungs of the ladder slippery but we were now all carrying an extra 25 pounds of mud on us. Just a bit of a struggle. Once we made it up to the platform, another stranger was there, scraping off as much mud as he could. After being squeezed into the volcano up against 30 people we didn’t know, another stranger running his hands down our bodies seemed perfectly fine. Navigating down the stairs (photo above) and to the laguna was another matter. Our shoes were waiting for us at the bottom but I decided to leave them there and hop over the hot baked mud to the water. I didn’t want to get the shoes dirty but scorched my feet in return. Jumping into the water was just the relief they needed but I hesitated. The laguna was an unappetizing shade of green but the burn on my soles was enough to convince me cholera (just kidding mom) would be less painful. I jumped into the water and began to scrub the mud off my skin and bathing suit. Immediately a hoard of local woman began pouring buckets of icky water over my head and offering their services. I tried to decline particularly since their services required taking off my bathing suit to scrub it – I’m really not much of an exhibitionist. Adrian however agreed to let it all out as the women attended to him. It was much easier to get the grey mud off the skin and out of the suits than I expected and the women’s services weren’t really necessary unless you were enjoying it, as Adrian seemed to.

Back to our normal flesh colour (although certain to be finding mud in weird spots for the next few days I’m sure) I changed back into my clothes and joined the rest of the group as we ate watermelon provided by the tour guide. Then it was time to settle up with all the tips for the cameraman, Adrian’s masseuse and washer women. With a lighter wallets we piled onto the bus and headed to Manzanillo for lunch. The town was a tiny town somewhere between Cartagena and the volcano but it was right on the sea. So while we waited for lunch to be served Geoff, Matt, Adrian and a bunch of others ran into the water. While those of us who had changed back into our street clothes sat on the beach and watched. Luckily the restaurant was right on the water so when lunch was served up we didn’t have far to go.

Over the tasty meal (included in the $17 tour), the Brits, including Adrian, were happy to discover Colombiana was on the menu. No it wasn’t cocaine but an orange-coloured pop that reminded them of Irn Bru, Scotland’s bubble gum flavoured beverage of choice after alcohol. Their enthusiasm convinced some of the Europeans to order it as well, only to discover that it was more of an acquired taste and switching over to bottled water. So much for cross-cultural exchanges.

Back in Cartagena we went our separate ways. I waved goodbye to Geoff but didn’t say it. After all, I’m sure we’ll cross paths somewhere else in this big old world. Adrian and I decided to try our luck with Colombian street food. Armed with Geoff recos from the night before (but also cautious remembering his endorsement of Irn Bru) we walked the main street around the corner from the hostel. Our first stop was for arepas– these are Colombia’s national dish of a fried corn flour fritters filled with a fresh sour/cream cheese. Unfortunately, they weren’t to our taste. But our second stop was the skewer man, as suggested by Geoff. The man was barbequing skewers of meat and veg topped with potatoes. Meat and potatoes, Adrian was in heaven. We went searching for something else to try but nothing sounded or looked as tempting as the skewers (Hot dogs? Burgers? Street ceviche? Fried chicken?) so we found ourselves back for another round of skewers. All that food for less than $5 and probably the most tasty meal we’ve had in a long time. With satisfied tummies (thanks to the street meat) and super soft skin (thanks to the mud volcano) we went to bed in our beautifully air conditioned room.

Let the fireworks begin.

By now I think you all know how I feel about travel days. But I was actually looking forward to today. Hina and Terri were infectiously fun so I was relieved when they got up in time to join us. We quickly ate breakfast and said goodbye to Ronnie and his super cute family.
“When I come to Canada, I’ll visit you,” Ronnie said.
“Well I hope it’s not in the next year because we’ll still be traveling.”
When I explained our trip Ronnie surprised. “I guess I’ll have to wait until you come back then.”
He was a super guy – although the hostel was basic and the internet sucked, he and his family made it a lovely place to stay.

Marie had just woken up too and we quickly exchanged contact info to share tips as we followed each others footsteps. Then it was time for the four of us to trek to the bus stop. I say trek because although it was just 10 minutes away it was mostly uphill, like most of Monteverde. But we got there with enough time to wipe the sweat off our brows before boarding.

The ride back to Tilaran was a beautiful one and despite all the rain in the last few days the roads were clear and we made it there in just over 2 hours. Normally that would have been a good thing but we were in no hurry – the next bus to La Fortuna wasn’t until 1:30. That was a lot of time to kill and although Tilaran was cute it wasn’t that big. As we were standing there lamenting our good/bad luck a taxi driver approached us and offered to take us $100 (or $25 each). We just laughed at him. Another driver approached and said he’d take us for $10 each. The price was double what we’d pay for the bus but still quite cheap and we’d get to our destination a whole 6 hours earlier than expected. I explained to the driver that we were going to two different destinations – we were going to El Castillo and the girls were going to La Fortuna and asked if the price was still the same. The man nodded and repeated $10 each or $40 total. I repeated the two different destinations again and repeated the price; he still nodded. So we agreed and Hina in her friendly and charming way told the driver “Now don’t you go changing your mind and asking for more money when we get there. Okay”

The ride was quick over paved highway that ringed the lake. We passed monkeys hanging out in trees, coatamundi’s scrounging in the leaves, and lots of pretty scenery. Soon we hit rows of hotels and resorts – marking that we were getting closer to La Fortuna. At the turn off to El Castillo. I reminded the driver that we were going there. He said yes but he wanted to drop the girls off in La Fortuna because the roads were very bad and he had to come back this way anyways. That sounded reasonable. So I shook it off.

As we got closer to La Fortuna we could see Arenal looming over the city. The weather was noticeably hotter and sunnier than Monteverde and we all took off a couple of layers. We pulled up to the cabins the girls were staying at. It wasn’t too good to be true – the rooms were clean and cute. The family running it spoke no English but were very nice and patient as the girls stumbled through the check in using Spanglish.

Satisfied that they were in good hands, we took their money and went back to the cab for our trip. Rather than start the car the driver begins a new song and dance – the roads are bad he’ll need more money to take us out. I told him no and reminded him about our agreement. His memory went blank and he said no that’s not what we agreed only La Fortuna. I let out a string of explosive explicatives and told Adrian to get out of the cab. The man tried to talk to me but I actually gave him the hand.

Hina and Terry came out and asked what was wrong. I explained the bait and switch to them and they were furious too but also felt bad. I handed over the $40 for the ride and told the driver to Adios. I asked the owner of the other hotel about buses to El Castillo and the driver interrupted to say there were no buses. I told him adios and gave him the hand once again (I know, I know but I was mad). The lady agreed that there were no buses so I decided to call the hostel to see if they’d pick us up. Just then an English speaking tour rep for the hotel arrived and he offered to call Essence Arenal for me. Hina and Terry told him what happened. For some reason the tour guide apologized for the drivers dishonesty but confirmed that there were no buses and that taxi drivers usually charge $20 to go out to El Castillo. I told him I was just angry about being lied to again. Scammer jammers.

The guide spoke to the hostel and yes they were coming to pick us up – and for free! Crisis averted. It gave us a chance to hang out with Terry and Hina once again and play with the cute little puppies that Adrian had discovered at the hotel and check out the giant iguanas hanging out in a tree. El Buho was definitely a good choice. I hoped our place was just as good.

When the van arrived from Essence Arenal, the owner Nico was another super nice guy. Although German, he was raised in Spain and now living in Costa Rica. As we chatted and drove out to the hostel, we discovered just how bad the roads were. It was an hour long drive through the national park to the active side of the volcano on a road as bad as Ometepe. I now understood the extra charge but was still angry about being lied to. Nico pointed out the spot where tour groups usually come to see the volcano. That’s right Volcan Arenal is a very active volcano. It has been continuously erupting since 1968. People pay $25 for a chance of catching the volcanic fireworks; often clouds pass by the cone blocking the view but with only an hour tour they’re often disappointed. At the hostel we’d have a 24/7 view of the volcano (weather permitting). So we continued up through the tiny little town of El Castillo and then up and up and up and up to Essence Arenal. The hostel was a tiny but cute place on a big chunk of land with an absolutely priceless view of the lake and the volcano. It wasn’t quite as lux as my impressions of the pictures but it was still great.

There was one other couple staying there. Georgia and Josh were from Australia and had just made there way from Chile. We chatted and enjoyed a dip in the small pool which helped dissolve the tension from the taxi scam. The peace and quiet was absolutely lovely except when we realized how hungry we were. The nearest restaurant was halfway down the hill. So down we went for lunch that we easily worked off on the walk back up. It was quite the workout but we were lucky that the clouds that rolled in didn’t have any rain in them. We hoped they would disappear by dusk so we could get a clear view of the eruptions.

As the sun began to set, the clouds cleared a bit. Josh and I grabbed our cameras and began fiddling with them to try and figure out how to take a clear picture of the lava about 9km away. The darker it got the brighter the lava became we could clearly see the continuous explosions that reviled my explosion in the cab. But it became harder became to take pictures. I just pressed the button and hoped they were in focus. Nico and his business partner Kelly invited us to join their weekly poker game but we declined – the real entertainment were the fireworks on the mountain.