Montañitas: La Segunda Vez

Zipping through Cajas on the way back from our second trip to Montañitas, the fog had thickened and soon enough we found ourselves with a flat tire. Those ¨beware of falling rocks¨ signs are no joke in these parts. Often times entire lanes are blocked by mud slides, massive boulders, or gushing water after rain. After leaving behind 90 degree weather at the ocean, a fine mist and 40 degrees greeted us as we piled out of the truck to change a tire; shorts and flip flops would have to suffice. For about 45 minutes absolutely no one stopped to help (we were missing an important tool for removing the busted tire), but somewhere around 1am a trucker en route to Manta (a 12 hour drive) graciously stopped, flagged down cars with us, and then proceeded to change our tire in the rain. I held an umbrella over his head, grateful for his kindness. Ana´s father was also on his way to help, an hour drive for him, and I know we ran into him during the descent through Cajas. After the tire was changed and we were on our way, everything was a blur of bumpy sleep. I recall hearing voices, slipping out of the car, grabbing a soaked backpack, consuming pan y queso, and at some point falling asleep in a small child´s bed (I have been given Ivanna´s room for my duration in Ecuador; each morning I awake to walls plastered with teen idol posters claiming that ¨Zac loves you¨, Barbie legs dangling above my head, and curtains laden with sparkling fairies. I find the image of my sleeping body, a bit too big for her pint-sized bed, amidst a room of magic and make-believe to be quite amusing).

This sign ws about 15 feet from where we hit a small boulder and received a flat.

Flats in the rain and in Cajas.

On the wy back from Montañitas.

Anisa de belleza.

I have a hunch the cow was pregnant, but I am not certain.

This was the first funeral procession through which we passed; another one would be on the way to a new climbing spot. It is kind of nice how an entire town stops what they are doing and attends the death of an individual in their extended family. The entire town goes on a sort of pilgrimage, for how long or for how far I do not know, but there is definitely something to respect about such customs.

Sunset over the ocean at Samai in San Jose.

Our Bungalow at Samai: Twenty bucks a night, which includes breakfast (cafe con leche, pan, batidos, huevos, ensalada de frutas, and all fresh from the surrounding grounds), and plenty of scurrying cucarachas. I am not one for coffee, specifically because of the caffeine, but I felt it almost a shame not to try some at breakfast. The coffee beans were picked from right outside our window and, even for a non-coffee drinker, it was beyond stellar.

Ed, Ana´s uncle and the owner of Samai, is a practicing Shaman. He is actually from the New England area of the states, but after spending years in the Amazonian jungles with indigenous Shamans, he was taught their ways, brought into their family, and is now a respected Shaman. The energy he emits is an intense aura of positivity and connectedness; I hope to return to Samai at some point, as he offered a Shaman ¨limpia,¨ or healing, which I would be honored to experience.

Toschi and a dead fish at Las Friles.