ROCIA

    I’m on the bus to Banos again.

 I was back in Quito for a week after leaving Cotacachi, and it was the same old shit, man! Rainy, chilly and misty. My mind plunging down dark crevices I should not allow it to go. I’m vacillating back and forth about the Rocia situation, until finally I decide - fuck it! 

I’m pulling the fuckin’ trigger, man! Once on the bus I’m still filled with conflict - but fortunately, get caught up in the sideshow that always plays out before every departure.

  First, it’s the mad rush, an insane chess game as the passengers dive to get seats. What I find to be really hilarious though, is that when somebody spots an unoccupied seat, but another passenger is sitting on the outside seat, they’ll just say:

 “Pardon gordo (fatso), flako (skinny), viejo (old man) - or negro (black)” -

 and it’s totally normal. Nobody gets offended, or anything - they just move over. Hahaha… Equally amusing is the parade of vendors piling into the bus one after another, plying their wares up and down the aisles. Everything from homemade ices and ice creams, to soda, chips, fruit and hard boiled eggs. All from these humongous baskets they lug around with them.

 The grand finale, however, are the guys who then hop on the bus, hawking these ‘magic elixirs’ 

Yeah.

 They recite these interminably long, overly rehearsed speeches promoting these cure-all concoctions which will apparently ‘heal’ everything. Then they bust out these charts of the human anatomy - pointing out weaknesses their magic potion will cure. That’s like 10 minutes right there, on top of the other 10 or 15 minutes with the vendor show.

 So, it’s about 25 minutes later, the bus finally starts to pull out, and now the ayudante (the helper, every bus has a helper who takes the fares and handles the luggage), immediately pops in a VHS. Unfortunately. The screen in front lights up - and the war sounds begin! Usually, it’s a Jean Claude Van Damme flick, but this time it’s Chuck Norris, followed by Dolph Lundgren, of all people. 

Always blasted at the absolute maximum decibel level.

 The other hilarious thing to me is that it’s all dubbed in Spanish - by what seems to me to be the same guy - the only one who does all the voices! Hahaha, swear to God, I believe it’s one guy who does all the voiceovers in South America! 

    In short order, a woman will pull out her tit to start breastfeeding, the baby quickly falls asleep, and right away - you hear people snoring! 

What!?

 How could anyone sleep through the explosions, machine gun fire - the indescribably loud and stilted dialogue!? Apparently, in Ecuador it’s quite common. Can you imagine any of this stuff happening on a bus in New York!? People would be having heart attacks, man!

 Hahaha… 

When we finally do arrive in Banos, I’m alright with everything. I mean, I think I’ve become accustomed to all this Van Damme stuff - I actually find it to be kind of amusing now.

       Anyway, I head straight over to Cafe Hood to hang out with the Italian guy, Ivan. This Rocia situation is weighing heavily on my mind, man… this is a huge step. it’s like I’m placing all bets on Rocia - which is extremely unsettling.

 See, Rocia is the classic good girl. Pure and wholesome. The kind you marry. That’s what worries - and also intrigues me. I’m cracked down the middle, torn, about this whole settlingdown/family/Catholic thing vs. just complete abandon!

   Totally going wild with the Colombian tranny prostitutes in Quito. Or pretty much any other prostitute, in general. A part of me knows, however, that after a short, yet totally dyonesian time - that would put me over the edge. Soon afterwards, I would just cease to exist. 

So guess I’m gonna attempt the traditional lifestyle thing, at least for a minute, y’know!?

   After a night of drinking and debauchery with Ivan, I wake up the next day, take a deep breath, and make the call to Rocia. I tell her I’ll be there around 5 PM. She only lives around the corner, across the street from the Basilica (church). There are many Basilicas and Iglesias all over Banos, and indeed, Ecuador itself! As I've said before, this country, along with most of South America, is heavily Catholic. Uber Catholic.

 I thought (us) Italians in Brooklyn when I was growing up, were really Catholic - but these people? Forget about it. They make Brooklyn Italians look like freakin’ Atheists, man. South America, or most of it, has been inordinately influenced by the whole Spanish reign here. 

The Conquistadores.

 Jeez, what a job they did on these people! I mean, instilling that whole hierarchical, fanatical Catholic, white-on-top stuff. The descendants of the Spanish, who for some reason, are as pasty white as any random musical theater fairy from Ohio - are definitely running things here.

 And I mean - everything. The banks. The press. The money. All of it - even though they are like only one percent of the population! In fact, like only a couple of these ultra-powerful families basically run everything - and they pretty much look down on everyone else!

  On the next level, you have the Mestizos, who are a mix of Spanish/White from the Conquistadors - and the original indigenous people. That’s what Rocia and her family are. The mestizos basically make up what is considered to be the middle class, and usually follow in whitey’s footsteps, at least as far as tradition and society go. 

  Next, the indigenous people. They for the most part, live in their traditional ways, although even that’s eroding quickly, as the petroleros (oil companies) have made sure of that. They’re basically universally looked down upon - especially the ones living in the Amazon.

Sadly, you then have the blacks on the bottom of the totem pole. They can’t catch a break, man. Poverty all over.

 So you can see my Rocia dilemma.

EL LIMPIA

Joe is very discouraged after he finds out the exorbitant price it costs for homestays and volunteer positions - when-

I’m taking all this in, kinda feeling sorry for myself, resigned to accepting that probably nothing is going to come out of this trip - when I wander upon this sign advertising:
‘Limpias, de pueblo centro, $5 - $10’.
A limpia is a kind of ‘cleaning’, where a shaman (a medicine man) removes the ‘bad energy’ from your aura through various prayers and techniques. I’ve never done one of these sessions - but I’m open to it. I mean, really, what have I got to lose? So, I amble over to the puebla centro (the town square), not taking it all too seriously, when I am surprised to see several lines of local indigenous people!
What?!
Maybe this is the real deal!
They’re waiting outside various tents that have apparently been set up for this shaman’s convention. Now, I’m a little more intrigued. I’ve been having stomach problems with bouts of diarrhea pretty much since I arrived in Ecuador… maybe they can help me with this, y’know? I mean, it can’t hurt.
I pay my fee, wait in line, and when it’s my turn I hesitantly tiptoe into the tent - having no idea what to expect. My first sight is this indigenous guy dressed immaculately in white, on a cell phone.
Uh oh.
Immediately, my cynicism takes over as he motions for me to step forward. I suspiciously walk over.
The action, however, starts right then.
BANG - BANG!
He has this other guy in there with him who's apparently a translator, because he speaks to me in English. Tells me to strip down to my underwear.
The shaman (who’s off his phone now) zeroes in on me, looks me up and down a couple of times in a studious, kinda mysterious manner. Then he immediately seems to go into some kind of trance, a state of deep concentration. He’s speaking in Quechua, or some such dialect, which the other guy translates for me in English...the shaman goes on for a while, the whole time the translator following his words.
“He says you have been through much turbulence in your life”.
Well that’s true.
“He says that however, much has been resolved, and that moving forward, the future will start to appear much less bleak - and even exciting”.
It goes on like this for about ten minutes - then things get really interesting!
The shaman begins reciting these incantations - or prayers - or whatever they are, in a sing-song type of countenance. He follows that by waving a branch of leaves over my head, then minutes afterward, blows smoke from what looks like a spliff of incense!
Now, he starts actually pelting me all about my head and body with the branch, in accordance with some sort of internal rhythm.The pelting isn’t hard, or anything, I guess it just takes me by surprise. I don’t know what the fuck is going on, but I’m just trying to go with it, and stay still. It’s not over, however!
For the grand finale, he sips from a bottle of whiskey, or alcohol, proceeding to spray it all over my face several times, closing the session with another stanza of prayers. Apparently it's over now.
He gifts me this bottle of red liquid, which the translator instructs me to chug down right before bed. That should take care of the stomach problems, he says.
Holy shit, what a crazy experience man!
I don’t know what to think about the whole thing, but, hey, at least it’s an experience. Better than feeling empty or depressed, right?
Later that night, I realize he wasn’t kidding about that red liquid cleaning me out! I mean, I’m on the toilet bowl literally all night. No sleep. I do sleep into the afternoon, however, and when I finally wake up - my stomach feels great!
No rumbling. Nothing.
An amazing side note to all this is that a couple of days later, my big toe - the one I had broken way back in my second week in Ecuador, and which had been immobile this whole time - suddenly comes back to life!
Swear to God, I can move it again! I had given up hope that I would be able to use it anymore, chalking it up as a casualty of war, but here it is - wiggling!
Hallelujah!
So turns out this really hasn’t been a wasted trip after all

COTACACHI

Joe comes to another town near Otavalo - Cotacachi. This town is framed for it's leather craft goods, and Joe doesn't want a repeat of the MATERIALISM he experienced in Otavalo, but he decides he's gonna give it a try.

But, I mean, there is just so much beauty to see in this part of the country that I have to let those thoughts go. I have the time now, and this is an opportunity to use this place as a kind of springboard.
I do finally buy that Alpaca sweater, by the way. That gives me the buyer’s rush - for, like five minutes, y’know? This is what the whole American economic and social system is based on.
Five minutes.
I’m feeling sort of hungry now, so I go to this outdoor ‘healthy’ cafe, and order an avocado and swiss cheese sandwich...when my neutral feeling is suddenly interrupted however, by a horrifying sight.
At least to me.
A tourist bus putt-putts right past me.
Oh no.
It slows down just enough so that the fat tourists can have a photo opportunity for the leather crafts stores. It’s like we’re in a fuckin’ zoo, man. The tourists are protected from any human interaction by metal and glass. A moving box. Complete safety. No chance of catching any germs.
My mind goes into warp drive now - damning thoughts flooding through me like a freakin’ tsunami.
Agh… tourist buses.
Vans.
Cruises.
Resorts!
I mean, why even leave home - if you want all the comforts of home?!
Stay on your living room couch and eat Entenmann’s Crumb Cake, y’know?
Really.
So homogenized and pasteurized. I could understand if it was just old people, or disabled, or something like that- that’s totally cool. But these people are all middle aged soft white pears. I gotta get outta here, man.
The next day, I take a short trip to one of Ecuador’s natural wonders, The Cotacachi Cayapas Ecological Reserve. I hate to use the word ‘awesome’, (it’s been overused to death in America - meeting somebody at a bar is not ‘awesome’), however - this place really is!
17,300 acres of tropical forest, cloud forest. Four major watersheds. One of the most biologically diverse habitats on the whole planet.
I mean, who in the world gets a chance to see all this stuff?
240 bird species.
I’m not a birding guy, or anything - but who wouldn’t want to see a toucan, for instance, in the wild!? Not only that, there’s all kinds of monkeys here too - spider monkeys, capuchin monkeys - and oh, howler monkeys, too. I remember when I first got to Rio Muchacho - I saw these little monkeys, right, but then they howl - and it sounds like a giant gorilla!
Scared the shit outta me, man.
Hahahaha.
There’s bears - even jaguars and pumas! Can you imagine actually seeing one in the wild!?
Holy shit!
This place is the real deal. I feel kinda like a spectator here, though. On the sidelines.
I mean, I want to drink this all in - I want it to fill the hole in my soul - like the way the sun does, y’know?
I don’t know anything about hiking in the jungle, though, and it’s frustrating as hell!
An amazing opportunity, but…
I head back to where the office is near the entrance, and after talking to one of the people that work there, I find out that you can actually volunteer here!
Wow, man.
Working in the middle of the forest, living here, taking it all in, doing something meaningful. I’m dreaming about it already. When I return to the office about an hour later, though, the same guy is telling me I have to pay this exorbitant fee - just to volunteer there!
What the hell!? I can’t afford that, man!
That’s crazy, what a fuckin’ scam! Jeez. Forget about it
Now I’m pissed. Foul mood. Ruins my whole day. Again, I’m feeling boxed in.
Thwarted.
Bummed.
I wind up heading back to my hostel and meditating myself to sleep. The next morning I decide I’m gonna check out one last place around here.
Intag.
I take another short camionetta ride there.
Again, these mountains provide some of the richest biodiversity on earth. The natives here are trying to protect the whole place from these huge mega-corporation mining interests. Same old story. All over the world, the same shit. The classic good vs. evil scenario.
Depressing.
Trekking as far as I can into the lush greenery and sopping with melancholy, I find a spot to sit. The only sounds are the rushing water and the song of the birds. God, I wish I could find a way to stay here.
A couple of hours pass.
I can’t do this solo stuff anymore man… sigh… I think about Rocia, maybe going back to Banos… perhaps I was kind of rash in my judgment of the situation. Maybe I should just pull the trigger. I don’t know… I don’t know…
After a sleepless night in my Cotacachi hostel, the next morning I stumble around the village, lost in thought…torn with conflict.
A zombie.
I gaze at the indigenous women involved in their daily activities - gardening, cooking tortillas, gathering medicinal plants… man, I wish I could absorb some of that culture - the wisdom, the lifestyle. I mean, there’s ways to do it - but they require something like a homestay with an indigenous family, learning that stuff. Again, however, you gotta pay the price, which is way more than my budget would allow.

AN ANSWER?

The long walk in nature has totally changed Joe's perspective on that trapped desperation he was feeling in the Otavalo market, as he continues to make observations.

I amble contentedly back to my hostel - and just crash. It’s the deepest slumber I can remember in… well, maybe forever. As I finally do wake up, I feel like I’m in a whole different head.
Happy.
Charged.
I mean, could this be - The Answer?
What I’ve been searching for ever since I can remember? That maybe it has nothing to do with actually achieving something - striving mightily - and being so attached to those results? With just being? I don’t know, man.
As I’m eating my breakfast, I’m all geared up with thoughts of journeying into the paramo today, checking out the three lagoons that reside in the shadows of the dark jagged mountains. This probably sounds super corny, but in a way, I feel like I’m receiving some kind of blessing from the universe. No heaviness (which is my M.O.) like when my mind is out of control, pirouetting from one anxiety provoking scenario to another. No harried worries about wasting time.
This is so great!
A couple hours more, and I’m instinctively drawn to this tree stump in an incredibly lush clearing. I give into my growing hunger, pull out this cheese sandwich that I’ve stowed away in my backpack, and begin munching peacefully. I watch this indigenous family hiking past me - laughing, joking, holding each other’s hands… you can tell just by the expression on their faces how much they genuinely enjoy each other’s company.
Kinda touching, y'know?
I smile at them and go back to my food.
A few minutes later, and now some indigenous couples stroll by me. They say hello, but that’s about it. I’m thinking that you can never really know them, the indigenous - especially the women.
Yeah.
They seem to be really clannish, man. Completely secular. Reminds me of the Orthodox Jews in New York, or especially, the Indian women (the ones from India) there - who only ever fraternize within their own groups. I mean they won’t ever even make eye contact with a guy who’s not Indian! And some of them are pretty cute, too… but, I mean, it’s a closed society, y’know?
That’s what I think about these indigenous women, too, man.
No eye contact.
No smile.
Nothing.
For some reason, this really bugs me - which is kinda weird since I don’t even find most of them actually attractive. Maybe it’s just that they’re part of a group, a culture that I can never be a part of? Could be. I’m contemplating this for a moment, when out of nowhere, this dark- but familiar sensation enshrouds me.
Uh oh. Not again.
Separate.
Floating.
The ensuing explosion in my solar plexus which follows always occurs when I don’t know what I’m thinking - or I don’t consciously understand what I’m feeling. Then overwhelm. Just like that.
Snap.
I’m afflicted, man. I figure the best thing I can do is-just-keep-moving. I retreat back to my hostel, grab my stuff and check out. I shuffle down the road, not knowing what to do, when a camionetta comes rumbling by. A camionetta is basically a pick-up truck in which you hop into the back with a bunch of other people, and pay the driver when you hop off at your destination.
I decide on impulse just to hop in, and take it to this nearby indigenous town called Peguchi - which is famous for its Cascadas Peguchi. Cascadas means ‘waterfall’ in Spanish, and I gotta say, these cascadas are fuckin’ amazing!
Pristine.
I have this longing to dive right into the pool of crystal blue water at the bottom of the falls - but I don’t know how to dive. I mean, I could just jump in, y’know? Take the plunge. Cleanse myself of all this negativity. You wouldn’t die in this water - it’s just that it is so cold! Freezing, in fact.
It’s still kinda nippy out here, y’know?
Forget about it.
I make myself content with just sitting on this rock I am currently perched on, and continue to gaze at the pool. And wish. Night inevitably falls, so I decide to stay - and check into this pretty cool place - Hostal Aya Huma.
Beautiful garden, hammocks, fireplaces…
Nice.
The lady at the reception desk keeps trying to push the hostel’s activities on me - for an inflated price, of course. Organized hikes, horseback tours, bike rides, and so on. I don’t know, it strikes me as a brochure opportunity, y’know? Where you have all these happy smiling white faces jumping in mid-air next to a bunch of horses, or something.
Not a fan.
Too corny for me. Besides, I’m running really low on money now. This place is relaxing though, so I figure I’ll hang out in the garden, meditate, and chill in the hammocks. I meet some Germans (of course Germans), we have a few beers, a few laughs… a good time is had by all.
Three days later, I’m feeling rejuvenated and ready to move on again - so I take the short bus ride to this nearby town, Cotacachi, which is supposed to be famous for it’s leather goods and crafts. I stroll around the town for a while, passing by the leather craft shops and open markets - and a part of me is wary not to get caught up in another Otavalo type situation.