It was time to take our newly acquired Spanish skills off somewhere else. As we’d moved around a fair bit in Cuenca, lifting the backpack onto my shoulders was not too much of a strange feeling, although it had gained some weight in the form of Spanish text books!
To get to the pacific coast we first took a bus from Cuenca to Guayaquil through Cajas National Park which is a road that winds up and eventually down through the Andes to sea level. It’s quite a spectacular journey in itself. For a time you are totally immersed in the clouds and I did have to spare a thought for the guys up there laying the new road in such murky and damp conditions.
We arrived to the bus terminal in Guayaquil. The terminal has only recently been built, has a mall and a food court where you can choose from a variety of outlets such as McDonalds, KFC and Pizza Hut, plus many others equally good for your health. I took advantage of a $1.60 Big Mac, safe in the knowledge that I’d lost some weight in Cuenca. It’s a good job my diet out here is so good I can do that once in a while! Hmm.
The next step was to buy a bus ticket. Not so easy, it turned out. There are over one hundred different ticket booths stretching along a corridor the length of the terminal. Ecuador isn’t that big. How can there be over a hundred different bus companies operating out of one terminal? Well, somehow there are. And I had to find the right one. It took a while, but eventually I found a guy who said he could sell us a ticket for Santa Elena. The book said that we had to change there to get to Puerto Lopez, and his advice matched. So, off we went. Incidentally, the old adage of one dollar per hour for Ecuadorian bus journeys seemed to have gone out the window.
One of the amazing things about Ecuador is how varied it is. Just a few hours before, the air was fresh and the climate spring-like. But now, heading west from Guayaquil amongst lush green surroundings, the air was thick, humid and the sun seemed so much closer, when technically we had moved further away from it.
The bus headed up a duel carriageway and frequently swerved off the road to pick up more passengers. Spreading up from the sides of the busy road was a combination of masses of litter and hundreds of houses. As with most large Latin American cities, Guayaquil has a sprawl of shanty houses covering the surrounding hills and making the shiny mall seem all the more incongruous. The sight of it still fascinates me though.
After a short wait in Santa Elena, we got our connecting bus, a further two hours heading north up the coast to Puerto Lopez. The town of Puerto Lopez is made popular by its proximity to Machalilla National Park, and in particular, Isla de la Plata. However, it was far from the tiny fishing village I thought it would be. The town is pretty large and was thriving with people. And this was a Sunday night! You’re lucky if you can find anywhere open on a Sunday evening in most places.
That said, it’s not at all a polished or refined place. There is nothing fancy or upmarket about Puerto Lopez. It is a lovely beach town that is rough around the edges, having just the right amount of crumbling buildings, dust on the road and the all-important stray dogs. But anywhere with such beautiful sunsets cannot be bad! (see above)
We stayed at a place called Hostel Maxima. One of the owners, Maxima, was very friendly and offered us all kinds of different rates according to the room type. She then told several stories that basically all had the same theme. People who come to stay for a day or two end up staying two weeks, a month or six months, depending on which story. Her American husband though had a crazed look about him. He had strange staring eyes and only said anything after a skin-full in the evenings. My guess is he spent his spare time head butting walls! The explanation just seems to fit.
Also staying at Hostel Maxima was Jim and Yuko and their daughter, Takeisha, who had only turned three the previous week. They had started in Argentina and were working their way up the continent in the opposite direction to us. I would have thought that backpacking with a three-year-old would be anything ranging from extremely difficult to near enough impossible. However, they seemed to be doing just fine and Takeisha was taking it all in her stride. Apparently she slept well (across their laps) on the long bus journeys, and, thanks to Bolivian markets, could have toys without breaking the daily budget! Oh, and I’ve never met a three year old with such an adult grasp of language. She could tell us who was drinking rum and who had beer. I was relieved that she also knew that she’d have to wait a good few years before she could join in on those drinks!
Maxima had said that people stay for longer than they intend to in Puerto Lopez. As nice as it was, I couldn’t see that happening with us. Notwithstanding the risk of overstaying our 90-day visa, it was the thought of what lies ahead in Peru!
