My timing was out to catch the ultimate Saturday Market extravaganza in Otovalo, which is probaby all to the good considering how much money I managed to spend and how little space I have left in my Mary Poppins backpack, from just one spending spree on a quiet day.
High in the Andes of Northern Ecuador, the town had a much more traditional feel than anyhting I had seen since Guatemala. The women, now often smaller than me again, wore their long dark hair in long low ponytails, wrapped in colourful material, under their fabulous felt trilby hats adorned with bright feathers. The look was finished off with layers and layers of shiny golden beads worn round their necks, as they carried their children strapped to their backs with beautifully embroidered material. The Men, though no way as beautiful, held their end up in fresh white cullots and funny little sandles, tied up with a matching white ribbons.
The main square was buzzing with bargain hunters and was a treasure chest of pretty things: emboidered rugs, throws and wall hangingng dipicting tradiional Andean scenes, bags, purses, hats, scarfs, ceramics, and too much beautiful jewellery to chose from, the most random find being a miniture guitar made out of a dead armadillo. Hummmm.
All spent-out I was off to Quito, to take in the World famous Old Town, which, as old towns go, was nice enough. To be honest, I think Ive seen enough. Climbing the Basilica Church however, was anything but dull, and the views from the very top of the towers were incredible (if a little precarious) the city sandwiched between two mountain ranges and stretching as far as we could see.
In need of a good night out, I hit the town with some girls from my hostal. Copious amounts of cocktails later we landed on our feet at an awesome bar, packed with beautiful people dancing some serious salsa. The girls glided like gazzells across the danceful, flung effortlessly around by hot sweaty hunks. We had as fabulous time, but I can think of other animals we might have looked like as we staggered out in the early hours. And the next morning, when I woke up to discover that I had apparently booked myself a salsa lesson for the next evening! Well, when in Rome!
Before returning to the dancefloor to master the Merenge, and while nursing a rather huge hangover, we had the small matter of getting to the middle of the world and back to contend with.
For all intents and purposes, it is just a big yellow line painted on the floor, with 00,00 Latitude writen next to it, therefore I can imagine that for some people, the Equator is a bit of an anticimax. Unless of course you are as big a kid as I am, in which case how could you not love throwing yourself on the floor to have their photo taken straddling both hemispheres. Add to that shrunken Amazonian heads, watching water dissapear in different directions down plugholes and trying to balance an egg on a nail...what more could you want? And did I mention that you weigh a whole kilo less there? There you go! Now youre listening!
South from the Capital I was off to Banos, which, with the little wiggly thing on top of the N that they use sometimes in Spanish means, essentially, the toilet. Or to he more accurate, Bathrooms. Thankfully it was not a shithole, but a lovely little town, hemmed in by lush green mountains and a rather active Volcano. The place is all about adventure sports, so I threw myself into the action, hiking in the hills, rafting in the rivers and cycling through the valleys to the Amazon spread majesticallly out into the distance. E
Evenings were spent snuggled by the fire at my favourite cozy little hangout, drinking wine, watching free films, stuffing myself with delicious (and well-deserved food) and working my way though their briliant bookswap. Bliss! There was one other thing I was in Banos to do though, and it didnt involve lounging around or stuffing my face!
More than 100m high, off a bridge over the river on the outskirts of town, Banos has its own take on the Bungyjump. Attached to a harness but with no elastic for bounce, you essentially throw yourself into the raveen, freefalling before swinging like a pendelumn over the gorge below. By Day 4 I had procrastinated long enough and it was now or never. I had talked myself into it and I wasnt leaving until I had!
I dont mind admitting it that I bottled it the second I got there. As soon as a peered over the edge and saw the rapids pulsating below. Jesus Crist. What was I thinking. Watching people disappear over the side like lemmings didnt help either. In fact, it made it worse. With adrenaline coursing though my body and my head a fuzzy mess, I was trying to compose complicated excuses to myself as to why I didnt really need to do this, when an almost as terrified guy approached me and asked if i wanted to jump with him. No attached you understand, but at the same time.
The second I said yes, I actually felt a bit better. For about 2 seconds. Then it was back to paralising fear again. We aggreed that there should be no hanging around. Harness on, up on the edge, 3,2,1. Go! Teetering on the platform I could not look down. I glanced across shaking like a leaf and could see his face was as green as his t-shirt. Fuck it, we are going to die!
I am really not sure how I managed to jump, everything from then is a bit of a blur. I just remember starting the countdown and then the feeling of falling into absolute nothingness, so fast I could not breath. Then suddenly the yank of my rope (thank god) and the lurch as I zoomed under the bridge and out the otherside, wooping as we went. Absolutely horriying. Totally awesome! Never again.
Budget backpacker or not, I rewarded myself with a full-body massage and a Jacuzzi at one of the Spas, booked myself on a bus to the coast and spent the next few days indluging in some serious rest, relaxation and cocktails, on the beach. What a way to celebrate six months on the road!
