Equinox on the Equator in Ecuador

I think I've really been caught off-guard by how much I have enjoyed Quito (and Ecuador as a whole). It's been so easy to enjoy and though we're off to Colombia (arguably a very similar country) - I'm identifying with this place, seeing myself on the streets, waking up to these bizarre sunrises day after day.

After four months of traveling, Kaitlin and I were both feeling a bit worn down. Our motto for Quito was to stay in the historic part of the city with less bars, less hostels, less chaos. I think it has really paid off in that we are so close to all of the historical sites that are the backbone of Quito's substance.

There are views of Quito everywhere. A block or two up the hill from our hostel and we're on the balcony of a greek café eating banana nut pancakes with café while the murmur of a Friday in Quito trickles up our way.

The next day we're in the top of the steeples of the Basilica del Voto Nacional. My feet sweating profusely as Kaitlin is practically running up the ladders. Another angle of the city with it's orderly traffic (never thought I would say that while on this continent!) and humble pedestrians.


We've spent an evening strolling Calle de la Ronda - a place for people seeking a little more culture with their nightlife. The Andean folk music pulsing out of every other establishment, much like the Mapuche tunes a few thousand kilometers down the range, but with its own Ecuadorian twist - adding fiddles and a more staccato vocal style. It made us dance, drink with ease, and attack our quimbolitos, empanadas, and corn tortillas. Warm red wine with sugar and hot cider that reeked of its potency, but tasted like middle winter relief.

I had my first straight razor shave by a beautiful old man in the Plaza del Teatro.

We braved the high noon sun, on the equinox, on the equator, for possibly the worst professional football match I have seen yet. El Nacional (13 titles and home club of Christian Benítez and Antonio Valencia) and Independiente del Valle/José Terán. As we hid inside of our shirts we watched a less than enthused crowd mumble as their team went up a goal and (but for the no more than twenty locos jumping and singing [although they were all Boca Juniors songs]) sit on their hands until the teams were reduced to 10v10, the game was tied, and the final minutes lurking. With true class, the El Nacional fans turned on their squad - hissing and booing every failed attempt at goal for the last ten minutes of the match. And to top it all off, the lethargic dispersed group, saved their one moment of unity for the end of the game when they all rushed to the point nearest the player's tunnel in order to shower their boys with expletives. What a club!

Everything else has been a mixture of markets, restaurants, wandering, and quality people back at the hostel.

Though we leave today, there is another full day in Quito. Plenty to do, too much to do, before we make our way to the airport around 8pm. But we'll try, botanical gardens filled with orchids, convents where nuns sell lotions through revolving doors, and more markets, more food, as much as we can stuff our stomachs, packs, and hearts with before we leave this hemisphere.

Tomorrow we'll be in Cartagena, back in the northern hemisphere, swapping also the Pacific for the Caribbean. But we know that Quito, and Ecuador as a whole, is a place we must return to.

Guayaquil - Ayampe - Manta - Quito

Although there are countless exceptions - it's safe to say that Peru (overall) did not thoroughly enchant us.. I was really thankful for our time with Antti and Laura, but Máncora was more or less a complete bust and the horror stories that were floating in about the border were making me all the more anxious to leave, but also anxious about getting to Guayaquil.

Essentially, the border at Tumbes has a pretty poor reputation, considered "the worst in SA" by some..which is saying a lot considering all of the shady, unstable places you can go on this continent.
Of course, these were all just ramblings on the internet - gringos strolling into places where they should be better prepared. Assuming that their passport will magically get them anywhere and everywhere they want - no hassle.
Then we heard from Antti and Laura that they had been conned out of $75 during their crossing three days prior.

Shit.

So we tramped it up and down the hill from our hostel to the travel agency (posed as our bus company) and changed our border crossing to "direct" from Máncora to Guayaquil (meaning it would only stop for border procedure) - rather than the commuter we were originally signed up for (which would involve us changing buses somewhere in Tumbes).

Long story short, though we had to wait around for the bus in the middle of the night..border procedures went off without a hitch (though there were men outside of the migrations office asking us for our passports [HA!]) - after checking into Ecuador it was deep sleep and leaving Peru behind.

Ecuador

Ecuador began in the early morning hours as green. Nothing but green. Stark contrast to the endless dunes, rock, and chaparral-like "vegetation" we had experienced along the Peruvian coast. No, Ecuador has been banana trees and jungle junk from start to finish.

We arrived around 10am in Guayaquil at what is easily the most impressive bus terminal I have witnessed. Nicer than most malls and as nice as any airport in the US, it was such a welcome change from the usual chaos that is stepping off the bus with your pack.

From the terminal we called our couchsurfing host, Geovanny. About thirty minutes later we were packed into his two door Rav4 and heading out into the suburbs of Guayaquil.

After a shower and some lunch we let Geovanny take the reigns and show us his city. We started at Parque Bolivar, also known as, The Iguana Park. Literally, iguanas everywhere. We spent a good while with these creatures dangling banana peels hoping they wouldn't take a little bit of our fingers as they scrambled over one another for a morsel. It's hard to say when to leave a place like that (especially since there was a very interesting church in the square), but Kaitlin being urinated on by an iguana in the tree above was as good a sign as any!

So from the Iguana Park we made our way to the Malecon 2000. The Malecon is a boardwalk with an impressive garden, IMAX, restaurants, monuments, and tons of other attractions. From the Malecon, Geovanny led us into a compound (maybe a school?) where there were Galapagos turtles foraging in a square - again, more photos. From that square it was not far to a refurbished part of town with over 400 steps leading up a hill to the lighthouse at the top. Reminded me a lot of a place in San Fran, just toss in about a hundred places to grab a beer, all of them blaring cumbia. Muy bien.

From the top of the hill there was a great view of more or less all of Guayaquil. Ecuador's largest city seems to have it right. Not too big, fairly modern, definitely felt secure, modest but with lots to boast. Only a few hours in and Ecuador was feeling pretty good.

From the hill we made our way back to Geovanny's car. Then it was time for something I didn't even realize how much I missed...

"Feminine" iced coffee drinks.

Geovanny took us to Juan Valdez Cafe (Starbucks) where I had a Nevado con Amaretto, actual liqueur. I'd like to say I sipped it in pleasure, but I slurped and gulped and licked the inside of the cup. While I was still hyperventilating, Kaitlin and Geovanny discussed dinner and it was decided that we would meet up with some of Geovanny's mountain biking friends at a Colombian place.

Our party turned out to be over fifteen people, a mix of locals and US ex-pats in country teaching English. One guy was from Atlanta (UGA) and was pretty happy to see me and talk about Aiken and hoop and holler in a genuine southern accent that you could tell he had been repressing for some months..

With quite a full day (and full bellies) under our belts it was time for a good nights sleep and another day in Guayaquil.

The next day Geovanny was off to a mountain biking trip with his friends. Leaving Kaitlin and I to our own devices we did some laundry, got caught up on internet necessities, and eventually made our way via bus to the city center.

We bumbled around a bit - picking up an Emelec jersey for myself and having ice cream and having another go at the Malecon and government buildings. Well into the afternoon we met up with Geovanny and made our way to a grocery store to pick up supplies for what was supposed to be "Meditteranean Night."

Dinner was good, but not quite as Mediterranean as I had hoped. However, we did well considering the difficulty in finding certain spices and such down here.

The next day Geovanny was nice enough to put us in a cab before work and have us on our way back to the terminal. From there we would catch a four hour bus west, to the coast!

Ayampe

The bus ride to Ayampe was a mixture of drifting in and out of sleep, sweating, and refusing the hordes of people swarming our bus at every turn attempting to sell anything.

Eventually, we arrived in Jipijapa (Hipi-Hapa) which I for once enjoyed the redundant yelling of the destination by the driver's assistant. From there we changed buses to our local commuter bus which made it's way to the water and eventually dropped us off in the middle-of-nowhere, aka Ayampe.

Ayampe came as a recommendation from a friend in SC, Karly, who had spent some time at Finca Punta Ayampe. We asked the way and were pointed down a dirt road. The heat was getting to me a bit with the pack weighing more than ever..and the ocean so close - torture.
But we did indeed arrive and from there it was heaven.

We were welcomed by an incredibly friendly and relaxed staff that made us feel instantly comfortable. The next three days we did little exploring (aside from a trip up the road to Puerto Lopez for some money and grub) - most of our time was spent happily in hammocks or on the deserted beach. The deserted, warm, incredible beach. It's the kind of place that even if we had pictures, it wouldn't do it justice. So much of the experience was in the way that we were served breakfast (more than just smiles) or in the breezes that kept reminding us of our fortune.

Guayaquil had been fun, but this was a different level of satisfaction. And somehow we only had three days...

With our flights out of Quito purchased and our curiosity of that great city and still our need to head north to Manta - we could only wish we had cut out a few days somewhere earlier in the trip. Ayampe had more for us..

But we left, yesterday morning we hopped on a commuter, through Puerto Lopez, to Jipijapa, from there switched to probably the worst/loudest bus we have experienced so far, but only had about an hour to go before arriving in Manta.

In Manta we purchased our overnight bus to Quito (making sure to procure the nicest coach in town [only $8 per person]) and then we killed some time in the area doing covert gift shopping.

The bus ride last night was less than amazing. However, knowing that we have only three bus rides left before we return (and only one really long ride: Cartagena to Medellin) we bore it.

Quito

I have been in Quito for about four hours now (arriving around 6am). Though I have seen little of the city so far, I am excited to do some exploring. Our immaculately clean and comfy hostel (Hostel Revolution) is situated more or less in the center of the historic district. The weather is cooler here (due to the altitude) which should make for some comfortable strolls around the museums and churches.

My last adventure should be a football match on Sunday, but before it is set in stone I need to find a companion (preferably a local) to keep me out of trouble. We fly out for Cartagena on the 22nd (Monday?) - so until then it is museums, churches, and markets!

Let's go there, to see better

Around 5pm on the 3rd of March we arrived in the insanity that is Lima. Any anxiety I had previously had in an urban setting was immediately dwarfed by the spastic hive that is Lima. People everywhere. Cars everywhere. Everything making noise.

Through Kaitlin's grace we made contact with our couchsurfing host - Camillo - met him outside his work - received the key and instructions as to how to find his flat - took a succession of buses:

·Without a subway, the place is totally dependent upon automobiles and there aren't enough combis (mini-buses) or collectivos to quench the demand of the more than seven million residents of Lima. With so much traffic, so much exhaust, and only a marginal attempt at order by the traffic police - what should have been a twenty minute ride in a subte or city bus, became over an hour standing and shifting as we waited our turn to move a block or two·

- and scurried into his flat in his dodgey side of town (which can be any side of town at night in an unfamiliar city when you have a backpack strapped on).

We entered and ran into some Brazilians that said there were some Germans staying, and a french guy, and some quiet people. Immediately I thought of Antti and Laura and sure enough - ten minutes later they were walking through the door. Everything was okay again...

The next day we took a combi to Miraflores. Walked, ate, and made our way to the more "artsy" district Barranco. Our quest was a cafe con leche for Laura and sure enough we found what was presented as cafe con leche. Antti, Kaitlin, and I enjoyed our juices and Laura sipped her milky concoction.

From there we made our way to the Plaza de Armas which is where the Franciscan Monestery held tours of their catacombs. Something like 25,000 people buried under the space. Quite creepy. I much prefered the part of the tour that explained the paintings and the multiple layers of friezes from times long past.

By the time our tour had ended, night had fallen on the Plaza de Armas and though up until this point I had been less than enchanted with the rather lackluster gridlocked capital - the plaza was magical. It felt immediately like I was thousands of miles from anywhere I have ever been - unlike any space I had seen in Argentina, Uruguay, or Chile.

But we had to go.. we planned to leave early the next morning - to head north to Trujillo for sun, surf, and ruins.

The eight hour bus ride north was easily forgettable. Standards for buses in Peru are perhaps on par for SA (and certainly better than the horror stories Antti and Laura told about Bolivia) - but I was much happier being spoiled by Argentine and Chilean buses - is it too much to ask for air conditioning, or a window that will open?

As always, we arrived, and immediately looked for a cab from Trujillo - 12km north to Huanchaco.

Huanchaco

Instant highlight for me. The moment I saw the surf - I knew this would be a great part of the trip for me. After scoping out the area: a few test runs bodysurfing and seeing the range of surf shops in town - it was time to grab a board.

It had been at least two years since the last time I had surfed - and still I had no experience beyond the pee-wee waves of Lake Myrtle. Suffice it to say, the rust showed in my salty stomach as I gulped a few mouthfulls of seawater before I even came close to standing.

But eventually the timing and the technic came back and though I wasn't shredding like the big boys - I rode a few all the way home.

Easily another highlight for me was the evening Antti and I stepped into a pick-up game on a concrete court just off the beach. It was a familiar scene, the two gringos asking to play and a few snickers ripple through the group. Then the game starts and it's not long before genuine surprise is dabbled over the locals - and at the end everyone shakes your hand and tells you when they're are playing tomorrow.

Last, but certainly not least, was our excursion to the Chimu ruins of Chan Chan, Huaca Arco Iris (Rainbow Temple), Huaca Dragón (Dragon Temple), and the Moche Huaca de la Luna (Temple of the Moon) and Huaca del Sol (Temple of the Sun).

The sheer size of Chan Chan is impressive enough (the largest adobe structure in the world). You can see the ruins of Chan Chan scattered for kilometers between Trujillo and Huanchaco. The wall carvings are quite interesting, but my favorite aspect was the ritual pool that is still intact - after wandering through a labrynth of mud suddenly we found ourselves in a space with clear water, swaying green reeds, and waterfowls skimming to and fro.

Still, easily my favorite ruin was the Temple of the Moon. Because the Moche completely covered their old temples every hundred years, archeologist have been able to remove layers at the Temple of the Moon and reveal wall paintings that are strikingly intact:


With so much packed into only three days, it was no surprise that our time in Huanchaco flew by. With the Antti and Laura needing to make their way to Quito (from which they will fly home soon) - we resolved to leave. Kaitlin and I to what was explained as the best surf north of Trujillo - Mancora.. and Antti and Laura continuing on to Guayquil/Quito.

Máncora

Around six in the morning our bus arrived in Máncora. Hugs were exchanged and then our friends were gone for a third time...

Our four days in Máncora have been okay. Our hostel is more like a B&B which has left us feeling awkward at times (it's strange to have someone changing your sheets and emptying your trash bin after months of party hostels, flats, etc..). The location (on a hill above the town) has been ideal for relaxed book reading, but also made trips to the water a bit of an ordeal.

Throw in the fact that I have been suffering the ill-effects of three straight days in the sun..and our Antti and Laura withdrawls - it has been a melancholy ending to Peru.

That being said, we are excited to move on to Ecuador. We have arranged couchsurfing in Guayquil (finally someone came through!) and will move on to more beach in Ayampe - where the water is only getting warmer.

Last thought: Kaitlin and I had the startling realization today that we have just over three weeks left down here. Taking into account that we will be blazing through Ecuador (spending no more than three days in one place) - next thing we know we'll be in Cartagena on the tale end of this journey. In a moment it is shocking, but I know that it feels right. Up to this point, we have done well. Yes, we could have stayed some places longer and left some places earlier, but overall - everything feels right and good.

More from Ecuador..

Out, again

Our last week in Buenos Aires was a melancholy one.

With our three day bus journey from BA to Lima set - there was little left to do but drink beers in Las Heras during the day and cook meals for three in the evenings while we waited for the 28th.

The 28th did eventually come and though Marko and I were amazed that the American pub "Shoeless Joe's" would have a thirty peso cover on a weeknight - without the Super Bowl - we managed our own preparation for an Old Firm to forget, for Marko.

The match was on around nine that morning and fizzy with hops we watched a rather droll encounter that had a few moments, but unfortunately for Marko - the "best" was saved for last when American midfielder Maurice Edu squibbed in the game winner in stoppage time. Those industrious Americans, always stirring up trouble..

After a nap, a bite to eat, and three or five checks to make sure everything was packed - it was time to make our way out of Buenos Aires. You say, "Suerte!" and "Safe travels!" a lot when you're on the road for this long, but rarely do you get the opportunity to mean it. And though no one believes in "Goodbyes" it's the silent truth between us all that friends a continent apart are few and far between.

But we soldiered on. Took our cab to Retiro. Waited with angst for our bus as families and television cameras greeted refugees from crumbled Santiago. Almost exactly on time our CATA International semi-cama arrived, our bags stowed, our panoramic seats seated, and off into the evening retracing our way to Mendoza.

The days on the bus were rather forgettable aside from some fallen pedestrian paths on the outskirts of Santiago (Los Andes) to La Serena and the Atacama - what everyone says looks like the surface of the moon, but to me looked more like the surface of a brownie pan... to finally Arica and the Peruvian border to Tacna. We were less than twenty-four hours from Lima and coasting.

In fact, too much coast.

The last day of the bus journey was a nightmare. The endless Peruvian desert-coast while intriguing at first (with sand dunes reclaiming the highway by the sea in some spots) became an oscillating torture of boredom and fear that the constant switchbacks and anxious bus drivers (though our's was very modest) would result in some sort of gruesome incident.

Surely, we were never that close to danger, but the imagination runs wild when the kilometers are passing one by one with no hint of Lima in sight.

However, we did eventually reach Lima, at least six hours late, around five in the evening of the 3rd of March. From the window it was clear that Lima was a different beast all together from Buenos Aires and with our first mission to find our couchsurfing host in a city of nearly eight million - we were out on our own again.

Now, my Buenos Aires..

Now, the present, after three weeks in Buenos Aires - we have our path home. We have been able to settle here, to sleep easy, to waste a day if we wish, and to plan the rest of our trip.

We have explored tango. Sweated through the steps. Chased the city for lessons and let Catedral squeeze us. I have experienced Copa Libertadores football, the clasico of the south between Banfield and Lanus, and bathed with thousands of Argentines as the rain sunk our match in General Mitre and sent us home floating in a city bus.

I have forgotten my backpack, in the closet, no longer musty - more like moth balls. I have been looking at this flat as if it were my own. Looking at the Peruvian fruit stall below as if I might one day be their friend or considered a "regular."

I know the subte and the plazas and where to get what and when. Holed up in this barrio, I venture out at night for a Quilmes or Brahma with Marko and Kaitlin - only getting angry at the neighbors and their cat that never stops moaning or the trash collection that rumbles through the concrete canyon - even the same man on the same squeeky bike the same time every night. No more Nueve de Julio, no more protests from Plaza de Mayo to Congreso.

For Mass at Parroquia Nuestra Senora de Guadalupe. For helado at Munchies. For the nights indoors when we just sit and laugh at the Argentine commentary for the winter olympics - marveling at the strange snowy sports.

But we will leave - for Lima, then Trujillo, then Guayquil, then somewhere along the Ecuadorian coast, then Otovalo, then Cartagena, and Medellin, and Solento - until we leave this continent from Bogota.

It is a mixed sense.. I am excited to travel again and to see Peru, Ecuador, and Colombia. We plan to meet up with our Finnish friends Antti and Laura in Lima. We plan to drink coffee and sit in hammocks by the beach all day.
But we're leaving a comfortable place. We're leaving a good friend, that has taken care of us in innumerable ways. We're closing the door not only on Buenos Aires, but eventually South America.

Though there is so much left for us to do yet.. so many other things to look forward to. It can't be helped, I am looking towards California and all the struggles that will entail.

And since that is not the topic here..and that there is so much left to make of the present, I won't bother pontificating. But it still acts as an intensifier. It still factors in when I decided, "Should I take this train by myself to an unknown part of the city?" - Yes, because it will be a long time before I get back here and how can I expect to succeed in my new city, if I can't take a chance here.

So, to more chances! Thorough and committed. Throw in a little help and luck.. and I think I'll be just fine.

Mendoza

We pulled into the bus station in Mendoza around 5:30am. By six we were at the hostel, but since check-out was not until ten, we had to crash on the couch until the morning. However, this was no problem at all, it was so warm and dry that we were immediately asleep with the oscillating fan keeping us alive.

I woke up between nine and ten as I tend to do and was amazed at the hostel we had ended up with. Having had some pretty poor reviews online, it was clear that the standards were a little different in Mendoza. With a pool, grape vine covered patio:



an exceptional free breakfast of various pastries - fruit - coffee - yogurt - cereal - etc.. as well as multiple computers with internet..AND tons of comfortable places to lounge. It was so good to be back in Argentina.

We decided that we might take it easy the first day (after the night bus) and try to do the bike tour the next day. That was until we met Fabricio..

Fabricio is a young Brazilian from Porto Alegre who introduced himself to us by convincing us that we should do the bike tour through wine country that day with him and his girlfriend Helena. So there it was, charmed by Fabricio we were then finding out which bus would take us to wine country in Maipu (the next town over after a forty-five minute bus journey).

After getting off the bus we were immediately greeted by three young boys on bikes, from Mr. Hugo's - the company we were looking for. We followed them a few blocks to the shop, paid about thirty pesos per bike (around $10 US total), and were on our way down Urquiza towards our first bodega on Perito Moreno: Vina el Cerno







There we took a rather uninformative tour of the vineyard that practices more "traditional" methods, but I'm still not too sure what that means.. However, there was a wonderful bottle of white at the end of the tour that was a fraction of what it would cost in stores and quite refreshing on what was an incredibly hot day.

From there we had only a short journey back up the road to get to Tempus Alba. Quite the opposite of El Cerno, this bodega was sterile modernistic wine factory. With only so many hours in the day, we opted to skip the tour and head straight for the patio for a drink and something to munch on.





Conversation somehow turned to Chinese food and MSGs - which proved to be a hot topic for the guy sitting alone, sweating over his merlot - John from Rhode Island. John started telling us about the history of MSGs from a book he had read and next thing we knew he had become the fifth wheel in our trip through wine country.

With most of the bodegas closing soon, we decided to bike all the way to the end, see the Laur olive press, and maybe catch another bodega on the way back.





We didn't really pay attention to the tour. As interesting as it must have been, by this point we were a collective one-track mind. Jokes and wine and olives..no room for information.





Eventually we made it back to Mr. Hugo's where chilled red was waiting for us. Around dusk it was time to get back to Mendoza. In the course of conversation, under the fog of perhaps a bit too much wine, my camera was left on the 152 - never to be seen again.

It's hard to be bummed about anything for too long when you're traveling for months. Despite losing some possessions or having a rough day here and there - you always have to keep in mind that you are doing something extraordinary and to ruin it by being negative is far worse than losing an old camera or external harddrive..or even half a day in the bathroom.

So the next day, we walked around the city of Mendoza - taking in some of the wonderful plazas and parks throughout the city. We ended with a bottle of wine before the all-you-can-eat barbeque at the hostel.



The next day we got on our bus to Buenos Aires with full bellies, new friends, and a peace-of-mind we had been missing. We were on our way to our home away from home..

Osorno and Valparaiso

Osorno

There are a lot of places to visit in Chile between Isle Chiloé and Santiago. Puerto Montt, Pucon, and Concepcion to name a few.. but Osorno - who knows? Possibly the first time I told Kaitlin I wanted to go to South America, I put my finger on Osorno. Before arriving, I knew just as much about the place as I did in that moment back in Columbia, South Carolina.

Osorno is not the place for everyone. It was the place for us in that moment, the perfect place. We arrived in the mid-afternoon and after dropping our bags at our hospedaje, decided to walk around a bit.

Bolstered by street food every where, we continued wandering until we found a suspension bridge over a thick copper-tinted river. We crossed and headed up a dusty hill. I wanted to head back to the town center, but Kaitlin lobbied to continue down what looked to me to be just another dirt path in the woods.

After a minute down this path it was clear there was some sort of park in the area. Couples cuddling, families out together, all walking in the same direction. We followed them forward and soon heard music in the distance. Not five minutes later we found ourselves in the heart of a massive folk festival. Mapuche folk music blasting from a stage, all sorts of grilled meat on sticks and in buns, beverages I had never imagined and still can't quite describe, and loads of artisan wares..including some truly unique wood carvings.

We circled the fair before settling at a table with a good view of the stage - ordered a pitcher of beer and were informed that the concert would start any moment. I made a point to do so then, and I will do so again now..

Traveling with Kaitlin has not always been easy. Surely and pair will at times feel hindered by the other, it is human nature. But those times when you relent, when you let someone else follow their intuition and it bares fruit - that is an incredible thing.

We wore smiles for the remainder of the evening as we finished our pitcher entertained by the Mapuche band and a curious toddler that kept flirting with us.

The next day we revisited the country festival, ate more, drank more, and then left to explore other parts of the city. We walked from one side of Osorno to the other- stopping at the Catholic cemetery, the German bakery, Club Provincial Osorno's stadium (which I walked right into unmolested), and all through the suburbs in between.

Valparaiso

Another instance where I have thought and thought about how to explain what happened to us... Over our three and a half days in Valparaiso we ran the gauntlet of possible experiences in South America, the high and the low.

Our overnight bus from Osorno arrived in Santiago around ten in the morning with another hour and a half left to go before our final destination in Valparaiso. We dropped our bags in the Yo-Yo Hostel on Ecuador, it was immediately apparent that we were back in the "party hostel" scene, but after a few weeks of hospedajes - it was a welcome change to be around people our age again.

The night bus strategy* left us no choice but to go out and explore after checking in and dropping our bags.

*"sleeping" on a bus combines the need to move location and lodging, essentially a free nights lodging - which for two people traveling for an extended period of time in Chile can keep a few hundred dollars in the coffer*

Our bravado swept us out the door, without consulting the receptionist or a map - as was our usual custom, down the hill aimlessly. We squeezed through narrow streets with steady traffic - a mixture of work-a-day pedestrians and tourists. With the Pacific as our only compass we eventually found ourselves in Sotomayor Square with naval uniforms striding in and out of offices and bermuda shorted tourists snapping away at the hills with their gaudy Nikons. We sat on the steps of the wharf as too many families were loaded onto too small skiffs.

From there we decided we'd head up a hill and try to find a local place to grab a bite to eat. In the absence of any prior directions..or even a map.. we continued west along Serrano until turning south up what appeared to us to be the first "decent" hill - Ave. San Francisco.

After a block or so, it was becoming evident this hill was different than others. Less business, less pedestrians, but we had a mission at the moment. Another block more and we found a nice little dive for pizza. It was a cute little family place where the grandparents did the cooking and the grandchild moaned in fits after being scolded for locking the cat in a cabinet.

We chewed happily while we discussed our next move. Ultimately, we decided to continue up the hill to see if it would eventually connect with our hill. We were bolstered and pleasantly surprised to find the bill was LESS than we expected - quite the anomaly from our experience, and so we chugged up a few blocks with smiles.

It had been some time since we'd seen much in the way of business or foot traffic. I was feeling a big unnerved as locals peered at us from their balconies. Another block and we could see an intersecting road with buses, so we continued on.

At that intersection it seemed unlikely the road would connect with our hill and as the overall dodgey nature of the area set in - we finally decided to make our way back down the hill. Not two blocks later, two gentlemen started talking to us from a half-block away, "Hey! You Chileno?! No? German? English? French?" We walked faster and ignored them as they crossed our path and continued down somewhere unknown.

In Castro we had been called "GRINGOS!" by a group of young adults from across the street, but their tone was juvenile, these men were aggressive.

So we began to briskly retrace our steps. But the sporadic maze and our hightened state led us down a wrong turn. We came back out only to see that there were two men following us - two men I had seen when we first left the restaurant. We continued down the path we had taken, opting (wrongly) to take the desolate alley from the walk up, rather than the busier street only two blocks over. Less than halfway down that alley we heard running behind us. Before we could turn to see what it was, the two men (though they couldn't have been older than us) were infront of us - one holding a small knife.

Between the shouts of "Money! Money!", the knife infront of me, and the hands fumbling through my pockets - I didn't really feel that scared..only when I looked over at the other guy searching Kaitlin did I realize it was real, but by that time they were running up the hill with twenty mil (about $40 US).

We had maintained the habit of carrying little cash and no important documents, but we had failed in the biggest areas. I have hesitated to write about this incident, because I think it is what many people expect and it only perpetuates the perception by mentioning it. But the truth is, aside from the systemic problems in the area itself, it is gallant tourists who are to blame for incidents such as these. The same crime takes place in the richest nation in the world, because people think that their passport or their money or their past experience will exempt them from considering their surroundings.

We walked back to the hostel in silence. Kaitlin napped. I zoned out watching television and drinking water, just trying to forget how stupid we had been.

That evening we met an English couple while making dinner and ended up staying up with them for quite a while talking about soccer, music, and on and on..

The next morning I woke up early in a feverish state. In a daze I became violently ill, able to leave bed only for the bathroom. After about two hours, there was nothing left in me and I slipped in and out of sleep. I eventually awoke, but was still too weak to leave the bed. While Kaitlin nursed me with water, ginger ale, and crackers - I deduced that the water must have been the culprit. Though I have had the tap water everywhere we have been thus far, I hadn't gulped it down like I did the day before. Clearly, I overloaded.

Later that day I was able to make it out of bed and up our hill to see the brighter side of Valparaiso...

We stopped for a vista of the port city and then sat for a while having a cafe, but that was about all I could handle. The next day, with my legs stronger, we could explore a bit..

Valparaiso is alive. With graffiti everywhere there are countless characters sprawled over every wall in any color and style. Neruda's city seems to have embraced these murals as guardians and have designated public spaces for artists to develop their craft.

One such place is Ex-Carcel, an old prison that has been reclaimed as a public space for people to practice whatever art they wish. Kaitlin and I spent a few hours exploring the space, marveling at the contrast of prison cells with faded pin-ups still pasted to the ceiling and fifteen foot murals depicting scenes of struggle, freedom, joy, etc...

The next day we rode one of Valpariso's famous ascensors, rode it back down the hill, and continued on with the things we normally enjoy. Walking around the local markets, smelling and tasting.

On the streets of the outside market in the Old Town we found street vendors eating what looked to be a delicious concoction of corn meal and meat. We stopped to ask a woman who was helping attend a fish stall, what exactly it was..

While explaining to Kaitlin she scooped a forkful and lifted it to Kaitlin's mouth. Have some. I was next. It was a mixture of cornmeal and various meats, still mysterious, but delicious. We thanked her as she directed us to her family friend that was selling them.

While we scooped our own mouthfuls in the nearby plaza... I couldn't help but marvel at that woman. Her eagerness to share. So content. Oblivious to our accent or gringo attire. Beautiful woman - I won't forget you.

We passed the rest of the day with a trip up to Pablo Neruda's house on the hill. The tour was certainly interesting, but I think we both left with more questions than answers about the man who is so important to Valparaiso, Chile, and South America as a whole. Ultimately, the author lives in his words, not in the stuff he keeps and how people interpret those possessions.

Our last stop in Valparaiso was a beautiful orange bed and breakfast on a hill overlooking the entire city. With a local porter and a pisco sour we waxed philosophical as we tend to do every so often.. patting ourselves on the back a bit, but also preparing for more difficult decisions ahead.

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But what lay ahead at this time, we hoped, was a return to calm. Easier times. We had weathered the worst of Valparaiso and were now a night bus away from familiar and tranquil Argentina..