Where´s the exit?

Instead of presuming el Che was our best option we decided to wander the Plaza de Armas a bit asking around for hospedajes. The plaza was chock-full, crammed with gringos, natives and indigenous the like. We set up shop but fate had other plans. Otavalo´s bipolar climate gave out spirts of rain every 10 to 20 minutes and the masses seemed to concentrate more towards the artisal tents set up around the main center every saturday than to our tiny displays on the ground. After a few hours passed we headed for the hills itching to peal our packs off and rest up a bit before returning downtown. La casa de che was not the cleanest and with all the fellow mochileros sharing such small spaces it seemed that a bit of bonding was inevitable. As the days passed we soon realized that the climate was not on our side and the constant rain seemed to destroy any chance we had at making the basic salary needed daily. Otavalo had an ample amount of spirited indigineous people that took great care of their daily apparel. The men wore dark, round hats and garments of pure white; even their shoes appeared to sparkle white. The women adorned themselves with golden chain necklaces and earrings or hung thick red corral necklaces that twisted in numbers around their necks. Their gowns were hand stitched with simple but colorful floral patterns just above the breasts. The majority of the locals seemed impenetrable and selling in the restaurants appeared to instill more fear then anything else. We had been at each others throats and our trio was breaking apart every so slowly. The tension between Seba and Roberts was escalating and what seemed like a friendly prauding turned out to be more like a roast on both sides. About mid month into our stay in Otavalo we decided to head up to the waterfalls celebrating the birthday of a dear argentinian friend, Polar. We hauled sacks full of meats and fresh veggies so we could have a reknown argentinian parillada and I must say it was one of the most delicious meal we had eaten in Ecuador. The waterfall was around 30 meters high but it was the surrounding forest that seemed to hold me captivated. A deep bluish-green aura filled the trees and plants and a slight touch enchantment lingered in the air. The campsight had tipi like cabañas that sat to the left though camping wasnt necessary unless one was completely tanked... much like us that night. Though I do remember desmounting around dawn dying of thrist. As semana santa, or spring break, started to show its numbers Seba and I along with Malki, a fellow artisan peruano, decided to pay our way to Cotocachi which was only 20 minutes or so north of Otavalo.
Cotocachi was quite gringofied with a heavy portion of the pop. being californians. It seemed quaint though after a few days we heard supposed stories of some of the locals robbing from the gringos. I suppose considering that they have so much, it wasnt all too shocking. We sold triple to what we did in Otavalo and for much more. A fellow patriot approached and asked where we were staying. We explained that we still hadnt found a place and with suprising eagerness her and her husband offered us a few days stay at their house where we finally washed our clothes, sleeping bags and other odds and ends. we each had a mattress and downstairs there was a beautiful big screen TV just asking to be turned on. We bought food and cooked grand meals, cleaned up the house and tried our best to be good housemates though it seemed the misses was a bit loopy for the boys. We stayed until the offer was removed from the table and after 4 days of luxuries we were tossed out the door by the misses with some excuse that her husband was addicted to marajuana and needed help.... strange couple to say the least. We thanked them for their hospitality and set sail towards Baños seeing that we still had yet to save up money and Baños was well known for its generosity in hard cash. There was yet another route leading from Baños to Colombia by jungle and we decided it might be a good choice. Once we arrived to Baños our mission was quite clear: $$$$$$. We headed downtown and set up our displays hoping some eager foreignor would be swooned by our irresistible exhibition. I met a few Scotish chaps and they invited me to a vigorous game of something similiar to P and A... a game very well known to my fellow college classmates and as the game persued we gained more members and finished at the crack of Baño´s precious dawn. That morning I learned that my grandmother was gravely ill and in the hospital after suffering a stroke. To say the least I was thwart with a flood of memories and the fear that quite possible I may never see one of the great instigators of my best and most lofty dreams. Aside from such saddened events I had a strange lapse of heartburn due to a dear partner I left behind in Cerro Azul. I called Andres to see how he had been passing those sunny Cerro Azul days. It felt like all the blood in my body went straight to my head when he told me that he loved me and that he would do anything possible so that I would return to Cerro Azul. He opened the door to a river of nostalgia to which I thought I had closed after leaving Peru. He painted a picture of us traveling together through colombia and Brasil and it seemed so perfect. After I hung up it seemed I was more confused then ever and needed some serious alone time to think things through which wasnt an option as I met back up with the boys at the bus terminal. Though sales were not as high as hoped we made enough to catapult ourselves directly upon our familiar amazonian city, Puyo. The idea was to keeping heading north to Tena but as we rested in front of the city hospital one of the gaurds had mentioned a space available by the hospital garden in order to put up our tents while firmly warning us not to do so before night. So we waited. The boys practiced a bit of juggling while I suffered from extreme inertia due to the previous night. Finally the sun set and we headed for the hospital doors trying to find the next guard who took over the night shift. As we began explaining the events to the night gaurd a short, stauky, gray-haired women stepped out from the front entrance and revealed that under no circumstances could we stay on hospital grounds... BUT... that she had a space at her house where we could set up our tents without any problems. To our surprise she was just leaving from her shift and led us 10 blocks down to where she lived on the border of city limits. She lived with her three children on a small terrain about 2 acres or so. Her house sat cozyly towards the back of her land while her oldest daughter and son´s house cradled the east side. It was night and a tad difficult to set everything up, or so we thought but we hadnt a clue we would be tested even further before retiring. Big, fat drops of rain started to pour down. It rained in such a away that I thought the mami´s house would cave in. Our tents were soaked along with everything else we had left inside. Thankfully the youngest of the three, Bobbo, took out an enormous plastic tarp and we immediately draped it over the tents diminishing drastically our oxigen levels but we hadn´t many choices and we were drained from the trip. We survived the night and the following morning the mami invited us to a nice breakfast of boiled yuca and fried eggs fresh from her chickens with lukewarm tea and sugarcane sugar. Thanking her for the deliteful meal we rounded the bend and started arranging the tarp so we would not tempt fate yet another night. We strung the tarp over their clothesline creating a roof that seemed to stretch about 5 meters with about a half a meter in girth. We were set. We had organized a tiny utopia in the mami´s front yard. We couldn´t sell anything and the little money we had was slowly draining down as the rain continued consuming days. I was divided in two. At the same time that I enjoyed traveling with the guys, carefree and ready for Colombia, I was also quite engrossed in the idea of returning to Peru and traveling with Andres to Colombia. I expressed my feelings to the guys and it seemed there was a mixed response. Malki who had years traveling around South America gave his support but Seba seemed quite insecure about being on his own and responded, wraught with what seemed like a case of constipation, that he would most likely return to CHile. He was not capable of accepting his own self sense and strength. I tried my best to explain to him that he was completely apt and able to continue traveling and would surely meet many more people that would bring light into his travels. It was obvious that he enjoyed traveling. After a few days of heavy thought I reached a decision. It was better to test out a bit of love; run the risk to see where it led because all I ever managed to risk in love was what it took to pay for a bus ticket out. I gave both the boys a big hug and promised to keep in touch. That day I payed for my ticket to Riobamba with sweaty palms and my heart in my throat. I was returning to Cerro Azul, Peru.