Baños, a small town nestled in the Andes Mountains, is our 3rd Ecuadorian city stop.  We find that it is swarming with tourists and ATV’s which curiously are only used on city streets.  Of the many options for tourist entertainment, biking the road from Baños to Puyo sounded like a great idea.  Deenaree loves biking and Ben is always up for a challenge.  Neither of us knew what death defying events we would encounter along our route.

The ride starts at one of the dozens of local bike shops that vie for your attention in town.  At $5 for an entire day’s rental, and a promised downhill ride all the way to Puyo, little convincing is required.  With our new out-of-tune bikes at our feet, locks from the World War II era, and helmets that look to have been through four accidents already, we are less sure of our investment.  Nevertheless, we set off on our way.

The first thing we quickly realized is that it is not all downhill.  Little stretches of modest uphill road make us grouchy, not due to difficulty but the lack of expectations.  Not long into that ride we come to our second realization.  The tunnel we had been warned about before we set off is as death inducing as advertised.  A careless warning to take it slow leads to miscommunication as one bike stops and the other nearly crashes into the tunnel wall and then the rear coming flatbed truck.  With the only sane driver in Ecuador behind the wheel, death is saved for another day.  As we stop at the end of the tunnel to catch our breath and assign blame for our near death experience, the truck and a new line of cars harmlessly pass.  More riding and a spousal heart-to-heart send us on our way in higher spirits and thankful to be alive.

As we continue, we start to see an odd sight.  Every few miles, minecars seem to be zipping through the air hundreds of feet above the river below.  With a few houses dotting the landscape, it seems to be an ingenious Andean invention to get from tienda (“shop”) to casa.  However, as we approach kilometer 7 in our ride, we see the most spectacular waterfall yet and a hum of activity around the roadside riverbank.  Turns out, gringos can take the minecar too!  We lock our bikes and have a look around.  The cable holding up the car looks secure to our resident structural engineer and we still have 8 lives to use after our earlier experience.  Having not lost our nerve, we pay $1 to transport over the waterfall to the other side.  As 2, 4, 6 and then 8 locals load onto the car after us, the car sinks lower with each new body.  Finally the door closes and off we go.  The tranquil movement of the minecar seen from the road nearly knocks us off our feet as we take off.  The ride is enchanting as nothing but 5 panels of steel separate us from a 350 foot freefall to the rocky river raging below.  It is a thrill we will not soon forget.

As we continue onward after our most recent escape, we are somewhat relaxed.  After the minecar, we indulged in some water and grilled bananas stuffed with cheese.  Feeling better about the ride than anytime since we left, full stomaches and quenched thirst, Deenaree is cut off by a straying pet horse on the side of the road and nearly crashes into the beast.  So much for letting our guard down.

The end of the trail for us, and for many other bikers, was 18 kilometers from Baños at the spectacular waterfall, Pailón del Diablo, or Devil’s Cauldron.  We had seen numerous waterfalls along the path, but many lacked any fanfare at all, just a lonely falls tumbling down the riverbanks.  The lack of views of the diablo from the road, along with the numerous souvenir shops, told us we were in for something special.  The walk down to the site started with views of a wooden suspension bridge, seemingly miles below us.  Once it became clear that we were headed all the way down, we knew our bike riding days were over.  The suspension bridge supplied magnificent (free!!) views.  With makeshift signs warning of extreme danger with more than 5 people, in a country where the back of a pickup is considered safe public transport, we waited to find the right time for photos and the best views.  For a $1 entrance fee, we are provided with views from up close to the waterfall where we could feel its power.  Final photos taken, we declined the opportunity to fold ourselves in half to experience a view from behind the falls and started our slow, ugly ascent back up the mountain.  We promise the details will be spared!

Back at the top, transportation is easily arranged to Baños…in the back of a flat bed truck.  Satisfied that the suspension bridge warnings were well heeded, we hopped aboard and spent 30 minutes retracing our steps to town in the company of a few other bikers and a half dozen locals, enjoying wind in our hair and the darkness of the passing tunnels.  With bikes returned, helmets still intact (sort of) and our lives spared, we can promise that sleep came very easily that evening.

We departed for Otavalo on Thursday at the suggestion of our trusty companion, Lonely Planet South America on a Shoestring, to ensure lodging before the flock of tourists arrive on Friday evening.  In our usual way, we had our heart set on a highly rated Trip Advisor hostel for which we had no phone number or address.  After a bit of sleuthing at a local internet cafe we managed to determine that our lodging of choice was on the outskirts of town; the opposite outskirts from where the bus terminal left us.  Undeterred, we made the hike across town with our 30 pound bags in hopes of finding our little paradise in Otavalo.  What we found upon arrival was a locked door and no signs of life at Hostal Chasqui.  We walked around the building and even trespassed onto adjacent property to attempt entrance.  As we were about to leave and find our way to our silver medal hostel, a smiling, indigenous head poked out of a window on the top floor.  Roberto came down and showed us around his fantastic hostel which included a private room and free laundry.  As icing on the cake, he spent 20 minutes explaining the setup of the Saturday market and providing us with options for Friday adventures.

Of the plethora of options provided, we chose the most highly recommended, Laguna Cuicocha.  Laguna Cuicocha formed on top of a volcano after an eruption finally blew off the cone and caused a massive crater to form.  The volcano is no longer active, although gases are still continuously belched up, causing the lake to indefinitely bubble.  What is provided is magnificent scenery on a 14 km hike around the crater rim which has views of the lake, surrounding volcanoes and at least 4 different landscapes (desert, rainforest, prairie and coniferous forest).  Few hikers were on the trail as we slowly climbed from lake level to the rim of the crater, which provided excellent, unobstructed contact with nature.  Our only motivations to walk quickly were the diving sun, tired feet and a desire to not get beat around the loop by a group of very capable retirees that provided our only competition.  We won.

The rest of our time in Otavalo was centered on experiencing the Saturday market.  As we wandered around the streets looking for dinner Friday night, we were struck by the transformation that was occurring.  The quiet little town we had arrived at the day before was suddenly a hub of important activity.  The buzz in the air still did not prepare us for what we woke up to the next morning.  The once modest fruit market on the east side of town was overtaken by a massive collection of textile stalls selling hats, mittens, jeans and t-shirts.  The normally bustling Calle Sucre at the center of town was suddenly barely passable in single file as arts and crafts stalls took up most of the street and people the rest.  A new homeowner  could spend a Saturday meandering less than a mile through town and completely deck out their new pad.

The intrigue of the market in Otavalo compared to any other market in any other corner of the world is the local indigenous population, who own practically all the stalls at the market.  They make beautiful goods from local fabrics and yarns and still generally wear traditional Otavaleno dress.  Women wear long black skirts with finely embroidered white blouses and a black shall around their top.  Most use a sling to carry anything from fruit to babies and seem to do it with ease.  Men wear long hair braided in a single braid with an Al Capone style hat.  The modern influence was obvious on our visit, many locals look as if they belong at the local shopping mall, but the local indigenous culture is surviving.

Our time in Otavalo was an interesting blend of nature and culture.  It seems rare to find both in one place and the combination made for a perfect weekend away from the hustle and bustle of Quito.  The weekend in Otavalo is the very reason why we decided to take this trip and surely there are many more to come.