Jungle Boogie

There are some things in life that you just don't say in public, for fear of outing yourself as an utter tit. "Two And A Half Men just cracks me up", for example, or "The best way for the Labour Party to reconnect with voters across the country is to tack to the left." You know the sort of stuff.

Until our recent visit there, I'd have certainly had "Our visit to the Amazon rainforest was such a crushing disappointment" on that list. But, if asked for two words to sum our time in said forest, I'd plump for "disappointing" and "crushingly", though possibly not in that order. That there was pumping dance music blaring from a nearby swimming pool when we arrived at our 'secluded jungle lodge' didn't bode particularly well, though when next door finally turned the speakers off our cabin was serene and restful, all fireflies and oil lamps with a hammock slung across the patio.

But our 'Amazon trek' the next day was, by any marker, a real downer. Though our local guide was knowledgeable, and the animals and plants undeniably fantastic (the baby tarantula was my personal highlight), we weren't trekking the Amazon at all. We were just walking in someone's - pretty impressive - back garden wearing matching wellies and pretending that this was what we'd shelled out a couple of grand for. There are even fences in a few of our photos. Cap it all off with an utterly abysmal 'traditional' dance and shaman show back at the lodge that evening (highlight was the shaman cleansing me by... er... blowing fag smoke in my hair), and our visit to the Amazon was a crushing disappointment. There - said it again.

But a seven hour ride on ramshackle local bus later and we arrived in Banos, a little gem of a town apparently dropped by the Gods slap bang in the middle of the Central Highland's mountainous ranges. Arriving a little jaded by the jungle and still a little wires by Quito, Banos seemed purpose-built to ease our bodies, rest our minds and generally make me fall in love with South America all over again. Though it's fit to burst with hostels and eateries amid squarely at the backpacker crowd, Banos remains a functioning community in its own right,. Indeed, the ruinous effect that intensive tourism can have in many places is notable by its absence here; if anything, the fifteen thousand or so people who live in Banos seem to enjoy a quality of life that the millions living in Quito's suburbs would give their eye teeth for.

We spent our three days in Banos walking in the hills and trying to look at volcanoes (damn you, clouds), eating surprisingly good Italian and Mexican, wandering around the endearingly bonkers Cathedral enjoying the best breakfast of the trip so far on the sun-kissed roof terrace of the ininfinitely recommendable Plantas Y Blancos hostel. We also spent more time than was strictly necessary luxuriating in the natural thermal springs on the edge of town. We visited a few times with Zara, Dave and Leigh, but went the extra mile and got up to watch the sun rise with the locals on our last morning in Banos. Sitting in a giant steam bath, listening to Louise practise her Spanish while the sun flooded corn-gold beams across the valley was just as blissful as it sounds. Just as much as our jungle trip had failed so badly, our time in Banos was all the sweeter because I'd not really given it two seconds thought before we arrived.

En route to Cuenca, we took a small detour to spend some time with a local family who maintain a relatively traditional lifestyle while running a hostel in a converted railway masters house. Truth be told, I was more interested in the railway line - sadly no longer in use - than the sweet but somewhat affected show they put on for us. Lou and I also had our first taste of Guinea Pig, a staple for families in Ecuador and parts of Peru. Eating it was painless enough. Splitting the bill with a minibus full of people you don't know that well was another matter entirely.

Cuenca, our last stop in the country before heading over the border to Peru, was a charming place to while away a few days. Though undeniably smaller than the capital, the fact that almost all city life takes place in a UNESCO listed colonial old town makes for a more relaxing visit. The main plaza is Spanish to the core, while the Cathedral - topped outside with a blue-dome triptych and dominated inside with an altar that was a little to gold for my protestant tastes - certainly catches the eye. We spent an immensely enjoyable morning at the Museo del Bacno Central, where decent enough collections of religious art and historical coins and notes serve as a decent entrée for the fantastic ethnographic exhibits and the ghoulishly engrossing collection of shrunken heads. Even more impressive is the excavated pre-Inca town centre of Pumapungo at the rear of the museum, with a lovingly recreated garden and collection of endangered birds. The ice-cream parlour on the corner of the main plaza is also worth a visit of six - the servings are enormous, the ice-cream fresh, and the hoops you have to jump through to buy the damned thing delightfully South American.

And, with the taste of my double-cherry ice tub still tingling on my tongue, we were back on the bus and headed for Peru. The change in terrain as we headed from Ecuador to her bigger, poorer neighbour was striking. After driving through banana plantations for what seemed like hours, we hit  desert. Border control was a wonderfully messy affair, which seemed to annoy some of fellow travellers more than us. That was, perhaps, because while the queuing system was certainly not British in style, neither Lou or I felt in imminent danger of losing our lives or our wallets. Which is more than can be said of some of the bus border crossing we did in Europe. And that was that. So long Ecuador, Hola! Peru. More of which shortly...

Hasta la vista,

Luke and Louise

(Posted by Luke)