Our mentor, an experienced traveler and I, arranged
a journey to visit the ‘enchanted islands’ – otherwise known as the Galapagos. A group of artists – sculptors, ballet
dancers, singers, writers and painters – flew to Miami in early May, 1969 and from
there to Cali, Colombia where we spent a few days. I arranged for a bus to get
us to the coastal town of Guyaquil, the port of embarkation, in Equador.
'Was able to hire a brand new Mercedes bus, along
with a husky, moustached Colombian at the wheel. Everyone was in good spirits. Both of us sat next to the driver since I
spoke Spanish. We reached the border of Colombia and
Equador and went through customs and immigration. This went smoothly and our
passports were all duly stamped.
But what was not expected was our Colombian
bus – our beautiful Mercedes – would not be allowed into Equador. There had been a recent soccer match
between the two countries which led to an uproar and the Equadorians were not on
a good footing with their neighbours.
Meanwhile, we had paid for the bus and
driver all the way to Guayaquil,
and had a heck of a time getting (some) of the money back. That settled, we now continued on our
journey, but this time in a dilapidated Equadorian bus with metal seats.
Nevertheless, everyone was in a good mood
and were singing popular Beatle’s songs of the times such as “Lucy in the Sky
With Diamonds”, “All You Need is Love”, “Yellow Submarine” or “Octopus Garden
in the Shade”, and Bob Dylan’s “The Answer is Blowin’ in the Wind”.
Always on the lookout for something creative
or new, we suggested we all go to Ingapirca, a little-known place I’d read
about.
“Es muy pequeno”, our driver said. “It’s very small”, the site of Ingapirca. We asked about the location. The first three places we enquired said
they’d never heard of it. Finally at a
local post office, there was one person who knew about Inca Pirca but laughed
when we said we wanted to visit the site.
He pointed to a postage stamp and said in
Spanish, “That’s how small it is!” And that we’d need jeeps or horses to get
there.
We assembled five Jeeps.
That took some time but we did corral them,
each with a driver. After negotiating
the fare, we were on our way.
Ingapirca was, in those days, not your
everyday tourist attraction like the more famous ruins of Mexico and Peru. Only
one of the drivers knew where Ingapirca was located.
Torrential rains had put an obstacle in our
path – a washed-out bridge. The jeeps
could go no farther. We continued our journey towards Ingapirca
on foot, criss-crossing ice-cold Andean creeks.
The rains did not let up.
Maybe I could find some horses? Off I went, into nowhere. Amazingly, I encountered two gauchos on
horseback. I told them our dilemma. They were able to get us eight or nine
horses. I negotiated a deal, including
two guides. This was what I came to call
Miracle Number One.
Some had to carry on by foot, there weren’t
enough horses for all of us. The day was
getting on by this time and every minute counted if we wanted to get back
before dark.
After some time, we asked the horsemen if
it was far to go to reach Ingapirca.
“This is it”, they replied. We were, literally on top of the ruins of
Ingapirca. Drenched but happy. We made
it! The site was basically a rubble of
unremarkable stones, and without the guides, we would have ridden right over it.
“That’s all?” we asked in disbelief. “Si Senor, es todo”. Yes, Sir, that’s all.”
Ingapirca today - much more developed than in 1969
We spent no more than half an hour
altogether at Ingapirca. And back we went to rejoin the jeeps where a few had
stayed behind. So they were not joking back at the post
office, about the size of Ingapirca. Nevertheless, it felt like high adventure
in the high Andes of Equador.
The scenery was magnificent. In the distance there was a snow-capped
volcano, nearby waving tall grasses and grains – with once in awhile the sun
peeking through the rainclouds complete with rainbows.
We made it back to the jeeps by dusk. One
of the gaucho’s exchanged his whip (I still have it) for my sunglasses – yes,
sunglasses in the pouring rain!
The drive through the Equadorian Andes was
unforgettable, and when we finally descended in Guyaquil on the coast, the
temperature had changed gradually from 5 degrees to 32 degrees Celcius, plus
high humidity.
Next episode (to come) - Galapagos, here we come!
Posts
No comments:
Post a Comment