Continuing the Grand Adventure - Part II

Monday afternoon, we drove back up the mountains to the small town of Mindo, nestled in the cloud forest in the midst of a large national park. Once again, Byron had to deal with my directions: "it's just up a little street about a block or two downhill from the main square; I think it's that first block; maybe the second... oh, wait, that was it! Go back! Go back!"

Eventually, we pulled up in front of Caskaffesu, the delightful bed and breakfast where we were staying. We checked in and then walked downtown to find supper. 

"Downtown" Mindo consists of one long main street and a few straggly offshoots. Restaurants abound. Soon we were enjoying thin-sliced steaks on rice, eggs on rice, stewed meat on rice - you get the drift. A little huddle of dogs watched us from the doorway; I'm pretty sure that anything left on our plates ended up in their bowls.

Back at Caskaffesu, tired and full, I climbed under the covers. The sound of frogs and crickets and my granddaughters'steady breathing mingled softly in the night. Then the rain started and I slept.

Tuesday: After breakfast, Byron drove us to the butterfly farm. Hummingbirds were just beginning to flit around the feeders that line the path. Once inside the enclosure, we dipped our fingers in banana water and wandered around picking up butterflies at will. Well... almost at will. Some had other ideas, preferring to perch on pant legs, backpacks, bald heads and other attractive places.

After the butterfly farm, we took a pickup truck to the zip-line station. I rode up front - all of the rest, fascinated that one was allowed to ride standing up in the back of a pickup (yes, with bars), hopped in the back. 

At the zip-line station we ran into an obstacle. Me. I am a round person, and the zip-line harnesses are meant for more oval-shaped people. After some discussion, we decided to change activities and the truck took us instead to the tarabita.

A tarabita, for those who are unfamiliar with one, is a small cart suspended from a cable strung across a chasm or river of any significant size. There is a pulley system to maneuver the cart from one side to the other. When I was a kid, tarabitas were hand-operated and there were no seats -just a small platform and something to grab onto.

By contrast, this tarabita was a luxury. Big enough to hold four seated on benches, it was enclosed in rails that provided plenty of protection. The cable took you out over a deep ravine with the river flashing white water far below.  

Being the helpful sort of person that I am, I instantly volunteered my two daughters-in-law, a son and a granddaughter for the virgin voyage. It didn't occur to me that any of them might not appreciate heights.

Still, let the record reflect that they did get in of their own free will.  

The gate slammed, and they were off. The rest of us stood and watched them glide gracefully out over the tops of trees, across the narrow canyon, over the pristine water so very far beneath them. They slid up to the far end of the cable and then slowly began their return.

And stopped. With the enigmatic announcement of "pictures",the tarabita operator paused the cart over the deepest part of the ravine.

We could hear the commotion all the way back at the platform. 

We tried to yell helpfully, "Pictures!" but they let us know in no uncertain terms that pictures were not on the agenda, and I think I may have heard a suggestion or two about what our fates might be if we did not get them back to firm land Right Now. After about a minute, the tarabita started up again and completed its journey.

I have never before, in my entire life, seen anyone get off a tarabita so fast.

After we had all had a chance to ride the tarabita across the river, the truck took us back down the mountain. We paused at the Mindo river to skip stones and take family pictures against the lush backdrop before getting back on our waiting bus.

First, lunch and a rest. Then we walked past the square to a special session arranged for us with Victor, a local chocolatier. After an interactive lesson on the history and craft of chocolate-making, Victor brought out trays of fresh fruit to dip in the chocolate the group had just made. It was a perfectly delicious way to end the day. 

Wednesday or, How to slide down a mountain: Susan Alban and her husband, Luis, own a coffee plantation outside of Mindo and agreed to take us out to see it. After breakfast, and making sure that everyone put their "walking shoes" on, we piled into a pick-up truck that took us to the entrance to the trail. 

Susan and her three dogs led the way. Emilio, who works for the Albans, soon made his way back to me; an experienced woodsman, he knew a weak link when he saw one. For one thing, when I packed walking shoes, I packed them with the streets of Quito in mind. Leather soles are not the smartest thing for narrow dirt paths that go up... and down... and twist and turn... and have sharp drops... and occasional mud... and it was on one of the muddy "downs"that my feet slipped out from under me and I went down flat on my rear.  

I burst out laughing. The guys all turned to help me up, but after surveying the path ahead of me, it seemed more logical for them to wait. Then I scooted on my bottom to where the path leveled off a bit more before getting back on my feet. 

And so we continued on. The uphill parts weren't too bad. Emilio and sometimes Patrick or Blake or Travis (or any combination thereof), would give me a hand or a boost and I generally stayed on my feet. When we came to a downhill spot that was too steep for comfort, I would sit and scoot. 

Once at the plantation, Susan showed us the coffee cherries at different points of ripeness. We found some wild moras and wandered among scattered banana trees. It was beautiful and peaceful and real.

Eventually, we started toward the road - not back the way we came, but down to the other side of the plantation. We hiked past the top section of the waterfall that graces the Alban's land. My guardian angel Emilio, with the help of my three guys, gave me a hand, an arm, a shoulder as needed but for the most part it was me vs. mountain.

My dignity was long since moot, but at least I could make it mostly on my own steam.  

The rest of the group mastered the trail easily. One banged knee, a few ant bites, but by and large, they were all doing great - and were way ahead of me. By the time we got to the middle section of the waterfall, the mountain clearly had the upper hand. I was willing to settle for not requiring rescue by pack mule.

It was at the end of the trek, where the final slope led down to the bottom of the hill, that I made my final stand. I wish I could say"triumphantly", but that's hard to pull off when you're round, middle-aged, red-faced, panting, wheezing, hobbling and the back of your pants holds the mud of the last two hours.

To my left was the final descent, steep and daunting. Emilio pointed to my right. There, at the bottom of a lush, green slope, was the end of my journey. A large rock rested by a rippling stream. At that moment, it was the most beautiful rock in the world.

We took a picture there; I am sitting on the rock with my whole adventurous crew behind me. 

What the camera angle does not show is the me-sized swath of flattened vegetation where I threw any remaining dignity to the wind and slid on my bottom all the way down that last hill, coming to a rest a couple of feet from home base.

I'm counting it as a win.

[next up... Quito, the airport and our Thanksgiving Cuy]