A Beautiful Bus Ride

The overgrown cactus and aloe-like plants whiz past the bus windows....the blue sky is almost entirely covered in heavy white clouds hanging close overhead....women haul water on their heads following the zig -zagging foot paths that wind their way up the dry brown mountain sides.... and R&B blares from the speakers above me. I'm in the Andes...the second highest range in the world, and mountains, some rolling and some rugged, spread out as far as I can see. Off in the distance, some are snow-capped volcanoes, rising as stately cones above the rest. The cliffs rising beside the road seem to be only crumbling sandstone in places, making it a sheer feat of luck that the bridges they build over deep ravines don't just slide off with the weight. The road cuts straight through the mountainside at times and makes me think a giant took an ax, split off a piece and moved it over so he could walk through instead of over it. This is a place of fantasy.

Dirty sheep, wandering cows and the occasional chicken cause the bus to lurch around as we fly up and down the winding roads. Small villages with mud-brick homes appear intermittently with barefoot children waving franticly while their elders stare sullenly at the interruption.

We're high, maybe 3000 m but the sun still beats down, hot and fierce. Now is the dry season. I can't decide between the suffocating heat or the dust pouring in through my open window, blackening my lungs and forcing me to do laundry...AGAIN!! But then someone throws up in the aisle and that eases my decision. Toy-toy waves in the breeze and does its part collecting some of the dust but my nose is already burning, my eyelashes crusty and I don't dare lick my lips. A small yellow flower appears showing us there is still some life within the soil, but other than that and the odd tree struggling to hold on to its leaves, it's as barren as a desert. And then, it's not. Green lawns appear, tall cedar trees, small lakes and streams, fence lines sprout up and sprawling farms appear. People on horseback gallop by and houses become bigger and more beautiful. Hydro towers break up the skyline and people suddenly use hoses and wear shoes. We must be near a town.

Smoke rises like steam from the crop fires in the nearby hills, and lone shacks sit high atop rugged peaks. The soil has turned red now and rain tracks separate it like old crooked fingers. They're growing pine tree forests to the left and plastic bottles to the right....a gift from Western Civilization....the bottles, not the pines! The rock changed again. It's black now, except for where it's broken off...then it's white. Is it limestone?

Finally the town appears. It's in a valley, lying in the shadow of a huge mountain shaped like a sleeping lizard. The cement trough running beside the road is probably their main water supply. A single white cross stands as a beacon on a hill at the town boundary. It's a small, poor town. Remnants of past voting posters peel from the houses, spray painted political slogans cover the walls but the red clay rooves gleam in the setting sun. We slow, and pretty girls jump on the bus or rap at our windows to sell their wares during our brief stop. I'm hungry so I buy a coke. The bags of rice and nameless meat are tempting but I stick to the "safe".

Back on the road, sleeping dogs cock their ears as we careen by leaving a cloud of dust in our wake and small brown faced children play by the roadside. A look out my window at the cliff we're perched so precariously on, gives my stomach a lurch. We slow down long enough to squeeze past a stalled pickup in the middle of the road and the men helping to push all look up to wave and smile..."there's no rush, life will go on"!

We had stopped at a really modern gas station a while back and I got out to use the bathroom there to avoid the usually smelly, filthy waterless one on the bus. And once again I was reminded where I was, as I saw the sink which had been disconnected and fitted with a plastic jug between the tap and the wall. The tap had been inserted into the jug and the idea was for it to be filled with water through the open spout and then accessed by turning on the tap. This might have worked very well...if there was actually water in the jug!!

A group of Indigenous got on right after this in their black skirts, colorful tops, black mafia hats and strands of gold beads around their necks. One lady and her 2 children, sat in the bus driver's seat, and he immediately kicked her to the back of the bus. Well, I hate to say it and it definitely isn't the norm, but the smell they brought with them made me wonder if they had no water to wash with either!! I opened my window wider to blow the stink out and got a fresh batch of dust in my lungs!

The road which had been mostly paved until now, crumbles until it's nothing but dirt. The hills are green again and crops grow like rice fields, in steps, down the steep sides of the mountains where the farmers work them by hand. Donkeys and cows are herded along the road by little caped men with sticks. We stop for a little girl high up on horseback to steer her cows out of the way. We pass through another small village and all the Indigenous get off.

At a construction site, we wait behind a row of cars for the road to be cleared of rocks. Two little boys jump off the bus and run happily to play on a digger truck while the tractor above them, pushes boulders down the cliff face, meters away. We soon drive though the maze of leftover rubble as the rocks continue to fall towards us. Now, the roads get even more perilous! Down to one lane, piled with rocks of various sizes where whole chunks of mountain have tumbled down...we're now attempting to pass a truck! The attempt is foiled however, as another truck comes barreling around the corner from the other direction and we have to fall back in place. An actual water line appears, cemented to the rock in places before disappearing into the mountainside.

Finally, the valleys widen until I can see further, to the black mountains in the background, rising up to the clouds and disappearing in shadows to the far off sea. And there, in the distant valley, sits Loja, and our final destination. It was a long five hour ride but not a second was wasted.