"Fraaaaaaancoooooo, Ingles" The woman behind the counter at the Hostal Abalorio cooed. A man rustled a little on the couch in the lobby under a heap of blankets. She called Franco’s name a few more times until he rose from the couch. Half asleep, Franco hobbled towards us. Struggling to do two things at once in his stupor, his put the small round glasses on his face and asked if we spoke German before resorting to English.
"Sorry, I’ve been up all night, I’m normally not a lazy boy. We’ve been very busy with the Carnival.” Franco apologized.
Six hours before arriving at the Hostal Abalorio Cary and I had hopped on yet another exciting bus ride to the unfortunately named Banos. Nestled in the valley’s of the Andes, Banos is named for you guessed it, baths. Hot springs are plentiful in the area and at least four bath houses have been built to take advantage of the natural wonder. Additionally, a small city has grown up in the area to accommodate the incoming tourists.
We had announced to several people that we’d be heading to Banos at some point in this trip. Responses had varied.
"Banos? Ah, well you’re young, you’ll like it"
"Really? Well, you should do the bike ride"
I got the distinct impression that Banos wasn’t exactly a place that locals expected Gringos to go.
Our bus ride was once again fraught with excitement. First, after confirming with a bus attendant that we were on the right bus, we found out that we were on the wrong bus. As it was taking off towards another city. The attendant who previously assured us that we were on the right bus was kind enough to almost stop the bus before kicking us off so that we could board the correct one.
A few minutes and lessons later we discovered the correct bus and settled in for the three hour trip. Some notes about buses in Ecuador:
- They are never full. There’s always room for one more.
- There is no reason to bring food, someone will sell it to you later.
- There will be one passenger who vomits on every trip. Guaranteed.
All of the above occurred on every single bus trip we took. We seemed to go out of our way to pick up additional passengers, especially the food vendors. If someone vomited, it was not out of the ordinary for another passenger entering the bus later to throw a few newspapers down and take a seat on top of it. Unique to the ride to Banos however was the sheer length of time if took to get there. Banos was a mere three hour ride on a good day. We happened to be arriving towards the tail end of Carnival, and if traffic was any indicator, all of Ecuador had descended into the little valley for the party. Our ride dragged from three hours to six, and if you recall bus rule number 1, our bus was packed full of Carnival-goers. It was easily the most miserable commute I’ve ever made.
Which is why I wasn’t particularly in the mood to make conversation with Franco, the English speaking proprietor of Hostal Abalorio. Frank Fix, known locally as "Franco El Blanco", was a pharmacist in his home country of Germany before becoming part owner of the little hostel in Banos. He spends his winters operating the hostel to avoid the German cold, translating for the rest of the staff when necessary. We helped Frank flex his English for a few minutes, dumped our backpacks in the hostel and set out for the city to stretch our legs.
There is a little place in Georgia called Helen. It is affectionately known as ‘Alpine Helen’. Every year in September Helen hosts its own little Oktoberfest. At the height of the celebrations traffic into Helen comes to a complete standstill, and the streets become so clogged with stein-swinging Georgians that even walking around without getting beer-soaked is impossible.
Banos is to Ecuador as Helen is to Georgia.
It was clear that this was the tourist getaway for the natives of Ecuador. The streets were jam-packed with Carnival goers. Where Helen has fudge Banos has taffy-pullers, who stretch lengths of melted sugar sometimes eight to ten feet in length from the street to their shop, pulling the candy just millimeters before it touched the sidewalk.
Cary and I stopped at a street-side bar to take it all in, and realized that it was getting awfully crowded on our particular street. Eventually a live band started up and the street was alive with dancing and drinking. I wandered into a bar to see if we could get a balcony seat, only to be chased out by a teenager wearing a huge pair of earphones around his neck. He tried to tell me they were about to film a promotion inside, and to come back in ten minutes.
It was getting late so Cary and I headed back to the hostel instead. Frank had mentioned that he would like to take a trip to the baths in the morning before it got too crowded, and asked if we’d like to to join him. At 4:30 am. We actually agreed to this, and I still don’t know why. We had a full day of soaking, canyoning and cycling in store for us, it was time to crash.