Las Cascadas by Chiva-Bus

After a day of celebrating El Carnival in Ambato, Monday was somewhat more sedate for us.  Nan, Emma and I enjoyed a leisurely breakfast in one of the many restaurants on the main street in Baños. It is a challenge for Emma and I to go without much of the delicious looking bread that is available everywhere, so we make so with eggs, bacon, fruit, and, after a couple of suspect attempts, some delicious juice.  We had no big ambitions for the day. The other volunteers had all left early in the morning for another town some hours away, but we were in no mood for additional travel.  Nan and Emma went for a dip in the local hot springs, but they reported not being too happy with the extent of the holiday crowds all vying for the same space.  Far from being a ‘natural’ experience of taking a dip in some rock pools, these were more like oversized Jacuzzi’s, leaving one to wonder just what the source of heat really was.

For my part, I preferred the idea of sightseeing outside the town.  Along with many restaurants and bars, Baños boasts a wide selection of adventure travel shops geared towards kayaking, river-rafting, climbing, biking, jungle tours and more. It wasn’t hard to find the tour to suit my needs, so for $5.00, I booked a two and a half hour tour by ‘chiva-bus’ to some of the local waterfalls or ‘cascadas’. So, in the early afternoon, along with about 25 others, I scrambled into the back of what is essentially a covered truck, and we ventured east out of Baños, following the River Pastaza for a few km, past a large hydroelectric dam to the first of two sets of falls we would see. It was somehow awe-inspiring to think that the water from this river would eventually flow into the Amazon. All along the route I sat in the very back next to a discotheque-sized speaker that, fortunately, played a reasonable selection of music that didn’t quite destroy our hearing. 

Our first stop at a point where the river gorge is a few hundred meters wide afforded us the opportunity to climb aboard a very small cable-car that takes about 10 minutes to cross the gorge and back. I put my faith in the safety inspectors, paid my $1.50, and ventured across with half a dozen others.  It is indeed a truly spectacular location. Most amazing of all to me was to see that despite some incredibly steep slopes on the mountains, farming was still very evident high up above the valley floor. Getting up every morning to go to those fields takes some doing, especially as I could see no evidence of any roads to some of these areas.

Another favorite activity in this region is zip lining. Our tiny cable car was quite sedate compared to the zip-lines stretched across the very same valley. I watched a couple of people do this, wondering if I could pluck up the courage to do it myself (I think I can). The valley is wide enough that the people pretty much disappear from view by the time they reach the other side.  This option was not part of our current tour, but Emma seems willing, so hopefully we will get the chance again.

The chiva-bus then travelled another few kilometers east to another set of falls. We had to walk for about 15 minutes along a narrow path through some very equatorial looking vegetation, then across a decidedly wobbly suspension bridge to view these falls, whose name I am unsure about (I don’t think they are the famous Falls of Agoyan, which are a little further down river, but they are impressive nonetheless). Even more precarious than the bridge (which is at least held up by substantial steel cables) are the flimsy ropes that supposedly protect people from falling into the gorge below.  A narrow path descends down the side of the gorge, with, on this occasion at least, dozens of people moving in both directions. I made a point of being extra careful, and soaked up (almost literally) the impressive nature of the Falls.

The tour allowed us just forty minutes before we had to return to the bus, next to which was a very convenient food stall selling fried plantain. Served up in a natural plate of the original skin with a little butter, it was truly delicious.  The return journey meant running the gauntlet of several kids determined to continue the spirit of Carnival who launched water balloons, eggs and spray foam at the tourists.  One balloon landed squarely on the head of an infant right next to me as she was being nursed by her mother, both of whom were thoroughly drenched.  Such is the way that culture is infused from one generation to the next.