"The time has come," the Walrus said,
"To talk of many things:
Of shoes--and ships--and sealing-wax--
Of cabbages--and kings--
And why the sea is boiling hot--
And whether pigs have wings."
"To talk of many things:
Of shoes--and ships--and sealing-wax--
Of cabbages--and kings--
And why the sea is boiling hot--
And whether pigs have wings."
After fighting our way down the coast through mosquito-plagued, swampy, and shady border towns, we finally found a place that justified the trip… Canoa- our own little paradise in Ecuador. A tiny finishing and surfing village comprised of a few dirt roads and an amazing 200-meter wide beach, Canoa has attracted more than it’s fair share of travelers that were passing through and haven’t left. Although we arrived just before surf season the waves were great and we were happy to find that it is possible to get a tan on the Equator.
Upon arrival we quickly settled into a small Alaskan/Mexican-run beachfront hostel called Coco Loco. The owner was having a few cocktails with a group of travelers that we’d met earlier on in Mompiche, so we joined in to what quickly became a happy hour routine for the week. The beach itself was practically empty, with more colorful fishing boats lined up than sunbathers. The shore stretches past town to some formidable cliffs that can be hiked to only at low tide; a scramble up the rocks reveals bat-filled caves and supposedly the occasional blue-footed booby visiting from the Galapagos. On nice afternoons the sky at the other end of the beach filled with paragliders, taking advantage of the constant and refreshing breeze. Fresh fish and ceviche make up most of the local cuisine with the occasional pizza joint and even a Basque restaurant to keep things interesting.
After a week of being greeted by smiles and surfing invitations from locals and ex-pats alike we weren’t sure we would be able to leave. Elizabeth, the hostel owner, even wanted to plan and host a beachfront wedding for us! We weren’t getting too much surfing done though, as I was recovering from tweaking my neck earlier in the week. We decided that we had to hit the road, hoping to make it to Baños by Thanksgiving. I’m sure a return to Canoa awaits us at some point in the future. I just hope it doesn’t change too much.
P.S. 2 questions about our bus ride back to Quito: Why does the salsa music have to keep blaring all night on the bus? Why the intense pat downs and searches of passengers who get on at the bus station if we are going to pick up anyone (no search needed) who flags the bus down on the road throughout the night?
Upon arrival we quickly settled into a small Alaskan/Mexican-run beachfront hostel called Coco Loco. The owner was having a few cocktails with a group of travelers that we’d met earlier on in Mompiche, so we joined in to what quickly became a happy hour routine for the week. The beach itself was practically empty, with more colorful fishing boats lined up than sunbathers. The shore stretches past town to some formidable cliffs that can be hiked to only at low tide; a scramble up the rocks reveals bat-filled caves and supposedly the occasional blue-footed booby visiting from the Galapagos. On nice afternoons the sky at the other end of the beach filled with paragliders, taking advantage of the constant and refreshing breeze. Fresh fish and ceviche make up most of the local cuisine with the occasional pizza joint and even a Basque restaurant to keep things interesting.
After a week of being greeted by smiles and surfing invitations from locals and ex-pats alike we weren’t sure we would be able to leave. Elizabeth, the hostel owner, even wanted to plan and host a beachfront wedding for us! We weren’t getting too much surfing done though, as I was recovering from tweaking my neck earlier in the week. We decided that we had to hit the road, hoping to make it to Baños by Thanksgiving. I’m sure a return to Canoa awaits us at some point in the future. I just hope it doesn’t change too much.
(These kids saw us taking photos and wanted to show off for the camera...)
P.S. 2 questions about our bus ride back to Quito: Why does the salsa music have to keep blaring all night on the bus? Why the intense pat downs and searches of passengers who get on at the bus station if we are going to pick up anyone (no search needed) who flags the bus down on the road throughout the night?
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