Vilcabamba, the Valley of Longevity. I read about this place when I was a sixth grader in Mrs. Fornoles' Enrichment Reading program. Amidst tales of killer African bees and spontaneous human combustion, the mysterious Ecuadorian village of Vilcabamba found its way into our "Phenomenon" books because of its unusually high number of centenarians. Was it the clean air, a healthy lifestyle or perhaps something in the water?
Whatever the cause, I wanted to check it out. It was a perfectly poetic end to my time in Ecuador.
After a weekend trip to Cuenca (an adorable town known for its exemplary Spanish colonial architecture), I took a bus to Loja (on which I spied a passenger carrying stilts...people take some strange things onto Ecuadorian buses, but I was shocked to see that people were allowed to carry their machetes on the buses! yikes! "Don't tick that woman off!"). I then boarded an empty bus to Vilcabamba. I felt a smidge uncomfortable being the only passenger on a bus heading to unfamiliar territory, but that feeling evaporated as we stopped every ten minutes to pick up and drop off temporary passengers that filled the bus to capacity at one point in the journey. When the bus arrived in Vilcabamba after sunset, I left only one other passenger on the bus and took a taxi to a backpackers' hostal about a mile up into the hills.
I threw my own backpack on, grabbed my quillow (a quilt OR a pillow, genius!...thanks again, Grandma!) and followed the neat stone path to the reception area. As I waited for someone to appear, I poked my head around the corner to take a look at the guests who were all seated in the dining area. I almost laughed out loud as I saw a dining room full of gringo faces lit by candlelight. I had been hoping I would be spending a few days in a peaceful village unknown to most gringos. What was I thinking? If I'd read about this place as a child in Oxnard, California, there must have been others who'd heard of the cousin to the Fountain of Youth, too. And why on earth wouldn't there be a mass invasion of gringos trying to capitalize off the situation?
Well, I can't get too high up on a soap box because I met a lot of cool gringos at that hostal including one of the owners, a German named Peter with blue eyes and a huge crown of blonde dred locks resting on his head (not my idea of a typical German ;) ).
* * *
After a somewhat restless night due to a persistent mosquito, I awoke early and ate a scrumptious breakfast the next morning in the dining room. There I was able to appreciate my surroundings fully thanks to the daylight. The open air dining room's peaceful ambiance was primarily inspired by the incredible views of the mountains and valley we were nestled in.
I basked in the tranquil morning before giving myself a pep talk about a 2.5 hour hike around the valley. I had set my mind on the low intensity and short trail since I was on vacation and out of shape, but Peter convinced me to step up and take a different trail to get the best views of the valley and end up in the center of town eventually. Totally worth it even though the hike kicked my butt. The views were incredible and it was so quiet and calm. It was reminiscent of Colorado summer weather with California foliage. Lovely! Stopped at the top of a hill to slow my panting a bit and talked to a local, a very nice woman with a little one wrapped up on her back and another little guy tottering after her. She confirmed that there were indeed many extremely old folks in the town and that her own parents were in their 80's and still very active. I also hiked past a gaggle of gringos in the middle of construction on a mini mansion. Lots of foreigners move to that area apparently since the land is so cheap. I saw an advertisement for a 3 bedroom, 3 bathroom home with 17,000 square feet, a pool, a BBQ area and a guest home to boot for $220,000! So, who's moving with me to Vilcabamba?! :) JK, but you can see the appeal.
At the end of my descent from the mountains I finally reached the town. I was surprised to see an equal ratio of gringos (a blend of expats and tourists) to Ecuadorians (locals and tourists, as well) walking through the main square. There's not much to the town really, just a church and a handful of shops and diners. After eating a massive lunch (including the first course of soup with a chicken foot in it), I returned to the hostal to read in a hammock and enjoy the quiet of the hillside hostal.
* * *
The next day I found myself on horseback for four hours literally galloping around the outskirts of town. It was absolutely frightening at times as we swiftly wound up, down and around the hills on dirt or rocky paths, across rivers and streams, through low tree branches,...but man, what a rush! So worth the sore bum the next day! I went with an Aussie named Eugene, two German teachers, Eva and Marieke, as well as our guide Edgar who kept egging my horse Tequila (yeah, that's right) to go even faster as she was the fastest horse in her street racing posse.
Mr. Ed, meet Tequila! (No relation to Tila, hopefully.)
Best views of the valley!
During my brief visit to Vilcabamba, I chatted with several locals about the supposedly many residents in their 80's, 90's and even 100's. The owner of the horse operation told me that his own grandmother was alive and kicking at 104. He told me of a Saturday morning workshop of sorts for the old folks in which they assembled a special kind of cigarettes with a mysterious blend of ingredients. An Italian lady staying at my hostal even said that her primary purpose in visiting the place was to find out about these puff sticks. She even handed me literature about them that suggested that cocaine might be found in them (well, they do make tea using the coca leaf, so why not put it into a cigarette, I guess!).
Cease tangent. Back to the day of horseback riding. On our way out of town toward the hills during our horseback ride, the guide Edgar told me that a gentleman walking excrutiatingly slowly and quite hunched over on the street beside us was 115 years old! Suddenly, any allure of extreme longevity began to dissipate for me.
Later that night, my polo crew and I met up with our guide and his cousin to check out a local bar (again, full of gringo folk) and try the "snake juice" I'd kept hearing about. A snake in some ungodly alcoholic formaldehyde, a worm in the tequila...what's up with putting creatures in our beverages?! Please observe my and Eva's reaction below.
I thought I my throat was closing up due to an allergic reaction or something. The foulest substance I have ever ventured to taste. Just say "no" to culebritas!
* * *
For my last day in Vilcabamba, I thought I'd take a more leisurely stroll that didn't end in me seeing the migraine aura (since I hadn't packed enough water for a 2.5 hour hike in the heat of the midday sun like my first hike there). It was so crazy to wander around the hills near Vilcabamba to see a house like this...
I discovered a cemetery that I later found out was the newer one with graves from the 1980's onward. I was hoping to do some investigative work to see how long people really lived out here, but there was such a hodgepodge assortment of graves and most of them only listed the death date. But it was eerily serene there.
I excused myself as I asked this woman's son what they were doing cutting at the limbs of this tree. He explained to me that the milk dripping onto the leaves on the ground (as well as into a jar in his hand, not pictured) was used to treat wounds. Hmm, perhaps a unique combination of natural medicine, clean air & water, an outdoorsy lifestyle, and just the established precedent of longevity can be attributed to the long lives of Vilcabambans. Who knows? I'm just glad that I chose this as my final Ecuadorian excursion.
