Having conquered Cotopaxi, I headed for the action packed town of Baños, a couple hours south of Quito, to meet back up with Dan. From Papagayo I made my way to the highway and flagged down one of the many buses passing through. Conscious of Dan’s drama during a similar bus trip, where his bags were slashed and his cameras and chargers were all stolen, I made sure to keep all my valuables firmly grasped on my lap, and warily eyed the dodgy candy and dvd salesmen that jumped on and off the bus, always choosing me to sit next to me on a bus with plenty of empty seats.

I checked into our hostel Plantas y Blanco and with Dan nowhere in site, I headed out to assuage my ravenous hunger. I hit on the place that would become my food sanctuary over the next couple of days, Cafe Hood (“where the food is good”), visiting it an inordinate amount of times in the brief period I was in Baños. Although simply a very basic snack without the usual accoutrements, the nachos there were unrivalled during my South American escapades.

I located Dan in the waning afternoon sun at Plantas y Blanco, and putting aside our Cotopaxi differences, we cracked a few rooftop beers and took in the views of the beautiful churches and colonial buildings of Baños. On the steep hills surrounding the valley-nestled Baños, many houses could be seen, clinging dangerously to the cliffs, and with no roads even close to these abodes, I was amazed at the choice of location. Even simple tasks like getting the groceries would appear to be particularly arduous, trudging up and down these lofty inclines. To the east, a view of the thermal baths, from which Baños gets it name, could also be seen, resting in against the cliff face where waterfalls cascaded down around it. It was easy to discern why so many travelers we had met along the way raved about this place.

Dan and a friend from uni that he had randomly bumped into had decided on taking the night tour with another group from the hostel, to the lookout above Baños. I wasn’t too keen on the idea but changed my mind at the last minute. That decision took me on one of the worst tours I’ve ever encountered. Tumbling into the back of an open air truck lined with bench seats and lit up like a acid-addled christmas tree, although the music blaring out was painfully kitsch, there still appeared some hope that it could all be a bit of fun. With the biting chill assailing us on the drive up, this promise of fun rapidly disintegrated.

We reached the lookout, and parked alongside a platoon of neon plastered trucks and soon found that there would be hardly any looking from the look out tonight. Underneath the brightly lit giant cross that looks down over Baños, we could see that the town was blanketed in a thick fog, stubbornly rooted to the valley floor. Our group spoke little Spanish, which was unfortunate because our “tour guide” spoke no English, although I’m not sure this communication deficiency would have mattered, as our guide didn’t seem the chatty type. Pouring us all a warm glass of tequila mixed with what I presume was low-grade rocket fuel, he retreated, leaving us to soak in the sights ourselves, while other groups appeared to be involved in informative discussions. I tried unsuccessfully to take some “arty” shots of the twinkling lights poking through in a hazy glow, but soon gave up in the freezing fog, and went back to the truck to huddle on a bench. A group gathered around an enterprising busker who was telling jokes and spitting fire, but once again my ignorance of the Spanish language precluded me from this small modicum of entertainment. So after an hour of sitting at a lookout in the torturous cold without any views, we endured a sullen drive back to the hostel. Even if the weather had been gloriously clear and the views stunning, I can’t imagine a situation that would require an hour looking over a town, unless a well equipped bar was close at hand.
Thankfully the tour was over though, and we could put the unfortunate incident behind us. The following day though would make up for it in spades.