We awoke to a gloriously sunny, blue sky day, in stark contrast to the gloomy evening previous. Baños appeared to me as very much the Queenstown (NZ) of Ecuador, full of action and adventure sports, in a picturesque, mountain setting. To begin this day of days, we headed for the town bridge, suspended over a deep rocky canyon, with a river slicing through far below. For a measly $15 US, we strapped ourselves into some questionable safety harnesses (Dan was lucky enough to notice his carabiner was not done up properly, and managed to remedy the situation in time) and prepared for some puenting. Puenting is similar to bungee jumping in that you dive head first off a bridge, but instead of going straight down and bouncing back up, you swing underneath the bridge in an arc (puente is spanish for bridge). Dan and I prepared for a simultaneous jump, and it was easy to have second thoughts, standing there on the edge of the platform and staring into the abyss below. Although I had been bungee jumping before in New Zealand, with all the safety precautions in place there, it had seemed a helluva lot safer.
Our instructor told us to just dive off like Michael Phelps. While like to think that I did a pretty good impression, Dan was more like Eric the Eel, belly flopping off the bridge into a crazy spin, rather than the smooth arc required. For fifteen bucks, it was a decent rush, especially as no injuries arose, and now it was time for the next adventure.
The road leading from Baños to Puyo is famed for its beauty, winding through magnificent valleys, past cascading waterfalls and along sections of cobbled roads. Many people hire bicycles for the some 60 km route, and make a day of it. We decided for an equally scenic, but far less tranquil version and hired ourselves some quad bikes. Again the price was ridiculously cheap by normal standards, setting us up for three hours of fun and laughter for around $25 US. Keeping it relatively tame inside the township, we sped off once we reached more open roads, flying past the grimacing, sweat-stained faces of the cyclists crawling up the hills. After riding a fair distance towards Puyo, we turned around and rode back up to the Bellavista look out above Baños and where treated to a much more stunning view than our previous night tour. With plenty of time left to run amok, we headed back over the puenting bridge, and wound our way up a rocky dirt road high above the other side of Baños. On such a clear day, the surrounding countryside was stunning, with perfect views across to the imposing Volcan Tungurahua, an active volcano that has erupted several times in recent years.
On the way back down Dan ran out of petrol, even though there was supposedly five hours worth in the tank (unless you thrashed them it seems). Having to roll the quad the whole way Dan, he began sliding around the corners, perilously close to the cliff edge. We made it back to the bridge before he lost momentum, and I left him there to weave my way back along the streets of Baños to the hire place to get some help. In a jumbled conversation I explained the situation and suffered through the disapproving stares (you took them up how many mountains?)
When we arrived back with a jerry can Dan delivered his explanation “no tengo gasolina!” which would become a common catchphrase in the coming days as an answer to every problem.
The afternoon was upon us and we drank another couple of roof top beers before heading to the hot springs to cap off an epic day. Soaking in the perfectly blistering temperature of the spring water with waterfalls crashing down nearby and the sun slowly dipping, life seemed pretty sweet. When the heat got too much, a system-shocking dive into the icy pools restored the allure. Holding my breath under the freezing waters, I could feel my heart beat become slower and slower as a serenely peaceful state enveloped me and time seemed to stand still. Having arrived right on time for the afternoon session, the pools were barely populated, but as the evening progressed and the crowds began to arrive, this was the impetus required to drag us away from there.
At the rooftop hostel bar, things were kicking into full swing, and I soon found myself working my way through a bottle of Appletons and “La Otra” Cola among a hysterically funny group of Dutch, American, English, German and Australian roof-party revellers. Though the hangover the following day proved quite severe, it was a worthy ending to such an entertaining day.