Landslides and the Great Depression of Baños

We reached a dead end. A cliff of mud after climbing in the dark over hundreds of feet of falling volcanic debris, which continued to roll treacherously around us. I felt the rocks and dirt start sliding out from under my feet. The university student from Riobamba and his aunt sliding next to me, as we flew down the landslide in the cover of night, when the police would not be there, the headlamp bouncing uncontrollably as we caused an avalanche of mud to fall down hundreds of feet with us.

In my province, Tungurahua, a state of emergency has been called. The worst rains in 45 years have devastated the countryside and absolutely destroyed the infrastructure. Thursday, the road between Salasaca and Baños simply crashed into the swollen flooded river hundreds of feet below. I managed to edge around the side of the mess and walk several hours on the route to Baños on Friday. Then they closed the way, even to walkers. There is absolutely no way to get in or out of Baños. The town is running low on supplies. I was stuck in Baños. Sunday, I tried to leave Baños to make it to Inti Raymi, the Incan sun festival, in Salasaca. After walking a few hours through flooded roads that buses could not drive through, I reached the largest landslide, the disaster area.

Machines like grotesque animals pushed dirt around hundreds of feet above us. A sheer cliff of dirt obscured the tiny path that I had used a mere two days before. The machines triggered more landslides, the mountain slipping into the river, trapping everyone in Baños. The police arrived and told us to go back to Baños. The freezing rain lashed our tired bodies, and the people around me decided if the could not leave, neither could the police. They surrounded the police car, banging on the windows and the hood, out of desperation, after hours of walking in the cold, the wind, the mud. Back to Baños, I thought resolutely. Through the sheets of rain I walked, returning to Baños, no way home. My bones so cold I thought my soul was shivering when a man on a motorcycle stopped abruptly, the only vehicle that I had seen all day. ´´To Baños? Two dollars.´´ A ridiculous price. But my frozen fingers unglued to dig out the money. Accepting helmetless motorcycle rides from reckless Ecuadorian strangers on Ecuadorian roads in the rain. Usually a bad idea. But the freezing rain changes your persepective.

Monday, the news comes on the family television. No leaving Baños for 8 days. But I had to get back to the school. For my students. Thus I found myself sneaking over a crumbling landslide in the night with two other reckless fools. No need to reprimand me, Mom, Mamaw, I know what you are going to say already.

Baños is dying. No way in means no way in for tourists. In a town where everyone works for the tourist dollar, I felt like I was in a ghost town, or in the great depression. The tourists already have not come for months because of the horrid weather. But now there are none. Zero. Everyone owns a tour agency, or a craft store, or an internet cafe. And the few who dont work directly in tourism are suffering because no one has money to go to the hardware store, for example. And, as I have noted before, no one has any saving.

He shows up at Santiago´s store to lament one thing or another, a friend. His jacket has a small hole in it. ´´What happened there?´´ we ask. ´´That was breakfast,´´ he laughed bitterly. ´´No money for food, so I am eating my jacket. I think I´ll have the hood for lunch.´´

And it is only going to get worse, I fear.