LUNA RUNTUN, Adventure SPA Guest Commentaries

Sleeping in the moon

After my rather disappointing Mindo experience, I put a damper on any expectations I had for Ecuadorian tourism hot spots. Still, when Paula said that she had a free night for two at a luxury hotel in Banos, I was the first to say "Pick me!" So she did.

The free night came with caveats, as free nights always do. We had to go before February, and we couldn't stay during a weekend night. Sundays, however, were fine, so we hopped on a bus at Terminal Terrestre early Sunday morning. For those who have never been there, Terminal Terrestre is a giant, salmon-colored, concrete mall of a building, shoved in the side of a hill in Quito west. The station is mainly empty, smells of urine and is a dangerous place to hang about.

Paula and I arrived by taxi, with our bags clutched to our chests, and made our way through several levels of building. On the ground floor were the ubiquitous food and chip carts; the teller windows were along the wall. As we walked along, searching the hanging signs, tellers and their runners called out destinations, trying to get us to board their buses.

There were three windows for Banos; the runners circled, pulling at us. Even after we found a ride that was leaving immediately and started to pay at the window, a very insistent woman kept yelling Paula towards her area, to a bus that wouldn't be leaving for another hour. The vendor finally gave up after we went through the station turnstile and into the parking area.

The road to Banos was lush and lovely, but I mostly remember the guy who put his dry cleaning bag in front of us so we couldn't see in front; the gory black and white bus movie - I couldn't sleep with all the screaming; and the indigenous man in his fedora who got on at a rural stop and whose odor of livestock, smoke and unwashed people was so overpowering, Paula had to open the window. I started to feel motion sick not far from our destination and fell into a deep sleep during the most scenic part.

We got off the bus in a parking area filled with sugar cane and fruit stands, then wandered into a my dream of a perfect little town, nestled in the Andes. The sidewalks were clean and wide; trees had been planted in areas marked by volcanic rocks. Paula walked along, trailing me, and tried to orient herself on a steeple. We finally located the Banos church in the main plaza. Lining two sides of the square were stalls with massive amounts of religious kitsch, topped, incongruously, by pool toys. On the main drag, men were looping taffy and pulling the candy out again. I loved Banos.

After an unmemorable lunch in an pretty Italian restaurant, I took Paula back out on the street and bought her taffy, which vendors were selling in 25, 50 and 75 cent pulls. Parents were buying yellow and white candy, wrapped in plastic, for their children. The taffy tasted like burnt sugar and was too sweet for me, so I only ate half before I threw it in the open mouth of a clown trash can (clowns scare me).

Then Paula and I wandered the town taking GPS points (it's a work thing). Or, rather, Paula took GPS points while I wrote down street names. I was carefully noting "Caldo de Gallina Criolla" when Paula pointed out that I was facing a restaurant and that the sign meant "chicken stew".

We finally caught a taxi the 6 km up to Luna Runtun adventure spa, on a bluff overlooking Banos. The taxi driver quoted us $6 for the ride, so I tried to work the price down. The the spa owner said the trip should be $5, I said - mistake! The driver was incensed. He never told her how to run her lodge, he said, why should she stick her nose in the taxi driving business!

In attempt to get him off the "prying nose" subject, I asked him what was growing in the green houses along the slopes of the hills. We then had a rather confusing conversation until I figured out he was telling me both tomates de arboles (tree tomatoes, a type of fruit) and tomates de parra (tomatoes of the vine, ie regular tomatoes) were grown there. He also pointed out the thin Chamana waterfall and Ulba, which was dry. Finally, we bumped down a cobblestone drive and into the gorgeous Luna Runtun proper.

Here's what we found out: If you pay the normal $70 per person fee, dinner and breakfast is included. If, however, you end up at Luna Runtun because the hotel donated a night for two to some benefit, all meals are on you. The receptionist let us know about that last part when we arrived. Fortunately, Paula had taken some extra money out at an ATM in town (with me guarding her back from a sweets vendor with a mirror, who was sitting on the step below the machine). I only had $30 and $20 of it was stuffed in my smelly sneaker.

We stopped caring about the cost when we walked into our room. There were huge beds piled with white duvets, a couch large enough to sleep on and a yellow leather La-Z-Boy recliner. Dark wood rimmed walls in sunset oranges and yellows. Painted birds and butterflies flitted by the lintels and picture windows framed a splendid view the volcanoes. There were post-and-beam ceilings, reed mats on the floor and the smell of roses in the air.

Having been pouring over a Luna Runtun brochure since we found it in the Italian restaurant, we jumped into our bathing suits, grabbed fluffy white towels and flip-flopped over to the spa. Paula made an appointment for a mud bath, I made one for a massage. All the fountains were filled with rose petals.

We then made our way over to the upper patio, with its four pools and jacuzzi. The pools - lined with tiny blue tiles - were different temperatures, sizes and shapes. The bottoms of the pools were curved into reclining chairs or benches.

Sitting in them, all you could see was the town below, volcanic mountains and an occasional vulture stalking the wind. I felt like I was on the edge of the world.

The first bath was steaming hot, too hot, so we settled into a slightly milder one. I also had a swim in the larger, cold pool before hopping in the bubbling jacuzzi, then the cold pool, then the very hot pool, then the mild one again. Paula took photos. Two English ladies, fellow guests, looked at us like we were nuts.

After we had stewed sufficiently, I showered in the outdoor area, then went back to the room to shampoo my hair. While Paula was blow drying, I lay on my bed in my clothes and sniffed the flowery, rosy scent of it. We ended the day in Cafe del Cielo, watching the lights come on in the town while eating chicken curry crepes, perfect chocolate mouse and, for me, an incredibly strong Pina Colada. (When Paula's stomach went south a little later, she blamed it on her huge salad which had had canned corn.)

The cafe, where it wasn't stonework, had been painted with all sorts of colorful woman in different sizes, whose hair extended out as though they were all falling. (We decided the artist had had been heavily tripping, saw some insects and decided they were fairies.)

Later, as Paula snored, I had dreams of bungee jumping out of trees and missing our spa appointment. We didn't miss our treatments, although we stopped at the cafe (for some reason the resort restaurant and dining room was closed during our visit) for eggs, rolls with marmalade, cafe con leche and yogurt with fruit.

I then took off most of my clothes (except my underoos) in a small spa room painted with flowers. For the next 30 minutes, a masseuse worked almond oil into my back and knots out of it. She had a disconcerting habit of whipping her hands after every move and cracking the joints. That, plus her sniffles, meant I enjoyed the experience but wasn't inclined to nod off. (Perhaps that was the point?) Having to turn over so she could massage my face was also odd. Paula called her mud bath "the strangest experience I've ever had," but marveled at how soft it made her skin. I was faintly disappointed no one at the spa was wearing indigenous costumes, like they were in the brochure.

I popped into the Banos church when we headed back through town (having caught a ride on a Luna Runtun shuttle, whose driver pointed out the four routes you could climb to the spa from town). The church interior was decorated with enormous paintings, recounting each time the townsfolk were in trouble and La Virgin de Agua Sana swooped down to saved them from harm. Most of the disasters involved Tungurahua erupting or someone falling off a cliff.

On the bus back to Quito, I had a chance to marvel at the scenery. We passed a hanging bridge with two white portals far below, a town devoted to nursery plants with hot peppers growing beside the road, a patchwork of fields climbing up the steep volcanic sides. We went by Vijaulas, the blue jean capital; indigenous Salasacas, where the children all wore black ponchos or pink wraps; the sulfur-green Laguna de Yambo; and Salcedo, city of cowboys. I bought a 50 cent bag of potato chips from one of the vendors that had hopped on the bus to ride for a few minutes, selling his wares. An woman with a fistful of empanadas sold out around lunchtime and got off, smiling.

I saw the feet of Cotopaxi, but heavy clouds blocked the face of the mountain. On the outskirts of Quito, a heavy rain began and washed the streets full of mud.

My taxi driver at Terminal Terrestre had a red rag over his meter. He then quoted me a price which was about twice what it should have been - he knew it and I knew it too. What he and I also knew, though, was that I didn't want to be standing along the highway during a tropical downpour. On the way to the city, he tried chatting me up (as Paula would say) by asking me my name, age, nationality, religion, occupation and life plans. I paid him his $3 and felt rather disgusted with taxi drivers.

When I got back to my room, I found all the clothes I had hung up to dry in the laundry, laid out in rows as though I was preparing to pack for a long journey. I hope Lupe isn't trying to tell me something.