Las Grietas (the cracks) is aptly named I mused to myself as I gazed wonderingly at the towering cliffs of hardened lava above me. The sun-warmed chunks of pitted and cracked lava digging (not unpleasantly) into my back, warming it as I leaned up against them. It would be easy to make myself believe that the world had just cracked asunder to reveal the waters below it like a watermelon cracked open to bare it’s juicy fruit.
I lazily reached for my shirt; “I guess I’d be a seed”, I thought as I started to pull it over my head to cover my quickly drying bathing suit.
“No, no!” all of a sudden the group of Ecuadorian men (from Salinas) we had met at Las Grietas started waving their hands at me and shaking their heads as if to stop me from walking into a glass door, or into an uncovered manhole or some other grievous error.
“Que?” I asked, my shirt halfway to my head, my mouth hanging open stupidly in confusion.
“Primero, las fotos!” one of them, I think it was Pollo, handed his friend his camera and then clambered up the rocks to join me grinning broadly.
For the first 3 pictures or so I think I just stood there with my shirt hanging limply in my hand trying to figure out if this was really happening, and how offended I should be. But by the time we got to Willy and the other 4 or 5 stragglers I was beaming at the cameras, graciously sitting down when asked so I didn’t make the guys looks “too short” towering a foot over their heads.
I mean they did share their crackers and tuna with me after all.