A Quiet Night at Casa Gangotena – Rooftop Moonlight and Bathtub Meditation in Quito

🌫️ Mashpi Day 3 – A Farewell Left in the Air

🕔 05:00–07:00 | A Final Early Step Between Shadows of Trees

From the terrace of the Yaku Suite on the second floor,
the air felt chilly—18°C—with 95% humidity soaking everything.
My hair, the blanket, even the breath itself—
everything was steeped in invisible moisture.

Soft raindrops had been tapping gently on the glass ceiling since dawn.
I opened my eyes before the alarm, silenced it,
and stepped out in slippers to open the glass door.

The forest was saturated, holding back a downpour like a swollen dam.
Beneath a heavy fog that hung like a cloud pressed against the earth,
my feet met the uneven soil of the trail.

Gnarled tree roots burst up through the mud,
intertwined with scattered stones.

All around—far and near—birds of every color perched on the trees
like living flowers.
Dripping in morning light and dew,
they sang the dawn into existence.

🕖 07:00–09:00 | A Final Cup Beneath the Birds’ Song

I stepped into the lobby of Mashpi
and sat at a table by the floor-to-ceiling glass, just beside the lounge.

The air was 19°C—cool and damp—
but more than just air, it felt like breathing in living moisture,
as if the entire atmosphere pulsed with hidden life.
The humidity was 90%.

Just beyond the glass,
a massive tree stood tall, and on one of its branches,
a Tanager was calmly preening its feathers.

Even when our eyes met—his yellow eyes locking onto mine—
he didn’t flinch.
With a blue back and red chest,
he simply continued grooming himself,
as if to say, “You're not new here.”
As if he had seen enough visitors to know there was no danger.

The drink arrived—
a large, clear glass filled with sparkling water,
infused with lime and ginger syrup,
blended with wild guava leaves,
ice cubes gently floating on the surface.

The first sip stung sweetly on my tongue—
sharp, cold, vibrant.

I said nothing.
Only watched.
Through the glass, I observed the bird,
the trees,
the quiet breath of the jungle.

There was nothing to say.
Only to sit there and let the silence speak for us both.

🕘 09:00–11:00 | Brunch – A Slow Farewell on the Plate

I stepped out onto the outdoor terrace,
walking eastward into the softening sun.
The morning air was warmer than before—21°C—
and the humidity held at 88%, still wrapping everything in gentle moisture.

On a tightly woven bamboo table,
three layers of crispy toast arrived,
each one topped with passion fruit jam, cornmeal dust, and a light shaving of cheese.
Another slice was layered with creamy avocado and tropical fruits,
garnished with slivers of lime peel and fresh basil.
And beside them, a chia seed crepe—
its surface glossed with fig and cream cheese,
soft and slightly melting at the edges.

I sipped my coffee slowly,
letting its warmth meet the crisp sweetness of the fruit,
the nuttiness of the bread,
the soft salt of the cheese.
Each bite lingered before vanishing—
as if every flavor was saying goodbye
without a single word.

Above, the ceiling of clear glass held droplets—
tiny beads of dew poised delicately before they broke.
Outside, clouds of deep blue and soft white folded into each other,
casting shadows and light in shifting rhythms across the sky.
The sun moved quietly between them,
painting everything with changing tones,
like a farewell brushed in light.

🕚 11:00–13:00 | The Walk Back – Between Light and Shadow

On the way back to my Yaku Suite,
the sound of my footsteps echoed softly through the hallway,
bouncing gently off the glass walls.

Inside the room, my belongings were still untouched—
a simple arrangement, quietly waiting.
I walked to the window and pushed it fully open.

Below, in the garden, the Heliaconia had bloomed—
their red-orange blossoms glowing in the muted light.

Large blue butterflies were everywhere.
Some floated near the window,
others had landed on the flowers below.

One blue butterfly sat on a bloom
so delicately it looked like a blue flower itself—
its wings fluttering like soft petals,
alive, breathing, lifting into the air
with a weightless grace.

I finished packing.
It was a small bag—there wasn’t much to do.
I zipped it shut.

Then I stood before the glass wall again,
and stared out at the forest.

Even with the glass between us,
the forest and I were still breathing together—
one rhythm,
one quiet heartbeat
shared through the silence.

🕐 13:00–15:00 | Check-out – The Lingering Touch, the Weight of the Threshold

I stood before the front desk,
ready to check out.
The staff welcomed me with a wide, warm smile and said,
“Gracias por caminar con nosotros.”
—Thank you for walking with us.

With slow, quiet steps,
I made my way to the door.

Even in those final moments,
my eyes clung to the forest
reflected in the transparent glass wall—
as if it were a part of me I couldn’t yet release.

And then,
I stepped outside.

Beyond the door,
the true wild greeted me:
birdsong in every direction,
a distant animal’s call,
the chirping of insects,
and the soft, whispering rustle
of green leaves stirred by a gentle breeze.

For two nights and three days,
I had lived inside a breathing piece of nature—
separated from it
by nothing more than a single sheet of glass.

It was like dwelling in a dream,
while the world outside
kept singing, pulsing, living.

🕒 15:00–17:00 | The Way Down – Winding Curves of Memory

I left the hotel
and stepped into the private car I had reserved.

We drove past Via a Pacto,
then through Nanegalito,
slowly heading toward Quito.

In a glass vase next to the driver’s seat,
a few delicate orchids swayed softly with each curve.

Outside the window,
lush clusters of bromeliads flashed by—
a blur of green and red,
each one holding the memory of damp, fragrant air.

But now,
that moisture was gone.

Through the slightly open window,
the dry wind of the city began to touch my face,
gently but distinctly—
a reminder that I was returning.

From the radio,
a quiet classical guitar melody drifted into the car,
like the kind you'd hear in a café at dusk.

Mashpi was no longer in sight.
It had vanished behind the folds of the mountain,
yet somehow,
I felt it drawing closer.

I said nothing.
I simply gazed out the window—
watching the trees, the clouds,
and the soft unraveling of what had just been lived.

🌆 Quito One-Night Stay – At the Window Where Memories Settle

🕔 17:00–19:00 | Check-in – Evening Light at Casa Gangotena

I checked into Casa Gangotena,
2nd floor, Plaza view room,
and began to unpack my things.

The room temperature was 19°C—
cool, almost chilly—
with a comfortable 60% humidity.

The linen curtains swayed gently,
riding the evening breeze,
and caught the soft orange light of the setting sun—
brushing lightly against my body as if in greeting.

I opened the half-cracked balcony door wide.

Behind it, the sunset slowly descended
as the city lights began to blink on—
one by one,
like stars woven into the landscape of rooftops and stone.

Even though I had left the forest behind,
its shape,
its breath,
remained alive in my eyes and my heart.

I sat quietly on the balcony chair,
watching the city
turn red with the setting sun,
watching it bloom
into a soft constellation of lights.

🕖 19:00–21:00 | Dinner – Quiet Reflections on the Rooftop

I went up to the Rooftop Bar of Casa Gangotena.

The city lights, already dense,
now sparkled even more tightly together—
perhaps because night had fully arrived,
and the last traces of sunlight had slipped away.

Being on the rooftop,
the air was cooler at 17°C,
and the 58% humidity gave it a soft, lingering moisture.

The church spire, towering nearby,
glowed more gently than the moon itself—
a serene kind of radiance.

There were only a few tables occupied,
each spaced far apart,
four at most.

From each table,
soft voices rose,
punctuated by laughter and quiet smiles.

People were enjoying their meals slowly,
watching the city’s lights bloom beneath the sky.

I ordered a glass of Ecuadorian white wine
and a plate of oven-roasted salmon cru
gently brushed with corn butter and lime marinade.

The moist, tender texture of the fish,
paired with the tart juiciness of herbs and citrus,
was exquisite—
both comforting and fresh.

In the jungle, the quiet was absolute—
a silence wrapped in vines and mist.

But here,
on the rooftop above the city,
the quiet was different—
wrapped in soft cafe music,
a breeze brushing the table,
and the gentle flicker of city lights.

This peacefulness,
bathed in rooftop dusk,
felt like a kind companion.

🕘 21:00–23:00 | In the Room – Glass Windows and Slowly Swaying Curtains

Back in my second-floor room at Casa Gangotena,
I sat quietly by the window next to the bathtub.

The temperature had dropped to 15°C,
and the humidity at 62% gave the air a crisp bite.
It was chilly enough that I turned on the warm bathwater,
sprinkling in rosemary salt and lavender salt.

As the water slowly rose to my waist,
it shimmered under the warm glow of the bedside lamp,
its surface gently rippling like liquid light.
I added a few drops of tea tree oil.

Outside the glass,
the city had fallen asleep,
but its dense web of glowing lights remained—
a luminous quilt spread beneath the sky.

Above it all,
a full moon—pale yellow, vivid—
hung in the dark,
sharply contrasted against the cold, blue-tinged clouds.

After the bath,
I stepped out and lay on the bed,
pulling out a small laptop and a worn notebook.

There, I wrote down thoughts
that had been quietly waiting in my heart.

They read like a poem.

Though the setting had changed,
from forest to city,
the life force of the jungle,
the vivid breath of the wild,
remained fully alive within the lines of my old notebook.

Now, it was time to sleep,
wrapped not in vines or branches,
but under a blanket woven from thousands of city lights.

The moon watched quietly
as my eyelids grew heavier,
and gently, unknowingly,
closed.