Sights, Sounds, Smells

Desperate to evacuate the city life, we fled for the mountains. After a restful (mostly) period in Latacunga, Ameen and I set out for our first major hike, the Quilotoa loop. This three plus day excursion is not recommended for the faint of heart, Mickey D's guzzlin, new to altitudes freshy. For some silly reason we thought that after less than one week at Quito's 9K feet, we were ready to take it on. Back to that bit about it not being an adventure until everything goes wrong (or not as expected). Yeah, for really though. It's traveling in a foreign country with a language barrier. So of course, adventurers we are. Nothing is going to go as expected!
We had visions of grandeur about hiking through the mountains and camping overnight next to farms...until I spoke with Phil, the Aussie at the front desk of Hostal Tiana in Latacunga. He provided us with a seemingly reliable map that was accompanied by paragraphs describing trails from one town to the next, three full hiking days of trails total, to finally reach the climax of 14K feet at Quilotoa Laguna, a lake inside a crater. We were psyched. Then he broke the news that it would be bitter cold and we would not want to carry much more than xxkg (equivalent of somewhere less than 20 pounds or so) because the hike was grueling and he does bits of it once a week to stay fresh. So we ditched our gear at the storage room of the hostal and headed off.

Sights: A winding mountain road takes us up, up, up into small town after small town. A group of school children board the packed bus and cram into the aisle way. A super cute, youngish 6 year old girl makes herself comfy on a padded cushion (not really a seat) in front of our seats near the driver and starts to nod off. This bus essentially doubles as a school bus, presumably if the parents can afford to give their kids bus fare. Probably about 20 cents for their ride from the school to their houses where they are dropped off right in front. Chinatown busses and their random stops have nothing on busses in Ecuador so far. Seriously middle of nowhere, no explanation pickups and dropoffs for all non-Gringos. Middle school children acting the way they do worldwide, cram together to flirt, hit, pull hair, and tease. Ameen had a face-full of elbows, butts, and some popsicle dripped on his arm. There was definitely more room for them to move on back and out of our personal space, but that matters little culturally both based on norms and general age of middle schoolers.

Sounds: This busses brakes didn't sound too screechy, to which I was relieved. But I may have let out some awfully big sighs every time that we survived a close turn around the one lane mountain turns that the bus clung to while another car managed to pass around us all the while I'm imagining how I will possibly survive the crash...my personal version of worst-case scenario bus riding survival guide...holding on to seat I realized I was cushions, luggage racks, crawling through windows etc.

Smells: Arrival in Isinlivi, a small, dusty, farm town of probably not more than 150, but with two lovely hostals, side by side. Greeted at the town center by a lone woman cooking meats on a propane make-shift grill. I realized I was getting hungry and dug into the packed snacks to munch on candied nuts. Dust covered my face, but the air smelled so sweet and clean after being in smoggy cities, even large towns where taxis fill the streets and cars tend to not undergo rigorous emissions testing.

We chose the less expensive, newer hostal with a friendly host whom we tried desperately to understand. Politeness and smiles took us far here. Ameen napped, realizing that bus rides and altitude were not his best of friends, and I forced my way slowly up a small hill on the edge of town to scope out the scenery. Judging by my profusive sweatiness and panting, the hike the following day was going to be a serious chore. But I found a place of prayer (not exactly a church) at the top and took some time to play with photos and take it all in. Marching back down the hill, like it was nothing, I ran into a fellow traveler/ adventurer that was familiar looking from our hostal in Latacunga. Rachael was taking a weekend off from working on research for a fellowship in Quito (as well as 4 other sites across the world). She was the only other non-local besides Ameen and I in the town. It was mid-week and high traffic flow was focused on weekends. She asked if she could hike with us the following day.  I was secretly super excited to have a hiking buddy especially because I was feeling unsure of my ability to hike, the map that was provided (for good reason), and it's one of my favorite ways to get to know people and pass the time. I had previously learned bits and pieces about her eavesdropping at the hostal, and knew that if nothing else, she would have some good stories. And that she did.

Smells: Dinner was in the hosts house at a plastic table (think patio furniture) in a small room off the kitchen. It smelled wonderful and we were famished. Some interesting new typical foods some of which thrilled us, others not so much. Saints of familiar and foreign origin papered the walls in the forms of paintings, posters, and statues. Getting used to smells on farms is easy. Smells from other not so appealing areas, like foreign bathroom practices, not so much. And poor ventilation. Yes, I love the luxury of clean and proper restrooms. I have had many male roommates, and I am publicly forgiving and apologizing to you all for any bitching that occurred about the state of our restrooms. And apologies also for including this piece. It just hasn't gotten any easier as the trip settles in.

Sounds: Hike, Day 1 was hellacious. Spoiler: it was the only day we hiked. It kicked our asses. Every one of us was totally struggling at one point. After 6 hours of yelling across canyons to locals (thank mother earth that Rachael was conversational in Spanish) to clarify the sketchy directions we were attempting to follow and getting lots of "para abajo!!!" so we kept going down down down, and then back up, and around and over a rickety, creaky, suspension bridge because our unintentional "detour" forced us to miss the supposed log bridge, and interrupting cows that told us to go the wrong direction, and one sign along the entire trail (no markers mind you, and we were told there used to be more signs but locals take them down), we finally arrived in Chugchilan. Or so we thought and then 45 minutes of slow incline later we arrived in Chugchilan. Magical wonderland #2.

Sights: Looking out from Rachael's posh ecolodge, Black Sheep Inn (complete with pigs, chickens, yoga studio, hot tub...all ecofriendly, and kinda makeshift, mind you....we opted for cheap again), I knew I was in heaven. Or the thrill of getting my hiking boots off and the euphoric feeling that often accompanies a hike where you gain significant elevation had completely gone to my head. We wandered off to our hostal, ate what felt like the best simple meal of my life, made friends with a lovely couple, Carlos y Nathalie, who treated us to wine after dinner while we all played cards and drug Rachael over from her retreatland.

Pretty exhausted and sore the next morning, we watched dogs and children wander the street while we waited for a bus. I concluded that most of them had homes, the children for sure, the dogs at least had a stoop or yard to sleep in. The bus journey was winding, again. We stopped for construction vehicles to finish their work which only set us back an hour... while indulging in video games on our phones that don't have any service. Yes, totally super indulgent, we realize this and I am ashamed even as I write it. Our bus stopped long enough at our stop for me to realize the driver was not getting off to unload our luggage and for me to triple check the sign as we drove away from it before I stumbled to the front and managed to get a lo siento type of apology from the driver that he had forgotten about us. This was the beginning of the yuck feeling we had about the last leg of our trip. The first part, euphoric, even the brutal hike left us feeling fit and happy for new friends, but the second half was just off from the start.

Altitude, at our highest point, left us cranky. An unexpected entrance fee and a crumbling town with higher hostal prices than promised made us want to get right in to bed. The sunset was gorgeous and then the temps dropped. The hostal we settled on only turned on toilet flushing capabilities once after dinner...I much just prefer a pit toilet, ya know. Easier and you know what to expect. Cold set in and we piled on blankets and hoped the morning brought a better day. The famed Quilotoa Laguna was gorgeous and we stood in awe for 30 minutes or so but declined the 4-5 hour hike. We were seriously ready to move on.
The first friendly local in 15 hours helped us to arrange a pick-up to take us to the nearest town of Zumbahua to catch a bus back to Latacunga. I had some great insight with two guests at our hostal over breakfast about the state of the town, the politics of Ecuador in general, and the effects of tourism. Both were from The Netherlands, but the one woman's family was originally from Ecuador, so it was nice to have her insight. More on that once my brain recovers from this ramble.

From Latacunga we were off to Banos (having trouble converting the tablet to Spanish language transitions so absence of an ~n there). It is too wonderful of a place to not have it's own entry, and I swore I would get some actual sleep at some point tonight. Something that is quite difficult both at night and in teh morning and especially on weekends. Hoping that at some point we find a quieter place to sleep.

Briana