I apologize for the length, but there is a lot to tell. I did not fall off the extinct volcano, and there are no monkeys. Here is the [mostly] unexaggerated story. Pictures to follow.
They say the unexpected adventures are the best. Well, they are the most noteworthy, anyway. I decided to take a break from my usual over-preparedness and travel on a whim this weekend. I think sometimes that would be a perfectly fine idea, but other times not necessarily… and of course I have to learn the hard way. Lesson #1: if they suggest bringing a jacket and a rainproof layer, DO IT. Lesson #2: “Trekking” ≠ Hiking. Trekking is the equivalent of mountain climbing minus the ice pick. Now I know.
We started out Thursday, early afternoon. The bus ride to Riobamba, the main transfer point for trips throughout the Sierra (the mountains) and the entry point to the Amazon, usually takes about 3-4 hours. 4 ½ hours later – after an extensive detour and an unexplained 30 minute delay in the middle of the road – we arrived. We had called the tour company office to let them know that we were on the bus, but would be a little late. “Okay, see you soon!” was the response. When we finally found the office (which was no small feat, since we only had an intersection, not an address, and the sign above the door is a different name than the company on their website), it was closed. No answer (not even a voicemail!) on the office phone, and the cell phone number from the website went straight to an error message. We decided to get some food and then investigate further. Still no luck. We reluctantly decided to walk down the street to a hostel we’d seen, to get some sleep and try again in the morning. For only $7 each, we got a separate room with 2 beds, a bathroom with a functioning toilet and shower (though missing the TP and shower curtain), and a cable TV! And no bedbugs. (I checked.) So although the idea was enough to inspire a horror flick, this particular locale wasn’t actually that intimidating. Pretty darn good for a first hostel experience! The next morning, after failing to secure any coffee whatsoever, either because all plausible sources were closed or “out” (out of coffee??), we set up our stakeout in front of the door of the office. It got to be a few minutes past 8, when they were supposed to open, so we started calling again. Someone answered the cell, sounding confused, and told us to take a taxi to the guesthouse. Once there, we were able to fill in the missing details: Wlady, the Top Banana (of 2) got married a week ago and had spent the week honeymooning in Colombia – hence the sporadic email communication. He had gotten back the night before, then rushed off to the airport at 3am to pick up one of the other girls going on the trip with us. All of this had been explained, and additional cell numbers had been given, in the 3 emails – from Wlady (who speaks Spanish and almost perfect English, too) and his partner, Jake – that we would have received Thursday, if we hadn’t already been on a bus and away from a computer. Oh well. So we met Wlady, whose first 2 comments were: “Huh. You talk like a gringa.” (um, thanks, jerk? I’m trying, and I’m not as bad as some); and “Um, are you guys ready for the trek? Okaaaay… You know this is the hardest trek in Ecuador? [giggle]” Bad start. Lucky for us, they had extra hiking boots, water resistant pants, and a poncho we could borrow. We suited up, with approximately 60 pounds of backpack apiece (though I have a feeling Jake’s was closer to 80 lbs!), and headed out – Jake (I guess he’s the Vice Banana?); Mauri, our other guide, who speaks beautiful Spanish, and is learning English but didn’t speak any with us; Polina, from Russia, who had gone from St. Petersburg to Ecuador in 2 days; Ylonah, from Ireland, who is here for an Ultimate Extreme Vacation, including volunteering at an animal rescue/reserve in the rainforest, where she got bitten by a monkey a few days ago; Luke; and me. Taxi to the bus, bus to a town the size of the Woodstock Square, then a ride in the back of a pickup truck to the entrance of the park (the entrance being a hill in the middle of one of the farms, between the cows and the donkey).
The first hour or so of the hike was pure mud. Well, not pure mud. There were a few underwater rocks, too. No more than 10 minutes in, I started to feel kinda funny. By the first real resting place, an hour or two in, I had deduced that I was feeling some altitude sickness. I’d read plenty about it, but never felt anything like it before. For those of you who have not had the pleasure, it feels like having the flu – headache or dizziness, nausea, hot and cold flashes, and fatigue – but without the relief of being able to throw up and feel better (well, for me anyway. Luke threw up several times later that day). All in all, the trek itself wouldn’t have been quite so difficult, but the altitude sickness amplified everything about 4 times – the hard work, the fatigue, the cold. At the first site, we made the decision to push on to the cave where we were supposed to spend the night, even though we were a little behind schedule after a late start. A third of the way there, Luke and I were both starting to feel worse. The others went ahead with Jake, while Mauri stayed behind with us, at a pace that was probably excruciatingly slow for a Real Trekker like him. But he was very pleasant about the whole thing. Then the clouds started moving into the valley; then it hailed a little; then it started to rain; then it started to snow. Fan-tastic. Luke and I, teetering on Death’s doorstep, reached a flat spot among the mud and grass tufts where the others had set up the small guide tent, slithered inside, and tried to shake the misery that had sunk into our bones. We had slept for a little less than an hour, shivering uncontrollably, when Mauri showed up again to help us up to the cave. We figured a cave with a fire was a much better option than the cold, wet tent out in the open, so we pushed on through the sleet, making it just before dark. We huddled in the tent with the others, slowly regaining feeling in our extremities, and ejecting our wet stuff outside the tent. No fire, since everything was wet, but we had some hot chocolate over the gas canister, followed by some bread and soup with noodles (bonding by all eating out of the little pot, since we didn’t have cups). Then we fell asleep for nearly 13 hours. We took turns waking up every few minutes, and made a complete rotation with the spot on the end, wedged in the coldest, dampest corner of the tent. Though considering the “cave” was really only a 2-meter-deep indent in the wet rock, it was surprisingly cozy in the tent.
The next morning, Luke and I decided to push on to the top of the ridge, despite the continued sick feeling. It was hard, though not quite as hard as the day before – the breathlessness and shakiness was coming in waves, instead of being constant. Once atop the ridge, we decided it had all been worth it. The landscape is surreal – stranger even than the Land of Mordor from the Lord of the Rings, which is how Jake had described it. El Altar used to be the tallest volcano in Ecuador, until it exploded a few hundred years ago, leaving nine peaks in the shape of a claw (or, more poetically, two nuns and four friars listening to a bishop, hence the name). The inner contours and valleys were probably formed by glaciers, and the land looks as though the glaciers could have melted a year ago. So few people have seen this area that it is practically untouched. There are several lagoons tucked among the peaks as well; as the mist and clouds cleared, we got a clear view of 3 of them. As we hiked further along to wait for a clear shot of the snow-capped peaks (still shrouded in clouds), we experienced one of the highs of trip, and an undeniable blessing – a condor flew about 6 feet over our heads. Condors are the symbol of the Andes (and of the rapidly disappearing indigenous cultures), but they are thought to be extinct in this area. They have been on the Endangered Species List for decades, and were considered extinct in all but a select few regions 50 years ago. It vanished into the mist as silently as it had emerged, leaving us frozen in awe.
Oftentimes this tour will hike up a bit further to catch a glimpse of one of the lagoons from above, but with the clouds and the cold, we decided not to do that. Jake suggested that we could hike directly to the lagoon, though he had never done it before. Again, we declined. We started heading back, but then paused for a couple minutes for pit stops and photos. Cue the other high of the trip: the clouds parted, revealing the breathtaking and humbling snowy peaks. Within another 10 minutes, the whole scene was hidden once again, but as we began to descend, we were speechless.
The descent was certainly easier than the ascent the day before, but I still wasn’t feeling myself, and I was much shakier. Kinda scary when climbing down a 17,000 ft pile of mud. We made it to the woods in the valley where we’d stopped the first day and filled up our water bottles. I was tickled that we were able to drink right out of the little stream! It comes straight from the glacier on the peaks, and there are no farms upstream, so it’s safe. The other girls decided to push on back to Riobamba that night, rather than camping again; Luke and I decided to just camp, since we were pretty tired. Half an hour after they left, it started sprinkling, then raining in earnest, which continued for most of the evening, so we were content to have stayed. More hot chocolate, more soup and noodles. Hot food really hits the spot after a chilly day of hiking. After a philosophical discussion of spirituality, New Age medicine, Reiki, and literature, we fell asleep. This time I was really cold overnight, but we made it through. Attempted to dry off some of our wet gear over the morning campfire, then put on our wet and muddy stuff one last time. The way back was even worse after all the rain, and I came out looking like a Swamp Creature (the boots I had borrowed had sizable holes in them, and the pants were ripped crotch-to-knee on both sides, so I got pretty intimate with the mud). We changed shoes and began our walk back down the mountain road. After just a few minutes, a truck drove by and we were able to finagle a ride, standing up in the back (which was good, since the “hour and a half walk” that Jake had mentioned would have actually been about a 4 hour hike). They dropped us right at the intersection where the bus would pass, so we sat down to wait. After awhile, another truck came by, on its way to Riobamba, so we hopped in the back, alongside two women and an older man who only spoke Quechua, and their relative who also spoke Spanish. They were fascinated by us, asking questions all the way down. At one point we pulled onto a dirt road alongside a farm to wait for half an hour or so for another old man and his grandson to join us, and then we were off again. Next we approached a “minga,” a voluntary service project undertaken by the whole community (for example, repairing the road), where we were greeted, ogled, and offered shots of puro, a sweet, cloudy liquor made from sugarcane. We cordially accepted, to cheers from the enthusiastic crowd, then continued on our way. The ride down took much longer than the ride up, and our butt bones were pretty sore by the bottom of the mountain, but our spirits were noticeably higher. We stopped for a lunch of llapingachos. Now, in Guayaquil, llapingachos (yah-ping-GAH-chohz) are patties made of mashed potatoes, stuffed with cheese, and served with rice, maní (peanut sauce), and a fried egg. But in the Sierra, llapingachos are a scoop or two of mashed and pan-fried potatoes, served over lettuce or cabbage, with either an egg or a small piece of meat or chorizo. They were pretty good, though the ones at home are better. :) After lunch we returned to Wlady’s house to unload their equipment, exchange contact info with the girls (who had survived the adventure the night before, evidently), and say our goodbyes.
We hit the bus terminal at 2:41pm. The next bus left at 3:30. Perfect timing to grab a snack and get on the bus. At 3:26, sitting on the bus, we realized the lady at the ticket counter, after having looked at the two of us standing there asking her for 2 tickets, had only sold us 1 ticket. We scrambled back to the counter, but as the bus was full and due to depart, she couldn’t exchange the ticket. We bought two more, to her confusion, and walked around to sulk for another half hour. At 4:05, we were finally underway. But, as I’m coming to think may be an unspoken curse of the Riobamba bus system, we were delayed about 90 minutes in. We sat in the middle of the road, in a long line of cars and trucks and semis half-obscured by the thick fog, for an hour and a half. Eventually the bus driver got impatient and tried to cut in line, which just blocked off the other lane, so traffic going in the other direction couldn’t move either. Finally we got out, past what I think was just construction all along, picking our way back through the detour. We got back to Guayaquil at 9:30, after 5 ½ hours on the bus. Ugh. I called the driver that the family likes to use (and with whom we’d arranged a pick up for when we returned on Sunday), who said he’d expected us earlier, and he was already at home, so tough luck. We called Taxi Amigo, the only truly “safe” taxi company in the city, and they said they were sending a car. We waited and waited, but it never showed. So we called back, and got hung up on. Twice. Well, once each. Out of options and starting to panic a little at 10:15, we called Juan Carlos, who cheerfully came to get us.
In the end, it was one of the most unexpected (and miserable) experiences of my life, but I’m glad I did it. At one point Jake asked Luke and I if we still would have done it if we’d known what we were getting ourselves into. We exchanged looks and responded “No, probably not... Definitely not.” But by that token, here we had a chance to do something that most sane people will never get to experience. As the sun/windburn, blisters, splinters, and sore muscles slowly heal, the sparkling memories (and hair-raising stories) will remain for years to come.
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