But Latacunga was in itself an awesome place to see: sort of a indigenous-world-meet-modern-society. It's population was divided sharply between the mestizo's (European/black/indigenous mix that makes up the majority of Ecuadorian demographics), and the Kichwa-speaking Indigenous.
Generally poor, and usually being a mere generation removed from rural-living (though often first-generation), the indigenas are distinguished by a short, stubby-stature, and wind-burned cheeks. The women maintain their "traditional" dress of fedora hat, shawl, velvet skirt, knee-highs, and black penny-loafer-like slip-ons.
Our bus dropped us off outside of town, and naturally, it was an uphill battle to get to our hostel for the night: Hostel Tiana's.
Like cities before, the skyline was dominated by the white-steeples of the town church. The streets were wide enough for a lane of traffic in either direction, with narrow sidewalks on either side forcing the step-up-step-down every time you pass anyone.
We had a few hours to walk around town before the rain set in. We found the local market, which, at that particular moment was captivated by an Ecuadorian Volleyball match. As we've traveled through the country and seen the 8-foot high nets, we've come to realize how important this game is to locals. While the players are often overweight, balding, and with their slacks tucked-away into their socks, the matches are given the seriousness of professional sports in the US.
We fell for fast food again as well. Hungry, and impatient, we stopped at the first snack bar we found. We each ordered a 'simple hamburger' and 'salchipapa' (fried hot dog served with fries), and became sick after the first bite. By the end we were each bloating and reeling. As we walked down the street we found the perfect graffiti art to express our sentiment.
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| Does this fat make me look fat? Be honest. |
We also stumbled upon a local meet market, which, as always, provided Abra with intriguing, if not disgusting pictures. Cow was on the menu, be it tongue, skinned-head, or other.
Tomorrow's hike into the Andes Mountains loomed over us as we made our way back to the hostel.
The next morning we left half our luggage at the hostel, and made out way to the bus station for the first leg of the trip that would bring us to the tiny mountain town of Quilotoa (via Pujili, Tigua and Zumbahua).
As we left civilization, our bus climbed higher and higher into the mountains, passing one rural house after the other. The farms were sparsely placed, and seemed unincorporated into any larger town. Without personal transport, they were only connected to their neighbors- and civilization- by the occasional city bus. The bus was both a life-line for locals, and an access point for tourists.
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| I made a friend on the bus, who was both shy in mannerisms and bold to have started talking to me. He got a kick out of the camera. |
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| The locals just strap their kids (and everything else) to their backs, with no care to size or weight. Super strong! |
As the three-hour ride came to an end, the landscape became even more impressive.
By the time we arrived in Quilotoa we were amongst the clouds, and it was frigid cold. My first order of business was buying a beanie with ear flaps.
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| The only more-than-one story building in Quilotoa. |
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| Our bathroom, with skylight! |
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| Abra was happy to discover her lotions had erupted....AGAIN! |
As we scrambled down lose sand and steep rocks to the lake, each mirador provided spectacular views of the basin, as well as endless opportunities for spectacular camera poses. Here is just a sample...
The water was a perfect turquoise-blue, which, paired with the infringing fog was mystical. I didn't realize I was a nature fanatic, but the plants were crazy.
As the fog set in, we set out to climb back up the 1000 feet (guesstimate) of steep mountain back to Quilotoa. The further we got, the more layers we removed, and the heavier the breathing became with the low-oxygen air.
By the time we got back to the lodge we were ready for a hot chocolate. Since there was nothing else to do in this quarter-horse town, we spent the evening chitchating with other guests after our hostel-provided dinner.
The next morning after breakfast we headed out, as a group, on the 6-hour hike to bring us to the next mountain pueblito of Chugchilan. Directions were drawn out for us on a scrap piece of paper by our hostel owner. The gist was we'd have to follow a trail around the crater over the first 3 peaks, then we would descend (not into, but out of the crater) for a 'while'. There would be a few forks in the road, which we were supposed to navigate by figuring out which went to a house, then taking the other. Then we'd find ourselves on a plateau, which would lead us to a small village. From there we had to descend into another valley, cross a river, then climb up the other side.
We left, with complete assurances we would take a wrong turn, but still get there. Abra was pumped.
Finding the point at which to descend the crater's edge proved to be our first challenge. We were supposed to find a patch of sand that would mark the spot to turn. We chose the wrong splotch of sand, and were only rescued by a passing indigenous woman, Maria-Hilda, who was passing by. We decided to pay her as our guide to take us the rest of the way. She was also semi-fluent in Spanish, so we took the chance to talk to her, ask her questions, and let her ask us.
She was 36 years old, but couldn't be more than 4 feet tall. She seemed to see us as a treasure-trove of information, and couldn't stop asking us questions about "How do you say horse in English?" and "How much does it cost to fly from your country to here?" I felt like google spitting out answers, but she was incredibly polite, which each of her questions prefaced by "Una pregunta..."
Taking the opportunity to learn about her, and her culture as well, we found out that she was one of 12 children (7 from the first mother, and 5 from another), and longed to live in a city like Latacunga (Quito had too much traffic), but couldn't afford it. She loved learning languages, but her father discouraged her and her siblings from going to school, instead preferring them to work on the family farm. So she left home 10-years ago. She taught us a few words in Kichwa, each time bashfully laying out her native tongue.
We reached Guayama, thanks in most part to Maria-Hilda, who seemed to have shown us a short-cut. As we passed through the town, the school kids were playing soccer in PE, and the girls were dressed in traditional garb, complete with fedora.
As we reached the valley's edge, we could see Chugchilan across the way. The descent was easy, as was walking across a few logs that were placed across the river. The ascent was another story.
As we neared Chugchilan, Amanda started to feel nauseous from altitude sickness, so I carried her backpack the rest of the way.
Chugchilan was hardly bigger than Quilotoa, but home to several hostels for trekkers making the same trip. We chose the Hostel Cloud Forest, because, you guessed it, it's the budget option (and was Mom's recommendation!) Just as we were arriving, the bus bringing the lazies from Quilotoa arrived.
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| The bus we could have taken... |
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| The Cloud Forest Hostal. |
Before dinner, we walked around the town, which was complete with library, open from 12pm-6pm.
That night we played the card game Burro with Amanda and Alex. The gist of the game is that in each round there is a loser, and with each lose, another letter is added to spell the world Burro (Donkey) on their hand. When the word is complete, they are the real loser, and the rest of the group gets to chose an embarrassing activity for them to do. We played 4 rounds, I lost 3 of them, and Abra lost once. For one of my challanges I had to serenade travelers with La Bamba on guitar. Abra had to sing Ecuador's national anthem (or her version) from the hostel balcony. She doesn't know Ecuador's national anthem. And can hardly speak Spanish...
The next morning we were up at the ridiculous hour of 3am for a bus to Saquisili. It's the only bus leaving Chugchilan on Thursdays, and we had to catch it in order to catch Saquisili's Thursday market (apparently Ecuador's most important indigenous market).
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| Waiting for the 3am bus, which turned out to really be a 3:40am bus... |
We arrived in Saquisilli at 7am, just as the market was getting going. We had hot chocolate and croussants, and walked around the endless stands of fruits, vegetables, and food. Abra was in photographer's heaven.
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| Some huge bowls, made from car tires. |
As our dare-devil move of the day, we each tried what is apparently popular here: guinea-pig. Though a bit of a cliche, it did taste like dark-meat chicken, although slightly greasy.
With that, our trip into the Andes was over. We caught a short bus ride back to Latacunga, where we hung out until our bus for Banos. (No, that's not a typo, the name of our next destination translates to bathrooms). More soon!
Posted by Hans, Tons of Photos by Abra
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