The Quilotoa Loop
Horses, bicycles, milk trucks, your own 2 feet...all methods to managing the 92km jaunt around Ecuador’s little known, Quilotoa Loop. Whatever your preferred means of transport, this loop is far from easy, tormented by heavy rainfall, unmarked paths, and far from reliable public transport. Most embark on the journey to experience indigenous Quichua farmlife, ancient highland markets, or just simply take in the pristine scenery, but the one thing everyone returns with are stories.
After searching the deserted streets of Latacunga all morning for a cup of coffee (bloody Sundays in South America…nothing is ever open), I finally ran across a small sign advertising, “Hot coffee and banana bread”. Be still my heart, could it be true? As I entered the small courtyard I was immediately met by Kat, the Belgian born, Ecuadorian married, hostel owner. I informed her of my plan to tackle the Quilotoa Loop and, as if coffee and banana bread weren’t good enough, fate offered another bonus. You see, Kat was already headed that direction, splitting time between her Latacunga based hostel and her mountain based hostel. So, with no map, plan, or provisions, I jumped on the bumpy band wagon. Narrow, muddy, and more often then not, collapsed, it didn’t take long to realize why very few vehicles tackled these cliffside “roads”. But, thanks to Kat’s 81’ Landrover and years of physcotic Ecuadorian driving experience, my first 40km’s were immediately shaved away. |
Situated on the verdant cliffside and looking down upon row after row of patchwork farmland, Kat’s hostel was a beaut! Located in the small town of Islavi, population 75, the only pulses of life filtered in and out of the one shop in town. The local “kwik” shop, where for .25 cents you could purchase a pack of twinkies dating back to the mid-90’s, a loaf of bread more green then brown, or a bottle of wine long sinced turned vinegar. If these goodies didn’t tempt your appetite though, Kat served up a huge family style dinner every night for not only travelers, but hungry locals alike. The only thing better then the dinner, was the company. Cozying up by the crackling fire and sharing travel stories well into the night.
|
Lucky for me, a few other ambitious hikers were staying with Kat as well, and I graciously joined their, “trekking trio”. Unfortunately, the weather proved very uncooperative, with clouds and rain plaguing the two day trek to the famed, Quilotoa Crater Lake. Day one consisted of plodding through knee high mud, perfecting the “enie menie minie mo” technique as the determining directional factor, and fighting off hoards of vicious, stray dogs, before finally reaching base camp at Chugchilan. Soaked to the core with only one small stove between us, we sat in the only dry things available (towels) while our clothes slowly roasted dry next to the fire.
|
Day 2 saw much of the same weather but a very different path. Our internal compasses must have been soaked in the rain along with everything else, because our directional ability was off…way off. Our 1/2 day hike soon turned into a full day excursion. Heck, if not for the steady flow of locals pouring down one of the narrow hillside paths, we could have easily carried on into Columbia. Glassy eyed old men singing (ok, more like slurring) songs, children dancing and laughing hysterically, and grandma’s slung over their grandchildren’s backs. It wasn’t until one of the women wildly grabbed onto my arm for support, that I saw (and smelled) the culprit. Ecuadorian moonshine! As later learned, we had stumbled upon the Quilotoa festival, where attending church and getting drunk coincided. More then curious as to the flavor of their rocket fuel, I restrained from swigging from the dirty gasoline containers after watching an overweight, leathery faced women summersault past and down the steep hillside. “Taxi!”.
Following the steady stream of drunks, it was no longer difficult to find what we had set out for, the Crater Lake. For a brief moment, it seemed the rain would stop and maybe, just maybe, we could steal a glimpse at the volcanic craters emerald interior. However, Mother Nature was not done with us yet, and after a brief 5 second teaser she opened fire once again, barrading us with the heaviest rain yet.
“Fine, we give in!” Sick of hiking (more like slipping and sliding) through the rain, we decided to catch the first object on wheels out of town. Smooshed between villagers and their “LIVE” stock on the way to market, we bumped along the windy road in the back of a rickety ford truck bed for a few hours before finally reaching the “public bus stop” (Nothing more then a small stretch of curbside, situated in the middle of nowhere, lacking any form of signage or a timetable). A passerby informed us that the bus only ran once a day and the odds of it being full were more then likely. It was our only hope though and after a few soggy hours huddled on the curb, our salvation emerged in the distance. As it neared, however, our worst fears were confirmed. The bus was absolutely packed. There was no way of fitting, or so we thought. The bus driver, seeing our ‘drowned rat’ status, stopped the bus and despite passenger complaints, made room for us next to him in the front. Precariously situated on each others laps, the final 90 min stretch was far from comfortable, but It sure beat the alternative.
“Fine, we give in!” Sick of hiking (more like slipping and sliding) through the rain, we decided to catch the first object on wheels out of town. Smooshed between villagers and their “LIVE” stock on the way to market, we bumped along the windy road in the back of a rickety ford truck bed for a few hours before finally reaching the “public bus stop” (Nothing more then a small stretch of curbside, situated in the middle of nowhere, lacking any form of signage or a timetable). A passerby informed us that the bus only ran once a day and the odds of it being full were more then likely. It was our only hope though and after a few soggy hours huddled on the curb, our salvation emerged in the distance. As it neared, however, our worst fears were confirmed. The bus was absolutely packed. There was no way of fitting, or so we thought. The bus driver, seeing our ‘drowned rat’ status, stopped the bus and despite passenger complaints, made room for us next to him in the front. Precariously situated on each others laps, the final 90 min stretch was far from comfortable, but It sure beat the alternative.
Arriving back to Latacunga brought on a huge sigh of relief but it was not until after a hot shower and pleasant meal, that we could finally appreciate the adventure. Able to laugh about our hiking tribulations, the countless mangy mutt’s fought off with our deluxe tree branches, and of course, the inebriated locals. And as the saying goes, “It’s about the journey, not the destination.” © |