Jul
13
2010
The Quilotoa Crater Adventure
Author: JesseI rolled into Latacunga, and ideal jumpoff point for viewing the surrounding nine active volcanoes, late Sunday afternoon. You can depart on your own by bus to and through the Quilotoa circuit, or you can find an excursion to take you for a climb of the famous Cotopaxi Volcano. My hostel of choice was Santiago Residence (clean, private room with own bath for $8). After looking at the pictures and reviews of past Cotopaxi climbs, I became heavily intrigued to return someday for it; however, due to time constraints, I chose to stick with visiting a few towns on the Quilotoa circuit as well as its volcanic crater.
That evening, I emptied all the items in my two packs and the nostalgic feeling began to swell. As I have continued to be moving and planning and seeing, my mind really hasn’t had the time to register the aspect of my final few days here in South America. However, as I sorted and discarded my items for ease and necessity on my final transport, smiles were constant and even a few spinal chills were felt. How fortunate I am not only to have done it all but also to have found the courage and maintained the adventurous spirit to keep myself safe and continually rewarded! My independent and curious drive aside, the support I received from family and friends has also been extremely helpful.
Buses leave for various points on the Quilotoa circuit all throughout the day. So, after eating breakfast, reading, writing, and storing my rucksack, I made my way to the bus station at nine. Here, I will admit, I was duped a little bit and told to buy a ticket into Sigchos instead of Zumbahua. Eventhough I knew my guidebook said Zumbahua was the point of departure for the crater town of Quilotoa, they kept insisting that Sigchos was the better option. Well, it took me to the other side of the loop, as far as I was concerned, after a two hour bus ride. Honestly, though, working my way backwards allowed me to see more than I otherwise would have with my original plan, and a few particular experiences throughout were not only priceless but also hilarious!
Once in Sigchos, I was told a bus left for Chugchílan, a town 12km from Quilotoa, at 2:00pm. So my options were thus given: try to hitch a ride from an outgoing, and infrequent, ride or wait three hours for the bus. I decided to do both. I waited on the closest corner for any passing traffic with a few locals to either catch a lucky ride or simply pass time. In two hours, no more than a half dozen cars passed and it began to rain. Not wanting to ride in the bed of a truck for an hour in the rain, I made my way back to a plaza of sorts from where the bus was due to leave. To my surprise, it was already there waiting and unbelievably packed. It could have probably filled the seats of two buses and then some. I was half standing, half sitting on an old woman’s lap while two school children were being secured from the bus’ movement by getting pinned against me and a few others around me. For a half an hour we rode like this before some began to disembark to their mountainside farm residences. To make things even more interesting, it was raining, the windows were fogging, and the cliff-side mountain rode was unpaved. All I could do was smile because, looking back on it, that is exactly what I would be doing (and am doing now)!! 
In Chugchílan, an even smaller and poorer town, the rain picked up to a noticeable consistency. I was told that the walk was at least four hours to Quilotoa, but the rain had already made my decision for me: I was staying the night. Of the three hostel options, I chose Casa Mama Hilda ($17, private room with breakfast and dinner included). There was also a wildly reviewed Black Sheep Inn, but it was a bit more expensive and, since I was on a budget to avoid another cash advance, out of my price range. Regardless, Mama Hilda was warm, welcoming, and beautifully (if not a bit creepy with the cloud forest backdrop) set:
I spent the afternoon reading with hot chocolate near a wood-burning stove; after all, I was back in high altitude country (3,200m) and it was quite chilly. During our delicious four-course dinner, I was told that one bus did leave for Quilotoa (and ultimately Latacunga) at 4:00am every morning if I didn’t want to walk the 12km. I decided to sleep on it, but she (Mama Hilda) packed me my breakfast anyways since I would be underway with either option before six the following morning. I also now realized that we weren’t eating by candlelight for the romantic effect; the town was entirely without electricity and was unsure as to how long it would continue this way. After feeling my way back through the pitch black hostel complex with the eerie setting and sounds around me, I finally decided to make use of my LED flashlight knife. I arranged my items for the next morning, set two alarms (3:30 and 5:30am), and read a bit before my 8:30 bedtime. The dark and silent atmosphere facilitated this quite nicely.
Up at 3:30, I decided to wait and walk but couldn’t fall back asleep. Talk about a sleep schedule I had acquired! On went the flashlight and out came the book for another chapter of Walden. I was able to doze off again between 4:30 and my second alarm. As my eyes opened and the sheets were shed, I realized I wasn’t out of the cold or darkness just yet. I did, however, notice a hint of sunlight playing on the clouds and knew it would only be a matter of a half an hour or so before sunrise. I was ready and on my way at 5:45. The local farmers were also awake and on the job with their animals grazing as I walked on by:
Although I became fully acclimatized in Cusco, that was three weeks ago now and Bahía was situated right at sea level. This being the case, my lungs quickly lost some of their capacity and my one day in Latacunga didn’t help much; I was huffing and puffing on even the slightest incline. I made my way in and out of passing clouds, stopping once to use the bathroom (bushes), and began to pass the children of these farms and villages on their way to school. I smiled, waved, and cordially wished them all “buenos días”, but my height and blue eyes gave away my gringo status. The youngest ones would look at me, eyes wide, as if they had never seen one before!
A few more sporadic pictures throughout the 12km hike:
My guide book informed me to bring a stick to fend off the dogs on this walk and in Quilotoa. Well, I may not have paid immediate attention to this suggestion, but, after walking past a few farms with noticeably aggressive, unchained dogs barking at and sometimes following me until I disappeared around a corner, my eyes were quickly scanning the terrain for something to arm myself with. A few selections were discarded before I eventually found the solid two foot piece of madera that would be wielded not once but twice as I neared the end of my hike. All of the farmers themselves were overly nice and returned my salutations, but they did little to control their mangy mongrels. Nothing like the puppy I have at home, these hounds were territorial, vicious, and without fear. On two particular occasions, quick walking didn’t quell the anger that two sets of dogs had shown for allowing a gringo to pass by on “their” road. The first came screaming down from a hillside, barking with foam, and within fifteen feet of me before I turned and loudly competed with its bark before it turned away. All bark and no bite. The second instance involved a group of three which came within TEN feet of me and really seemed ready to attack (at least from my perspective being in the middle of nowhere in Ecuador) until I turned, raised my stick, and prepared for war! Fortunately, I called their bluff, and they barked a few more times before dispersing. This would certainly be placed in the top 3 scariest moments of my trip.
Fifteen minutes later, I rolled into Quilotoa, exhausted from a lack of oxygen, and sat down for lunch before visiting the crater and its beautiful emerald lake:
As I walked away from the crater, and discouragingly towards the next 12km walk along the road into Zumbahua, I ran into a Swiss group (the Swiss have ALL been very friendly people) of six whom I had met briefly at Mama Hilda’s the night before. One driver of the group had moved to Quito to start a non-government funded orphanage for children aged 0-4. We conversed a bit in Spanish on our paths and passions as well as my experience of hiking that morning. Sensing my exhaustion, he insisted that I join their caravan and accompany them into Zumbahua to catch my bus. I graciously accepted.
As we pulled up, the bus was waiting as if on cue. During my hour and a half back into Latacunga, as a sixteen year old Ecuadorian used my shoulder as a pillow, I thought back on this final adventure with satisfaction, smiled, and dozed off myself, stick still in hand.
That night, after arranging my bags for the long journey home ahead, I had dinner for $2 at a local chicken chain (soup was served with cooked chicken feet, no joke) and had one final photo-op in a beautifully kept garden in Latacunga’s city center:
