Day 15: Second Day of Walking (with up)

I could be found wearing a wool shirt and a down coat, in long pants, balancing at the edge of the shower in our hostal room tonight. I had my hand under the water, trying to determine if the temperature had warmed from what Elise had previously announced was "too much Luke." It hadn't. I extended a foot and washed it, doing some sort of yogic Cold Hiker's Pose, then extended the other for the same. I could've used the shower; I had a bug bite on my neck the size of France and a zit on my chin which felt like a bot fly. But I didn't want to suffer the cold. At a chilly 10,800 feet elevation, on a rainy night, it was hard to believe I was just south of the equator. Ecuador is so amazingly diverse, the hot coast, the hot Amazon, the chilly Andes. At least I was in a hostel and not trying to camp! 

Our hostel room is allegedly heated with a narrow uninsulated chimney pipe rising from a woodstove two floors below. I've tied my wet socks to it in desperate hopes they dry by the morning. Otherwise it's barely warm enough wearing this wool and down ensemble, and Elise just crawled into her fleece (!?) pink and purple (?!) bed and scree'd how cozy comfy warm it was. Central heating or thick insulation doesn't seem to be a thing here. The locals are wearing fleeces and hats and big draping ponchos. 

This was Day Two of the wonderful Quilotoa Loop. We walked 8 miles with 2,500 feet of elevation climbing. We started after a delicious communal breakfast of homemade granola and eggs, with proper coffee (no sugar added! no instant!). Our German table mates (now friends) asked when we were starting our hike. "Now", Elise responded, because breakfast was a late 8am and we were concerned about getting rained on. The weather seems to be mixed sun and clouds in the morning, turning greyer and into rain by afternoon. 

The trail descended out of the little village where we had slept. We had garnered hiking sticks by this point, from some cleared eucalyptus wood on the side of the road, which we trimmed awkwardly with our small pocket knives. It felt very play-fort and delicious childhood nostalgia to be creating something useful out of tree branches. Elise had good luck finding a perfectly straight solid stick, and although my luck has been in finding three 4-leaf clovers on the trail, my stick is rather post-modern and a bit crooked. But it certainly helps me test for deep mud and balance on the slippery sandy descents. 

The trail was a narrow tunnel in between damp rock walls as we descended to the river. I enjoyed the meditative nature of the task of just placing my feet. Other thoughts couldn't take up as much space because so much concentration was needed for traversing. Hours can pass this way. 

Our walking continued and we hit sticky sandy mud from the long rains last night. I laughed as Elise's feet collected mud loads and seemed hugely out of proportion to her body. "I am walking with dumbbells for shoes!" I said. We wiped them on the grass and continued on. We passed cows grazing, a tiny man with a huge gas cylinder strapped to his back, a woman standing in the road watching sheep and simultaneously knitting a small blue scarf. We stopped by the river and ate bread and guava jam we had hoarded aside from breakfast, and the sun came out. Almost instantly too warm, we changed into shorts. The temperature difference is amazing! 

The trail, which goes along dirt roads and through pastures and on narrow pathways, is marked with yellow blazes occasionally, and some sweet wooden signs pointing to various hostels. 

 

All hostels provide a dinner and breakfast as part of the stay. A local man told us that between May and September he sees hundreds of hikers a day doing the loop. We are grateful that we have the trail mostly to ourselves, feeling a preference for potential rain over crowds. No local Ecuadorians hike these trails, it is mostly Canadians and Germans (rarely Americans). 

We crossed the river on a long log with little traction steps cut into it and an untenable handrail. 

 

The trail passed through a meadow, every single blade of grass depositing her last-night's rain droplets on our shoes, as if we had sponges on our feet. Now we had marsh foot, but at least we weren't being rained on. 

This sweet dog was into a selfi with me outside a pocket sized church in a village smaller than village designation.

And then the trail headed up. Like the other handsome white cliffs contributing to the glorious views at every turn, this one was huge. The trail zig-zagged up it, sometimes with little bevelled steps, and I panted up like I was an organ bellows. Stopping for breathing is a nice way to spend time, because the views are just spectacular. Arriving at the top, winded and proud, it felt amazing to look down and see the little village by the river as if it were a toy set, and to be eye-level with the other looming cliffs across the valley. 

 

 

At a view point over the valley, a small girl pulled a plastic bag off a plate of pineapple hunks and sold me one for 50 cents. I was happy to support a local family, even in a little way, and juicy pineapple with views after that climb was perfect. 

The trail spilled us out on a paved road (did that feel different!) and we walked the last mile to the little village of Chugchilan. Here we found our hostel, and availed ourselves of the bottomless hot coffee and tea there, and found a tienda in town for some fruit, and prepared Avocado on the Half Shell (aka guacamole when you have a pocketknife and no bowl) while we waited for the family style dinner. 

Tomorrow is the last day of the hike. We should reach the zenith, which is the crater lake of Quilotoa. I hope my socks dry.