Quilotoa, Senderos Escondidos, y Lecheros

North of Cuenca lies a massive range of volcanoes, almost all active and topping out above 15,000 ft. Fortunately, there are plenty of small and big towns with give access to these volcanoes. Unfortunately, due to the weather, I was able to only receive a small glimpse of their beauty, and from below their peaks.

I did, however, do a slightly less vertical trip from Latagunga, Ecuador to a few small villages, a lake, Quilatoa, at 12,000 ft, and back around to Latacunga via more small villages. It started out just Jing (an American guy I met in Mancora) and I on the bus to a town called Zumbahua where the Saturday market was one of the better ones around. And it was. In Zumbahua we met a Canadian traveler, Sebastian, who was also doing the same trek we were. The three of us then took a quick truck ride up to the Quilotoa. The lake was stunning and I will leave it at that (due to practical difficulties, you will have to look up pictures from google). We hiked down to the water and then back up around the crater. The hike was taxing because at 12,000 ft, the air is fairly thin and the rain quite cold. Luckily, the hostel provided a nice dinner, hot tea, and a wood stove which kept spirits high and clothes dry.

The next day we started out early as the sun was rising, quite refreshingly, over the crater (likewise, find a photo on google of a sunrise at Quilotoa). Our next destination we would take by foot 12 km around and down the crater into a river valley and back out to a town called Chugchilan. At this point, we bought some greasy meat and even greasier empanadas. Jing, having a tough schedule, took a pickup truck back to Latacunga. Sebastian and I pressed on to our next destination another 12 km away, a town called Insinlivi. Enter senderos escondidos (hidden trails). While the first part of our trip from Quilotoa to Chugchilan was marked, periodically, by little red stakes, the second part was not so accommodating. Thankfully, we had the smarts to ask for directions and were given a detailed written description and a hand drawn map by one of the hostels. The written description was of the extremely vague type: join the big trail at the small tree, keep going past the bromeliads, and turn when you see the cliffs. Which big trail, small tree, and cliffs? And what the fuck is a bromeliad? We resorted to asking every single farmer we happened upon, often yelling across entire fields and using hand signals to get directions. After 12 km of constant doubt, we reach a little town we hoped was Insinlivi. We spent the night is someone´s home. The hostess cooked us a delicious meal and we slept very well that night.

Early the next morning we woke up for breakfast and finished just in time to catch the local lechero (milk truck) headed back to Latacunga. The second we hopped into the back of this truck, it began to rain. We started at an elevation of about 3000 meters and just started climbing. As we zipped around switchback after switchback, we kept climbing the extremely bumping dirt road. The rain became colder and stronger as we went. By the top of whatever mountain, my hands were frozen from trying to hold on. Every so often, we would stop to collect the milk the local ranchers would leave along the road. One lady walked her cow down to the road, filled up a bucket, waited for us to show up, and then walked her horse back to the house. Once the big milk jugs were full the driver started looking for a new container to fill up. They found a large jug laying in someone´s yard, gave it a good rinse, and kept going, using a plastic bag as a lid. By the time we reached the spot where we would hop on proper transportation, two hours later, my jeans were soaked and my hands could barely move. A note for aspiring travelers: always be prepared with a rain jacket and down jacket; you never know when your milk truck will take you to freezing rain at 13,000 feet. 

¡Vamos Arriba!

I swung away two wonderful days on the boat solo (having left Guillermo and Karolina behind in the jungle) before arriving in Yurigamas. Then I spent two horrendous days on buses and taxis on my journey to the beach. It was my first time to the beach since Lima on the second day of my trip. Máncora is your typical beach town, only with a bit less flair and pizzazz. And for a beach town known for a party, it lacked that as well. The four main clubs on the beach were all situated right next door to each other. They were all blasting different music. And they were all empty of patrons. In all, it is a relatively bland beach town. Nonetheless, I found myself stuck there for a few days, mainly because of the people I had met.

I finally got some surfing in. SOME. The break was a decent left-hand point break that was decent in size while I was there. But, my out-of-shape arms only allowed me one and a half hours of surf, one day. After that, I was resigned drinking beers on the beach and body surfing.

One of the people I met in Máncora convinced most of our big group to visit him at his house in Cuenca, Ecuador. So, with a overstay tab on my visa piling up, I finally made the push north and out of Peru. Paul housed a group of us at almost all times. There always seemed to be dinner for seven or eight people and somehow beers for 25. One day, as our sizable group enlisted recruits from surrounding hostels, had a train of 12 people hiking the local Cajas National Park just outside the city.

Cuenca is a beautiful city in many ways. It’s a very international city and many of the people speak English. But, its also a very easy city as the bus system is amazing. The cathedral and main plaza are some of the best I have seen yet in South America. Being a university town, there is plenty of nightlife to keep us youngsters occupied until the wee hours of the morning. Of all the places I have visited on my travels around the world, there are few places that I can imagine myself living for over a year or two. Cuenca would definitely have a spot on such a list.