Lying across the row of torn seats at the back of the bus, all I could think was that “I can’t believe I’m in Ecuador”. When in my life did I ever think I would be here?
Ryan and I arrived in Latacunga 2hours and 2 dollars later to a sombre rain-shower that did not give way to bad spirits, as we were greeted with smiles by colourfully dressed locals. We sat down at a bench to hide from the rain and try some food from the market. Our limited Spanish left us ordering “dos” of whatever they were serving, which turned out to be a chunk of pork, rice, potatoes and an ensalada, served with homemade chocolate milk out of a huge steel cauldron- all for $1.75 each.
Latacunga was not much of a dwelling spot, more of a stop-over on our journey through Ecuador’s remote Andean villages within the picturesque Quilotoa loop. I did manage to get a haircut before departure, in one of Latacunga’s countless barber shops before heading to Zumbahua.
I was surprisingly alert to be on my fifth bus in the past twenty-four hours and was able to capture the hand-sewn patchwork of the rolling Andean mountains. Ecuador’s central highlands- contain 8 of the country’s 10 highest peaks; including Volcano Cotopaxi (5897m) and Volcano Chimborazo (6310m) and is home to Laguna Quilotoa, a breathtaking volcanic crater lake.
Discovering this hidden village wrapped amongst the clouds, took me back to a much simpler, beautiful lifestyle. As I joined the children at play, the most spectacular sunset set fire to the sky. I stood in awe before showing the kids how to spin a basketball as they practiced their English on me; “How are you?”... “What is your name?” Everything was so real and perfect that I’ve always imagined travelling to be and I knew that its impression would stick with me and be my driving force, long after I am too old to drive.
The sun began to shine as we boarded a pickup that was driving us to Chugchilan along the worn out death defying cliff-sides of Quilotoa. The altitude hit me, so I laid my head to rest upon arrival, waking 18 hours later to the owner of the hostel brewing a medicinal concoction for me to drink, containing onion root, calamine, oregano, and leaves from apple and orange trees. Yummy! I drank 6 cups of the 12 cup pot and woke the next morning at 4:45 am to the sound of my alarm, alive and revitalized.
Ryan and I hopped into the back of the truck with only the night sky above our heads as we embarked on a magnificent journey descending through the mountains. With the sun inching its way above the horizon it gave way to the most amazing views of the two towering volcanoes that parented this untamed region.
Along our ride, a boy jumped onto the back of the pickup and piggy-backed a ride to the market (fairytale pun not intended). And not long after an older couple came running to hitch a ride as well- his wife was just out of reach as the gold-toothed man jumped, grabbing the ledge pulling himself up. I explained to him, that if someone left their wife behind in Canada- they would be in a lot of trouble.
A colourful commotion caught my eye as we thundered down the bumpy road. The market looked like a zoo, with a dollar sign on everything that moved. The smell, the squeaks, the squeals, the rawness of bartering for subsistence- it was a true beauty to witness life at its purest form.
I was overwhelmed by the fluidity and motion of their day. By 6 am, trucks of alpacas have been unloaded, miles of bananas laid out, and pigs purchased and hoisted onto the roofs of trucks. I took in the experience as I tried my luck with some of local vendors. I bought every vegetable under the sun, and waited 30 minutes to get change from a 10 dollar bill. Note to all whom are reading, bring change!
As we were leaving, a cheerful elderly woman waved us over and poured us each a shot from a gas can- we foreignly drank it down and bit our tongues at ever accepting. Now feeling like Hercules, we boarded our bus. Walking to the back my head was on a swivel as I captured a wide-eyed child buying cotton candy, a woman wearing a feather-tipped hat standing with broom in hand, a pickup truck filled with smiling Ecuadorians far exceeding its capacity- and as our bus began to depart I heard the distressed squeals of a pig- arguing over the price of his head. As dust began to fly, I could only think “Wow! So this is Ecuador”.
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