Having spent so much time on buses recently, it was refreshing to learn that for our next few destinations, we could simply walk. Simple, however, was not the word. This thirty-eight kilometre, three day hike, though incredibly enjoyable, was really hard.
Our epic journey began in Quilotoa, at a beautiful canyon lake 3,500 metres above sea level. The calm water perfectly reflected the bright blue sky, sparkling in the rays on this clear, sunny morning. Captured in a photograph, this would have seemed like a pleasant day but in reality, an intense wind tore through our clothing, turning any inner warmth into ice. At our most exposed out on the crater's rim, it was so strong that we felt we might be carried away. For the first time ever I was rather glad to have the extra five kilos strapped to my back.
Within half an hour, we'd taken a wrong turn and found ourselves sliding through desert sand. Within another half hour, we realised our written instructions, though extremely detailed were entirely wrong. Very occasionally we'd come across a landmark which vaguely matched a description in our directions (i.e. 'a worn out bridge' meaning a few logs thrown across a river) but that only made it more confusing when we then trudged along for miles recognising nothing. Sometimes we'd spot human tracks which gave us hope (noticeably always hiking boots as opposed to our worse for wear trainers) but these fairly quickly faded to dust. Of course, if we ever passed an actual human we'd stop and ask for help but we saw more pigs than people all day.
With no real conviction that we were going in the right direction, we wandered aimlessly through the Ecuadorian countryside. However, it was so beautiful every way we turned that it was difficult to care where we ended up. For four and a half hours we continued trekking, passing through the mountains, down the canyons and up the cliff faces on the other side.
By blind chance, we eventually found civilisation (if that's what you can call a handful of houses and a cheese factory) and stopped for the night in Chugchilan. Whilst the majority of this tiny village consisted of mud huts and concrete shacks, the hostel was actually very nice with some of the cleanest facilities we've seen in the whole of South America. As there were no restaurants or shops nearby, they fed us too which was an added bonus. In fact, it would have been near perfect were it not for the fact that the power cut out midway through the evening and we were forced to eat and find our way back to bed in pitch black darkness. By candlelight, our cute little log cabin transformed into the creepy set of a horror film and we couldn’t wait until morning.
We woke the next day with aching legs and blistered feet but buzzing for the next part of our journey. Ahead of us was another five hour hike but this time the path seemed rather more obvious, the wind had completely dropped and for the first half at least, it was entirely downhill. I was just beginning to gloat about how lovely a walk this was when we passed an elderly Ecuadorian lady struggling along, carrying two large cardboard boxes in a shawl across her shoulders. We didn’t need to speak the same language to understand that she could really use some help and by the time we realised how heavy the boxes were they were already in our hands. Whilst the additional weight made our next hour pretty challenging, it appeared to make her entire day. Once we eventually arrived at her house, she thanked us with home grown oranges but the real reward was her beaming smile.
The minute we dropped the boxes and the ache in my arms began to fade, my attention turned to the burning sensation in my feet. It was all of a sudden excruciating to take a single step and I resorted to biting the insides of my lip to try and distract myself from the dominant pain. An hour or so later though, when my lips were red raw and my heels still stinging, I was forced to lose my trainers completely. It felt like a great idea at first as I bounded through the grassy terrain with the freedom of bare feet but it soon turned marshy and I was faced with the unpleasant dilemma of choosing between wading through mud or sludgy cow pat. At one particularly spectacular moment, this choice was taken out of my hands as I fell backwards from a rock, ending up shin deep in shit.
Fortunately, we weren’t then too far from Isinlivi, the next village where we planned to stay the night. The hostel here was even nicer than in Chugchilan with amazing meals and the most beautiful view out across the valleys. Exhausted, we head to bed early after bursting our blisters and reflecting on what an interesting afternoon we had had.
The third and final day was by far the most difficult. Even the thought of putting my trainers back on made me want to cry (but equally, so did the idea of being covered in shit again.) To make matters worse, we took a wrong turn almost immediately after setting off and so sent ourselves on a detour of a good few extra kilometres. Once we had veered away from the instructions it was tricky to get back on track, particularly as they had barely made sense to start with. On numerous occasions, we were adamant that we must be following the wrong route (namely when we were crawling under barbed wire, fighting through prickly bushes and clambering up sheer rock faces) but in each instance we failed to see another way. The only time we really stopped was when Han fell over and got a thorn stuck in her bum, but that was less to assess the navigational situation, more to inspect the wound and recover from my giggling fit.
Three hours on, we passed a one-eyed man with a machete who insisted he walk with us for some of the way. When our Spanish small talk ran out and he eventually left, he told us that we only had about an hour to go which felt like the best news we’d had all year. From that moment on, we could stop focusing on our feet and instead take in the beauty of our surroundings once again. The Ecuadorian hills are absolutely stunning; like an intricate patchwork quilt stitched with every shade of green imaginable, and with a sky in the background so blue that it could put Instagram out of business. They truly were some of the best views of our entire trip.
Finally in a rather dreamy state, we set eyes on our end desintation, Sigchos. The whole trek was extremely difficult but what I found even more difficult was believing just how much we had achieved throughout it. To walk thirty-eight kilometres is pretty impressive anyway, but with our dodgy instructions and distinct lack of hiking equipment, it felt like nothing short of a miracle and we were overwhelmed to have made it.
Our epic journey began in Quilotoa, at a beautiful canyon lake 3,500 metres above sea level. The calm water perfectly reflected the bright blue sky, sparkling in the rays on this clear, sunny morning. Captured in a photograph, this would have seemed like a pleasant day but in reality, an intense wind tore through our clothing, turning any inner warmth into ice. At our most exposed out on the crater's rim, it was so strong that we felt we might be carried away. For the first time ever I was rather glad to have the extra five kilos strapped to my back.
Within half an hour, we'd taken a wrong turn and found ourselves sliding through desert sand. Within another half hour, we realised our written instructions, though extremely detailed were entirely wrong. Very occasionally we'd come across a landmark which vaguely matched a description in our directions (i.e. 'a worn out bridge' meaning a few logs thrown across a river) but that only made it more confusing when we then trudged along for miles recognising nothing. Sometimes we'd spot human tracks which gave us hope (noticeably always hiking boots as opposed to our worse for wear trainers) but these fairly quickly faded to dust. Of course, if we ever passed an actual human we'd stop and ask for help but we saw more pigs than people all day.
With no real conviction that we were going in the right direction, we wandered aimlessly through the Ecuadorian countryside. However, it was so beautiful every way we turned that it was difficult to care where we ended up. For four and a half hours we continued trekking, passing through the mountains, down the canyons and up the cliff faces on the other side.
By blind chance, we eventually found civilisation (if that's what you can call a handful of houses and a cheese factory) and stopped for the night in Chugchilan. Whilst the majority of this tiny village consisted of mud huts and concrete shacks, the hostel was actually very nice with some of the cleanest facilities we've seen in the whole of South America. As there were no restaurants or shops nearby, they fed us too which was an added bonus. In fact, it would have been near perfect were it not for the fact that the power cut out midway through the evening and we were forced to eat and find our way back to bed in pitch black darkness. By candlelight, our cute little log cabin transformed into the creepy set of a horror film and we couldn’t wait until morning.
We woke the next day with aching legs and blistered feet but buzzing for the next part of our journey. Ahead of us was another five hour hike but this time the path seemed rather more obvious, the wind had completely dropped and for the first half at least, it was entirely downhill. I was just beginning to gloat about how lovely a walk this was when we passed an elderly Ecuadorian lady struggling along, carrying two large cardboard boxes in a shawl across her shoulders. We didn’t need to speak the same language to understand that she could really use some help and by the time we realised how heavy the boxes were they were already in our hands. Whilst the additional weight made our next hour pretty challenging, it appeared to make her entire day. Once we eventually arrived at her house, she thanked us with home grown oranges but the real reward was her beaming smile.
The minute we dropped the boxes and the ache in my arms began to fade, my attention turned to the burning sensation in my feet. It was all of a sudden excruciating to take a single step and I resorted to biting the insides of my lip to try and distract myself from the dominant pain. An hour or so later though, when my lips were red raw and my heels still stinging, I was forced to lose my trainers completely. It felt like a great idea at first as I bounded through the grassy terrain with the freedom of bare feet but it soon turned marshy and I was faced with the unpleasant dilemma of choosing between wading through mud or sludgy cow pat. At one particularly spectacular moment, this choice was taken out of my hands as I fell backwards from a rock, ending up shin deep in shit.
Fortunately, we weren’t then too far from Isinlivi, the next village where we planned to stay the night. The hostel here was even nicer than in Chugchilan with amazing meals and the most beautiful view out across the valleys. Exhausted, we head to bed early after bursting our blisters and reflecting on what an interesting afternoon we had had.
The third and final day was by far the most difficult. Even the thought of putting my trainers back on made me want to cry (but equally, so did the idea of being covered in shit again.) To make matters worse, we took a wrong turn almost immediately after setting off and so sent ourselves on a detour of a good few extra kilometres. Once we had veered away from the instructions it was tricky to get back on track, particularly as they had barely made sense to start with. On numerous occasions, we were adamant that we must be following the wrong route (namely when we were crawling under barbed wire, fighting through prickly bushes and clambering up sheer rock faces) but in each instance we failed to see another way. The only time we really stopped was when Han fell over and got a thorn stuck in her bum, but that was less to assess the navigational situation, more to inspect the wound and recover from my giggling fit.
Three hours on, we passed a one-eyed man with a machete who insisted he walk with us for some of the way. When our Spanish small talk ran out and he eventually left, he told us that we only had about an hour to go which felt like the best news we’d had all year. From that moment on, we could stop focusing on our feet and instead take in the beauty of our surroundings once again. The Ecuadorian hills are absolutely stunning; like an intricate patchwork quilt stitched with every shade of green imaginable, and with a sky in the background so blue that it could put Instagram out of business. They truly were some of the best views of our entire trip.
Finally in a rather dreamy state, we set eyes on our end desintation, Sigchos. The whole trek was extremely difficult but what I found even more difficult was believing just how much we had achieved throughout it. To walk thirty-eight kilometres is pretty impressive anyway, but with our dodgy instructions and distinct lack of hiking equipment, it felt like nothing short of a miracle and we were overwhelmed to have made it.
No comments:
Post a Comment