Jan 3, 2007 - Laguna Quilotoa

Today we got up and wandered around the town looking for somewhere to eat breakfast. Latacunga is a nice little town with a dearth of places to eat breakfast and an amazing number of photocopying shops. You'd have to see the number of shops advertising photocopying services to believe it - there were even some photocopiers outside on a sidewalk plugged in with extension cords! Actually, Latacunga is a bustling market town of about 50,000 people and is a common base for travellers who want to explore the Quilotoa Loop. Anyway, we finally found an overpriced breakfast and I managed to get my cappuccino (which is actually a latte and is still the only way of avoiding instant coffee), so I was happy. I’m so high maintenance, I know.

The Quilotoa Loop refers to several small Andean villages connected by a bumpy dirt road, the highlight of which is the famous volcanic crater lake of Quilotoa. We got on a bus and set out for Laguna Quilotoa at around lunchtime. The thing about the Quilotoa loop is that transportation is a bit tricky. No buses go all the way around the loop, so you have to either hike or hire a pick up truck. We got such a late start that hiking was out, so we took the two-hour bus ride to the town of Zumbahua (population 11,900, elevation 3800 metres), the closest stop to Laguna Quilotoa. The bus ride had some of the most spectacular scenery I’ve ever seen…and we were on the wrong side of the bus. We were on a bumpy dirt road that wound higher and higher into the Andes. The scenery changed from rolling patchwork hills to incredibly steep peaks that seemed to emerge from out of nowhere. The mountains were peppered with the tiny grass huts that the indigenous people live in, and we passed several indigenous people (usually women, interestingly) in their colourful clothes working in the fields or tending to herds of sheep and llamas. Several times, the bus had to stop because of sheep and llamas on the road. What an amazing ride.

After we hopped off the bus, there were several indigenous men waiting with their pick up trucks to take people to Laguna Quilotoa. The first person who approached us offered to take us there, wait for us, and then take us back for $8 each. I bargained with him and got him down to $7 each, which was more than the $5 each that our guidebook said was the going rate, but less than the $10 each that someone else was asking for. It was only about 15 km each way, but the ride takes a fair amount of time on the bumpy dirt roads. We crammed into the front bench seat of his Ford Ranger, with him (Orlando) at the wheel, me next to him, his sullen teenaged son next to me, and Dave hanging out the window with his camera. I estimated that the truck was from about 1976 but Dave said probably more like 1980, and maybe as new as 1982! On the way there, I had quite a conversation with Orlando, who was a really nice guy. Of course, he didn’t speak any English (Spanish is the 2nd language for the indigenous people, who have their own languages that vary according to where they’re from), and although my Spanish is improving quite a bit, it is still really bad. Somehow, though, we managed to cover a lot of ground. He was quite surprised to find out that North Americans marry and have kids so late in life, and that we have dogs, sheep, and llamas in Canada too! He, like so many others, wants to go to Canada to work and asked me a lot of questions about the feasibility of doing so.

He dropped us off at the beautiful crater lake, a stunning emerald green pool about 400 or 500 metres below the rim of the crater. There are two volcanoes (Cotopaxi and Iliniza Sur) that can sometimes be seen in the distance, but they were obscured by smoke and clouds when we were there. Still, it was really magnificent…and really cold (we were almost 4000 metres above sea level)! We walked around a bit and took some photos. Then, a giggling group of indigenous school girls in their uniforms came tearing down the path. Only one of them spoke any Spanish (even less than us!), but it was obvious that they wanted money and/or gifts from us. They would hold their hands out, pat their pockets, and point to our bags, smiling sweetly. We ignored their pleas for gifts, but we did interact with them a bit. The one Spanish speaker told us the name of every kid in the group, and they would all laugh hysterically at me as I repeated their names. They also found it very funny to hear us say our names. Finally, an adult saw them swarming us and yelled something at them that made them all take off running.

Back at the top of the path, a man who ran an extremely basic hostel in the small indigenous village that has sprung up near Laguna Quilotoa (apparently in response to tourism) asked us if we wanted to come in and buy a coffee or tea. We were freezing cold, so we said yes. We went inside a cement building with a dirt floor and grass roof. Inside, the man showed us some little paintings that he and his son had done, as well as some scarves his wife had knit. The paintings were traditional Andean folk paintings that are done on a sheepskin canvas stretched over a wooden frame. Apparently this style of painting has become quite famous internationally. I, of course, felt pressure to support the local people, so I bought one and probably paid too much. Oh well. We gulped down our beverages, praying that the water was safe to drink or else boiled really well, and hopped back in our waiting truck. All the little school girls who had been harassing us earlier asked Orlando for a lift back to their village and they all got into the back of the truck.

Shortly after we set off, Dave realized that he had forgotten his backpack in the hostel! We asked Orlando to stop the truck and Dave did more of his Olympic sprinting back to the hostel to rescue Henry and EO, his mp3 player, and his memory cards for the camera. When he arrived, the woman of the house was running outside with his backpack in hand…he wasn’t sure if she was running for the hills with it, or else running to give it to him! We hope the former, but either way, he got it back. The only price he paid for his forgetfulness was burning lungs of fire from running so fast at such a high altitude.

On the ride back to Zumbahua, after all the little girls had gotten out of the back of the truck, Orlando’s son (who was maybe 12 or 13) began getting driving lessons on the precipitous, winding mountain road. Orlando was sitting in the driver’s seat and his son sitting very close to him. His son steered and shifted when Orlando said to, while Orlando worked the clutch, gas, and brake. It was a bit unnerving, but not too bad. The dad was pretty calm for most of the ride, but occasionally he would raise his voice in the typical fashion of a parent teaching a kid to drive: “Steer left, LEFT, LEFT, faster, faster, quick, put it in 2nd, QUICK! Ok, now beep the horn, there are people on the road, now RIGHT, QUICK, steer hard!” The kid did a pretty good job, and when we arrived back to town, I gave him a smile and a “Well done!” He gave me a sulky teenage glare and a “Yeah, I know.”

We had about 45 minutes to wait before the bus came, and it was getting dark and even colder. Outside of the main cities, there is no such thing as a bus stop or even a bus terminal. People just stand along the side of the road and flag the bus down, which is exactly what we had to do. We killed a bit of time by walking to a nearby gas station (which seemed very out of place amongst the llamas and shacks with grass roofs) to buy some candies for my throat, which was getting very sore. Other than 5 minutes excursion, we basically just stood on the side of the dirt road waiting for the bus, marvelling about the fact that we were in the Andes. When the bus finally approached, we flagged it down and headed back to Latacunga.

We grabbed a bite to eat, Dave took some night shots of the town, and went back to our room where we drank some wine and watched a cheesy subtitled movie that made me cry and Dave laugh at me for crying. Watching subtitled movies is a great way to improve my Spanish, I’ve decided. Tomorrow morning we head out to a huge indigenous market – we can’t wait!