Home Sweet Home?

On Friday morning, at the end of a long ride in the night bus from Huaraz, I opened my sleep-sticky eyes and looked out the window. Tall, nondescript, concrete buildings; aging cars spewing exhaust; the angry sound of horns even at this hour of the morning... Yep, I was in Lima alright. But why was it so gray? I looked at my watch. Definitely after sunrise. Then I realized that this was the famous garua, or heavy gray mist that covers the city for over half the year. With a grumpy sigh, I put my sleep mask back over my eyes to block out the sight.

After two months of traveling through lush jungles and snow-capped mountains, the sight of Lima is singularly disappointing. Nobody can say that it is a beautiful city, and tourists seldom spend more than a couple days here. And yet, upon seeing it, I felt a peace settle over me. Here, there is a comfortable bed that I will sleep in for more than two nights, and a family that welcomed me into their home. Here, I don't have to repack my bag every morning, and I won't have to wear wrinkled clothing every day. Here, I have friends to be crazy with or to relax with, who will show me all the places that make Lima worthwhile. For the moment, Lima is home, and it feels good to be home after traveling for so long.

Danger on the Mountain

Cotopaxi: while not the highest volcano in Ecuador, it's certainly the most picturesque, with its frosty white cap and perfect cone. It's certainly the most visited - Cotopaxi National Park receives more visits annually than any other park in Ecuador except the Galápagos. And despite the name, there are actually two other significant mountains and one other volcano inside the park.

 Volcán Cotopaxi

Since I'm not motivated or fit enough to scale the entire mountain, we opted for the shorter, hour and a half hike up to the refuge from 4,500 meters. We drove into the park at 8 in the morning on an uncharacteristically clear winter day. We could see all the mountains and volcanoes in the surrounding area, including the twin Ilinizas to the west and an erupting Tungurahua to the south, a plume of grey rising from its tip. The dramatic Rumiñahui looked like the jaws of some prehistoric creature, mouth gaping in an eternal roar. It made a striking contrast to the perfect Cotopaxi.

Rumiñahui

The ground at the base of the park was covered in a strange lichen that resembled snow, and the field was littered with huge boulders that had been spit out of the volcano eons past. After we exercised our lungs and acclimatized a bit to the altitude, we continued in the car to 4,500 meters. From there, we took a long series of switchbacks up the next 350 meters to the refuge. I was definitely feeling the altitude and the slope, but we walked very slowly and all made it up in pretty good shape.

Strange lichen and large boulders

From there, we hiked the last 150 meters to the glacier and the 5,000 meter mark. The way up was clear, and we admired the stunning landscape and clear views the weather afforded us. However, within 15 minutes, threatening clouds came over the mountain and it began to hail. Cracks of thunder could be heard, and our hair began standing on end. Brian received a minor jolt of electricity to the head which knocked his hat clean off. At this point, our normally easy-going guide began shouting at us to get down the mountain and to turn off any electronics. Lightning flashed in the distance, and an eerie hum sounded all around. I realized that there was so much static electricity in the air that it was buzzing audibly. We ran as fast as we safely could down to the refuge, where we gratefully had a coffee inside. Other groups were pacing restlessly or peering dubiously at the sky through the windows. Ours was the only group to reach the glacier that day. 

The beginning of the storm

Brian on the glacier

After the fury had abated a bit, we decided to descend the last bit to the waiting car below. The sky was chucking it down by the bucketful, and the hail was large enough to hurt. We ran down to the car and bolted inside. 

When we got back to Latacunga, it was raining heavily, so we ducked into a seafood joint and enjoyed some beers. Many beers actually, for having survived the day.

Our excellent guide, Chasky

It's a Zoo: The Animal Market in Saquisili

Finishing our journey around the Quilotoa Loop, our last stop was the famous Thursday morning market in the little town of Saquisili. There's a produce market and a textiles market, but these were similar to markets everywhere in South America. However, the animal market was like nothing I'd ever seen. It was almost enough to make me go back to being vegetarian.

We set out from Chugchilan at the yawn-inducing hour of 6 am. The sun was just coming up, and the views were fantastic.

Two hours later, we pulled into Saquisili. The first sight that greeted us was an impressive cloud of dust and a large gathering of people and animals milling around; it looked like an early morning rodeo. As we drove into the market, we saw a farmer being pulled along by his cow, running to keep up with the mooing animal's frantic bid for freedom. Finally, a truck blocked the path and the cow pulled up short, and the farmer was able to regain control and lead it into the market.

Bound sheep waiting to be loaded onto a truck

After we got out of the car, we could see that the animals had been divided into different lots: pigs in one corner, sheep and goats in another, cows in the back. The smell was impressive, but the sounds were truly remarkable. Words simply cannot describe the chaos of noise that reached my ears: terrified animals mooing and bleating, farmers bargaining in rapid Spanish and Kichwa, a man extolling the benefits of whatever snake oil he was selling. Above all, and impossible to block out, was the terrible squealing of the pigs.

You might be a vegetarian after hearing these squeals

Piglets were being shoved into sacks. Babies and adults alike were being vaccinated on the spot. Bound pigs were pushed, pulled, or thrown onto truck beds after being sold, and others were simply picked up by a hind leg and carried that way. Not surprisingly, the pigs didn't take kindly to this treatment and let out shrill, pathetic squeals that sounded like they belonged in a slaughterhouse. The locals, being accustomed, didn't react at all.

These were the least unhappy pigs at the market

I know that this is much more natural than superfarms and mega-slaughterhouses, but I can tell you that I didn't eat pork for lunch that day.

Things You Shouldn't Tell Your Mother

There are things in life that you shouldn't tell your mother. Travel in South America can be hairy enough, but these past few days I went above and beyond. 

We're in Latacunga, Ecuador, and we decided to do the famous but rustic Quilotoa Loop. We caught a bus without a hitch, but then, 5 minutes away from town, there was a hitch: construction crews were widening the only road through the mountains and we wouldn't be able to pass for a few hours. Since town was only five minutes away, we decided to take the scenic route and walk around the construction.

We startled some sheep on the way down

It started as a reasonable walk down through some fields. Then, there was a well-constructed bridge to cross the river, so we figured there must be a path that continued around the bend. Not so! This is what we encountered:

At this point, we had walked to far and were too stubborn to turn back. We had seen small children coming back from school skirting the roadblock, so really, how hard could it be?

This is actually the easy part. Plus, we had cheerleaders

Well, really really difficult. And pretty dangerous too. (Looking back, I have no idea what we would have done if I had twisted my ankle or, God forbid, broken anything.) It started out alright, with clumps of grass to put our feet on and a clear route ahead of us. But then, there was a patch with only loose gravel and dirt that went all the way down to the freezing river below. If you start sliding on that... Well, that's exactly what I was trying not to think about as I bounded across it in 2 steps before landing safely on the other side. From there, it was still a mental and physical struggle. We were only about halfway up, and big piles of rocks and other gravelly parts awaited. At this point, we had gained an audience of concerned (or possibly amused) construction workers who were cheering us on from the top. Luckily, once we had reached the rocks, the going was easier, with footholds and handholds aplenty. Finally, we reached the top, shaken and exhausted, but in one piece. From there, an enterprising man with a truck shuttled us up to Quilotoa.

The (cold) view of the laguna

Quilotoa was a surprisingly small and disorganized town for how popular it is with tourists. But, our hostel was cozy and warm, sort of. The next morning, we descended to the laguna and relaxed a bit before hiking back up. It would have been a difficult hike under any circumstances, but at 4,000 meters it was agonizing.

That afternoon, we caught another ride in a pickup truck to the next town of Chugchilán, 7 miles away. The dirt road was bumpy and a bit hair-raising, but the views were spectacular. In order to see better, and to protect our backsides from the jolting, we opted to stand for the whole thing. 

Stunning views and sheer drops make for an interesting ride

We arrived, and after a bit of confrontation (the French couple riding with us didn't want to pay the agreed-upon price), we settled in to a relaxing day of hammocks and beer and mountains. No more climbing for at least a few more days!