Hello readers! Dan here. The purpose of “Exploring Ecuador” posts is to share some of the beautiful locations Ecuador has to offer. I traveled with a friend and hostel patron Robbie to a town called Quilotoa, famous for its volcanic crater lake. From there we backpacked to several beautiful towns, seeing some of the best scenery Ecuador has to offer along the way. Perhaps this post will inspire you to come and take the trek for yourself! Happy reading!
We left early Thursday morning to catch a bus to Quilotoa. It was a long and beautiful bus ride through the countryside, with bright blues in the sky, accentuating the patchwork greens on the hills and the dramatic whites and silvers of the clouds, who seemed to be in competition with one another to see who could take up the most sky without detracting from it’s grace.
Quilotoa itself is a small collection of hostels and houses, the latter of which serve as makeshift hostels themselves, or else shops for the hungry traveler. While the day itself wasn’t particularly cold, the wind seemed to take it upon itself to chill the newcomers. Over a small ridge the crater lake lay down proud and wide, impressively surrounded on all sides by steep walls that led to steep peaks. The water was a brilliant azure/blue/green, made dynamic and ever-changing by the shadows of the clouds and the ripples of the wind. The only way down to the beach is the steep path from the town that misleads its walker by beginning in stairs cut from the dirt, but quickly gave up and lazily resorted to sharp slopes made slippery by loose gravel.
Shortly after arriving and securing a hostel, a lesser trafficked, six-roomed house, equipped with heavy wool blankets and small wood stoves to combat the cold, Roobie and I began our circumnavigational hike of the crater’s ridge.
The hike took roughly four and a half hours. It was peaceful, sunny, warm, and, like the town, very windy. The trail led around the entire ridge line of the crater, varying greatly in altitude as we progressed along the peaks. We walked counter-clockwise, keeping the gorgeous view of the lake constantly to our left.
The path around the lake.
The ridge line trail.
Photo-op
The path stayed typically atop the ridge, providing both the view of the lake and, to our right, the vast countryside. The countryside was just as beautiful as the lake, sprawling endlessly in all directions, speckled with patches of greens, browns, and olives. The multi-colored plots covered all land, crawling up even the steep mountain hillsides, the finest quality of Mother Nature’s patchwork quilts. The only land not covered by artistic domestication were the deep river canyons that fractured the land into separate pieces. From the ridge line we could confidently guess at which settlement in the far distance was Chugchilán, our next day’s destination.
The view of the countryside to our right.
The view of the river canyon.
The mountains in the far distance.
Occasionally the path dipped below the ridge line, shielding us from the talkative wind and bringing us through farm, forest, and an almost dune-like area of soft sand, apparently made from land slide and weather erosion. We once passed through a grove of soft pine trees, tagging along underneath of which, like so many younger siblings, were hundreds of mushrooms. The sight and smell of the grove were so unusual from my experience thus far in Ecuador that several times I was brought into a memory flashback of hiking in the states, somewhere akin to the piney peaks in Bend, Oregon. Several times while walking along the lower trails we came across shepherds and their flocks. The shepherds ranged from a young girl of about 7 or 8, to an old woman of maybe 60 (her age exaggerated by the elements endured from what has surely been her lifelong work), to two young boys of about 15 and 20, who eagerly asked us to share our water. The older woman wore the traditional highland garbs; brightly colored shawls, dark skirts, pale tights, and a subtle fedora. Both women seemed unrealistically picturesque, as though, given word from the townsfolk of our departure on the trail, they brought their sheep to the most dramatic spot they knew, hoping only to impress. Kudos, girls, you knocked our socks off. The boys we passed on a narrow trail, so that they had to skirt the sheep uphill and chase off their protective mutt in order that we could pass.
The young shepherdess.
Sheep!
Our hostel was small and private, the owners shy yet very courteous and friendly. Our $8 included our bed for the night, dinner, and breakfast. At dinner that night we met the only two other guests. They were two outgoing Ecuadorian men, probably in their late 30’s or early 40’s. The older man had a pudginess shared by so many Ecuadorians, probably brought on from a lifelong diet consisting of mostly white carbs. It’s the kind of full plumpness that can make one appear simultaneously intimidating and approachable. The younger was skinny, tall, wore glasses, and had a quiet patience with his speech, letting his friend do most of the talking, reserving his contributions for when his opinion differed, but otherwise mostly listening. Once these two learned that we spoke Spanish they eagerly began conversation. We spoke for what felt to be several hours, quickly humoring the necessary introductions and moving right into more substantial topics. We discussed politics, work wages, drugs, and the traveler’s lust for life. We learned how they, like so many others, disliked politics in general, but disliked greater its current state. They worked so they could travel, providing a long list of adventures the two had shared over the years. They seemed ideal counterparts, sharing mindsets that kept them excited, but differing in opinions so that they were kept interested. Our talk together proved to be the most interesting discussion I’ve had in a foreign language. We parted ways for bed that night, and they had left before we woke up the next day.
The next morning we got up and had a quaint yet satisfying breakfast (as they so often are in Ecuador) of a scrambled egg, bread with butter and homemade jam, and instant coffee. Before leaving for Chugchilán we decided to descend to the lake beach. The descent was tricky, though our legs were freshly practiced from the trails the day before. At the beach we met two Ecuadorian students. We enjoyed some small talk and photo-ops, laughed at the dog teasing playfully the two alpacas, and then headed back up to be on our way.
The view of the trail to the beach from the opposite side of the crater.
From the beach.
About halfway up we were stopped by a girl descending the trail, asking if this was the way to Chugchilán. We told her no, this trail goes only to the beach, but that we were walking to Chugchilán ourselves, and invited her to join us. She agreed and introduced herself as Alicia. Alicia was Swiss, though born to Spanish parents, giving her flawless Spanish that seemed mismatched with her pale skin and accented English.
We left Quilotoa heading clockwise around the crater, opposite of our hike the previous day. About a quarter of the way around the crater the trail forked. We proceeded on the left fork, leaving the crater behind us as we began our descent to Chugchilán, which lay about 4 hours ahead of us. We followed the main road for some time, splitting eventually onto a local path worn down into miniature canyons by the rain that we were thankful to be missing. We followed the path through the country farmland we had viewed from up high the day before, coming eventually to one of the deep river canyons. The descent down the canyon was steep and dramatic, switching carelessly between vista lookouts, enclosed narrow trails between tight walls of rock, and slippery improvised paths where landslide had overtaken the trail.
The view en route to Chugchilán.
Descending to the river canyon.
At the bottom was a narrow, fast-moving creek of brown water that surely fed into the main river somewhere downstream. We crossed the creek on a bridge formed from a felled log, and began the climb up the other side. The ascent, while steep, proved much tamer than the descent, and once we reached the main road it was just a quick walk uphill until we finally entered Chugchilán.
Chugchilán is a small and quiet town, grayed and muffled from the years of mist that visit uninvited. Marked by a main road flanked by family shops and a small covered square, the town gives off a content atmosphere known best by those places in which everybody knows everybody else, and can remain cordial in lieu of the gossip. At the entrance is the town church which, other than the two or three hostals on the other side of town, is the largest building in Chugchilán.
We chose to stay at the Cloud Forest Hostel, a three storied, L-shaped building that overlooked its fenced-in courtyard. Each story had open-air walkways with handrails facing the courtyard, with hammocks hung intermittently from the ceilings. The view from the walkways presented a small cliffside farm, worked on by a single man, beyond which was the valley below.
The hammocks on the walkways of Cloud Forest Hostel.
The view from the balconies, a lone worker on a cliffside farm.
The three of us shared a room, grateful for the hot showers and relaxing hammocks after such a long trek. We chilled outside our room, talking about our different lives and countries, until we were called by the hostel staff for dinner. Dinner was started with a delicious cream of spinich soup, followed by roast chicken, rice, and generous servings of tomatoes and beets. During dinner, the hostel owner, José, joined our table to ask if there was any way he could assist us with our next day’s plans. The three of us all planned to hike to Isinlívi, though while Alicia wanted to take the main route, Robbie and I asked if it was possible to go through the river canyon we had crossed just earlier that day. José explained that it was indeed possible, so we decided on this course, and, shortly after dinner, went to bed, sleeping heavily through the night.
The following day we ate breakfast at the hostel and got on our way. Alicia had left while we were packing our things, so it was once again the two of us. Passing the square out of town, there was a cow bound with ropes around its head and neck. The lead of the rope was strong through a loop firmly set in the cement. In this way, several people could force the cow to lower its head by pulling back on the rope. One man stood facing the cow, long knife in hand. The cow never removed its eyes from the armed man, and every time the steel was readied, with the tip of the blade at the base of the animal’s skull, the cow would rear and fight with enormous strength, each time extending life be a few more precious moments. How universal the lust for life! That even one of Earth’s dumbest creatures can appear intelligently defiant when bound against its otherwise domesticable will. But soon the cow’s back legs were bound and pulled out from underneath, leaving it prone and defenseless without strength. In a moment of surprising poetry, a funeral procession passed by. The cow’s ghost hitched a ride to the church.
Defiance.
Perhaps a difficult image to look at, but a moment poetically captured. Credit goes to Robbie.
After the event was over, we made our way out of town. We left Chugchilán the way we came, heading back towards the river canyon we had crossed yesterday. Our plan was to travel downstream through the canyon, eventually to hit the suspension bridge that marked the standard route. Even from the start of the journey we knew we had made the right decision. The canyon, which was dramatic and beautiful from above, proved immense and towered over us from the inside. There was a narrow trail that led along the steep walls, occasionally crossing over the river, via long jumps and the occasional dry stone, in order to stay on the most hospitable side. Along the way we passed waterfalls, herds of cattle, and abandoned houses, always beautiful and breathtaking.
In the canyon
The river we followed.
One of the waterfalls we passed.
We ended up getting a little lost when the river we were following met a larger river flowing the opposite direction of what we expected. After a short lunch break (and a bit of wandering around) we decided on our direction, eventually finding a path up and out of the canyon. It turns out we climbed out of the canyon much too early, and we ended up walking along a road that took us through several smaller towns. Our route was beautiful, though definitely one of the longer ways to get to Isinlívi. We ended up hiking for about 7 hours. About a kilometer and a half away from Isinlívi we hitched a ride in a large lumber truck, the closest thing to a roller coaster I’ve experienced in Ecuador so far. It was really fun, and we were grateful for the ride, which allowed us to get into Isinlívi just before dark.
A yummy lunch of fresh cheese with carrots.
A view of the farmlands while climbing out of the canyon.
Crazy ride in a lumber truck.
WOOOOAAAAAHHHH!!!!
Isinlívi is a small and beautiful town, with a large stone church and quiet homes that make themselves available as bed and breakfast style hostels. Shortly after being dropped off a woman approached us asking if we needed accommodation. She took us to her house, a wonderfully cozy cottage on the edge of town, surrounded by beautiful gardens. We relaxed, enjoyed the hospitality and homemade meals, played some cribbage, and reveled in our accomplishments and distance from the past few days.
Our cottage abode in Isinlívi.
Lovely flowers.
The beautiful gardens right out of our windows.
All in all this trip was one of my favorites I’ve taken in Ecuador. The hiking was just challenging enough to be rewarding, yet easy enough to be done day after day. The views were unparalleled and the people we met along the way were genuine and warm. While I’m still new to Ecuador, I feel that it’s going to take a lot to top a place like this!
If you are interested in doing this trip yourself, write to me, Dan, at communityhostel@gmail.com and we can help you make all the necessary arrangements.
See also our Community Adventures Tour to Quilotoa.
