April 1, 2007 - After waking up entirely too early (TP lied to me about what time it was...I suppose he can call it his April Fool's gag, although he didn't think to use that excuse at the time) and consuming a pile of pastries, we stopped by
Moggely Tours the moment they opened to book our Cotopaxi trek and try on climbing gear. That done, we busted out of Quito by about 11:30, determined to reach Quilotoa before dark. As we neared our destination, the mountains became progressively higher, the buses progressively smaller, and the roads worse.
Our first bus, caught on a street corner near the station (saving our cab driver the trouble of going
all the way into the terminal proper) cruised down the Pan-American Highway and stopped at yet another street corner, this one in Latacunga. I woke up, disembarked, and collected my travel partner´s bags, only to watch the bus take off, him still aboard and making his way towards the door. He was let off up the hill, and after reconnecting 5 minutes later, we made our way back to the Pana, stopping for a snack, and caught the next bus to Zumbahua - with 25 cents worth of sugar cane to entertain me, and (equally entertaining) to make my travel partner roll his eyes and shake his head at me.
The landscape took on a less familiar form as we climbed further into the mountains, the entire region nearly twice as high as any mountain in the Eastern United States. We passed old women herding pigs along the side of the road, and llamas/alpacas would take a break from grazing to give us a curious look as we rumbled by. Herds of sheep in this primarily indigenous area were invariously sheparded by shy-looking young girls (12-14 years?) wearing black loafers or low heeled shoes, knee socks, and calf- or knee-length velvet skirts with hundreds of tiny pleats. Several shawls would be wrapped around their shoulders for warmth, and their long black braids, often reaching to their mid-back or hips, may be topped off with a dark felt fedora, complete with peacock feather or coordinating bow. Once, the bussed stopped so a rider could get off and shout down into a ravine - for at least 10 minutes - although I never figured out what he was calling for. Another companion, perhaps, or a pick-up or delivery.*
Exiting the bus in Zumbahua, it's final stop, we quickly found ourselves talking to the only other gringo in sight, a Frenchman from Paris. Going the same direction, we arranged to split a ride and climbed into the back of a pickup. The bed of the truck was surrounded by a rail, about chest high when standing. Lengthwise, the truck was split in half by a two-by-four, also at chest height, running from the cab to the tailgate, and we stood leaning against this and chatting for the duration of the 30 minute trip to Quilotoa. We were surprised to find the road paved so far off the beaten path, but it was smooth, except, oddly, for a terrible section in the middle of town.
We continued through the stunning Andean countryside, past numerous farms and the usual assortment of grazing animals, our rout almost perfectly flat across the high plateau, but surrounded on all sides by peaks and rises. Our driver stopped on more than one occasion to see if we were warm enough in the wind and to offer us seats in the cab, but we were enthralled by the surrounding vista. Every inch of the land was in use, the hillsides a patchwork of crops until they reached angles of nearly ninety degrees and hardened into barren, rocky crags. A deep canyon angled its way across the plateau, smaller channels splintering off in every direction.
Finally we arrived in Quilotoa, and after bargaining for a better price on a room, wandered up a couple hundred meters for a first glance at the laguna. We followed its perimeter for a time, then headed back to the hostel to finish our evening with a family style dinner in the hostel's fire- warmed, concrete living/dining room. A hen wandered through the room, pecking at spilled popcorn and seemingly unnoticed, most of the time, by the cat curled up near the wood stove. I practiced my new language skills on a patient Spanish family across the table. TP was impressed with my verbiage, but I was glad that the two sisters had studied in the U.S. (one in Cle Elum!) and could set me straight every few minutes when I lost track of the conversation.
*Throughout both Nicaragua and Ecuador, I've seen countless farmers and vendors transporting their goods via bus or public transportation. Yesterday, on my way to school, I stood next to a man carrying two large buckets of raw shrimp. I have not yet been on a bus with live chickens, but I´m very much looking forward to it. I did see a bus in Nicaragua with the rooftop storage space taken up entirely by live, full-sized, heavyweight pigs, grunting somewhat urgently.
We woke up to lightly falling snow - and more cornbread. By the time we finished breakfast, the weather had improved, so we packed our things, locked them to a bunk, and set off with waterbottles and cameras.
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