Our last few days in Quito we spent visiting La Mitad Del Mundo (aka the actual equator), and as per our expert advice, we skipped the kitschy monument with a globe on top, since it was somewhat expensive, and also because apparently it was built before anyone checked the site with a GPS, and when they finally did, they found that the
actual equator is 250 meters away. The fortuitously-located Museo del Inti Nan (Sun Museum, roughly), then, is the site of the actual equator, and we did a tour there that included watching water spin different directions on either side of the equatorial line, and then not spin at
all on the line itself, due to Coriolis forces (did anyone else think that was actually supposed to be a myth?). We were also shown how our strength was mysteriously lessened when standing on the line, though again the scientific explanation was a bit garbled. The tour also included a brief look at some REAL shrunken heads, as well as a preserved boa constrictor and a special type of fish that lives in the Amazon River. This fish is special because if you pee in the river, it may swim up your urethra and parasitize your liver (to combat this, local indigenous tribes of the head-shrinking variety wear special penis-protecting ropes - no preserved specimens of these people, thank goodness).
While outside of Quito, we took an extra bus ride to visit the Volcan Pululagua, which supposedly has an impressive crater. It was a bit of a misadventure, though, since our guidebook did not adequately portray that visiting the crater meant getting dropped off at the side of the road, then hiking up a paved highway sort of indefinitely. We ended up hiking an endless eco-trail in heavy fog. We could sense a yawning abyss on both the left and right as we wound our way higher and higher, but were unable to see the crater at all. If there even was a crater at all... In the end, true to form, it began to rain heavily, and our somewhat treacherous hike down was made all the more harrowing, so no surprises there. Perhaps the strangest part of it all was that, on this otherwise
abandoned, misty road, there was a Sun Temple, which blasted Asian-sounding music from giant, deteriorating speakers, which could be heard throughout the duration of our ghostly hike. There was certainly something ethereal about it all.
The only other thing of note in Quito was that we never successfully went to the incredibly popular (and appropriately dangerous) Plaza Foch, which is where the supposed nightlife of the city is cente
red. We did, however, manage to attend the most lackluster trivia night ever at a nearby hostel, which featured depressed participants, factually incorrect trivia answers, and the quietest winning from any team I have ever seen. Anywhere. Chess included.
Last Tuesday, after having postponed
our departure for Cotopaxi for several days, since we enjoyed Quito so much, we finally embarked on the second part of our journey. We'd heard about Cotopaxi as being the highest elevation active volcano in the world (5,897 meters, or 19,350 feet), and we were intrigued. This, however, is misinformation, although everything we read about the volcano (which I suspect may have all come from the wikipedia page, due to the striking lack of variation in the description) did confirm that it is a stratovolcano with an almost perfectly symmetrical cone. Which was reason enough for us to visit.
The journey from Quito to the national park, as outlined by our guidebook, was simple: we were to take a Trole Bus from the center of the city (we waited an hour for one we could fit into with our packs, then opted for a taxi instead) to Quitumbe, the arterial bus station, from which you take a $1.50, 1.5-hour bus towards Latacunga (actually $1.70, and 2.5 hours), then asked to be let off at the entrance to the park (meaning you are ejected on the wrong side of the busy freeway from a dirt road, leading towards nowhere, with a small sign denoting the national park). *Incidentally, the buses in this country show films, so we watched a good portion of the dubbed version of the Dolph Lundgren film "Direct Contact," which featured people getting shot in the eyes and having their noses broken. The 4'year'old kid in the front row loved it.
We got to the entrance of the park around 4pm, where a lone man with a truck informed us it was 18 km to the entrance to the park, then another 12 km to the camping area, to which he could drive us for $10 each. We thought that sounded a bit much, and decided we
The dirt road was heavily potholed, and we drove first through a pine forest, which our driver told us was being planted experimentally for lumber. Or at least I think he said something like that. We broke out of the dense trees into a barren, rolling landscape of gullies and stubby bushes, and we were all struck by the general ugliness of the scenery. To make matters worse, a few minutes up the road, it began raining. Hard. When I looked back to check
on our backpacks, comfortably nestled in the bed of the pickup, I saw that it had actually started hailing...
We were dropped off in the failing light and the downpour in a small valley, warned to watch out for wolves and wild bulls, and then scampered into a small empty building, aptly designed for inclement weather. All our dubiousness, however, melted away as the rain slowed and the clouds parted, revealing the
base of the snow-capped volcanic peak in the background, with a herd of wild horses grazing the scrubby grass in the foreground. Scott and I immediately set off on what was bound to be one of our ill-conceived hikes, working our way towards a nearby lake (which was actually just a murky puddle about a foot deep - I was reminded for the second time this journey of the Dead Marshes in The Two Towers). We watched the spectacular sunset over the caps of the craggy, barren peaks all around, with a choice reflection of the twin snowy mountains of Illiniza Norte and Illiniza Sud in the distance. Not to absolutely pound the Lord of the Rings references to death, but the best comparison we could
think of for the high, cold, windswept terrain is the gray m
oors of Rohan. There was definitely a fair bit of theme-music humming while at Cotopaxi...
For the journey, we'd brought bread, avocados, nuts, granola, tangerines, tuna, a quimbolito (lembas/elven waybread), and our water purification equipment (both a filter and iodine tablets), as well as one bottle of aguardiente, or Ecuadorian firewater, to combat the cold. We ate, chatted in a bizarre mixture of bad Spanish, decent English, and manageable French with our new friends (there was no language that we all spoke), and spent about an hour gazing at the Volcan Cotopaxi, whose formidable presence was illuminated with admirable regularity by the lightning storm somewhere behind it.
Day 2 Cotopaxi (approx. 3,500 meters)
about 1,000 meters below the summit. The trail began on relatively level ground, taking us from the west entrance around towards the north side of the volcano. About 3 km in, we spied a sign saying it was 18 km, or one hour by car to the refuge (so...more than 18 km total?), and the entire hike was along the wide, dusty, unpaved road. Not exactly wilderness trekking.
We stopped to filter some water at a small channelized stream, and
then the road began to climb. We spent the next five hours leap-frogging our French friends up the trail, which offered little variety or respite: it wound back and forth steeply upwards,
climbing relentlessly towards the summit. About 3 hours into the hike, we spied the refuge for the first time - an impossibly tiny orange speck located precariously above the snow line. Cars began passing us on the road as the day wore on, and as our packs grew heavier, we began to consider asking for a lift. We stopped frequently, since the altitude, our heavy packs, the
violent wind threatening to push us down the mountain, and our lack of sleep were beginning to conspire and take their toll. The crushed Clif bars I had in my pack and the elven waybread kept us going, and Scott's insistence on not hitching a ride meant we hiked every step of the way. Personally, I think this was physically the most difficult thing I've ever done, Konrad workouts included.
The final ascent to the refugio above the snowline couldn't be made by cars, and we paused to gather our strength at the most desolate parking lot I've ever seen. The refuge, located at 4,810 meters, or 15,780 feet, loomed about 1,000 feet above us, and the only route up was a
straight, wide, well-populated path of crumbling volcanic pebbles. Most of the other hikers bounded out of their cars, well-rested and casually shouldering light daypacks. We, on the other, hand, huffed up the slope, in our sixth hour of hiking, lightheaded, windburned, burdened, with pounding hearts. We finally reached the refuge, which was drafty and crowded, and offered bunks for $22.40 a piece. Yikes. For a country where soup, rice, chicken, salad, and juice costs $1.50, that seemed a little steep.
We had a few options: we could try and hitch a ride back down (not desirable, since we'd only just hiked up), we could hike back down (physically improbable), we could pay the $22.40 (impossible, because I am traveling with Scott), or we could
snow-camp at 16,000 feet on an active volcano in our little brother's borrowed tent.We snow-camped, at 16,000 feet, on an active volcano, in our little brother's borrowed tent. Of course.
Almost as improbably, Scott made me tea at the lodge (!) to warm me up, and I put on 4 pairs of socks, 4 pairs of pants (including Scott's snowboarding pants), 10 layers on top, a scarf, and a beanie. We also took some much-belated pills to fight altitude sickness.
Night 2 Cotopaxi (over 4,800 m, approx. 16,000 ft)
We were kicked out of the refugio at 5:30pm, spent some time trying to gather wood for a fire (we had already pitched and staked our tent at the base of a ridge where a few other tents were clustered), then went to bed promptly at 6:30pm, when the sun went down and the wind picked up. We slept soundly until 7:35pm.
We tried playing categories (in which someone picks a general category, like "cheeses," then you take turns naming things that fall into that category, we played ¨Things you can wear to keep you warm¨), then dozed a bit.
It was around 9:30pm when the crisis struck.
I was drifting off, when suddenly the tent felt very small. My stomach was writhing, worse that it had been all day. I had to pee, but was scared I would be blown off the face of the mountain if I were to leave the tent. It was snowing. My head ached terribly. I was cold. I could not stop thinking about the fact that I was camping on an active volcano. But worst of all, I felt as though I couldn't breathe. (The next day, our experienced mountaineer friend Sam told us that before full acclimatization, your body has trouble getting enough air. As you fall asleep, you breathe less, but since there is less oxygen in the air itself, you go through periods of sleep apnea, where you stop breathing entirely for a moment or two, and it can induce panic attacks.)
I felt like I might die. I was breathing heavily, trying to imbibe as much oxygen as possible, and Scott asked me what was going on. "I'm feeling very anxious..." I choked out, and I think he understood immediately, because he told me to drink some water, and then offered to read aloud to me from The Monkeywrench Gang (thanks Aunt Kit!).
It's hard to explain, and maybe sounds silly for those who weren't there, but I felt a bit less like I was going to die. A few chapters later, I fell asleep, and slept until 3am. I think maybe hearing about Hayduke getting caught by the masked stranger actually saved my life... We got up at 7am, struck camp, and headed back to the refugio to hang out until we could catch a ride down. We thought about heading to the summit, but we didn't have a guide, or equipment, and we were both feeling pretty beaten up from the previous two nights.
11am found us at the exit to the parking lot, in the biting wind, playing categories (Minerals, Desserts), and putting our thumbs out at the guides in pickups and the tourists in Ford Expeditions headed down the mountain. An hour later, we'd established we could pay $10 for a ride to Machicha, a town north of where we'd entered the park, but where we would be able to catch a ride to Banos, our next destination. Stubborn Scott wouldn't go for it, so we kept taking off our sunglasses (on the premise that people trust you more if they can see your eyes) and gloves (on the premise they could see our thumbs better that way) for every car.
In a lucky moment, I put my gloved thumb out (without even removing my sunglasses) at a pickup with 5 Ecuadorian men already packed in the cab. They stopped, gesturing towards the back of the truck. I approached the window, asking "Adonde van?" The response? "Abajo." ("Down").
That was good enough for us. Without
any idea of if we'd be required to pay, or of where exactly we were being taken, we hopped into the back, which was filled with blankets and soft backpacks. At the intersection towards Machicha, they turned towards the way we'd come. At the park entrance, they kept going. An hour after departing, we found ourselves dropped at the very same stretch of freeway the bus had left us two days before. When Scott tried to offer the driver money, he laughed, shook his head, and said, "Hasta luego, amigo!"
We de-layered ourselves, repacked our bags, and started looking for a bus that would take us to Banos. After maybe 15 minutes, we realized all the buses were headed to Latacunga, and our best bet would be to head there, then catch a second bus to Banos. We flagged down the next bus before we could see the destination placard. As it slowed, we could read it clearly: the bus was going to Banos. Sometimes ill-conceived plans just work out.
Windburned. Sunburned. But we finally got some beers.
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