South of Quito, the picturesque capital of Ecuador, and near the mighty volcano Cotopaxi, there is a loop that connects many small indigenous communities via road. Many intrepid travelers walk the loop, or take the bus, but David and I decided to do it on the moto.
We spent the first night in Latacunga, a pleasant enough colonial-style town (with many young men with unfortunate haircuts), then set off up a windy road into the clouds (literally!)
The first town we stopped in was called Zumbahua, a small lively village where the locals spoke Kichwa, the language of the Incas (the Incas invaded Ecuador from Peru, and then the Spanish invaded the Incas from Spain and the Americans invaded the Spanish from America). We arrived on the weekend, and the locals were having a party, so we set ourselves up in a rickety wooden hotel overlooking the square and joined in.
A big bottle of beer was only $1, so $6 later, we were having a good time. Thousands of villages had come from all the damp crevices of the mountains for the party, and they didn’t hold back! There was a band, dancing, bull fighting, fireworks, street food, and lots of drinking both beer and the locally produced rice wine; strong enough to kill a pony. The party continued the entire weekend, and the window of our hotel room was metres from the square, so we didn’t get any sleep all weekend, nor did anyone else in the town.
The next place we visited (bleary eyed) was Laguna Quilotoa, a bottomless volcanic lake full of lime-green water. The walk around the lake on a thin, crumbly path with steep cliffs on either side took no less than six hours.
The next town, Chugchilan, was a shit-hole; its only redeeming feature being its location (sort of like Sydney I suppose). But we stayed at a wonderful Hostel (everything is called a Hostel in Ecuador), called Hostel Cloud Forest. The next day, armed with some vague directions from the hostel owner, we set off to see the mythical cloud forest. A cloud forest occurs when the mountains are higher than the clouds and the clouds sneak into the valleys of the mountain and take a rest before continuing their journey. It is pretty damn special to witness, but a tad spooky and we were hesitant to walk down the road that vanished into the clouds.
The next town, Isinlivi, was in a permanent coma, so we didn’t stay long. And David, my trusty navigator, got some dodgy directions from a local old lady who had possible never driven a 4WD jeep in 40 years let alone a 125 cc moto with two people on it. Our “road” back to lazy Modernity took us on an unsealed, rocky, and windy cliff-hanger over a 4000-metre pass that tested the poor Yamaha and our relationship.
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