Category: RTW Trip

The largest Carnival celebration in Ecuador is in the large city of Ambato. It is surprisingly large for how little you hear of the city, but yet, you understand when you get there because there is not much going for it really. Even for Carnival. We made a morning parade, which was flashy, wacky and colorful, but after that we were at a loss for what to do, as the only activity seemed to be drinking into oblivion. That and giant, city wide water and foam fights (with the occasional extra nastiness mixed in).

But then we saw a ‘corre de toros’ on the schedule. Taking this at a literal translation, we thought we were heading to a running of the bulls type event. Turns out ‘corre de toros’ is a bull-fight. But controversy aside, we both agreed we had never been to one of these either and it would be a fine experience to round out our Carnival celebrations.

We were treated to the full spectacle. We saw six fights. We saw a matador gored, only to return and triumph.

We saw a bull outlast a matador and get chased out of the ring, a ‘vive toro.’ Of the other four, we saw two daring and highly skilled matador performances, and two pretty pathetic ones. So we had a pretty broad experience.

But after all that, I’m not sure what to think. On the one hand, it’s a brutal way for a bull to die. On the other, when it’s well done and the matador is on top of his game, it’s incredibly thrilling to watch the control he has over the bull, and the daring feats he accomplishes.

It really becomes a dance with bull and matador, very artistic. And to me, in a ring, free and with a ‘fighting’ chance is a better way to die than in a slaughterhouse. Nevertheless, we decided we probably wouldn’t be going to any more bullfights. Except maybe an authentic one, in Spain. I’m sure those matadors are incredible.

After Saquisili, the road heads up into the western Andes and a series of small, mainly indigenous villages popular with us gringos, the Quilotoa Loop. What’s great about the loop is there are small hostels in almost every town you can stop in where you can drop your things. So wherever you are when you decide you want to stop, well, you can stay there. It creates a real sense of comfortable adventure.

And some adventures we had. If there was anything to set the tone for our three days, it was our bus ride into Isinlivi, our first destination after the market. We climbed steadily into the clouds, and soon, a light rain. As we neared Isinlivi, the bus stopped before a sharp corner and the driver and ayudante got out and started going at the road with a hoe. Many other people got off and started moving rocks around, much to our confusion. It was then we noticed the mudpit in front of us. After twenty minutes of digging, we tried to pass, and while it felt like the bus was going to topple over, we made it through. But looking back after we passed, it was evident the bus behind us wasn’t going to make it. But they did try. And failed.

So we spent the next two hours trying to get the bus behind us through and then repairing the road so that the busses could make it back through the next day. The rocks that were moved with so much effort only made things worse. So then very muddy men hauled all the rocks out. The mudpit was drained and drainage ditches cut, leaving a very heavy road angle, but passable. So we moved on. The two hour bus ride took over four, and the hostel in Isinlivi, Llu-llu Llama, was all but shuttered thinking no one was coming that day. After a stroll through the one street town, we purchased lunch for the next day at THE store and settled in for a comfortable night.

The next morning, armed with a hiking guide from the hostel, we set off to walk to Chugchilan, many hours by a detouring road, but only a five hour hike from Isinlivi through gorgeous terrain and across a canyon. The recent rains made the ground pretty muddy and more than a few mudslides had wiped out sections of the trail, but we picked our way down to the river and back up into the clouds, finding a Don Bosco Italian woodworking carpenter student at the top of the cliff, anxious to sell us his crafts. While we were completely exhausted from our climb, he was friendly, did beautiful work, and comforted us by telling us it was only a half hour flat walk to our destination. Unfortunately, we had no means of carrying a four post bed away with us.

We arrived, sure enough, a half hour later, to Chugchilan filthy and just in time to witness an epic Carnival waterfight between the female workers at our hostel and the male construction workers. Both sides ended up soaked and covered in mud, flour and … other things. We felt downright clean by comparison after just walking through five hours worth of mud. We steered clear and observed the merriment from our second story balcony. Later, a volunteers birthday meant an evening party at the hostel, and being the only guests at the hostel (again), we were invited. It was a really nice evening of chatting at length with the owners, the three German volunteers and many of the locals they knew. The cuba libres flowed freely and regueton (I think every country has a different way of spelling this …) played loudly. Everyone was festive and cheerful and so friendly and easy to talk to, and really, so was everyone we met on the entire loop. I don’t think we passed a single person who didn’t initiate a buenos dias, buenos tardes or buenos noches, and often followed it with more conversation.

While we had originally planned to hike to the crater of Quilotoa the next morning, we were convinced by everyone at the party that it was a bad idea and we were better off hopping a ride with the  hostel owner the next morning who was making the trip anyway. So we sat in the back of a seemingly shock-less pickup truck as it sped over potholes and around tight corners, though as we climbed and climbed we were quickly thankful to not be walking.

Instead of hiking up, we decided to hike around the crater, a striking beautiful set of cliffs diving down to an emerald green lagoon. The views out over the surrounding farmland (including almost all the way back to Isinlivi) were more striking than the the scenery within the caldera, at least until the clouds rolled in and all became shrouded.

Tired and dirty and ignoring the “warnings” from local hostel touts that there would be no more busses out of Quilotoa that day, we lucked into two direct bus transfers back to Latacunga, which also meant we missed the end of the market in Zumbuhua, much smaller than Saquisili, and the local art gallery in Tigua. Looking back on it, this is the kind of short trip I really enjoy, just a few days with a pack and the ability to piece together a trip, be it hiking, hopping a bus, or making friends and hopping a ride. It’s the kind of short trip that really feels like an adventure.

Well, at least that’s why some people were there. We, not knowing international laws on transporting livestock, stuck to just browsing at the Saquisili market (though at only $1 each, Jeff was tempted to buy a chick, set it free, and see what happened). Held every Thursday, the Saquisili market is one of the biggest and most important markets in Ecuador. Along the Quilotoa Loop, a rural region home to primarily indigeneous families, the market is the main source of practically everything for people in the area.

In order to really experience the market, we got up early and headed out to Saquisili in time for the animal market, which is well on its way to shutting down by 8 a.m. when the rest of the market is just getting underway. From the bus, we followed the scent of livestock and found ourselves in a large area packed with people and their animals—sheep, goats, llamas, cows, and pigs. Who was buying and who was selling was nearly impossible to distinguish, but with some close observation we did see one transaction go down.

After a close inspection of the sheep, which involved grabbing them by the legs, flipping them over, and feeling around their breast area (all accomplished in less than 5 seconds), and some bantering over price, a couple walked away with two sheep for what we think was $120.

Tiring of the sheep, we headed to the pig section of the market, which was much, more noisier. I could only wonder how anyone can stand to work in a slaughterhouse. These pigs weren’t facing the hatchet (well at least not yet) but they sure did scream bloody murder as they were taken off of or loaded onto trucks.

From the pigs, we made a brief stop in the cow area, but weren’t nearly as entertained here, as the cows did nothing but chew their cud or nibble the grass.

In addition to the animal watching, we also did a good bit of people watching. The indigeneous people here amaze me. I think they can carry absolutely anything on their back. And watching them work in whatever conditions—mud and muck almost always present—while wearing skirts and shawls and hats and stockings makes me feel a bit self-conscious about how much thought I put into having the “right” clothes for whatever activity I’m doing.

As the animal market drew to a close and all the families settled in for hearty lunches (yes, it was only 8 a.m., but I imagine many of these people had been up since 3 a.m.), we headed for the seven squares of the town, in which vendors were selling just about anything you could want.

We saw women selling sugar cane and men sewing.

We saw huge bags of grains and pastas, baskets full of guinea pigs, some seriously silly looking chickens, worn (but not yet worn out) shoes, all the fabulous fruits and vegetables that they grow in Ecuador, blocks of sugar, and much, much more.

It was a fascinating look at local culture, and though we didn’t buy anything—except food (red bananas, small plums called claudias, mandarins, fried corn and cheese patties, fry bread, popcorn balls, and a grilled banana), I think it’s our favorite market experience so far.