Quilotoa Loop

From Quito we traveled south to the Quilatoa loop, a 200km loop through the central mountainous region that includes a number of tiny Andean towns and the magnificent Laguna Quilotoa. This ancient volcanic crater filled in with sparkling emerald water is a must-see when passing through Ecuador, though fortunately it’s a bit of a trip to get there (it sits at almost 13k ft!), which keeps the masses of tourists away. Actually, with the relative dearth of people around and the mist that rolls in each afternoon, Quilotoa manages maintains a rather mystical, untouched air.

Many travelers do the entire loop, hiking from village to village each day. Due to our limited time, however, (and to our mammoth packs) we opted to travel straight to one village about half-way around the loop, Chugchilán, and spend a few days on day hikes out from there.

One day we spent hours hiking uphill (or upmountain, rather) to a Quesería, or cheese factory and co-op, we’d heard a lot about in the town and from other travelers. I’m not sure what I was expecting, but it certainly wasn’t the 1.5 room building, 2-person staff we found when we finally arrived. We were not disappointed, however, as the people were kind and thorough on the 3-minute tour and the cheese probably the freshest I’ve ever tasted.

Another morning we caught a ride up to the Laguna Quilotoa and spent the day hiking back. After some time simply taking in the magnificence that is the Laguna, we began our hike around the rim and our eventual descent back to Chugchilán. The “directions” we’d been related tried desperately to be specific, though that turns out to be a difficult task when there is little actual path, zero trail markers, and few landmarks along the way. It’s not surprising, then, that we managed to take a few detours from the correct path, the consequences of which in one case meant hiking straight up what I’m convinced was a 120degree (at least) a produce field in the hail. In the end, however, some combination of our intuition and the encouragement of the small handful of people we met along the way got us back to our village safe and mostly sound, and the nasty cold I carried as a trophy the next several days was entirely worth it.

These days comprised some of my favorite in Ecuador for their simplicity: breathing fresh mountain air as I worked hard physically all day to the spectacular backdrop of the Andes, later sharing a warm meal with a new group of interesting adventurers each evening, and perhaps some cards or reading before falling into bed exhausted and fulfilled.

Quito, Ecuador

Please excuse my delay in writing! I sincerely apologize for keeping you waiting (I understand it was tough) and assure you that I will not to be so ungracious to you, my beloved reader, again. Though I’ve been in Argentina for a few weeks now, I know you’ve all been on the very edge of your seats for the last month waiting to hear about Ecuador. So, with hopes that reading about the wonders that make up this geographically small but amazing country will soften you, I begin again:

Full of energy after our adventure across Colombia’s Caribbean coast (and aware that I’d only experienced a small portion of the rich, diverse country I was leaving and that I will most certainly have to return one day), we flew from Cartagena to Quito in late February. After shaking the altitude-induced headaches and mild nausea (we traveled from sea level to over 9000ft in just a few hours!) I enjoyed the capital city of Quito immensely.

Our first stop in the city was El Museo Guayasamín and the artist’s Capilla del Hombre. The former is an impressive array of the work and collections of the man who was probably Ecuador’s most famous contemporary artist, Oswaldo Guayasamín, and the latter one of his final and most extraordinary works, a massive architectural feat that is in itself a museum for much of the rest of his work. The museum, housed on the compound that is Guayasamín’s former home, showcases many the artists’ own paintings, sculptures, and elaborate jewelry as well as his substantial collection of others’ work, from pre-Colombian artifacts to scores of religious paintings…An impressive and fulfilling museum experience, to say the least.

The museum’s impressiveness is quickly overshadowed, however, when one walks uphill a few blocks to the second Guayasamín monument, his home until his death in 1999 and the site of his Capilla del Hombre, or “Chapel of Man.” More than 10 years in planning and creation, the architecturally astounding Capilla del Hombre is without a doubt the crowning jewel of the artists’ long and prolific career. Besides a breathtaking home for many of his most famous works, it is also a tribute to the subject—humanity—of his study and work over those years. Guayasamín traveled all over the world in his lifetime and his works portray the wide array of subjects, issues and events he encountered. His works paint both the joys of humanity and the trials of innocents around the world, from the plight of the indigenous populations of his own country and the horrors of the dictatorships that plagued his region, to the agony of those affected by the atomic bomb and the sorrows of victims of slave trades across the globe. Interestingly, both his most tragic painting and his most hopeful one (according to our museum guide) depict a mother and child, the former a hollow mother who cries black tears for her child who has starved because of her dried-up breasts, and the latter a mother and child embracing. One of his most distinctive characteristics is the extraordinarily striking and expressive hands he paints, and also characteristic is the use of bright colors to offset tragic images painted in gray and brown.

Thinking about Guayasamín’s incredible talent and his vast influence and importance in Ecuador (we saw copies and recreations of his work and style all over the country), I’m struck by the realization that he’s virtually unknown to much of the rest of the world. I had never heard of him, which means very little, of course, but neither had Shepard nor any of the other non-Ecuadorian’s I’ve asked since (excepting my friends who studied in Quito and recommended I visit the museum… thank you Mary and Amit!). This reality is even more troubling when I think about the international nature and the diversity of his subjects because it brings into stark relief how educated he was about the rest of the world and how uneducated we all are about him. How is it that someone can be so talented, so locally influential, so experienced and knowledgeable about the worlds’ people, while those same people know nothing of him/her?

I left the Museo and the Capilla both feeling grateful that I’d been introduced to Guayasamín and lamenting the countless other geniuses around the world I’ll likely never encounter.

Beyond contemplating the myriad social injustices Guayasamín’s works raise and that of his anonymity around the world, Shepard and I spent our short time in Quito exploring the “Old Town,” the original part of the city. Full of character and steeped in history, this neighborhood is crawling with locals out for shopping and socializing at all hours of the day.

We were lucky enough to land in the city on a weekend, which meant we got to see some of the marvelous artisanal work of the Otavaleños (indigenous peoples from a market town north of the city) at the Saturday market in the park, to enjoy a Caribbean/Andean fusion concert over tapas in the Plaza del Teatro, to try out our dancing shoes at a local salsa club, and, best of all, to enjoy excellent people-watching all day and night. Whether wandering through the narrow, bustling streets among breathtaking colonial buildings and churches and haphazard old businesses and residences, nibbling on a variety of local specialties (empanadas verdes, or plantain and cheese empanadas, were my favorite) including ice cream from a 150-yr old heladería, or simply sitting and observing the hive of activity that is the Plaza Grande on a Saturday, I was one happy tourist in Quito.

Parque Tayrona

Parque Tayrona, one of Colombia’s more than 50 national parks, spans a large portion of Colombia’s northeastern coast and spreads inland for 58 square miles of mountains and jungle. Its mountains are of the Sierra Nevada range, and they run through the park right at the waters’ edge. According to a local, nowhere else in the world are there mountains as high as close to the ocean; they grow out of the sea to 3000 ft quite rapidly and dramatically.

We entered via a small highway that cuts through the park and were dropped at the main entrance on the eastern side. The western portion of the park is more desert, but there are fewer accesses and therefore fewer visitors. Despite its relative accessibility and a smattering of accommodations, it seems that Tayrona, thankfully, has escaped the type of tourism and development that plague Playa Blanca. Even though folks can now drive fairly far into the park, it’s still a lengthy and at times tough hike up to the beaches (no beach-side boat service here). This, coupled with the not-negligible park entrance fee, has helped Tayrona to maintain its rough, somewhat deserted paradise ambiance. Thank goodness.

The park is named for the primary indigenous group that calls it home, the Tayrona. Had we more time, we could have embarked on the multi-day hike from the coast inland to the ruins of one of their ancient settlements—La Cuidad Perdida—characterized by a local as “un lugar estilo Indiana Jones,” or an Indiana Jones-esq place. We opted instead for the half-day hike to and from “El Pueblito,” a much smaller set of ruins that is also part of the vast network of Tayrona settlements that made up the area before good ol’ Colombus & Co. arrived on the scene. The uphill trek—beach diminishing and sea spreading ever wider behind you—is invigorating, and the silent, deserted (save a handful of other adventurers) scene that awaits you at El Pueblito is a fulfilling, if understated, climax. Walking among the stone pathways and ancient homesites puts the nascent nature of our culture—and the antiquity of civilization as a whole—into perspective.

Also humbling, especially coming on the exhausted heels of our hike, was the description by a local of how the Tayrona women gave birth. Apparently these women, 9-months pregnant, came down the mountains to give birth in “La Piscina,” a small bay whose waters—made tranquil by the rim of large rocks that act as breakers—are some of the only swimmable on this part of the coast

Beyond hiking, Shepard and I passed our precious few days in Tayrona reading, swimming, drinking tropical smoothies (ah, heaven!), beating our new Argentine friend Damien at Rummy, and simply relaxing.

All around, the area has a rather wild feel to it, with enormous boulders jutting out into the tumbling waters along much of the shore and since the jungle and mountains that line water remain largely untouched. This, coupled with a dearth of young foreigners whose primary interests lie in sunning and partying, makes Tayrona my favorite of the places we visited in Colombia.

Barranquilla

Disappointed as I was to be away from NOLA during Mardi Gras season, I managed to get a taste of the festivities anyway the day Shepard and I spent enjoying Baranquilla’s Carnaval. According to locals, Baranquilla’s is the next best thing to Brazil, which would unofficially make it the second best in the world.

From the minute we arrived in the city and boarded a local bus bound for the center, the energy and spontaneity of Carnaval abounded. Barranquilleros, Colombianos, and brave foreigners alike flocked toward Villa 40 for the main parade of the day, La Batalla de Flores, dressed in all varieties of outrageous costumes, from representations of principle Carnaval characters to outrageous and arbitrary combinations of color and flare. The air was thick with unbridled celebration and delightful unpredictability, my favorite characteristics of Mardi Gras.

We opted out of the expensive tickets for bleacher seats—the best way to view the parades—and instead vied with thousands of other revelers for a street spot with a view. After a half hour of tippy-toed neck-stretching and one-too-many shaving cream showers (a hallmark of Barranquilla’s Carnaval, apparently, is shaving cream squirted indiscriminately and unapologetically into the crowds), we retreated to a side street, thinking it better to enjoy the raucous merriment from the periphery. We failed there, too, because as soon as these two gringas popped a squat on the sidewalk we were pounced on by the local revelers to join their fun.

It turns out that, since Western tourists aren’t yet commonplace in Colombia, the people are still extraordinarily curious and excited about our presence. Thus we spent the rest of the afternoon passed around between various Colombian friend and family groups—dancing, laughing, being drenched in shaving cream and then doused in baby powder (another Barranquilla hallmark)—in short, truly celebrating Carnaval with the locals.