An earthquake, an election, a drunk lady in our cab
No, I'm not talking about myself.
Hello from the Bellavista cabin, or as it’s known tonight, the election party bunker: I’m writing this on Thursday evening as we watch the votes come in for the UK general election. And yes, it’s a celebration – for Dave and I at least (we voted by proxy)… my parents may never recover. Unlike the economy, am I right?!
Either way, it’s possibly the first time that this six-hour time difference between Ecuador and the UK has been in our favour: we can soak up all eight hours of Kay Burley’s chaos on Sky News and still go to sleep at a respectable hour. Come to think of it, maybe I should see out every election night this way.
Politics aside, our setup is fantastic. The place we’re staying in is a beautiful “tiny home” cabin in the hills of Latacunga valley, about two hours south of Quito. We’re surrounded by fields, horses, and stunning views of volcanoes with a lot of nothing in between. But somewhat miraculously, the otherwise rustic cabin has an enormous HD television and super fast wifi. Not to mention a kettle and a fridge within arm’s reach of the bed. So we’re living the dream.
The week got off to a shaky start – quite literally – when we were woken up just after midnight on Monday morning to the spooky sensation of our bed being shuttled across the floor (at least, that’s what it felt like). At first I really thought some kind of truck was battering the front of our building – the walls and windows were shaking so visibly – it took me a good few seconds to realise what was really happening was of course an earthquake.
The tremors lasted about 30 seconds, Google soon told us, and it was only a 4.6 on the richter scale – but the epicentre was close, just a couple of kilometres away. That, paired with the design of our building (beautiful and old, with huge rattling windows), made the event feel much bigger and scarier than it probably was. What was interesting, I think, were our very different reactions: I leapt out of bed like I was on springs with the instinct to either stand in a doorway or get the hell out of the building (bye Dave), every woman for themselves. Whereas Dave’s instincts were to bury himself further under the duvet and hide until it was all over.
I guess you could say his tactic won out, because the shaking soon stopped and he was still warm in bed. We saw our neighbours’ lights come on and some commotion in the street, but we couldn’t see any damage or hear anything that sounded like panic. And so we went back to bed, where Dave fell instantly back asleep and I lay awake for the next hour worrying that the volcano had erupted and we were soon to be Pompeii’d alive in our beds.
You wouldn’t know it from my panicked reaction, but this was not our first tectonic rodeo. We experienced a slightly bigger earthquake (5 on the scale) in Cusco while staying there with friends in May. Zlata said she had a similar fright, thinking someone was trying to break in, but I have to say I barely noticed it from our more modern but less fancy ground floor apartment on the other side of town. This one, I definitely felt.
Some parts of Quito were without power on Monday morning, and we had only a trickle of water coming out of the tap. But otherwise there was no damage. Of course, later that morning when I excitedly told my Spanish teacher (Graciela, brilliant, based in Argentina) what had happened, she just stared at me with an expression and words to the effect of: And? Come back to me when you’ve felt a 7 or higher.
Earthquakes happen every single day along the Andes, I know this, because there’s a lot of funky movement going on deep down with tectonic plates: the Nazca plate and the Carnegie ridge are “plunging beneath the South American Plate on which Ecuador is located” according to this not very helpful explanation. (I did AS Geography twice and came out with a D both times. I cannot provide anything better.)
The country is therefore subject to three different types of earthquakes, and plenty of them: subduction earthquakes (where tectonic plates collide and one plate is thrust beneath another), shallow upper-plate earthquakes (where two plates move past each other) and, less frequently, earthquakes caused by volcanic activity – hence my insomnia.
Having gone down a rabbit hole in writing this, I’ve learnt two additional things: that the last big earthquake that killed people in Ecuador took place as recently as March 2023, and that Ecuador’s biggest natural disaster was an earthquake in Ambato, which is where we’re off to next (6.4 on the richter scale and 5,050 people died. Yikes). For most people who live in the region, earthquakes are just not a big deal, beyond being mildly annoying to wake up in the night sometimes. But for these innocent gringos, it was a new experience that I’m not keen to repeat any time soon.
After my return from the Galapagos last week to be reunited with Dave in Quito, we spent an easy day pottering about our neighbourhood in La Loma. Quito is massive – confusingly so. The population isn’t so huge (2.6 million), but the city is very long and thin, stretched out all the way through a valley, making it more than 50km from the very north to south tips. This can make getting around a bit of a nightmare, or at least lengthy when relying on public transport. So it was nice not to venture very far for once, and we discovered all sorts of treats within our immediate vicinity. We enjoyed lunch in an unassuming café across the road from our Airbnb for less than $2 each. The owner had a “London 1985” sticker on the wall, so I asked him about his visit and he in turn gave us some tips about what to see in the neighbourhood.
The following day, we took a day trip out to Otavalo, a small town famous for its weekend market, for which crafters travel to from across the Andes to sell beautiful things and knock-off football shirts. It occured to me afterwards that maybe this is because Ecuador has the dollar, and they can set much higher prices here. But it worked on us, each of us leaving with a few goodies. We had a fun day out.
The journey home was less fun. It was only supposed to take 90 minutes according to Google, but the traffic was horrendous – everyone returning to Quito and its long, thin roads – making the journey time around four hours. It was dark and late by the time we arrived. We tried and failed to find the same bus we’d taken across town that morning, and after walking up the road for ten minutes in search of another, we agreed that this was exactly how gringos die, and decided to hail a cab.
But as the cab stopped and we hopped in, so did a mad drunk woman we’d seen dodging in and out of traffic on the main road. The driver shouted at her to get out, but it was too late, which is a strange thing to try and explain, but the three of us were already squashed together cosily in the back. She made it clear she wasn’t getting out, but didn’t seem to know or maybe didn’t want to tell us where she wanted to go – and so after a few minutes of confusion, we carried on towards our destination.
Her particular flavour of crazy seemed more drunk and conspiratorial more than overtly violent and dangerous, although Dave may disagree since he spent much of the journey prising her hands away from his pockets and trousers. For someone who had hijacked a ride and seemingly gotten away with it, she was very vocal in her dislike of the taxi driver, pulling me in towards her to stage whisper that he was going to rip us off.
I’d asked the driver to take us home to the historic centre. But I wasn’t sure how the journey would end, or if she was planning to try and share our apartment as well as our taxi. She fell asleep for a few minutes and we made a plan (in English) to get out somewhere central and try and lose her there – maybe going into one of the hotels in the main square for assistance if it came to it. But then at a random junction she sprang to life and announced this was her stop, kissed my hands and threw open the car door to hurl herself into traffic once again.
The cab driver waited until she was gone to launch into us. He was furious: didn’t we know how dangerous this city could be, how we shouldn’t invite strangers into our cabs? In 35 years of driving he’d seen some awful things, you never know if someone is carrying a knife or a gun. And on, and on. I argued that it was hardly our fault – nobody expects a drunk woman to climb onto your lap when getting into a taxi – and I didn’t see him doing much to get her out. But the lecture was sobering. I’m sure I’d have felt very differently if it was a man who had joined us rather than a woman I could dismiss as a bit strange and possibly vulnerable.
After a silence, the driver complimented me in the same grumpy voice on my excellent Spanish, and recommended some pretty towns to visit out in the countryside. It reminded me a little of when I had a blazing row with a bus ticket vendor in Honduras, then realised I’d managed to have an argument in Spanish – and that that was really a win.
The driver took us to our front door and watched us lock it safely behind us. We left him a decent tip.
It’s been a while since we punished ourselves with a terrifying hike at altitude, so this week we took a trip up to Cotopaxi, Ecuador’s highest active volcano, a couple of hours south of Quito and just north of Latacunga, where we’ve been staying most of the week.
A weird fact according to our guide and indeed our guidebook, is that Cotopaxi’s peak is one of the furthest points in the world from the Earth’s core, or, another way of looking at it, one of the closest points from Earth to the sun. Apparently. The internet says some different things, and I’m not entirely convinced. But then I’ve already told you about my Geography record, so what do I know.
The theory goes, that since Cotopaxi is the second highest peak in Ecuador, and Ecuador is on the equator, and the equator bulges when the Earth spins (it’s not a perfect sphere)… we’re closer to the sun than almost anywhere else. The closest point to the sun would be Chimborazo, an inactive volcano not far down the road that peaks at 6,310 meters high. It would explain why after nine months of avoiding sunburn I feel like I am permanently pink in the face here, despite slapping on two types of high protection sunscreen all day long.
The weather around Cotopaxi and the surrounding valley is highly unpredictable, as mountains and volcanoes tend to be. As such, our guide Segundo (a popular name for boys in these parts when they are the second born child, true fact) told us that the previous day, the refuge hut and route past it had been closed on account of high winds and snow. So we were lucky to see some sunshine and stagger into only minor gale-force bitter winds.
While our unfortunate predecessors had been failing to climb Cotopaxi the previous day, Dave and I, for reasons present me cannot quite understand, were doing an online pilates HIIT workout. Ok, not the whole day, it was only 25 minutes – but I’d say about 90 per cent of those minutes amounted to doing squats. I guess we had been feeling a bit unfit after seven days spent stuffing ourselves on a boat. But seriously, what were we thinking?
The route we took up Cotopaxi was short – two hours up to see a glacier at 5,060 metres and back down to around 4,500 metres – but intense on account of the altitude and my already burning thighs. We’ve hiked up above 5,000 metres once before when climbing Rainbow Mountain in Peru, and pottered about that height at ALMA observatory in Chile. But Rainbow Mountain was hot and hilarious – something about the weather and altitude and the gringos dropping like flies in front of us, having to be carted up and down on local horses – and in Chile we were taken up by car.
Cotopaxi, by contrast, was harsh and cold. There was barely anyone around – we’d booked a guide through a hostel but ended up with a private tour due to a lack of other tourists. We passed a small group of other hikers but no more than 10 people in total; the cold air following us up the trail left me feeling breathless, and I was sore from tensing my shoulders and attempting to shield my face from the sun and wind. It was a strange feeling, like my lungs just didn’t have enough space to keep me moving for more than a few steps at a time. I’m making it all sound miserable, but the views, when they showed themselves, were incredible, and trudging up snowy passages made a fun change.
A second hike on Friday took us down to the lake in Quilotoa. Beautiful, but much like in Cabanaconde in Peru’s Cañon de Colca, there was something incredibly dissatisfying about effectively doing a hike in reverse. The lake is 3km wide and formed inside the crater of a collapsed volcano top: so to get down to the water, you’re starting at the top with the view, and sweating your way back up without it. It’s the reward before the achievement and I don’t rate it.
At least the lake was incredibly peaceful – one of the many times in Ecuador when I’ve wondered if we’re the last tourists left here – and more good exercise fighting our way back up that cliff face.
Finally, an important note on Beyoncé and Jay-Z, our resident dogs in the Latacunga cabin. There’s nobody else around for much of the time, so I suppose they’re here as guard dogs, though not very good ones: they welcomed us with wagging tails when we arrived as strangers. They assisted Dave in his cooking, and later with the washing up. They also enjoyed our fire and made themselves at home inside by the portable heater while Dave had his back turned.
I’ve since learned that Jay-Z belongs to the owner of our cabin, and Beyoncé to a farm house at the bottom of the field. But they fell in love, and are now inseparable – so both houses have to share the care of both dogs. A modern love story.
Travel bits and tips from this week
For the return to Quito, Dave and I stayed in the same Airbnb as last time – a beautiful apartment in a traditional old building in the historic centre. Surprisingly earthquake-proof.
A little tip: often if we’re returning to a city, or we like a place and want to stay longer, we message the owner directly to ask if we can extend the trip and pay in cash (ie, not through the Airbnb app). If the place is available, the owners always agree – and it saves both parties a few dollars.
Dave and I took a day trip to Otavalo to go to the famous Andean market by taking a local bus for a couple of dollars from Terminal Terrestre Carcelén (aka, Quito Norte). It was worth it, but the traffic made for painful journeys there and back.
It would appear that buses crossing the city stop running by early evening, even on a Saturday night, so definitely get a taxi (and don’t share it with any drunks if you can help it).
From Quito we went south to the volcano valley in Latacunga and stayed in this awesome cabin with Beyoncé and Jay-Z.
It’s easy to get a local bus (two hours each way) from Latacunga to Quilotoa lake ($2.50 each). But Cotopaxi requires a car, or better still a guide like Segundo (booked through at Tovar Expeditions inside Hostal Café Tiana). It was $25 each for the day, including transport, park entry, the vague comfort that Segundo would make sure we didn’t die, and a brief trip to see another lake on the way back.
In Quito we mostly cooked and had some nights in by the TV after our Galapagos jaunt. But we enjoyed a little goodbye-to-Quito drink at the very cool Andes Brewpub in the theatre square.
In Latacunga we are also cooking and making use of the two massive barbeques available to us at the glamping site. But the town has plenty of nice bars and cafés, too.
We struggled to find anywhere open for food mid-afternoon (when we returned from hiking Cotopaxi) but had a massive sandwich at El Gringo y La Gorda (ie, “the white guy and the fatty”). Dave loved his, I felt a bit cheated because I ordered the veggie version and ended up getting charged more for it. We still made it onto their Instagram page (Ecuador really doesn’t have enough tourists right now!)
Finally, we had drinks at Bundavah Cafe and ordered second helpings of tacos at the Guadalajara Grill after Friday’s hike. Yum.
Muy entretenidos tus relatos Rachel y muchas gracias por tus amables palabras :-)