Oh boy, border crossings are always interesting ones, aren’t they?! After setting off on our 9:30pm bus from Cuenca, Ecuador, we got stuck behind a police hold-up for an hour where every vehicle in the vicinity, it seems, insisted on honking their horns whilst I was trying to sleep. We eventually arrived at the border at around 2:30am, for the driver to realise he had missed the Ecuador exit point and gone straight to the Peru entry point so we had to turn back. Stamping out of Ecuador was easy enough and we were given a form to fill in for entry to Peru (incidentally I have since lost the exit slip that was stamped on my entry so I will need to find migration offices soon…), being back on the road towards Piura at around 3:30/4am. The journey usually takes 10 hours but due to the recent floods in the North of Peru – which is the worst natural disaster they have had in 15 years – we were advised it would take longer and, as we got closer to Piura, the roads become muddier and more unstable, with us eventually arriving at the terminal at 9:30/10am.
Now, most travellers in the past would have gone from Cuenca to either Mancora or Piura in Peru before then getting a bus, either immediately or after a short stay (although most people just go through Piura to their final destination), to Lima. It takes around 16 hours but is bearable. However because of the impact of the floods we were advised there was only one direct bus running to Lima, that it would take 25 hours and it was really unsafe. In Piura many roads were slippery and flooded, and I passed by people pouring buckets of water from their homes out of their doorway – and apparently this wasn’t even as bad as other areas in the North of Peru.
This left the option of flying, which is expensive and we didn’t have anything booked; “we” being me and an Argentinian girl form my bus whom was also trying to get to Lima, but didn’t speak a word of English. We were then informed by a taxi driver that the army were running flights from Piura to Lima, which they offer in states of emergency.
So, at around 10:30am Polly (the Argentinian) and I jumped in his taxi for him to drive us to the army base. Here we had to queue by a booth, at the back of a square that was filled with food stalls and local families waiting with their luggage in the hope to fly to Lima, to add our names to a long list of people wanting to take an emergency flight. We were advised there wouldn’t be anything before 3pm so we hopped back in the taxi to change our Ecuadorian pesos for Peruvian Soles before heading back to the army base to, well, wait around.
It was scorching hot, there was hardly anywhere to sit, I was wearing the same clothes I had been in – and slept in – for 24 hours, and there was nothing to do. I got up and walked around a few times – one time being stopped by a Colombian male whom wanted to chat me up to then be joined by his mate as they competed for my attention – and eventually paid $5 soles (£1.50) for spaghetti and chicken on a plastic plate.
At around 2:30pm they called out names from their lists, where everyone jumped up form their seats and surrounded the officers to listen out for their names; it was then we realised how many people there were, how many lists there were and how far down them we were. Our names weren’t called out but we rare told there would be another flight in an hour. As fate would have it, it then started to absolutely tip it down with rain – so quickly and so hard and there was barely any places for shelter that my clothes and my bags got completely drenched. We were told they were unable to fly in these conditions and we would just have to wait, with us starting to make a plan of spending the night in nearby hostel to get up early the next morning to do the same again. Around 6pm, with the rain subsiding, they began rattling off names for the next flight; peering over the shoulder of the army woman reading out the names off a list, I could see it was our list but we were far down.
Guttingly, they stopped reading out names about 10 before ours, but while we were disappointed we were not as furious as others, with one young woman shouting at the army officers insisting she had been there since 7am that morning yet others after her had been let on a flight. My understanding of Spanish isn’t all that so I didn’t know exactly what was being said, but the officers were trying to settle her and defend themselves, yet it seemed to create some sort of mob mentality and everyone was starting to get riled. They eventually let her and her friend through as the rain started to fall once again, so even though we were told there would be one more flight soon we had no idea how long it would be – or if it would even go ahead – due to the weather.
The rain continued and it started to get dark, with Polly and I huddled under a small bit of shelter sat on our backpacks, every now and then talking in the basic Spanish I could manage but bonding over our shared experience nonetheless. I wrapped my scarf around my head and my names as the mosquitoes here were literally insane (my legs were subsequently completely covered in bites, it was horrendous); by the end of the day everyone was slapping the parts of their body where the little shits were landing. At around 8pm the officers finally came out through the gates and it felt like a war evacuation, or similar to scenes from Titanic; people were pushed up against the gates and the officers were holding torches to see the names on the list as rain was pouring down and soaking everyone, with people having to be shushed so we could hear the names being read out. I literally screamed “si, presente” when they called out my name, darting through the gate to the other side before they could change their minds.
We then had to walk through the rain, bags on our bags, crossing a lake that had formed in the middle of the road, to reach a hut where our bags were checked and were told to sit and wait; over 2 hours of sat in a cramped room where there were more mosquitoes than ever, to eventually be lead outside to the plane that was waiting for us. Now, even though I had been told these flights were being run by the army I hadn’t really thought it through properly, but there right in front of me was a proper khaki military plane and, when we got on board, the inside was filled with four rows of “seats”, two sets of two facing each other, where you sat down into red straps and buckled yourself in.
I literally walked in with my mouth wide open, taking in the exposed aluminium, the loud noise of the engine without the luxury of a sound barrier and our luggage tied to a rack underneath a completely open back of the plane, the dark night sky gloriously illuminating the Peruvian flag hanging from the “ceiling” of the flame. I was stunned and couldn’t quite believe my eyes, and actually suddenly felt afraid but was far too tired to respond to the fear in any palpable way.
There was water dipping down on me from above, I was cold and it was insanely noisy, but I will forever be grateful to the Peruvian army for getting me to Lima for free. The officer sat near us was warm and friendly, trying to keep everyone’s spirits up and, when a passenger on board became ill from the flight, he climbed over us to get to him and help him through it. Part way through the flight someone (maybe even the officers) passed down packets of crackers and biscuits for everyone to share, with the greedy male Peruvians in front of and next to me keeping hold of the packets instead of passing them on to the women beside them, then, after I glared at them, reducing this to ensuring they took a massive wedge before daring to let go of the packet.
I think I dozed off at one point, the regular vibration of the engine combined with the length and best of the day kicking in, and we eventually landed, seeming to suddenly hit the ground, at around 11:45am. Despite wanting to get to Miraflores – the area I intended to stay in whilst in Lima – it was about an hour drive away and we were advised it wasn’t safe to get a taxi into that area at this time of night (no idea why) so instead we got a taxi to the nearest “cheap” hostel, paid $60 soles (£15) for a double room with our heads hitting the pillow at 1am. I don’t think it was the typical way to get into Lima but, boy, it was certainly an experience I won’t forget any time soon!
So, arriving at the Cuenca bus terminal at 4:45am only gave me one sensible option for getting to my hostel – via taxi for $2. I had partly booked my stay with AlterNative hostel because their reception was open 24/7 but I hadn’t expected them to very kindly let me go straight to my room at 5am to sleep when I technically hadn’t booked that night. Delighted, I passed out for about 3 hours before sorting my shit out and heading to the nearby clinic (literally round the corner) to try to get my wound cleaned. It had become somewhat familiar and easy in the Baños hospital as they knew me and lead me straight through, whereas here I had to try to explain before thrusting my paperwork under their nose. A nurse quickly took me through to a bed where I stripped off and had her clean my wound. She managed to communicate that the wound wasn’t infected, it was looking good and I didn’t need to carry on my antibiotics. Excited, I asked her if that meant I could drink alcohol now. No. I decided that, considering I couldn’t have wine either way, I may as well finish the course, but it was promising to hear that I didn’t need to.
I spent the majority of the day wandering the streets of the old town, stumbling across the numerous museums to find most were closed because it was a Sunday, although I did manage to get into Arte Moderno (sorry, Cuenca, but not all that in my eyes) and CIDAP, which I am sure would have been interesting were I able to read Spanish well. I spent a bit of time wandering around 10 de Agosto – the classic Mercado for lunching – but, not being that hungry and not being able to eat the most appealing things on offer (hornado and cuy) I didn’t pick anything up from here. As well as wander around the plazas, the artisanal markets and Iglesias, I also sent a postcard to my nan and a book I had finished to my Stepdad – the latter cost me a whopping $14, I may as well have ordered a new one from Amazon!
The highlight of my Old Town exploration took place when I popped into The Cafetal of Loja, recommended by Lonely Planet for their coffees and tamales. In truth the tamales was pretty dry and nothing compared to the one I had in Colombia, and the coffee was nice but not spectacular, however as I was sat in the courtyard just taking some time out, I couldn’t help but overhear the conversation being had between four 70-80 year old American men whom were putting the world to rights over a cup of coffee. They were openly (and quite loudly) discussing war, family, love and the meaning of life, and I found myself agreeing and disagreeing, smiling and inadvertently laughing as they threw around different opinions and challenged one another. The one facing me said something to the others about wondering whether I could speak English, because if I could I must be getting an earful. After admitting that, yes, I could speak and understand English rather well, they invited me into their conversation, asking my opinion on such matters as well as showing an interest in where I was from, what I was doing in Ecuador and my own life situation. It was a wonderful conversation and chatting to locals or fellow travellers is one of my favourite things about travelling in general.
The gentlemen I got into a conversation with
Coffee and Tamales
After picking up a strawberry and yogurt smoothie for $1 at the Mercado at the other side of town – 9 de Octubre – I slowly made my way back to the hostel, arriving at around 4pm to find Orla (my saviour from Baños) checking in at reception. After hanging around chatting for a couple of hours and deliberating over food we eventually decided to walk to Fabiano’s for a takeaway of lasagne and meatball Stromboli to share, possibly being one of the best food (ok, life) decisions ever made. I usually eat on local food while travelling, and I’m generally not a massive fan of Italian food, but this lasagne was full of meat, juicy tomato sauce and copious pieces of ricotta cheese, plus the bread used for the Stromboli (rolled up pizza) was a garlic infused bread, the fillings generous and the side salsa delicious. Chowing down on this hearty food whilst curling up on the sofa in the common area to watch Her (a dystopian film with Joaquin Phoenix) it was just what I needed comfort-wise after the week I’d had.
We woke up early the following day to have a quick breakfast (toast and banana) at our hostel before getting a taxi to the bus terminal ($2) so we could catch the 8:30am bus to Cajas National Park (also $2). I felt the effects of the altitude just by being on the bus – plus an old man basically sitting on my leg (yes, the injured one) didn’t help – so we split an altitude sickness tablet when we arrived. You have to sign in when you get to the entrance and study the map before you start your walk – there are no paper maps, no other maps on the trail and we’d been told it is quite easy to get lost as it’s not particularly well signposted.
I think there are approximately 3 main routes, although you can just circle the lake for a couple of hours if you wish, and there is the option to camp overnight in the park, but we decided to just do Route 1; we had been advised it could take 3-4 hours and, neither of us fancying pushing ourselves too hard physically, this seemed ideal. So, after getting the information we needed (and an American girl rudely interrupting my conversation with the Ecuadorian on the desk to “help me” speak Spanish to then laugh at my attempts, despite him understanding me completely) and stopping up on solid walking snacks (biscuits) we set off at around 10:20am.
We spent the first hour battling with the altitude, Orla having a headache whilst I felt sick and dizzy, as we clambered up and around the lake, trying to spot the wooden poles that directed you along the route. We hadn’t even made it halfway round the lake before we came across a couple of Asian men whom asked for a photo with us. We agreed, to then have 5 others appear almost out of nowhere and join in the photo; we literally couldn’t stop giggling as they posed around us and the one taking the photo battled against a bush to try to get the optimum picture.
We eventually made it to the point where we had to veer away from the lake and instead following the red markings for Route 1, which were little more than splatterings of red paint on random rocks or tree trunks. One arrow by a red marking indicated “cueva” and not knowing what that was we headed off the track and into the forest to then discover it was a cave, and we had come away from the route we needed to be on.
This also happened when we had to cross through the forest, branches of trees zigzagging across one another like Mr Messy, clambering down muddy, slippery land to stumble across a stream we were unable to cross. We probably got lost a handful of times and had to go back on ourselves but, to be fair, the signs just said “follow the trail” but there was no clear, distinct trail to follow.
What I should say is that the landscape and our surroundings were absolutely spectacular. I have been to many national parks on my travels and most are filled with tourists or feel enclosed, whereas this one felt like being out in the open mountains, walking through cool dense forest at times but spending a lot of it in the open, fresh air, having to walk up and down as we went but being able to still see far and wide. When we reached a babbling brook that we had to cross via rocks cutting across it, I was reminded of The Sound of Music – it was just so fresh and beautiful.
It was shortly after being captivated by this, however, that I went to cross a particularly muddy section of land to find myself mid-calve deep in mud. It was so far in that I struggled to pull myself out, especially with my wounded right leg having to be the one to support my entire body weight as I tried to pull my left leg out (have my legs not suffered enough??!) I eventually heaved it out to find half of the ground welded to my walk boot, so I had a good splash in the aforementioned brook to wash it away.
Despite getting lost a few times and taking it especially slowly (which I actually really enjoyed and, other than the moments of altitude intensity, we didn’t find it too exerting) we made it to the main road just after 2pm. There is then a walk to the entrance but we managed to get a hitchhike from the main road and the lovely Ecuadorian even drove us all the way back to Cuenca, saving us $2 for the bus and shaving off half of the hour journey time. Honestly so many local South Americans are so generous and helpful. Back in Cuenca we wandered to Puro cafe, which overlooks the mountains, where I cheated and had a white chocolate latte (I’m sorry, Doctor, but I need something to ease the pain!) However I did give my free bag of chocolate buttons to Orla, cos I’m generous like that and a star patient (ok, ok, and I’m not personally a fan of dark chocolate anyway). I then walked to the bus terminal so I could book my ticket to Piura, Peru for the following evening before heading back to the hostel where we spent another lazy evening on the sofa watching American Hustle.
I spent my last morning in Cuenca visiting the clinic for a final time (woohoo, #living) before visiting the Pumapungo ruins. I didn’t pay to go into the museum as I had heard it was all in Spanish but the ruins and the gardens below were beautiful, and it was so peaceful just wandering around in the sunshine.
I then decided to go to Mirador de Turi; a viewpoint of the city next to the church. Without going into too much detail as it bores even me, I had to get two buses, which I waited around for, sit on a hot bus for about 30 minutes before arriving at a viewpoint that I would describe as average at best. Maybe I have seen a lot of viewpoints, and many of cities, but this just didn’t do anything for me. To be fair I prefer a view when I have earned it on foot and I was feeling low emotionally about my leg and the limitations (I would have walked the hour if my energy levels weren’t so unusually low) but I wouldn’t go out of your way for it.
I spent the rest of the afternoon back in the Old Town, absorbing the architecture and the narrow cobbled streets for one last time, purchasing a coconut with milk and strawberry with yogurt drink combination (I am so demanding) for $1, before heading to Moliendo Cafe, recommended by Lonely Planet for its amazing Colombian food.
Moliendo
It was nice, but at $3.50 for the set meal I could have paid half of that for a similar quality. So, I made my way back to the hostel just as the heavens opened and a downpour commenced to settle back on the sofa with Orla to watch Trainspotting, which I have shockingly not seen before; I never thought I would be attracted to Ewan McGregor, especially in that sort of attire, but there you go. Just before 9 I suddenly realised I should probably be leaving for my 9:30pm bus, so I grabbed my stuff, said a hurried goodbye to Orla after such a lovely time with her in both Baños and Cuenca, and caught a taxi to the bus terminal, the driver speeding away before I had even managed to shut my door, with me squealing and him then laughing as he did so. I’m not sure I had the same sort of Cuenca experience as other travellers, but I had a great time on that sofa watching films and eating food – oh, and the Cajas National Park is well worth the trip to Cuenca alone!
Oh Baños, I had such high hopes for you. Everyone said I would love you, Lonely Planet raved about you and I was ready to embrace you. My bus from Tena arrived in Baños at around 6pm and I walked approximately 15 minutes (5 minutes longer than needed as I went the long way round) to my accommodation, Great Hostels Backpackers where I had booked 3 nights through Hostelworld for $8 USD per night, including breakfast but excluding VAT so it cost me about $28 USD in total. I checked into my 12 bed dorm and then went out to wander round the town and grab some food, heading into a locally-run restaurant for $5 Chaulafan, a mix of meat, prawns and egg with rice, so basically egg fried rice. In the pub across from me hoards of locals were cheering on a football game, which Ecuador were playing, and as I walked back through the town it had quite a lovely feel for a fairly small cobbled town.
The next morning I felt sluggish and in the mood for physical activity. Casa del Arbol is a house on the edge of one of the mountains next to the Tungurahua Volcano that has a swing over the “edge of the earth”, which you can go on for $1, and you can up up to it via bus, taxi or you can hike. Advised as to the route by my hostel and told it would take around 3 hours, at the very last minute Orla (a girl from my hostel whom also happened to stay at the same hostel as me in Medellin, Colombia) decided to go with me. We left the hostel just after 10am and stopped to pick up rain ponchos and water on our way before walking to the end of Maldonado and trying to locate the path up the mountain. It’s not very clear and we had to go back on ourselves to check with a local that it was the right path before continuing on.
It was quite a steep gradient uphill at first, with various rocks making it more of a climb than a walk, and it weaved round offering viewpoints along the way. I had been told that Bellavista, the white-cross lookout over Baños, wasn’t worth it and to take the pathway on the right before reaching the cross and after spotting a set of steps to the right we decided to take that path. Although trekking together, Orla and I had slightly different paces I ended up walking about 20-30 metres ahead of her, coming across a narrow pathway surrounded by trees and plants. At one point I looked up and saw up ahead of me, maybe about 50 metres, a local Ecuadorian woman waving at me.
The view just before I stumbled across the plants and trees.
Assuming she was being friendly I waved back but all of a sudden I could hear the loudest bark as a dog charged at me from up above, darting and snapping at my leg before making contact and nipping at my right leg. Well, it felt like a nip, but when I looked down I could see an open wound by my knee with blood literally POURING out of my leg and, to my absolute horror, chunks of flesh falling out. I have never actually seen raw flesh before or really thought about what it looked like, but I hadn’t expected it to be so mushy and lumpy and for it to just pour out like that. Similarly, when I’d had my 3 rabies jabs prior to travelling in the unlikely event of being bitten by a stray dog I had focused on the potentially getting rabies part, thinking more in terms of a human bite and the contact with blood, rather than focusing on the getting bitten part and it actually being a chunk of flesh being gouged out of your body. As soon as I looked down and realised what had happened – and discovered that there were two wounds from the upper and lower teeth – I literally began screaming bloody murder. I had a big water bottle with me and managed to douse the wounds with water as I simultaneously screamed help in both English and Spanish, with the Ecuadorian owner of the dog stood completely still staring at me the whole time.
Soon I saw Orla racing up the mountain, white face and sweaty, kindly stripping off her white t-shirt and tying it tightly around my knee to bind the wound, getting completely soaked with blood in the process, as we desperately tried to figure out what to do whilst both shaking in terror. We made the decision to go down the mountain together, Orla helping me down the steep parts as I held on tightly to the tshirt around my knee, before reaching our halfway point (maybe 15 minutes) for her to run on ahead and try to get a cab to meet me at the bottom as I continued to desperately hobble down as I clutched onto my knee. At one point a male and female Ecuadorian walked up the hill past me, not saying a single word but staring straight at me – a white girl white a blood-stained tshirt wrapped around her knee; turns out Orla had passed them on her way down and had desperately asked them to help me, but apparently they had absolutely no interest in doing so. As I was almost at the bottom an old, Ecuadorian man came racing up the mountain to help me down, Orla having made it to the bottom and asked for help. Orla soon joined us, relaying that an ambulance had been called, and the three of us stumbled down to the bottom before taking a seat on the kerb and waiting for the ambulance. It was here that I noticed a chunk of flesh resting in my walking boot, which I picked out and left on the side of the pavement; my gift to Baños after its gift to me.
A police car arrived (the ambulance and police service are closely linked here) and Orla and I were driven the short distance to the hospital where I was dropped off and Orla taken back to our hostel to pick up all my documents. I was taken straight through emergency and put on a bed where I was made to lay down as the unwrapped the tshirt from my leg and began fussing round me; it was so incredibly overwhelming having numerous doctors and nurses wander in and out, staring at my wounds and talking in Spanish, while I had absolutely no idea what was going on and was all alone. At one point a male worker came in, looked st my leg and took an in-breath through his teeth as he pulled a face of disgust. In a mixture of English and Spanish I had a go at him and questioned why so many people were coming in just to make comments and expressions, at which point he was ushered away. A male nurse was making notes and asking me what happened, which I tried to explain in very simple, broken Spanish, and then ask me what type of dog it was. I managed to communicate it was a medium sized dog and when they asked what coat it had, I paused to think and could only come up with “Amarillo”; I don’t know about you but I have never actually come across a yellow dog, other than Spot the Dog, but I had no idea how to say beige and I have no clue when it comes to breeds of dog.
The female nurse taking care of me then came at me with a needle and it was at this point I started asking questions (“que es esta??”) and asked if anyone spoke English. Fortunately Orla arrived with my stuff and a male Doctor, Nikolas, whom spoke English came in to see to me. Whilst injecting me with shit loads of anaesthetic around the edge of the wounds (I even insisted on more) we managed to establish I’d had rabies jabs, that it wasn’t a stray dog, there wasn’t a risk of rabies, and in their opinion it wasn’t “that bad”. It turns out dog bites are quite common in Baños (where in Vietnam if you see any bandages or injuries you know it’s from a moped accident, in Baños it seems to be dog bites), which no one happened to tell me, and mine was “very good” considering. Amongst all the adrenaline and anaesthetic I managed to ask that if they needed to take any flesh for my wound then to please take it from my stomach; Nikolas laughed and then relayed it to the non-English speaking staff, whom followed suit, before telling me it wouldn’t be necessary (boo). Whilst receiving my stitches (only 4, which surprised me) Nikolas told me about the aftercare; returning for 5 days to have the wound cleaned, being on antibiotics and rabies-preventative drugs for 7 and 3 days respectively, sleeping with my leg elevated on ice on the wound, needing to have the stitches out in 8 days and not being able to drink alcohol or eat certain foods in the meantime. I’m sorry, what?! Not only am I completely traumatised and in pain but I can’t even drink through it or comfort myself with certain foods??
The wounds (can you see the muscle??)
After the stitches
It turns out, he said, that I couldn’t have any pork, the local delicacy of cuy (guinea pig) that I had so badly wanted to try, chocolate, cream, avocado, anything fried (most food in Ecuador) or basically anything with high fat. I was devastated and my horror was clearly amusing, and perhaps a bit of a surprise, to them. I insisted he write me a list of things I couldn’t have and things I could have (“you can have fruit!” “Oh, YUM”) and when he returned with a yellow slip of paper that, under the “no” section, listed mayonnaise, I threw myself back down on the bed and wailed “noooooooooo!” I couldn’t believe it – all of life’s pleasures were being taken away from me. I mean, while it’s true that eating is a huge enjoyment for me and a huge blow to have restrictions, especially when I’ve gone through something so terrifying and traumatic, but I also think it was a distraction from what was happening to me. With flashbacks of when I cracked my head open on a pebble-dashed wall at the age of six and needing 3 stitches, plus generally being terrible with blood and injections, I needed to not focus on what they were doing to my knee. Orla filmed the cleaning and stitching process, a video I have now watched numerous times, where they actually cleaned in THROUGH one wound and out of the other. Almost like they were flossing. Gross. I couldn’t upload the video on here but I did manage to take screenshots of the video, which are below, so look away if you’re squeamish.
About an hour later we picked up my medication and made our way out of the hospital, where a dog immediately approached us and hovered around my knee. This actually happened a number of times that time – while it is common for dogs to approach you, they literally came up right beside my knee, so I swear they could smell dog on me. I hadn’t been a huge fan of dogs anyway, but now I could definitely do with some space from them for a while; no such luck in South America! Orla and I must have looked like a right site hobbling round the streets of Baños, me bare foot with my walking boots tied to my backpack and a bloody, seeping-wound bandage wrapped around my knee, as locals would stare and ask “perro??” We found a coffee shop (Honey Coffee and Tea) so I could get wifi and let my family know, managing to FaceTime my mum and step dad right as they rare driving along the motorway, before heading back to our hostel.
Clearly running on some sort of shock/adrenaline rush I insisted that we still go to Casa del Arbol; partly not wanting the day to only be about the dog bite, partly wasting to achieve what I had set out to and partly knowing I would likely crash the next day and be able to do very little. Having missed the last public bus up the mountain, Orla, Cassie (another girl in our hostel) and I caught a taxi where we were completely ripped off. It was a longer journey than I expected, weaving up and around the mountain with amazing views of the surrounding Baños mountains and Tungurahua Volcano, but $15 USD for a 15 minute ride was a joke, but we hadn’t thought to discuss prices beforehand and were too exhausted to argue.
We then walked up the short hill to the entrance, where you pay $1 to enter and then wait your turn to sit in one of the 4 swings. Attached to a wooden hut, it is a box-like swing that you would imagine a toddler sitting in, but much bigger, and you unhook the front chain to sit in and then hook it back in place. I struggled to push myself up the slop with my dodgy right leg but I eventually managed to heave myself up before pushing off and swinging out, over the edge of the mountain.
The views were stunning and it was a pretty cool experience but it did make me feel dizzy; the combination of the anaesthetic, the antibiotics and the intensity of the day with altitude of the mountains and the swinging motion. On our bus journey down – which cost only $1 – I felt absolutely exhausted, but really proud that I did it despite everything.
The events of the day started to hit me that evening and whilst other people in the hostel tucked into pizza and beer night, I went for a walk round the town and grabbed dinner of rice, chicken and salad from a local restaurant for $2. I headed for bed early but struggled to sleep in a 12 bed dorm where I had to have my leg elevated and put ice over the wound; I was cold, wet, sore, emotional and tired. The following morning, with the adrenaline gone, I was left feeling lonely, emotional and exhausted, desperate for a room to myself and to be with loved ones. I first went back to the hospital for my check-up and clean where, much to my devastation, Nikolas no longer was and no other staff spoke English. I spent most of my time there crying, struggling to deal with it all myself in a completely foreign country, before managing to insist on some paperwork of my injury and after care so I could be seen to if I travelled to a different city in Ecuador or even if I went to Peru whilst still in recovery. I then headed back to my hostel and asked to move to a private room for my final night – which I had to pay more for but they gave me a discount – before deciding I needed to get some air and actually explore the town.
I visited the nearby waterfall next to the La Virgen hot springs – something I was told not to go to by my doctors due to potential infection of my leg, which is unfortunate as the waterfalls and thermal baths are what Baños (directly translated to mean bathroom) is known for – and wandered past the Iglesia in the main plaza. Baños is famous for its Melcocha (the toughest, chewyest taffy I have ever had, it is just pure sugar) so most market stalls sell various sweets and taffy, or the more tacky souvenir stalls seem to opt for necklaces and selfie sticks over magnets or shot glasses.
Early afternoon I wandered into the Mercado; a classic Ecuadorian market filled with food and drink stalls selling cheap almuerzos, most popular being the hornado (whole roasted pig) and cuy (guinea pig), neither of which I could have, plus local favourites such as avocado, fried plantain and llapingachos (fried potato and cheese discs) were also off limits for me, which most meals come with. So I begrudgingly settled on Encebollado; a brother seafood and onion soup poured over yuca (similar to potato) and served with a bowl of banana chips and popcorn, all for $2.50 USD with a glass of jugo (juice) included. There is a small market street alongside the Mercado so afterwards I picked up my magnet for Ecuador (NOT with a dog on it) and then headed to Casa Hood, a popular place for eating at any time of the day, so that I could have a cup of coffee and FaceTime my mum. I actually ended up ordering a coffee frappe and a decent slab of delicious carrot and coconut cake. My doctor didn’t list cake as a no-go and you’ve got to find your moments of joy somewhere.
Encebollado
With a private room waiting for me at the hostel I made my way back; it was equally wonderful and slightly depressing to walk into a double room by myself, but I could move about with ease, shower and re-dress my wound and go to bed at the hour of my choice. Despite having to change position and negotiate the melting ice on my leg, I got a decent sleep and woke up feeling better than I had the day before. After bumping into Orla over breakfast we decided to visit one of the famous waterfalls, Cascada Pailon del Diablo. It actually forms part of the Ruta de las Cascadas, which is a route taking by cyclists along the main road, stopping off at various waterfalls along the way and usually ending at Machay, before then getting a taxi back with your bike. This is something I would have loved – really enjoying cycling as well as the physical challenge – but I was advised it can take between 3 and 5 hours; not only would is be extremely tough on my wound but also on my low energy levels. We therefore decided to take the local bus instead, paying $0.50 for the 30/45 minute journey directly to the beginning of the waterfall walk.
We actually felt the altitude here – I have felt the altitude in Ecuador more than anywhere else so far – and because of my knee we took the walk through the forest and down to the waterfall fairly slowly, passing hoards of local Ecuadorians on our way. It seems that Baños is a tourist hotspot for the people of Ecuador, too, and I definitely felt this in Baños; the market stalls, the restaurants, the bus service and hoards of taxis, the popularity and busy-ness of the waterfalls and thermal baths, it all feels very geared around tourists that I found it difficult to identify the character of Baños, or the REAL Baños. True I couldn’t do a lot of the things people come to Baños to do, but it felt very tailored to those activities and to the tourists. My most “real” experience of Baños was probably being bitten by a local dog and spending time in the hospital with the local workers! I digress, but basically the waterfall was nice but nothing breathtaking for me. I mean, I have seen a LOT of waterfalls, including the enormous Iguassu Falls, but I just found it quite average.
After walking back up and getting the bus back into Baños, I headed back to the hospital for my second clean. Again they were happy with the wound and confirmed it wasn’t infected, so it was just cleaned and then (badly) re-bandaged so it had to nip to the toilets and re-do it myself again, purely to prevent it from unravelling as I walked. I then went for a stroll to the Sunday market, which is similar to the Mercado in terms of the cooked food on offer but also has hundreds of fresh fruit stalls. As fruit is something I CAN have, I went wild and bought a whole Babaco (a fruit local to Baños that has yellow skin but is soft and white on the inside, similar to lychee in texture and sweetness but different in flavour) and devoured most of it on one of the plastic chairs.
Hornado
Babaco
I then walked over to Honey Coffee and Tea where I stumbled across Orla, and there we sat for a couple of hours drinking chai latte, using the wifi and chatting intermittently. Hungry (as always), we went to Casa Hood where Orla had a Thai chicken curry that she really enjoyed and I had a Thai noodle dish that was disappointingly average at best. I miss Asia! On our way back to the hostel we picked up some sweets from the supermarket and then settled down to watch All Good Things and The Notebook (a Ryan Gosling fest) in the common area, only managing to make it halfway through the after before I had to walk to the bus terminal to catch my 10pm bus to Cuenca, which cost me $10. Bizarrely I hopped on the bus and sat right in front of a couple I met in a hostel in Tayrona Park in Colombia, so I entertained them with the story of my dog bite before trying to sleep on a freezing cold bus. We arrived in Cuenca at 4:45am, which wasn’t the best, but I was ready to put Baños behind me…
I spent most of the 6 hour journey from Quito to Tena listening to music and staring out the window (if you want good views on your bus journeys then try to get a window seat on the right-hand side of the bus); I cannot explain the beauty and wonder of driving literally in between and amongst the mountains in Ecuador. As you dip down towards the river flowing between the mountains and then weave around the edges, it honestly feels like you are part of the landscape. I don’t know what I expected of Ecuador – or South America – but there are so many gorgeous mountains to be seen within, and connecting, the cities.
I arrived in Tena at around 4pm and made the 10/15 minute walk to Zumac Sisa (or Zumag Sisa) hostel where I had made a booking directly with the hostel for a 6 bed dorm for $8 USD per night, although there was only myself and another female London-based traveller, Sajne, staying in the dorm. I had booked one night here and planned to go into the amazon jungle for a couple of days before returning to Tena for one night. So I spent about half an hour slowly getting information from Pablo, the manager, in Spanish before booking a 2 day/1 night tour for the following day for $100 USD; a bargain with a private tour guide when most agencies would charade a minimum of $120. Sajne and I went out for dinner of pollo asado with rice, avocado, salad and beans for around $3 before hitting the sack for the night.
Up and out at 8:30am the following day, Pablo drove Carlos (the tour guide), Sajne and I first into Misahualli (Carlos’ village) to pick up our wellies, the canoe, plus our food and water for the next couple of days. We then were driven in a different car by Luis into the amazon and stopping alongside Rio Napo. From here we were to be taken on the river via canoe for an hour, further into the jungle, to reach our bed for the night. First, I needed to pee, and when I asked if there was a bathroom nearby and they nodded in affirmation, I was expecting to at least be taken to an enclosed hole in the ground. Instead I was taking further down the river and advised to pee in the bushes, with my guide insisting he wouldn’t look. My first taste of Amazon life was squatting in the trees, my feet sinking into the mud, to then use leaves instead of paper. My achievement was to not fall over in the mud, despite it being a close call. Welcome to the jungle.
Into the canoe we clambered, my arse immediately getting soaked and remaining that way for the duration of the day. We set off down the river and further into the amazon, passing by some of the tallest and greenest trees I have ever seen. It was so tranquil and bright, the torrential rain of the morning having now passed and blue sky piercing between the clouds. Other than a few birds, there was far less wildlife than I expected (the locals and inhabitants have to hunt for food, making the existence of animals in this part of the amazon far less than going into the extreme depths) but it was so peaceful just floating down the river- although I don’t think Carlos, whom tirelessly paddled us down the river and around the rocks, would see it as “floating”.
After an hour we pulled in alongside the riverbank at our lodgings; after clambering out of the boat and negotiating the extremely slippery mud uphill, we walked into a local family’s home. Shacks built with trees and bamboo, with steps up to the second level, and hammocks hanging in the porch of our shack which came complete with its own “kitchen”. There were a few dogs wandering around as well as cockerels and the land was surrounded by dense trees and forest. The children were running around and playing together outside while the adults were carrying wood and preparing dinner. The simple but beautiful life, they didn’t seem to want for much.
After having a swim in the river (less of a swim and more of a desperate attempt to remain by the riverbank due to the strength of the current) we sat down for lunch prepared by Carlos; fried crispy plantain served alongside spaghetti with tuna and green beans. It was then time to head off on our trek through the jungle, slipping on our knee-high wellies to help us navigate the amazon; trust me, with the depth and sludginess (totes a word) of the mud in the amazon (it rains 250 days of the year, which allows for everything to grow and for it to be as green as it is) you will want to be wearing wellies.
Carlos lead the way, using his knife to clear the way as we weaved amongst the tall trees and various species of plant. For the second half of the walk we mainly climbed rocks and land alongside the river, having to use my ultimate physical strength (and Carlos’) to get myself up the steep slopes. It definitely felt as though I was in the jungle.
We returned to our lodgings around 2 hours later where Sajne decided to stay whilst Carlos and I ventured in the other direction, first using his friend’s motor canoe to head 2km down the river and then for us to walk back on ourselves via various dwellings. After climbing up and down for 2 hours it felt good for my legs to walk it off along flat land for a while, meeting more locals and getting more time to explore the amazon.
Back at base I then had a shower, by which I mean standing in my bikini in the mud and pouring a bucket of soapy cold water over my body, feeling cleansed by the fresh water removing an insane amount of mud, dirt and bugs off my body. At 7pm we sat down for dinner, again made by Carlos and this time consisting of chicken fritter, rice (of course) and plantain (also of course – their staple food item alongside rice). He also prepared canelazo for us; hot water with lemon, sugar and aguardiente – the local liquor.
I was absolutely wiped from the walking, the fresh air, the heat and the mosquito bites (oh dear god, the mosquito bites – I don’t think I have ever been bitten so many times in such a short space of time before, they are literally unavoidable and so very irritating, I spent far too much time scratching at my legs and feet) so I hit the sack at around 9pm, deciding to first attempt sleeping in the hammock before moving to my bed at around 10:30pm after Ialmost fell out of the hammock.
Snoozing in the hammock
Sunset over the amazon river
I woke at around 7am the following morning to a breakfast of scrambled eggs, banana pancake-type things and mini plantain cooked with onion and tomato. At around 8:30am we then packed up our things and headed back to the canoe to paddle further down the river and further into the jungle for an hour. I mainly zoned out during this time, enjoying the peace and tranquility of the amazon and only being pulled out of my reverie when we got stuck on some rocks and Carlos had to climb out of the canoe to negotiate us over them. When we pulled in alongside the riverbank an hour later, Luis was there waiting with his car. We loaded the car with the canoe and our belongings before being driven to a local Indian community.
Here, Sajne went with Carlos’ wife and daughter to a nearby waterfall while Carlos took me on what I can only describe as a caving adventure. Cavernas Tamiayura is something Carlos only heard about 6 or so years ago as it was only then discovered by the local Indian community. One of the men from the community came with us as we first walked 30 minutes through the jungle, tasting sweet like from the trees and me avoiding falling over in the mud numerous times (seriously I have no idea how they move so quickly – the mud is insanely deep and slippery – and most do it barefoot).
When we reached the mouth of the cave I realised it was not going to be like the other Caves I had been in on my travels (I liked to imagine it was a similar moment to when Aladdin reaches the mouth of the Cave of Wonders). I have done tubing down long, high Caves filled with water from a river in Laos; I have climbed inside small and close-to-the-surface caves in Cambodia; I have walked through deep, high and spacious caves in Malaysia. But I have never gone so deep and far into a fairly narrow cave where I have had to crawl, climb and wade inside, negotiating various spears of cave hanging from the “ceiling” and contorting my body in order to fit through narrow gaps between the walls.
At one point I had to climb and then worm my way through a narrow gap in between the caves, with bits jutting out at all angles and the mud making it very slippery. Suddenly my adventurous and up-for-it spirit diminished and my fear and anxiety took its place, my mind telling me that my body was unable to do what it needed to and out of my mouth came a refusal to carry on. Carlos tried to encourage me with “it’s not dangerous; you can do it” to which I replied, like a petulant child, “yes but I don’t want to!” Attempting to explain in a Spanish that I didn’t want to do it – that I believed I couldn’t do it – whilst already wedged between the rocks I had to climb through inside an echoey cave make for an entertaining story now but in that moment all I could comprehend was the intensity of the voices in my head telling me I was unable to do it. Everything became noise as all I could hear was the shrill ringing of self-doubt in my ears. Then something switched – maybe becoming aware again of the wider periphery around me and the kind Indian behind me, whom had thus far heaved me up when I couldn’t stretch that far and caught me when I slipped back down again – and I found myself attempting it. And then I found myself doing it. And then, eventually, I was through.
We had only made it halfway by this point and I honestly didn’t think I could carry on but we eventually made it to the end of the cave, climbing up wooden steps through a hole above us and wading through water so deep it filled my Wellington boots. Another achievement was having a huge spider placed over my face and me not moving an inch (but then again I’ve never been bothered by spiders and quite fancied having one as a pet ever since seeing Home Alone as a kid).
It was soon time to head back and I didn’t know how I would muster the energy but somehow, using all the physical strength I have and combining it with sheer will and determination, I managed to make it back out alive. Absolutely soaking, covered in mud and sweat dripping over my face, it was one of most physically demanding and difficult things I have done and I was utterly exhausted, but also super proud and, in the end, I had a lot of fun. But I think I’m caved-out for now.
Back at the Indian community Carlos picked up some biscuits and drinks from a little local shop, where he then gave away some of his drink and some biscuits to the children of the shop owner. I couldn’t quite understand, when speaking quietly with Carlos, how rife poverty is here, but their loving is certainly very basic and they have very little. Early I had been moved by the kids swarming around Luis’ jeep and then surrounding Carlos to look in awe at his phone and have their picture taken, and now I was humbled by the local children greedily and happily taking biscuits from Carlos to then collect all the rubbish surrounding their home with a plastic bag. It really does make you reevaluate what we need and the kind of lifestyle we seem to strive for.
Carlos and I then walked 30 minutes through the jungle in the opposite direction towards a casacada, the waterfall where we were to meet his family and Sajne. Utterly exhausted I found myself feeling irritated with Carlos as he stopped to point out the plant life and thus slowing down our arrival at the falls – after 4 hours of walking and caving I was tired, hungry, dirty and hot – and had to try to talk myself out of my rudeness and frustration. When we finally made it to the cascadas I barely said a word to anyone before removing my filthy clothes and water-filled muddy boots and immersing my mud-sodden body into the water; bliss. It wasn’t so blissful when, after lunch of cheese and ham sandwiches, I had to then put back on my soaking socks, smelly clothes and muddy boots to walk back out of the waterfall. A beer and a cigarette cheered me up but unfortunately didn’t take away the smell. Never have I been so repulsed by my own body stench.
Pablo eventually arrived and drove us back to our hostel at around 5pm. After showering and changing we took our belongings to the laundrette around the corner and then picked up some cigarettes, rum and snacks for the evening. I don’t know if I have mentioned, but marajuna seems to be very popular in South America. Later that evening Pablo drove me to pick up some chips (proper chip shop chips) as Sajne and I had a sudden craving, before I went to bed at around 11pm after a much-needed evening of drinking and smoking.
The following morning I collected my laundry and packed my things before checking out of the hostel and being driven to a nearby spot along the river by Pablo’s wife, Marcia. I spent a couple of hours lying in the sun and paddling in the river before walking back to the hostel, collecting my bags and heading to the bus terminal for my 3pm bus to Banos, which cost me $5.25 USD. Although I expected to come across more wildlife and animals in the amazon I did love my experience in the jungle, however I’m looking forward to Banos and hoping for a few less mosquito bites there (can you tell I’m scratching at them ferociously as I type??)
The bus from Tulcan to Quito was a good introduction to Ecuador I feel. The air conditioning on the bus not working, the windows not opening, the bus stopping every 20 minutes to have hoards of local sellers climb onboard trying to get you to buy their various Ecuadorian treats, Street performers navigating the cars on the roads for money, all as we pass by mist-topped mountains and hills. Needles to say the journey took longer than it could have, arriving into Quito bus terminal just before 5pm, although they didn’t announce it was the bus terminal and it was only as we were leaving that I realised, so they had to stop at the side of the road to let Zaire and I off, where we then waited for a local bus heading to the nearest Trole station. We paid $0.25 USD to get the bus and then the Trole to Colon station was free. We probably arrived at Colon station, clearly hitting peak time traffic with us and our bags crammed on the tram-like system, at around 6pm and then had to trundle in the tipping, pouring rain for 15 minutes until we reached Blue House hostel in the neighbourhood of La Mariscal. I had pre-booked, paying $8 USD a night for an 8 bed dorm including breakfast, but Zaire was lucky enough to find space in the room, too.
After drying off and arranging our things we headed out on a hunt for some local Ecuadorian food at a reasonable price, bravely (or stubbornly) wandering through the torrential rain as we did not settle for less than this, selecting roads at random and asking locals along the way. We finally stumbled across Cafe Ambassador where we both ordered an Ecuadorian classic of Seco de Chivo; Goat Stew. We were both super hungry and nervous this wouldn’t live up to our half hour hunt, but as soon as the food arrived we knew we had made a good choice and even high-fived after taking our first bite. The goat was deliciously marinated and plentiful, served alongside rice (of course), avocado, salad and a potato. I couldn’t have been more happy than in that moment.
We walked back via Plaza Foch, which was just a few minutes from our hostel, and stumbled across an Ecuadorian rap group performing on the stage in the Square. Despite the rain we stood around for a bit listening to the insanely energising music, before Zaire made his way back to the hostel and I went for a wander. Quite quickly I walked past Dirty Sanchez, a bar that had been recommended in Lonely Planet for live music. On a whim I headed inside, selected a ruby ale ($5.50 USD) and sat down to listen to the 3-man band playing what I could decipher as mellow rock. Enjoying the music and the relaxed atmosphere I ordered a glass of vino tinto ($5.50) and not long after an Ecuadorian – Fabian – waved at me from a nearby table. I waved back and he then came to sit with me, after which followed an hour long conversation in both Spanish and English where we attempted to relay our stories to one another and help one another with each others’ language.
After agreeing to meet for dinner the following evening, I headed back to my hostel to crash for the night. Up at around 9am the following morning I dressed and ate breakfast before heading out to explore nearby La Mariscal and the Historic Center. I had barely made it a few blocks from my hostel (after dropping off a full load of laundry for $2.40) before a man in his car waved at me and I waved back. He drove up and parked alongside the pavement beside me and there he stayed for 20 minutes while we (Patricio and I) chatted about where I was from and his time working in America. He also invited me to join him for a coffee (I was feeling so much warmth and kindness for Ecuadorians already) but with only one full day in Quito I sadly didn’t have the time. Honestly I was feeling so fond of Ecuador already.
Back on the move I wandered around the La Mariscal Mercado Artesanal before stumbling across an outdoors salsa class (which looked more to be for exercise than skill…) before heading to Park El Ejido.On the weekends the park turns into a market, so I spent some time wandering around the various jewellery, painting and clothing stalls before falling into conversation with a guy selling handmade jewellery and then being humbled by the sight of two local men playing chess together on the side of the pavement. I can’t explain it but I felt light and warm in my very first day in Ecuador, immediately liking the people and their ways.
I then made my way into the historic center, I first walked into Mercado Central to peruse (and smell) the variety of food on offer at this local lunch jaunt where you could buy a plate of hornado (whole roasted pig) with various sides for $2-3, and I was lucky enough to sample some of this roasted pig and it was delicious. If only I wasn’t so full from breakfast. I then weaved around the streets of the historic center, passing by numerous Iglesias (churches), plazas, teatros and Museos.
At one point I even stumbled across some sort of parade with dozens of locals following, as well as the police force, the army and a band. Families were stood on the side of the street, watching, with the children clutching sugary, artificial-looking ice cream cones. I suddenly became aware of my bumbag purely due to how many people there were, passing closely in front of me and darting past behind. However it felt like a day of coming together, and noticing the patriotism of the flag-adorned coloured buildings plus the slightly European feel of some of the narrow, tree-lined streets I felt safe.
A parade
Early afternoon I then ventured into Centro Cultural Metropolitano; free to enter, it houses temporary art exhibits and when I visited offered interesting insights into the earthquake in Ecuador, the inequality between girls and boys and the high rate of teenage pregnancy, as well as glimpses into Latin American and the way they hope to move forward. It was equally insightful, shocking and full of hope.
Mid-afternoon I wandered the streets until I found a taxi to take me to El Panecillo; a small hill to the south of the Old Town that is topped with a statue of La Virgen de Quito and provides views of Quito below. The area surrounding the base of El Panecillo is unsafe due to muggings so, reluctantly, I took a taxi to the top, but I had a lovely conversation with the taxi driver and happily paid $2 for the pleasure, tipping about 25%. At the top I can’t say there are the most phenomenal views or that the statue was the most attractive thing I have come across, but the surrounding mountains are beautiful and I had the most amazing cup of hot Canelazo (which I believe you can also have with alcohol) for only $0.50 when the rain began to fall. I also got to sample hot Colada Morada (tasted like hot, blended fruits) and hot Morocho (a milky, lumpy drink that I quite enjoyed).
El Panecillo
I then made the decision to head 22km north of Quito to Mitad del Mundo(which, literally translated, means Half of the World) where Charles-Marie de la Condamine made the measurements in 1736 to prove that it was the equatorial line; the centre of the earth, I like to think. I first hailed a cab from El Panecillo as I had been advised of taking 2 buses from Mercado Central but halfway down the hill we turned back up as my taxi driver insisted there was a direct bus to Mitad del Mundo from the top of the hill; this is where speaking slightly better Spanish, and conversing with locals at every opportunity, pays off.
Mitad del Mundo
Back at the top I caught the blue bus to Mitad del Mundo, paying $0.50 and taking about an hour and a quarter. At Mitad del Mundo you then have to pay to enter, but as I wasn’t interested in visiting the museums or going inside the building at the centre (I was short on time but also I was more inclined to absorb just being there) I paid $3.50 rather than $7.50, although still not cheap for what you get. It was pretty cool to be at 0-0-0 and I of course took obligatory photos, but the highlight for me was the surrounding spectacular mountains.
Back on the blue bus into Quito an hour later, I made it back to Quito around 6:15pm where I walked through the historic centre and then caught a taxi back to my hostel in La Mariscal for $2. I sorted my things out and then headed back out to meet Fabian at Plaza Foch where we went on another mini hunt for local, not-too-expensive food, settling on Azuca Beach on the edge of the square where I ordered Ceviche de Camarone (with cerveza, for $8 USD) and he ordered Ceviche de Pescado for $7. We spent the evening eating our meals (which came with delicious salty fried plantain chips known as Chifles), drinking cerveza followed by fresh pineapple juice with added rum from the bottle he brought with him (I’m sorry but Ecuador is not cheap, thanks to the dollar!) and sharing stories about travelling, relationships and language. A lovely evening to end my time in Quito!
I was woken early the following morning by fellow travellers leaving so I packed, had breakfast and left by 9am to make my way to The South bus terminal in Quito, Quitambre. I caught the metro bus just at the end of the road for $0.25 which took me all the way to Quitambre in just under an hour, and from there I booked a bus for $7.50 USD to Tena (the gateway to the amazon), leaving at 10:30am and due to take 5 hours. Unsurprisingly, as it made various stops along the way letting locals on and off, it took longer than this and I suffered a bit with a mixture of tiredness and the altitude along the way. However it was absolutely incredible literally driving within the mountains, weaving around the edges and passing by lakes in between. I never expected Ecuador to be so green!
So I had heard many horror stories about crossing the border from Colombia into Ecuador by land and had even been strongly advised against it by people whom had lived in Colombia, saying it was the most dangerous of border crossings in South America with reported hostage-type situations of robberies on the buses at gunpoint. However I also met people whom had previously crossed this border with no problems or whom had just done the border the other way round with ease. To go by air it would cost me at least £100 to fly from Bogota to Quito with only a few options a week and would also mean first paying for a bus from Cali to Bogota, a place I had already spent time in. So, once in Cali and having spoken to Bolivariana – the bus company I would advise travelling with – about the safety of the nightbuses I decided to catch one to Ipiales the night after I had arrived in Cali.
The first mistake I maybe made was not booking the bus the day I arrived in Cali, not yet being sure how much time I would want to spend in Cali. So, knowing there were buses at 7, 8, 9 and 10pm from Cali to Ipiales I just rocked up at the bus terminal at 7:30pm being certain there would be availability on at least a couple of the buses remaining. Turns out there was only one seat left on the 10pm bus for $58,000 pesos (£17) and, once I got on the bus at 10pm, they had given the same seat number to me and an old male Colombian. “Admin error” or some crap. Anyway I lost my window seat and sat next to the man with the same seat number and was humbled (and quietly amused) to see him use his google translate app to learn a question he wanted to ask me. Very sweet. Anyway, we set off at around 10pm for a fast and bumpy ride through the Colombian mountains, arriving in Ipiales at 9:30am the next day. It wasn’t the best sleep I have ever had but it certainly wasn’t the worst, nor was it quite as freezing on the bus as people made out (but make sure you bring a sweater).
On the bus I met an American called Zahir doing the same route into Ecuador as me so, once at Ipiales, we stuck together. There were taxis going to the border (la frontera) for $8,000 pesos (£2.20) or colectivos for only $1,700 pesos (80p) so we opted for the colectivo, still only taking about 15 minutes to reach the Colombian border. Here we had to queue for about 10 minutes to be stamped out before walking about 100m across the “border” into Ecuador. The second border crossing I have done on foot (the first being Cambodia into Thailand) where nothing at all changes in the short distance from one country to the next and the only divide is that of a sign welcoming you in. I had spent a number of hours the previous day changing a large amount of pesos into dollars (dolares) in prep for Ecuador but I still had some pesos on me, not having known how much I would need for transport and food, etc. As warned there were a number of men at the border (on both sides) offering to change your money for you and I settled on getting $13 USD for my $37,000 pesos.
Once on the Ecuadorian side we had to queue again, this time for about 15/20 minutes, before being stamped into Ecuador, being asked where I was heading to and how long I intended to stay in Ecuador. No other forms needed; easy. The two of us then caught a taxi to the bus terminal in Tulcan, paying around $3.50 USD (£3) before being bombarded by us company vendors before I had even stepped one foot out of the taxi, hollering “Quito! Quito!” at us. After establishing it was $7 USD (£6) for a bus that was leaving for Quito in 5 minutes and would take 6 hours to get there, we shrugged and hopped right on. Pretty quickly we realised why it would take 6 hours (as opposed to the 4 I had read it would take) – local merchants selling food, drink, perfume and all sorts came on the bus with their best selling tactics before we even left and then regularly throughout the journey, us stopping more times for them than I would like to count.
Winding around the gorgeous, ear-popping Ecuadorian mountains we eventually made it to Quito NORTH bus terminal at 5pm, where they didn’t announce the stop so it was only as we were pulling away from it that I realised and by then they had to stop at the side of the road to let us off. We then waited for a local bus heading to the nearest Trole station and paid $0.25 USD to then get the Trole to Colon station for free. A long story short, we didn’t arrive to our hostel – Blue House hostel in La Floresta – until well after 6pm, a good 9 hours after arriving into Ecuador.
So, a flight from Bogota to Quito, including luggage, would have cost me around £100, not including the bus cost from Cali to Bogota and then the cost of a taxi to the airport. This also doesn’t include the cost of a taxi from Quito airport to my hostel. My journey by land cost me a total of £. Yes, it took almost 24 hours, but I would have had to get a night bus from Cali to Bogota anyway and the sights I got to see, as well as the experiences I had along the way (and the money saved) made it worth it for me. I found the night bus from Cali to Ipiales absolutely fine – I didn’t feel unsafe at any point – but of course things can happen at any time, anywhere. If you would prefer to get a day bus from Cali to Ipiales, to spend a night at Ipiales before crossing the border the following morning, then you can, it just costs a bit more to add in hostel costs and takes a bit longer, and there isn’t much to see in Ipiales (although the mountains on the way down into Ipiales were spectacular).
So there you have it. Yesterday I was in Colombia, now I am in Ecuador. Bring it.
Travel, Eat, Repeat 