When she first told me and my other sister Kathy, our reaction was WTF !!! ??? (Why That Far?) When you grow up in Minnesota, your mind and heart are pure. Our next reaction was, where exactly is Ecuador and why? My only knowledge of Ecuador was that it's located on the Equator.
Turns out Ecuador, and the City of Cuenca in particular is a wonderful place to live: friendly people with a welcoming society, lovely climate and stunning landscape, historic architecture,
cultural and culinary delights, politically stable and progressive government (voting is compulsory), reasonable cost of living, and first class health care that's affordable. So affordable that there's something called Medical Tourism. Come scuba dive with tortoises in the Galapagos, and if you call before midnight, you'll receive a quadruple bypass! There's even a magazine called Medical Tourism Magazine. Past issues have included articles such as "Spain, the Heart of Transplants", "Grasping Dreams: Hand Transplants Greet Medical Tourism Markets" and "Abu Dhabi: Sustainable Healthcare Sector"
Speaking of Cuenca tourism, at an elevation of 8,400 feet under the equatorial sun, you tan faster than applying it with a spray can.
Cotopaxi Tanning Salon
So visiting Jeanne was how I ended up climbing volcanoes in Ecuador. This story is about my second visit to Ecuador, in January of 2018.
Traveling from Ithaca, NY to Cuenca is like going from Podunk, NY (located just 13.8 miles from our house!) to Jerkwater, PA by pogo stick. There's no way to fly from the US to Cuenca, the third largest city in Ecuador, without an overnight layover in Quito! Because of the layovers, it takes longer than flying to Tokyo, Japan.
I leave from the State of New York on the east coast of the North American Continent - complete with shoreline facing the Atlantic Ocean, and arrive in Ecuador on the west coast of South America with shoreline (and the famous Galapagos Islands ) on the Pacific Ocean. If I swam due west (and a tiny bit south) from Ecuador, I'd arrive on the island of Tahiti, with very wrinkly skin.
Yet my flight is almost directly south!
Since Ecuador is on approximately the same line of longitude, it's in the same time zone as Ithaca. So my internal clock is not disrupted and hooray! my daily nap schedule doesn't need adjustment! I'm also pleased to learn that the hands of clocks in the southern hemisphere don't turn counterclockwise.
Another fun travel fact: Ecuador uses US currency! No need to make conversions of 0.68 to 13, or learn colorful Monopoly bills with pictures of Queens or Archdukes. No coins with holes in them , not even the loonies and toonies of our neighbors to the north. And what's more, you can actually buy things with nickels and pennies, like delicious baked rolls, fresh fruit, or ice cream treats.
Occasionally the merchandise is proportional with the cost.
WTF!!! Widdle Tiny Food
Another fun travel fact: Ecuador uses US currency! No need to make conversions of 0.68 to 13, or learn colorful Monopoly bills with pictures of Queens or Archdukes. No coins with holes in them , not even the loonies and toonies of our neighbors to the north. And what's more, you can actually buy things with nickels and pennies, like delicious baked rolls, fresh fruit, or ice cream treats.
Occasionally the merchandise is proportional with the cost.
WTF!!! Widdle Tiny Food
It turns out Jeanne is not the only one who noticed the attractive living conditions in Cuenca, so there are a number of foreign residents. Unfortunately, not all of them have embraced the country and worked to become a contributing Ecuadorian citizen the way Jeanne has. She overheard a US expat complaining that the locals don't speak English! I know there's funny in there, but it's so covered up with embarrassing and disgusting and sad.
I spend the first week of my visit in Cuenca, going on walks with Jeanne and her dogs, meeting some of her friends (who aren't shocked by encountering Spanish speakers at the market), admiring the ancient buildings and National Geographic-worthy scenery, and...
sampling as many varieties of the local cuisine as we can fit into each day.
One traditional food is cuy pronounced kew-y. Avert your eyes if you're squeamish...
In case you don't recognize the little critter when it's not in a cage running on a wire exercise wheel, the cuddly creature on the platter is a guinea pig! WTF!!!! (Without The Fur)
Here's another view.
Personalized rodent rotisseries!
I really thank Jeanne for taking me for a cuy lunch. Not that it tasted like bacon to the tenth power. Not that she took me even though it grosses her out (the Chiang's are pretty adventurous when it comes to eating). Rather, because it's overpriced and underwhelming. One of her friends described it as a lot of work for not much meat. I thought it was too salty, this coming from a guy who likes his diet to include about 10,000 mg of sodium each day. It was fun for the novelty, but not something I'd care to eat again. So thanks Jeanne for putting up with another cuy restaurant just to give me the experience.
A traditional Ecuadorian meal that is decidedly extraordinary is the almuerzo. Humbly translated as lunch, it is in reality a sumptuous serving of succulent superlatives. This is the pinnacle to which culinary contestants seeking a Nobel Food Prize would aspire. All this set us back about $3.50, and there's enough on one plate to satisfy both Jeanne and me.
Jeanne arranges for a guide to take me rock climbing in Cojitambo . It's quite a different experience to hike cloud forest trails to reach a cliff. Long ago, the Cañari used those cliffs as a defense against the Incas. On the other side of the mountain there are archeological ruins.
Turns out my guide, Pedro Montezuma, was instrumental in setting routes and developing this area as a climbing destination! WTF! Wrote The Fieldguide!
We have a great day of top roping while he evaluates my climbing (and belaying) skills and then we climb a couple of multi-pitch sport routes before rain chases us off.
I also go for a hike in Las Cajas National Park. It's one of the most stunning landscapes I've been lucky enough to experience, and at 12-14k provides acclimatization beyond the 8,000 foot elevation of Cuenca. I'm kind of OCD when it comes to acclimatization so this hike is part of my plan.
My hike at this park 5 years ago ranks as one of my life's greatest gifts. Could have had something to do with the hiking partners, my kids Molly and Jimmy.
I spend the first week of my visit in Cuenca, going on walks with Jeanne and her dogs, meeting some of her friends (who aren't shocked by encountering Spanish speakers at the market), admiring the ancient buildings and National Geographic-worthy scenery, and...
sampling as many varieties of the local cuisine as we can fit into each day.
One traditional food is cuy pronounced kew-y. Avert your eyes if you're squeamish...
In case you don't recognize the little critter when it's not in a cage running on a wire exercise wheel, the cuddly creature on the platter is a guinea pig! WTF!!!! (Without The Fur)
Here's another view.
Personalized rodent rotisseries!
I really thank Jeanne for taking me for a cuy lunch. Not that it tasted like bacon to the tenth power. Not that she took me even though it grosses her out (the Chiang's are pretty adventurous when it comes to eating). Rather, because it's overpriced and underwhelming. One of her friends described it as a lot of work for not much meat. I thought it was too salty, this coming from a guy who likes his diet to include about 10,000 mg of sodium each day. It was fun for the novelty, but not something I'd care to eat again. So thanks Jeanne for putting up with another cuy restaurant just to give me the experience.
A traditional Ecuadorian meal that is decidedly extraordinary is the almuerzo. Humbly translated as lunch, it is in reality a sumptuous serving of succulent superlatives. This is the pinnacle to which culinary contestants seeking a Nobel Food Prize would aspire. All this set us back about $3.50, and there's enough on one plate to satisfy both Jeanne and me.
Jeanne arranges for a guide to take me rock climbing in Cojitambo . It's quite a different experience to hike cloud forest trails to reach a cliff. Long ago, the Cañari used those cliffs as a defense against the Incas. On the other side of the mountain there are archeological ruins.
Turns out my guide, Pedro Montezuma, was instrumental in setting routes and developing this area as a climbing destination! WTF! Wrote The Fieldguide!
We have a great day of top roping while he evaluates my climbing (and belaying) skills and then we climb a couple of multi-pitch sport routes before rain chases us off. I also go for a hike in Las Cajas National Park. It's one of the most stunning landscapes I've been lucky enough to experience, and at 12-14k provides acclimatization beyond the 8,000 foot elevation of Cuenca. I'm kind of OCD when it comes to acclimatization so this hike is part of my plan.
My hike at this park 5 years ago ranks as one of my life's greatest gifts. Could have had something to do with the hiking partners, my kids Molly and Jimmy.
Jeanne suspects that I only visit her to provide an excuse to climb the Ecuadorian volcanoes. That's not true, but I certainly do like the high mountain experiences readily available in her new country.
Ecuador is a great place for high altitude climbing adventures for those of us with mediocre technical skills: there are moderate routes up many mountains, a well developed organization of professional guides, easily accessible refugios (mountain "huts") serving delicious meals, and all at reasonable prices.
My journey to the high mountains starts with a flight to Quito.
I lug my big duffle (filled with approximately 49.8 pounds of the lightest weight clothing and climbing gear that I can make and afford) out of the airport and load it into a taxi. The driver doesn't laugh at my pathetic attempts to speak Spanish (as I said, Ecuadorians are friendly). I resort to gibberish and pantomime. He smiles when I hand over a printed description of my destination and takes off.
Almost literally.
I'll say it yet again: Ecuadorians are friendly. And they are also generally laid back. They describe each other and situations as tranquilo, tranquil, mellow, no worries mate. Yet when they grab the rim of a steering wheel, something snaps. They become the star of an instructional video to show aggressive driving. They might still converse with the calm of a Buddhist monk, but they'll pass multiple vehicles around blind curves on a mountain road. It doesn't seem to be associated with animosity toward other drivers. I guess it's not road rage when everyone does it and expects it and doesn't get mad about it.
So my driver accelerates to about warp 3 in town, and conscientiously waits until the freeway on-ramp to hit warp 9.50. In no time we've crossed the entire east to west width of Quito.
With a population of about 1.4 million (for some reason there are several different numbers floating around the internet) Quito is far too big of a city for my liking. Although Quito has a plethora of historic and cultural stuff, my first visit 5 years ago was enough for this hick. So this time I won't venture into the center of the City or visit any of the diversely enriching offerings on this visit. I'm in Quito just as a base camp to climb.
Quito perches at an elevation of 9,350 so my acclimatization progresses as I lug my duffel up the stairs of my lodgings. Via the internet, I have rented a room in a "hostal" for $12 a night. For this price you would expect a flea bag dump, but check out the the living room of my accommodations.
The owner, Luigina is a tiny woman with kindness and generosity befitting a Santa-sized body. I highly recommend staying at Hostal Casapaxi if you want quiet lodgings away from the bustling center of Quito.
By chance, I am the only occupant for the duration of my visit. So I have this architectural marvel of a house (Luigina built it when she was working as an Italian diplomat to Ecuador) to myself. On Luigina's recommendation, I buy a pizza for dinner from a shop up the street. Travel tip: I do not suggest flying to Ecuador to eat pizza. I buy my future dinners from a little establishment offering Salchipapas.
When in Ecuador, eat as the Ecuadorians do.
The next day I begin my acclimatization program in earnest. Acclimatization is the process of conditioning your body to the rarified air on a high mountain. Through gradual exposure to higher and higher altitudes, your blood chemistry changes and other medical marvels manifest to adapt to the decreased oxygen. You know how you get out of breath when you carry your two cases of Vodka from the car to your house? At altitude you get out of breath by standing up too fast.
High altitude photography tip: if you hold your breath to steady your camera grip, don't hold it for too long and then stand up!
I'm kind of OCD when it comes to acclimatization. I will climb Rucu Pichincha, the mountain west of Quito, two and a half times before meeting my guide to climb my big objectives.
From Hostal Casapaxi, I walk an hour uphill past little shops, houses, a police station, a school playground. I cross a very busy thoroughfare (endangering my life more than climbing any volcano) and climb up a steep road to the teleferico station. For $8.50, a scenic gondola ride whisks me up to 13,000 feet in 18 minutes. This instant gratification of high altitude scenery draws tourists visiting Quito with no climbing experience and possibly arriving from The Galapagos Islands, or Rio, or Sydney, or San Francisco. All of which have the dense atmospheric pressure benefiting sea level. The results can be dangerous, hence my OCD acclimatization program.
As I walk from the gondola, I see a woman slumped on the ground with her husband. She has a headache and nausea, suffering from altitude sickness. I offer her ibuprofen which her husband declines saying something in French about 'she already took an aspirin'. I strongly urge them to go back down right away. She worries that she will vomit in the gondola to which I respond, that should not be your main concern right now.
Behind a restaurant and the plaza overlooking stunning views of the city mottled by shadows of cotton ball clouds, beyond a small chapel, there's a trail to Rucu Pichincha. With a summit elevation of 15,413 feet above sea level, it is higher than all the mountains in the Contiguous US. The trail and route are similar to a Class 3 or 4 "14er" in Colorado. This is the mountain I will climb to prepare my body for the highest peaks that Ecuador has to offer.
The hiker's trail initially follows a ridge, switchbacks zigging and zagging up the steeper parts, climbing through paramo vegetation: tall grasses and spiky succulents to my non-botanical eyes. I pass beneath gargantuan power lines. The buzzing makes me wonder if my camera cards and brain are being erased. I hurry as much as my labored breathing permits.
As I arrive at the volcano's rocky base, I hear voices above. Interesting, I think to myself. Someone is on the East Ridge/Direct Route this is a low 5th class climb so I hope they have chosen this route deliberately. I instead follow the trail for the standard route around to the right along the base of the rock cliffs. Contouring upward past ridges and ravines, I arrive at the base of a sandy scree field. Rather than climb directly up the scree where I'd slide back one step for every two taken, I angle up and traverse to the far side. I follow climber's trails that reward me with only half a step sliding for every two taken.
Looking down the start of the scree slope
Despite a forecast of clearing skys, the weather for my first ascent of Rucu is overcast and the clouds seem moderately threatening to me. I have read that the rock composing Rucu is very slippery when it gets wet, and I take that warning seriously. Luckily, I catch up with Mac, a guy from Montana who lives in Quito half of the year and who has previously climbed Rucu Pichincha. We agree to continue on unless it threatens more seriously to rain. At the top of the scree slope, there are a few hundred feet of 3rd and occasionally 4th class scrambling. I appreciate Mac's route finding as we make our way over lumpy but solid rock.
We congratulate each other on the summit and sit down for lunch. I'm impressed when Mac pulls out an avocado. A few other climbers arrive, a couple of whom were the adventurous pair I heard up on the East Ridge. It turns out they are not experienced rock climbers. They just started up the first rock they saw until realizing they were over their heads. We are all happy that they were able to downclimb without falling.
Various climbers come and go, happy with their success but disappointed by the mist hiding the views. One guy arrives with a Hasselblad camera, and his companion has some other modern medium format camera. Honest to goodness film photographers, bless their hearts. When astronauts took selfies on the moon, NASA wanted a reliable camera, so they chose Hasselbads. Back in the day, I knew two wedding photographers with requirements for reliable cameras no less important than NASA (the term Bridezilla hadn't yet been invented, but the character probably existed). They both had Hasselbads, and both had stories of malfunctions!
Mac and I loll on the rock, enjoying each other's companionship. It's nice to summibrate with another old fart, sharing snacks and conversation. With the patience gifted to the elderly (patience comes easily when your mind is a complete blank), we wait for the clouds to lift. With my OCD attention to acclimatization, I don't mind the additional time at elevation either.
In my peripheral vision, I catch a glimpse of a fleeting shadow. WTF??? Was That For real? Another shadow streaks from the mist and lands on the summit, a big speckled bird! What luck, when Mac isn't living in Quito, he works in Montana as a naturalist. And he's a birder. Carunculated Caracara says Mac, and unfortunately I don't write the name down. Back home it takes me hours of incorrectly remembered variations before Google figures out what I'm searching for. Mac lures the bird to feed from his hand by lying down so that he's lower than the bird. What a treat of an experience.
Ecuador is a great place for high altitude climbing adventures for those of us with mediocre technical skills: there are moderate routes up many mountains, a well developed organization of professional guides, easily accessible refugios (mountain "huts") serving delicious meals, and all at reasonable prices.
My journey to the high mountains starts with a flight to Quito.
I lug my big duffle (filled with approximately 49.8 pounds of the lightest weight clothing and climbing gear that I can make and afford) out of the airport and load it into a taxi. The driver doesn't laugh at my pathetic attempts to speak Spanish (as I said, Ecuadorians are friendly). I resort to gibberish and pantomime. He smiles when I hand over a printed description of my destination and takes off.
Almost literally.
I'll say it yet again: Ecuadorians are friendly. And they are also generally laid back. They describe each other and situations as tranquilo, tranquil, mellow, no worries mate. Yet when they grab the rim of a steering wheel, something snaps. They become the star of an instructional video to show aggressive driving. They might still converse with the calm of a Buddhist monk, but they'll pass multiple vehicles around blind curves on a mountain road. It doesn't seem to be associated with animosity toward other drivers. I guess it's not road rage when everyone does it and expects it and doesn't get mad about it.
So my driver accelerates to about warp 3 in town, and conscientiously waits until the freeway on-ramp to hit warp 9.50. In no time we've crossed the entire east to west width of Quito.
With a population of about 1.4 million (for some reason there are several different numbers floating around the internet) Quito is far too big of a city for my liking. Although Quito has a plethora of historic and cultural stuff, my first visit 5 years ago was enough for this hick. So this time I won't venture into the center of the City or visit any of the diversely enriching offerings on this visit. I'm in Quito just as a base camp to climb.
Quito perches at an elevation of 9,350 so my acclimatization progresses as I lug my duffel up the stairs of my lodgings. Via the internet, I have rented a room in a "hostal" for $12 a night. For this price you would expect a flea bag dump, but check out the the living room of my accommodations.
The owner, Luigina is a tiny woman with kindness and generosity befitting a Santa-sized body. I highly recommend staying at Hostal Casapaxi if you want quiet lodgings away from the bustling center of Quito.
By chance, I am the only occupant for the duration of my visit. So I have this architectural marvel of a house (Luigina built it when she was working as an Italian diplomat to Ecuador) to myself. On Luigina's recommendation, I buy a pizza for dinner from a shop up the street. Travel tip: I do not suggest flying to Ecuador to eat pizza. I buy my future dinners from a little establishment offering Salchipapas.
When in Ecuador, eat as the Ecuadorians do.
The next day I begin my acclimatization program in earnest. Acclimatization is the process of conditioning your body to the rarified air on a high mountain. Through gradual exposure to higher and higher altitudes, your blood chemistry changes and other medical marvels manifest to adapt to the decreased oxygen. You know how you get out of breath when you carry your two cases of Vodka from the car to your house? At altitude you get out of breath by standing up too fast.
High altitude photography tip: if you hold your breath to steady your camera grip, don't hold it for too long and then stand up!
I'm kind of OCD when it comes to acclimatization. I will climb Rucu Pichincha, the mountain west of Quito, two and a half times before meeting my guide to climb my big objectives.
From Hostal Casapaxi, I walk an hour uphill past little shops, houses, a police station, a school playground. I cross a very busy thoroughfare (endangering my life more than climbing any volcano) and climb up a steep road to the teleferico station. For $8.50, a scenic gondola ride whisks me up to 13,000 feet in 18 minutes. This instant gratification of high altitude scenery draws tourists visiting Quito with no climbing experience and possibly arriving from The Galapagos Islands, or Rio, or Sydney, or San Francisco. All of which have the dense atmospheric pressure benefiting sea level. The results can be dangerous, hence my OCD acclimatization program.
As I walk from the gondola, I see a woman slumped on the ground with her husband. She has a headache and nausea, suffering from altitude sickness. I offer her ibuprofen which her husband declines saying something in French about 'she already took an aspirin'. I strongly urge them to go back down right away. She worries that she will vomit in the gondola to which I respond, that should not be your main concern right now.
Behind a restaurant and the plaza overlooking stunning views of the city mottled by shadows of cotton ball clouds, beyond a small chapel, there's a trail to Rucu Pichincha. With a summit elevation of 15,413 feet above sea level, it is higher than all the mountains in the Contiguous US. The trail and route are similar to a Class 3 or 4 "14er" in Colorado. This is the mountain I will climb to prepare my body for the highest peaks that Ecuador has to offer.
The hiker's trail initially follows a ridge, switchbacks zigging and zagging up the steeper parts, climbing through paramo vegetation: tall grasses and spiky succulents to my non-botanical eyes. I pass beneath gargantuan power lines. The buzzing makes me wonder if my camera cards and brain are being erased. I hurry as much as my labored breathing permits.
As I arrive at the volcano's rocky base, I hear voices above. Interesting, I think to myself. Someone is on the East Ridge/Direct Route this is a low 5th class climb so I hope they have chosen this route deliberately. I instead follow the trail for the standard route around to the right along the base of the rock cliffs. Contouring upward past ridges and ravines, I arrive at the base of a sandy scree field. Rather than climb directly up the scree where I'd slide back one step for every two taken, I angle up and traverse to the far side. I follow climber's trails that reward me with only half a step sliding for every two taken.
Looking down the start of the scree slope
Despite a forecast of clearing skys, the weather for my first ascent of Rucu is overcast and the clouds seem moderately threatening to me. I have read that the rock composing Rucu is very slippery when it gets wet, and I take that warning seriously. Luckily, I catch up with Mac, a guy from Montana who lives in Quito half of the year and who has previously climbed Rucu Pichincha. We agree to continue on unless it threatens more seriously to rain. At the top of the scree slope, there are a few hundred feet of 3rd and occasionally 4th class scrambling. I appreciate Mac's route finding as we make our way over lumpy but solid rock.
We congratulate each other on the summit and sit down for lunch. I'm impressed when Mac pulls out an avocado. A few other climbers arrive, a couple of whom were the adventurous pair I heard up on the East Ridge. It turns out they are not experienced rock climbers. They just started up the first rock they saw until realizing they were over their heads. We are all happy that they were able to downclimb without falling.
Various climbers come and go, happy with their success but disappointed by the mist hiding the views. One guy arrives with a Hasselblad camera, and his companion has some other modern medium format camera. Honest to goodness film photographers, bless their hearts. When astronauts took selfies on the moon, NASA wanted a reliable camera, so they chose Hasselbads. Back in the day, I knew two wedding photographers with requirements for reliable cameras no less important than NASA (the term Bridezilla hadn't yet been invented, but the character probably existed). They both had Hasselbads, and both had stories of malfunctions!
Mac and I loll on the rock, enjoying each other's companionship. It's nice to summibrate with another old fart, sharing snacks and conversation. With the patience gifted to the elderly (patience comes easily when your mind is a complete blank), we wait for the clouds to lift. With my OCD attention to acclimatization, I don't mind the additional time at elevation either.
In my peripheral vision, I catch a glimpse of a fleeting shadow. WTF??? Was That For real? Another shadow streaks from the mist and lands on the summit, a big speckled bird! What luck, when Mac isn't living in Quito, he works in Montana as a naturalist. And he's a birder. Carunculated Caracara says Mac, and unfortunately I don't write the name down. Back home it takes me hours of incorrectly remembered variations before Google figures out what I'm searching for. Mac lures the bird to feed from his hand by lying down so that he's lower than the bird. What a treat of an experience.
Lo, our patience is rewarded as glimpses of the surrounding valleys and peaks emerge from the mist. What with the Caracara, and sunlight through lifting clouds, the scenery, and most of all the serendipitous encounter with Mac, I once again thank who or whatever being preceded my incarnation to reward me with such pleasures. WTF!!! Way Too Fortunate
Too soon, it's time to return to reality and we pack up to leave. After descending the rock scramble, the scree, the contours around the ridges and ravines, we sit down in the grass on the gentler ridge. The sun and air temperature are warmer now and we bask in the glorious setting.
After another snack and drink we hike the rest of the way down to the teleferico station. I tell Mac that I plan to climb Rucu again the next day. Although he is tempted, he doubts that he will be able to join me. We ride the gondola down, and walk down the steep street to the thoroughfare. With a hand shake we part ways.
The next day after a breakfast of bread rolls, kiefer and bananas (total cost about a dollar) I walk up to and ride the teleferico again.
As I hike, I encounter the trail maintenance crew I recognize from yesterday. In my pathetic Spanish, I try to thank them for their hard work. One of them is carrying a massive pry bar and a post hole digger. I offer to carry the post hole digger: partly out of sympathy for his sweating misery, partly to thank them for their work, and partly to satisfy my OCD acclimatization and training. I recall seeing timbers for a replacement sign on the summit yesterday, so through gibberish and pantomime, I ask if I should carry the tool to the top of the mountain. Perhaps out of politeness or just to get rid of this crazy asian gringo they nod.
The weather today beckons, so along the route and at the summit I meet lots of climbers. Through gibberish and pantomime I try to explain why I am carrying a post hole digger up a 15K mountain. From the expressions on their faces I can tell that I am unsuccessful. My disastrous communication is all the more disappointing because the other climbers hail from San Francisco, Pittsburgh, the UK, and Canada.
The next day after a breakfast of bread rolls, kiefer and bananas (total cost about a dollar) I walk up to and ride the teleferico again.
As I hike, I encounter the trail maintenance crew I recognize from yesterday. In my pathetic Spanish, I try to thank them for their hard work. One of them is carrying a massive pry bar and a post hole digger. I offer to carry the post hole digger: partly out of sympathy for his sweating misery, partly to thank them for their work, and partly to satisfy my OCD acclimatization and training. I recall seeing timbers for a replacement sign on the summit yesterday, so through gibberish and pantomime, I ask if I should carry the tool to the top of the mountain. Perhaps out of politeness or just to get rid of this crazy asian gringo they nod.
The weather today beckons, so along the route and at the summit I meet lots of climbers. Through gibberish and pantomime I try to explain why I am carrying a post hole digger up a 15K mountain. From the expressions on their faces I can tell that I am unsuccessful. My disastrous communication is all the more disappointing because the other climbers hail from San Francisco, Pittsburgh, the UK, and Canada.
On the summit, the mood is festive. Like a Madison, Wisconsin block party,
but transported 14,000 feet vertically.
Unfortunately, the pair of Canadians are dressed for an afternoon in Madison. Shorts and T-shirts under windbreakers? WTF! Way Too Flimsy! Even though Rucu Pichincha is near the equator, shorts are not appropriate attire for a mountain 1,000 feet higher than Mt. Rainier. So I make like a magician and start pulling clothes out of my backpack: insulated jacket, rain jacket, rain pants, hat, gloves, mitten shells, all of the spare clothes I brought in case the weather turned bad. After donning my mismatched mishmash of gear they look like Nepalese porters after a 1950s Everest expedition but they'll be warm on the descent.
Perhaps influenced by my future analogy of a Madison block party, the guy from San Francisco, (we'll call him John Doe), mentions that he has coca leaves. WTF??? Where They From ?
Coca leaves and products are legal in Ecuador and are purported to ease the effects of altitude sickness. I ask John where he bought them and he describes a vague location for a pharmacy near the center of Quito. Oh well, I'm interested, but not willing to search the bustling center of the city asking strangers where to find coca through gibberish and pantomime.
Later the next day, I will in fact visit a market with various vendor stalls including some that sell coca products: tea bags, candies, lotions. leaves! I've read that indigenous people laboring at high altitude chew the leaves so I give that a try. I don't feel any effect at all. Only once I'm back home in Ithaca do I learn that to release the chemicals that suppress hunger, thirst, pain, fatigue, and help overcome altitude sickness, the leaves need to be treated with an alkali. So the trick is to roll the leaves up with baking soda and tuck the soggy foaming wad between gum and cheek.
Tomorrow, I'll visit Rucu Pichincha a third time before being picked up by my guide to start our high mountain adventures. Per my OCD acclimatization program, I'll just hike to the base of the scree slope to save my legs. I'll spend the afternoon napping, snacking, and talking with other passing climbers. Occasionally they'll offer a phrase of Spanish, Chinese, or Japanese, or I'll offer a bit of gibberish before realizing that we're both from the good ole US of A.
Back on the mountain as I descend I see the maintenance crew. Working away...
Without their post hole digger...
Uh Oh.
Through animated Spanish with gesticulating limbs, their message is clear: WTF!!!
Welcome Tool Ferry-er !!!
Coca leaves and products are legal in Ecuador and are purported to ease the effects of altitude sickness. I ask John where he bought them and he describes a vague location for a pharmacy near the center of Quito. Oh well, I'm interested, but not willing to search the bustling center of the city asking strangers where to find coca through gibberish and pantomime.
Later the next day, I will in fact visit a market with various vendor stalls including some that sell coca products: tea bags, candies, lotions. leaves! I've read that indigenous people laboring at high altitude chew the leaves so I give that a try. I don't feel any effect at all. Only once I'm back home in Ithaca do I learn that to release the chemicals that suppress hunger, thirst, pain, fatigue, and help overcome altitude sickness, the leaves need to be treated with an alkali. So the trick is to roll the leaves up with baking soda and tuck the soggy foaming wad between gum and cheek.
Tomorrow, I'll visit Rucu Pichincha a third time before being picked up by my guide to start our high mountain adventures. Per my OCD acclimatization program, I'll just hike to the base of the scree slope to save my legs. I'll spend the afternoon napping, snacking, and talking with other passing climbers. Occasionally they'll offer a phrase of Spanish, Chinese, or Japanese, or I'll offer a bit of gibberish before realizing that we're both from the good ole US of A.
Back on the mountain as I descend I see the maintenance crew. Working away...
Without their post hole digger...
Uh Oh.
Through animated Spanish with gesticulating limbs, their message is clear: WTF!!!
Welcome Tool Ferry-er !!!
or they inform me that I am a dolt.
Not really, they're too polite.
With my limited Spanish, I say "Lo siento, lo siento..." I'm sorry. I'm sorry.
To which they respond, "Es tranquilo... "
A random guy who gave me a ride after hiking in Las Cajas Park
Next up, Illiniza Sur.
With my limited Spanish, I say "Lo siento, lo siento..." I'm sorry. I'm sorry.
To which they respond, "Es tranquilo... "
A random guy who gave me a ride after hiking in Las Cajas Park
Next up, Illiniza Sur.
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