Volcano Time

Papagayo

We left Quito early by taxi and headed to Papagayo (http://hosteria-papagayo.com), which was to be our staging post for our Volcano climbing.  Papagayo is kind of ranch/hostel in the middle of nowhere.  It is great place with nice rooms and gardens and seems to do a roaring trade in pony trekking, which is something I just don´t get - why ride when you can walk?

At the ranch we were met by our guide Diego and Swiss chap called Elia who had tried to climb Cotopaxi the night before, but been turned back by a massive fall of new snow - this didn´t bode well for us- but what the hell. we´ve climbed in Scottish winter...

After some general faffing around, we were taken to the climbing store, where we sorted through various vintage equipment to find something that vaguely fitted - thank god we had brought our own cold weather clothing! Suitably equipped, we headed for Cotopaxi with a stop at Machachi to pick up the food.

Arriving at Cotopaxi, you drive up a massive hill of mud to reach a car park just below the hut and start of the snowline.  Given that this was a Sunday, there were hundreds of Ecuadoreans at the car park doing some sightseeing and taking the short walk to the hut to buy a hot chocolate.  Not that there was much to see, the entire volcano was enveloped in dense cloud.

View from Cotopaxi Hut

Cotopaxi  Hut

At the hut Diego cooked for us and we drank litres of tea, chatting with Elia, before heading for bed in bunks on the drafty first floor to try and grab some sleep before the 2am start.  The hut had a guardian, like those in the alps, but that was pretty much wear the similarities ended.  Compared with European Refuges, it was pretty basic, aside from a few soft drinks, there was no food to be had, you did your own cooking and there were no blankets or heating.  We slept in our clothes and were both warm enough in spite of the drafts.

The next morning we ventured out after breakfast into miserable morning, visibility was poor and there was a strong wind blowing fine ice crystals at a horizontal angle.  We climbed switchbacks for about an hour until the start of the glacier proper, here we stopped to rope up and the first group turned back.  By this stage we were all coated in a stiff layer of ice about half a cm thick.  We put on our crampons, roped up and persuaded Diego to continue.  From here we climbed up through a combination of switch backs and traverses with the route completely obscured by the fresh snow.  From this point it became clear that Diego was having difficulty finding the route, he stopped a couple of times and conferred with another guide and we rerouted, taking the lead of a new group of 7 formed from the two remaining groups of climbers.

Covered in ice at 5300m

About half an hour later, we reached an area of complex glacial terrain, visibility diminished further and we became surrounded by a huge number of crevasses and seracs.  Diego and the guide from the other group now set about exploring the terrain, trying to find a way through.  When they started flagged wands along our route, it became clear that they were unsure of the path.  To their credit, they tried a number of different route to get through before telling us that a key snow bridge had collapsed under the weight of the new snow.  Much to our disappointment we took a couple of pictures including one of Elia with his frizbee (He plays for an Ultimate Frizbee Team in Switzerland) we turned and headed back, following our footprints back down the volcano.  We had reached 5300 metres, about 500 metres off the summit.

Diego, Me, Kirsty and Elia

Back at the car park it was raining hard and when we discovered that the windscreen wiper on the drivers side of our aging Land Cruiser, didn´t work.  After a few minutes of trying to drive with his head sticking out of the side window, it became clear that this technique wasn´t going to work in the long term.  So we pulled over and Elia and I relinquished out boot laces which Diego tied to the offending wiper, one lace coming back through his side window, held in his left hand, the other feeding through the passenger window held by Elia.  Diego now drove one handed, whilst he and Elia took turns pulling their lace to drag the broken wiper back and forth across the windscreen.  This worked quite well until Elia fell asleep.

At Papagayo we stayed the night and were still weighing up whether the weather would be good enough attempt Chimborazo the next day when we waved Elia off.  After looking at as many weather websites as we could find, all of which uniformly predicted poor weather with more snow over the coming week, we decided what the hell and confirmed with Diego to make an attempt the next day.

The drive to Chimborazo was much longer than to Cotopaxi.  We kept our fingers crossed as the cloud cleared and the pressure rose.  As we neared Chimborazo the cloud cleared enough to give us a lopsided view of the summit - promising.

We parked at the lower hut, had lunch and walked up to the Whymper hut, which was only a couple of hundred metres above at 5000m.  Both huts were much nicer than the one at Cotopaxi and we both felt good on the short walk to 5000m.  At the hut there was only one other party, another Swiss guy called Vincent, who had also been at Cotopaxi with us, and  his guide. 

Chimborazo

By the time we had finished dinner, the weather had improved dramatically and leaving the hut we were greeted with a clear view of the first summit high above us.  

It was a cloudless night, and we started our climb under a canopy of stars.  Leaving behind the other party, we set off a good pace and quickly passed them as we snake through the moraine to join the left hand side of the glacier under the rocky pinnacle of the Castle.  Here the glacier was covered in a fine layer of dust and rocks from the pinnacles above.  From here we climbed up onto the shoulder leading to the first summit peak, following a smooth dirt ridge to meet the snow line above.  The snow slope stretched away beyond us, its muted outline visible for a few hundred metres ahead under the glow of the constellations above.

We began the monotonous trudge up the slope, Diego leading, rope back to Kirsty and finally to me at 3 metre intervals.  After about half an hour, Kirsty started to slow, so we stopped to rest, continuing, she started to feel sick, so we stopped again and rested.  She had felt sick on our climb of Mont Blanc, but we had continued and it had passed.  I felt great and we had both acclimatised well having spend roughly half of the last month above 4000m, with a couple of visits to 5000 plus.  Kirsty wanted to go on, so Deigo and I split the contents of her rucksack and we continued for a while walking about 50m at a time and stopping for 5 mins at each interval. Eventually we were passed by the other group, who wished us well and continued towards the summit.  

The altitude sickness wasn´t lessening and she started to complain of dizziness, I looked at her face and it was completely drained of colour.  We were at 5850 according to my watch, with another couple hours to make the first summit and no sign of her sickness abating I decided to turn us round.  Kirsty was upset and few tears were shed before we started our descent.

The descent proved painfully slow, I led with Diego keeping Kirsty on a short rope from behind.  Even on the short rope, Kirsty kept falling over, it didn´t help that it was still very dark.  The sickness didn´t lessen as we lost height either and as we got lower and the sun began to rise I saw Kirsty´s face in the light of day- it was completely ashen and her lips were grey.  When we finally arrived back at the hut, I we got a hot sweet drink down her, followed by a coke and she started to feel a little better.  By the time we got back to the car park, some colour had returned, but she was just desperately gutted to have had to turn back.

Shadow of Chimborazo in the clouds below

Our consolation came when we were rewarded with some great views of Chimborazo and the surrounding mountains, including Cotopaxi, which we saw for the first time as we drove away.

Cotopaxi in the distance

The Altar

The will be other mountains - there´s only one Kirsty.

Quito

Ecuador seems much more prosperous than Peru, the cars are all newer and even in the countryside and on the outskirts of Quito, we not seen any of the shanty town structures that cling to Peruvian cities.  Even better, they have a central bus station, where coaches of all companies seem to arrive and depart, unlike Peru, where even company has its own seperate terminal, often miles apart.  Better still, the Quitumbe terminal had a Tourist Information Office with free city map!  Once you´ve been travelling for while - this kind of thing becomes really cool.

The Terminal is located on the outskirts of Quito, but connected with the city via a comprehensive and impressive metro bus system which you can ride anywhere for only 25 cents.  The only downside is that the bus routes don´t correspond fully with the map, but hey ho - the bus people are friendly and helpful.  Bizarrely much like Peru, there are staggering amounts of armed security guards on hand.  Each stop on bus seems to have one, who doubles as a route planner.

We headed into the Mariscal district and failed to find the hostal that we had found online.  Instead we booked ourselves into a slightly more luxurious one and hit the sack.

After catching up on our sleep, we headed out to wonder around Mariscal, again forewarned by the LP to watch out for the muggers and miscreants that lurk round every corner.  It turned out to be really nice, prosperous looking neighbour.  The streets are clean and colourful, trees line the avenues and the people appear friendly yet unconcerned by the many tourists.  Aside from a couple of locals who seemed think that we needed tattooing, there is no tourist hassling. like you find it Southeast Asia.  Also outside the markets, there is not haggling, the stuff in the shops have prices and that is what you pay - nice and simple.

During our exploration we found the hostel (www.alcalahostal.com) we had been looking for and booked in the the following nights.  The Alcala is a nice friendly, family run affair in the heart of Mariscal.  

Mariscal itself is a party place, it is full of bars and clubs which from Thursday through to Saturday play some thumpingly loud music until all hours of the night.  We´re not really party people anymore, but if you are, this probably a cool place.

We organised a trip to climb Cotopaxi with Gulliver's Tours (www.gulliver.com.ec  Recommended by L&G) and headed out to climb a volcano called Pichincha on the outskirts of Quito.  This peak sits above Quito and can be reached by taking the spanking new Telepheriquo (Apparently this is the second highest cable car in the world). From the top of the bubble lift, there is a clear path that allows you to climb to the summit at 4696 metres.  At the top we were joined by two Swedish guys: Bjaren and Andreas these guys whipped out an ipod and speakers and insisted on us joining them for a summit dance(He promised we would be in their next video...).  It turns out that they are sponsored skiers who are touring South America, climbing and skiing the most notable peaks.  Andreas had just skied Denali, and they were on Pichincha, acclimatising before heading to Chimborazo. (There´s more about the crazy stuff these guys get up to at Bjarne´s website http://endlessflow.posterous.com)

Quito from above

View from Pichincha

The next day, we decided to get a dose of culture and headed to the Old Town to see the sights. There were some nice looking Spanish colonial architecture there and plenty of churches, plazas, parks and statues, including a large angel that towers above Quito at El Panecillo.  Lack the requiste appetites of city based culture, we headed for the highest place we could get ourselves: the San Francisco cathedral. 

El Panecillo

Towers of San Francisco Cathedral

Stained glass window in San Francisco Cathedral

From the outside this is a suitably impressive Gothic cathedral akin to those that dominate many European cities.  Get inside though and it is all artifice:  The cathedral was only built in the 1920s and made almost exclusively from concrete.  Once inside, as you climb higher, away from the areas of worship, the iron girders are not even disguised, their rusty points poking out from the walls at all kinds of bizarre angles.  Its saving grace is that it is very high and you can get almost all the way to the top, which does afford some good views of Quito, there´s even quite a cool catwalk that you can cross to get to the towers.

Catwalk to the towers

Before heading out to Cotopaxi, we went looking for new books to read and found the “English Bookshop” which is run by a bloke from Lea-on-sea in Essex - small world.

Peru to Ecuador

Sitting on the Bus about to leave Llamac, I had to once again marvel at the amazing dichotomy of Peruvian dress.  Seated on a bench beneath my window was a little old woman of indeterminate age - it was clear that she was old, but given the hard lives led in some of these village, I was unsure of whether she was in her 60s or her 80s.  This venerable old lady wearing the standard issue local hat, adorned with exotic feather in the hat band, from under which two steely grey plaits emerged tied together with a ribbon were they met in the middle of her back.  On her top half she wore several layers of hand knitted tightly buttoned, brightly coloured cardigans.  At her waist she had a fairly nondescript belt from which several keys dangled. Below the waist, her costume consisted of a umbrella of multi-layered skirts and petticoats.  Her legs were covered in some heavy duty looking woolen tights and on her feet - the British burglar’s trainer of choice - the Reebok Classic!  

Through the opposite window I was possible to see the road, where another, younger woman, was herding some donkeys, whilst wearing a pink velour tracksuit with boots!? Fashionable and practical - the perfect choice for a bit of light donkey work...Once again, my English reserve prevents me from taking picture directly of the local fashionistas.

On our return back to Huaraz, we went back to the Churup for a quick shower and change, before taking up our invite back to the Huascaran Tour Office for some “Pisco Sour”  This is apparently a traditional Peruvian tipple - I guess it must go well with Guinea Pig.

The drink was prepared by Paulina, Huascaran´s owner, and consisted of egg white, sugar, some kind of brandy and lots of ice all mashed up together in a food processor. In spite of the egg, it didn´t taste to bad.  After several of these, we left the office with a distinct glow and headed by taxi to the bus terminal.

The movil Terminal was not quite as fancy as the Cruz del Sur, but not far off - it still had bag a luggage check in area  and stiff security regime, which I was glad of, when one of staff discovered that a fellow passenger was carrying a full on Dirty Harry style revolver.  From the look of things, the fact that he had this obscene hand cannon, was not a problem, the problem was that he hadn´t filled in the appropriate forms - the Peruvians can´t get enough of paper based bureaucracy.  So he was marched off to the front desk and forced to fill in a vast sheaf of paperwork in triplicate.

After the third attempt to get on the wrong bus, the “conductor” finally showed us onto the bus leaving for Trujillo.  Failing to heed the gunman´s lesson, I suddenly remembered that in addition to the penkife in my pocket, I had my camping knife in the top of my rucksac.  The security guard scanned me with his wand, which duly beeped when it passed over my pocket and bag.  I had flash backs of trying to take an adjustable spanner on a US internal flight just after 911.  Fortunately, however, Gingoes must not be considered inherently dangerous, as before I could say anything, he waved me through.

The bus was once again luxury standard, with on board meal (boxed this time, not hot like on CDS) and fully reclining seats.  We arrived in Trujillo without incident but far too early to do anything, so we sat in the bus station and read for an hour or so.

We took a taxi to the next bus station, where we were able to deposit our large Rucksacks, reading the map wrong (This was all Kirsty...) we brushed past the the taxi drviers thronging round the exits, declining their offers of rides, telling them it was only 2 minute walk.  By the time we had walked 10 minutes and were no nearer anything that looked like a Plaza de Armas, I asked a passing Trujillian, who gave me a puzzled look and pointed back the way we had come.  Looking at the map again, we realised that bus station that we thought marked our place on the map was acutual that companies ticket office.  This was as Kirsty had right said, only 5 minutes walk from the centre of town - unfortunately, we where at the bus terminal, which was serveral kilometres away.  Embarrassed, we slunk past the waiting taxi drivers on the other sided of the road and haled a passing cab just round the corner.

From inside the cab, Trujillo looked just like the outskirts of central Lima: wide streets arranged in a grid format lined with workshops and cafes, pavements populated with litter and street vendors.  All of this laid out under an oppressive sky of monotonous grey cloud.

We were dropped just short of the Plaza de Armas as the roads were closed by hoards of pistol carrying policemen.  Existing the cab we walked the last hundred metres and found the streets lining the central square thronged with people watching a procession of military looking people, marching to a brass band.  We watched for while as the uniformed marchers completed a lap only to be followed by a whole host of civilians, adults and children, carrying homemade banners.  This went on for ages, and from what we could see consisted of everyone from the local football team (resplendent in their football shirts) to the Mother Union, and local pensioners lunch club.

Bored of the procession, we found a cafe for breakfast, where I made a  mistake of smiling at the local drunk/character, who then tried to talk to us in some unintelligible local dialect.  Once it was clear we had no idea what he was saying he then remonstrated loudly with the other diners - I assume to the effect that we were obviously foreign idiot who could not understand his lucid Spanish.  They laughed - we smiled and left.

With time to kill until the next night bus, we booked on a half day tour of Chan Chan and the surrounding attractions.  According to the guide book, Chan Chan was some kind of epic ancient city, home to a prosperous pre-Inca civilisation.  Having had the tour, I can now tell you that it is some large but crappy piles of sand and mud and a lot of local imagination.  This civilisation existed around the time of the middle ages, had no written language and seemed to build most of its stuff from mud - which over the centuries has not lasted well.  This has not stopped that locals inventing all kinds of information about the culture, and beliefs systems of these mud dwelling fisherman.  In fact they have a museum full of frightening looking models and paintings depicting local customs and have even spent quite some time building mud structures of their own, which only after direct questioning did they admit were not the original structures - who cares the tourists will believe anything.

The tour was capped by a visit to the “beach” which was busy with local revelers, but for the most part grey and depressing.  Following the tour we had dinner and headed to the bus station to wait.

The buses seem to be getting progressively worse with each leg of the journey, despite this, they are still head and shoulders above National Express.  After another pleasant nights sleep, we arrived in Piura, where we broke the mold and took a day bus to cross the border.  Inspite of the Lonely Planet warning of border crossing dangers, this was straight forward affair: Get off the coach on one side of the bridge, get passports stamped, walk to the other side of the bridge, admire Ecuadorean boarder guards nudie calendar, get passport stamped, get back on coach - job done.

We got to Loja in the evening, ate some dodgy chicken that tasted of frankfurters and got the night bus to Quito.