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Ecuador: A Hike from the high Paramo to the Oriente (Ecuadorian Amazonia)

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We were working in Nicaragua at the time. I was working for CARE Canada as Project Coordinator for a rural potable water and sanitation project in the north of the country. Claire was doing some consulting for CARE USA, a tricky undertaking given the US government was funding the Contra guerillas at the same time. The Contras, on behalf of the US, were engaged in a destabilizing insurgency against the Sandinista government of Nicaragua. Any US funding for projects was seen as tainted ‘blood money’ by the Nicaraguans. The irony of it all was that the US funding was to go towards children impacted by the war. A war funded by the States!

Similar to our time in Mozambique, Nicaragua was a posting in a war zone that warranted two one week R&Rs per year (which included the cost of return tickets to Miami) . It was time for our first R&R so we opted to combine the two and head south to Ecuador, instead of visiting Disneyworld in Florida! Yes, some might question our priorities.

Neither of us had been to South America. At the time, Columbia was being torn apart by leftist guerillas, right wing paramilitaries and drug cartels. Peru was being terrorized by the Sendero Luminoso (The Shining Path) and Argentina was still enmeshed in the fallout of a brutal right-wing military dictatorship (the ‘Dirty War’), amongst other problems on the continent. In this context, Ecuador seemed like an island of stability. The tensions and uncertainties of our life in Nicaragua encouraged us to seek some peace and security. (Note: I look forward to writing about our three challenging but, once all is said and done, wonderful years in Nicaragua in a future post.)

We arrived in Quito, the capital of Ecuador. Like much of the high, central Andean plateau the city is dominated by these magnificent, snow-clad mountains, many of which are still active volcanos. Cayambe is the third highest mountain in the country and is a major climbing destination. It last erupted in 1785.
This image of retirees in a square in Quito represents, to me at least, the conservative and still stratified society of Ecuador. Though much has changed in the country since we were there, the history of repression and domination by the ‘blanco-mestizo’ part of society (which these men represent) has been hard to move beyond. Latin America to this day continues to suffer from bad politics and the injustices of the past.
We found the old, colonial center of Quito, with it’s low-rise, white architecture quite charming. Founded on the remnants of a northern outpost of the Incan Empire, the population reflects their indigenous ancestry. At an elevation of 2820 M (9,252′) it took us a few days to adjust to the elevation.
This vendor, his impromptu set-up and crowd of onlookers reminds me of a walk we took through one of Quitos’s parks. While in the park we watched as a table was set up on the path in front of us. A small group of onlookers immediately formed around the table. Curious, I squeezed in to see what the attraction was. I was instantly drawn to the famous ‘bean game’ and the fast and furious bets being made. I was soon enticed into betting, and on the first go, I easily guessed where the bean was. Before I had a chance to think, it was double or nothing, which I’m sure I also won, but for some confusing reason the ‘maestro’ kept my money. As the crowd squeezed in, my protests were drowned out with further encouragements to bet again. Just then, Claire grabbed me from behind and dragged me out of what she realized was a sting. The whole thing, including all of the ‘onlookers’, had been orchestrated to rip me off. I walked away fuming at my naivete and lucky at not having been pick-pocketed, at the same time. Nevertheless, it was a lesson well learned and cost me only a few thousand sucres ($5 USD) .

We had heard of an obscure, trail just south of Sangay National Park that crossed the cordillera that forms the eastern edge of the high central plateau (the Paramo) and descends down into the Oriente, that portion of Ecuador contiguous with the vast Amazon basin. It was said to be a six day walk which fit with our timing so we headed south to the old colonial city of Riobamba.

On the way south, we passed Chimborazo, long considered the tallest mountain in the world (though at 6,268 M, it is far from it). It dominates the aptly named ‘Avenue of Volcanos’ and the rich, agricultural lands around Riobamba. It was first climbed by Edward Whymper (famous for the first ascent of the Matterhorn). An anecdote that I like of a local commenting to Whymper about his proposed climb:

“Señor, we understand perfectly, that in a affair like yours, it is necessary to dissemble a little, and you, doubtless, do quite right to say you intend to ascend Chimborazo – a thing that everyone knows is impossible. We know every well what is your object! You wish to discover the treasures that are buried in Chimborazo…..”

Once in Riobamba, we switched onto a local bus and headed further south, first the through the mixed agricultural land near the city.
Then higher into the cordillera where cattle and sheep ranching dominated.
And finally to the small town of Cebadas where we had to wait an additional two hours for the next ‘bus’, actually a truck converted to carry passengers, to take us to the end of the road and the start of our hike. The notable memory of the wait was not the two drunks who insisted on befriending us, but rather my visit to the public toilet in the ‘plaza’. As veterans of travel in the developing world, conversations about our gastrointestinal problems and toilet experiences are as common as the talk of the weather in Canada. This latrine was a stand out. A poorly lit, dank, foul smelling place, with a seat-less toilet, no cistern (i.e. no flush mechanism) in sight and a bowl, full to the brim with a writhing mass of maggots. The sudden onset of constipation alleviated the need to go.
The truck-bus took us higher into the desolate Paramo and the end of the road. The driver’s multi-point turn, with all passengers still aboard (we were stuck in the middle and couldn’t get out), with the nose of his truck edging over the void, high above the river below, was hair-raising, but our fellow passengers, stoic and calm, seemed oblivious to the risk.
The first of many obstacles on our hike.
We never figured out these ‘haystack huts’. Were they just for animals or did the people also use them? How long would they last? Are they eventually to be used as forage?
Hopping rocks across creeks has never been Claire’s strong suit. This photo was taken just after falling in a creek (while rock-hopping with a heavy packsack), bashing her head, and suffering a minor concussion. She’s now bundled up and recovering.
This spectacular goose egg soon developed. Over the next few days the bump subsided but she developed two dark shiners as a result. The blackeyes made a strong impressions on the locals. Clearly, I was viewed as a macho man who knew how to keep my woman in line. If only they knew!
We had an enjoyable visit with the lady of the house in this, the last village before the pass. The harshness of the life they lived was illustrated as she recounted the number of children she had borne but unsure of how many had died. We traded some cheese for a couple of small, fresh trout the boy produced.
Our last camp before the pass. Cooking our dinner at altitude produced some crunchy rice and raw trout.
The pass. Looking back west towards the relatively barren landscape of the high Paramo.
And the view from the pass looking east, towards the Amazon side of the cordillera, a mist enshrouded, dense jungle awaited us. I’m told that there is an ecological phenomenon known as the ‘edge effect’ where two different ecosystems (wet tropical jungle and alpine grass lands) meet in a sharply defined transition zone, the jungle will tend towards greater diversity……and diverse it was!
A wet, humid riot of vines, creepers, towering ferns, bromeliads, epiphytes, rhododendrons, countless varieties of palms, giant hardwoods, etc…….and nary a dry, flat spot to camp.
In the two days we were on the jungle portion of the trail, we met only two other parties. This was a group of traders with their their string of mules loaded with maize and beans for sale up in the Paramo. Claire with her packsack and assorted gear was quite the attraction. Note the mud up to their knees and everyone in gumboots, the standard footwear of the Amazonian campesino. The only other people we met were two forest rangers heading up the trail to, among other things, investigate reports of trout poaching. I declined to mention our trout dinner of the night before.
With the passing of the traders and their mule train, the muddy trail became a quagmire. We now had mud up to our knees but no gumboots!
Our fourth night on the trail was spent in the village of Zuñac where they opened up the school for us to camp in. I mistakenly mentioned that Claire was a nurse. She soon had a line up of prospective patients.
What a crew of ragamuffins! As we set up camp in the school, there were wide eyed kids at every window and not until we crawled into our tent did they finally disperse. These were not the indigenous peoples of the Amazon but rather, poor Ecuadorian ‘settlers’ seeking land and economic opportunities in the Amazonian ‘frontier’, often of the kind that led to degradation of the local environment and, at times, conflict with the indigenous tribes.
We left Zuñac in a light rain (it had rained every day of our hike) and walked for three hours on trail before coming to a new road under construction. Another three hours trudging along the muddy road before we finally got picked up by a truck for the last stretch into the larger and quite attractive town of Macas (the ‘Emerald of the East’). Google Maps shows that the Macas-Riobamba road is now a reality.

Claire had developed quite intense gastrointestinal cramps for the last few kms of the hike and continued while seated in the truck. This was somewhat relieved by the non-stop, high speed chatter of the Argentinian driver (a distinct version of Latin American Spanish) that we struggled to follow. As we arrived in Macas, we asked to be dropped off at the nearest, decent hotel. I checked in while Claire rushed up to our room and the nearest toilet. I will never forget the sight of my poor wife, sitting on the toilet, wet, muddy pants around her ankles, with two black eyes quietly crying. She had just miscarried.

We had been trying to get pregnant for at least a year and Claire had mentioned that her period was late but, based on past inconsistencies in her menstrual cycle, this was not an indicator to be counted on. Though we kept our thoughts to ourselves (not to jinx things!), I had been contemplating kid’s names as we hiked along. Claire had also quietly suspected a pregnancy. We spent a sad, quiet evening in the hotel recuperating.

The following morning the bleeding had stopped and Claire felt strong enough to continue so we made enquiries about the bus trip to Puyo, the next major town on our way back to Quito. Wildly different estimates by locals of the trip duration had us estimating a bus trip of two hours. It took six! At this suspension bridge we all got off the bus, which the driver then crossed empty. It was a rickety affair, like so much of the Oriente’s infrastructure. The vertical suspension ‘cables’ were rusty, 12 mm rebar!
And then……the road ended. We had to ferry across a river in this impressive pirogue (a dugout made from a single tree trunk) powered by a 40 hp Evinrude. We all piled in and the skipper backed out of this calm tributary into the powerful rapids of the Rio Pastaza.
The dugout felt anything but stable as it slowly worked its way up the rapids (much longer than shown in the image) yet our fellow passengers were all calm and seemingly unconcerned about our craft’s seaworthiness. Of course, not a lifejacket was to be had. We wondered if any of them could swim. Another bus was waiting on the far shore.

We pulled into Puyo, tired, with Claire once again cramping and starting to bleed. Puyo was a run down, dump of a frontier town with a reputation for petty thievery. Apparently the local tribe, once feared headhunters, had adapted poorly to ‘modern’ life and were the scourge of town. Knowing that the picturesque tourist center of Baños (famous for its mineral springs) was only another one and a half hours further, we pushed on. By the time we got to Baños, Claire’s pants were soaked through with blood which she managed to hide with a jacket tied around her waist. We checked into a hotel and I contacted CARE associates in Quito to see a gynecologist the following day. We took a taxi for the 3 1/2 hour drive to Quito, collected some clean clothes we had left behind, got washed up and then headed directly to a new, private hospital where Claire was soon seen by an elderly, well respected gynecologist. When he walked into the examining room and saw Claire on the bed, with her two black eyes, claiming she had a miscarriage possibly provoked by a fall in a creek, he shooed everyone out of the room, gently took Claire’s hand and asked “Please tell me, what really happened?”

Claire found the ‘battered wife’ suggestion amusing but wasn’t happy to hear that a partially retained miscarriage would require a curettage and another overnight stay in a hospital while on R&R. (She had fallen off a horse in Swaziland on a previous R&R and also spent time in the local hospital!). The operation went well. We still believed the miscarriage was a result of the fall in the creek and unaccustomed altitude but the doctor was sure it was a non-viable pregnancy from the outset. Whatever the case, we were at least comforted to know we were both fertile and testing wouldn’t be required.

We booked a private room in the hospital where I could sleep on a cot in Claire’s room. We awoke to this view of Cotopaxi, a still active volcano. It is the second highest mountain in the country and one of the highest volcanoes in the world. It has erupted more than 50 times in the past 250 years often with catastrophic results. Lava flows that melt the glacial ice around its summit create destructive ‘lahars’ (mud flows) that have wiped out whole communities. The surrounding topography is incised by multiple valleys created by lahars.

As I tell this tale, I’m sure many people must wonder why Claire has stuck with me all these years. In my search for these little adventures that give meaning and substance to my life I have often, unwittingly though some would say callously, gotten Claire into situations beyond her skills or experience. Somehow she rises to the challenge, doesn’t complain (too much) and pushes through. I’m a lucky man who found the right partner in life!

4 thoughts on “Ecuador: A Hike from the high Paramo to the Oriente (Ecuadorian Amazonia)”

  1. Jesus Christ! That story was worth a few extra exclamation points. And worth reading more than once. I can’t wait to show Tonya, especially the goose egg photo. Looking forward to seeing the black eyes pics.

    Gary

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    1. Well at least I didn’t have too many apostrophes! 😉 Sorry, I don’t have any good pics of the black eyes. I think it was a combination of Claire not wanting to be photographed and my lack of attention to photography in general!

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  2. My goodness you two! Incredible adventures and SO hard to endure! Yes, you are a lucky man, Jim, to have found such a courageous woman . Claire is lucky too because her makeup thrives in challenge. Hats off to you both….. and big hugs.

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