The long descent into insanity searching for the lagunas del compadre

At the risk of making my life out to be some kind of EastEnders storyline (or finaladores de este as I'm sure it would be called here), it has been another dramatic week. Firstly, by way of contrast, and mostly for my own benefit since I forgot to mention it before (any readers can skip this bit if they like), I want to mention that I went to Cuenca, Ecuador's third city, on the weekend of the 2nd of November. There were lots of lovely celebrations going on for the independence day of the city, we saw some lovely squares and churches, I had 'Juanchito' written for me in Japanese, stood outside the Marc Anthony (biggest selling salsa artist of all time and ex J-Lo hubby) and got nicely drunk, and even found time to complete an epic 5 hour round trip to some delightful Inca ruins on the Sunday.

As I said, contrast... (welcome back those that skipped the first paragraph) So the weekend just gone was a 3-dayer due to Loja's independence celebrations, and we decided that rather than put up with the lameness of that we would make the most of our time and embark on an epic trek to the lagunas del compadre, a hidden system of lakes located deep in the Podacarpus National Park just south of Loja. We didn't know much about them but what we did know was that it's a 14km walk deep into the park which takes roughly 8 hours, you need plenty of water, good boots and a tent, and November is the best month in which to go. Great, we thought, let's do it.

So with our cobbled together food and drink supplies, wellies bought at the last minute (wellies? In ecuador???) and menthol balm in our pockets to smother our bodies in to ward off mosquitoes, 7 of us boarded the back of a pickup at 6am and headed into nature. The walk started at 7, and began with a long uphill climb for 2km into the clouds of the cloud forest.

It was once we entered the actual clouds (a concept which I still find hard to get my head around) that we realised that this was to be no pleasant afternoon stroll. The idea of being up in the clouds at 3000m is a cool one, but the reality is that it's bloody wet, windy and cold. I had been mocked for my get-up of sports T-shirt and shorts with wellies, waterproof coat and baseball cap, but I have to admit I felt a warm glow of smugness as I observed other members of the group get steadily more sodden in their trainers, jeans and hoodie. The walk was not exactly as advertised, with boggy uneven paths and one steep climb seeming to follow another in quick succession. Add to this some very heavy bags, around 15 litres of water and 3 tents between 7 people and you have yourself a bit of a challenge over 14km at high altitude.

After 8 hours we finally got the lake (just one) in sight, by which time the four English boys in our group were so tired and fed up that we could only remark 'pfft, looks just like some bog-standard lake in Scotland'. Well it was a bit more special than that, but it would have taken something very special to impress us at that stage. Before we finally made it to the lake to pitch our tents I just had to lug a 6 litre bottle of water down a stream, easier said than done...

I whipped the boys into shape and we got the tent set up on a helpfully left sheet of tarpaulin and secured it down with a rock or two. Then it was time to heat up some packet soups, down some shots of whisky for warmth and cuddle up for the night. It was so cold that three of us lads were forced to spoon for warmth.

The next day I got up at 6 because I was just so happy to see the sun and have an excuse to leave the tent. Some idiot thought it was a good idea to take a dip in the freezing water so we all did that, then after much faffing we headed off again at 9am. Apart from a little collapse on the ground due to a lack of sugar I was doing fine, but it soon became clear that Israel, a new addition to the teaching staff who fled the troubles in Venezuela, was having some serious difficulties. So in my father's family's tradition of martyrdom I decided to hang back and help him out.

I don't regret that decision for a minute but it could have easily cost me more than a few cuts and bruises. Israel had come horribly unprepared, with only a pair of jeans, some trainers and no raincoat. He had also come without any medication for his altitude sickness, and at 3200m this slowed us down considerably. Another thing was that overnight train had made the ground even more unstable than previously, and every slip, stumble, or fall put more strain on tired knees and wasted precious energy. By the halfway point we were having to ration food and water, and with 2km to go I was so hungry that I practically thanked God for the half-full packet of peanuts that I found by the milepost with most of its contents spilt on the muddy ground (I ate them all of course).

It was after the 2km to go point that things got really tough. As luck would have it, we'd been walking for over 9 hours by this point, it was starting to get dark, starting to rain and the hellish uphill that we'd encountered the day before was now upon us, only this time it was downhill of course. I'm still not sure how we made it down with our battered knees, rumbling stomachs and dry throats and one wind-up torch between 2 people to show the way down a rocky, slippery and steep downhill in the black of the night, but we did it. After two further decidedly hairy hours we finally made it back to the refuge, 11.5 hours after setting off that morning and feeling decidedly sorry for ourselves. After my health scare of last year I didn't fancy getting into another 'survival situation' so soon, and I think that's what shook me up more than anything.

It's now Friday and I'm still tired from the experience! Looking back at my hundreds of photos it was a beautiful walk with amazing plants and scenery (once the cloud cleared), I just wish I'd been able to enjoy it more.

Naive enthusiasm at the start

Still looking fresh at the halfway point

Bit wet

The laguna

Amazing light at sunset - view from our camp

On the way back

Muddy

More lovely light

Very muddy

Very tired

Getting to know the bus network of Ecuador

Loja is a great place to live but one thing it doesn’t have going for it is proximity to anything in particular. In fact, you could just as easily say that it’s in the middle of flippin’ nowhere. It requires a bus to make a perilous upward journey for 20 minutes, gaining 1000m in the process (first time my ears had ever popped whilst in a land-dwelling vehicle) before you even make it out of the valley, and the next decent-sized town is 4 hours of lurching, windy roads away. Little wonder that many residents don’t bother ever leaving the town.

  However I happen to be of the opinion that there’s more to life than Loja so I packed the old travel sickness tablets and my Boot’s travel pillow and strapped myself in for the ride. Not literally of course – seatbelts are seen here as an optional extra rather than a safety essential.

  The first weekend away, on 28th Sept, was to Zamora, a small mining town deep in the cloud forest of the Podocarpus National Park. For those unfamiliar with cloud forests, it’s kind of like an Amazon-lite, where it rains less and is merely cloudy all the time. This may not sound very exciting but it covers an elevation of 1000 to 3000m and has 560 different bird species so it’s a bit of alright really.

  The bus journey over there was worth dedicating a weekend to on its own, with an embarrassment of little roadside waterfalls and sheer drops to tree-lined enclaves below, and I felt a genuine rush of excitement to be heading up into the  ACTUAL CLOUDS. Once there, and after a night of eating meat on a stick (pincha) and savouring the local German beer, Pilsener, we trekked into the trees (minus Oliver who unfortunately chose chicken on a stick instead of beef). I soon realized that I wasn’t as fit as my strolls through the Yorkshire Dales had had me believe as I fought my way up half an hour of sheer climb, but the view of a valley of endless lush green steeply sloping hills was a fair trade-off for a lost pint of sweat. Once I’d stumbled back down, there was the small matter of a massive waterfall in which to go behind and underneath ( the ultimate power shower) before a ride back perched on a ledge next to the driver with a nail sticking in my back. Lovely.

  Two weeks later I had learned my lesson and sat on a luxury overnight coach on the way to Baños, the adventure capital of Ecuador. Although nothing there was quite as adventurous as that coach journey, I managed to cycle 15km to stand behind another scarily powerful fountain, zipline 100m above the valley and get back to the town in time to see Ecuador all but secure world cup qualification. This was celebrated later with an impromptu street party – rum, percussion band and crazy topless bald blokes all included. 

  The next day was necessarily quieter, but that didn't stop me, Oliver, Ross (an Englishman in Loja the past 2 years), Diana (a big reason why) and their friend Tania heading up into the chill of the mountains firstly during the day for photos ops with the 5000m (very) active volcano that towers over Baños and then for an overnight stay with an indigenous family up there in the hope of seeing some glowing magma. Well we happened to choose the night where it stayed cloudy all night but we still enjoyed huddling by the fire and sipping an unidentified warm glowing orange alcoholic liquid for warmth.

  Sunday involved the ticking of some more adventurous boxes, with white water rafting in the morning and the genuine insanity of 'puenting' in the afternoon. For the uninitiated, this involves jumping off a bridge attached to a few ropes, and then swinging down from said 100m high bridge after a second or so of free fall. I didn't have the balls to jump but I was more than happy to be pushed backwards off the edge, and all I can say is that the $20 was worth it for that moment of relief at feeling the tension in the rope after the fall. An amazing experience.

  Ah in all that excitement I forgot to mention eating the national delicacy, guinea pig! You get the whole thing served in 6 pieces after it's been spit roasted over a grill, head and all (pictures below). It was very tasty actually, kind of like a gamey pork, and now I've eaten it I can rest safely in the knowledge that I won't have to see that terrifying head staring at me from my plate for a while yet.