Baños
Ecuador
The sole reason the mountain town of Baños seemed to exist was for tourism. There were more tour agents in Baños than I had seen in all other Ecuadorean cities combined. If it wasn't a tour office, it was a hostel, a restaurant, or a store selling winter clothing. There was no issue finding information here, although oddly English wasn't widely spoken.
We almost didn't make it to Baños, due to a major landslide 2 weeks earlier. Several people died and the town was completely cut off for a week. Luckily for us, the clean up effort was incredibly quick and Baños was back up and running again by the time we arrived.
On our first full day in Baños, all I wanted to do was hike. All Danny wanted to do was chill out, so I set off by myself to explore the viewpoints from the towering mountains surrounding the town. In the morning I decided to tackle the southern hills, which contained the more popular sites. It was an easy walk straight out of town, but once I hit the slopes it was all uphill for the next 5 km.
I didn't take long to arrive at the first lookout, offering a view over the entire town of Baños. A little further on was Bellavista, a viewpoint that every tourist bus visits, which was surprisingly (and annoyingly) closed at 9 a.m. Around the corner I could peek through the trees to see Baños again but from different angle to my first sighting. After this there were less spots to take photos from and more breathlessness as I climbed further up the hill. The trail continually changed, from overgrown singletrack to wide dirt road, from wet, slick mud to dry gravel. I passed vegetable farms and fancy hostels, but I saw no other people on my way to the top.
My final destination was Casa del Arbol, a small, popular venue that was famous for its swings. They weren't the extreme swings that had you screaming as you were launched through the air, but instead gentle swings perched on the edge of the site that looked out over the forest. There were no views of Baños from up here, just the surrounding mountains and, if the clouds had bothered to clear, Volcan Tungurahua. Also at Casa del Arbol was a seated flying fox, which wasn't overly long but it was a fun ride for a brief period of time.
Since leaving Baños I had been accompanied by 2 large dogs, one brown and one white, who apparently though I was friendly enough to follow around for the day. It was slightly annoying that they continually pushed past me, blocked the path and stood on my feet, but the sense of safety they provided was appreciated. They followed me all around Casa del Arbol, but when I went to leave my white friend had disappeared. So it was just me and the brownie for the descent.
On the way down I unexpectedly passed another tourist attraction, Columpio Extremo. Here was a glass platform sticking out over the valley, a gigantic tower to climb up, and a proper extreme swing. I paid only for the first two, where I was granted more views over Baños as well as down through the valley on either side. When I entered the attendant had warned that I wasn't allowed to bring my dog with me. I tried to explain in Spanish that I wasn’t the owner, resulting in the attendant shooing him away. That was the last I saw of him.
After Columpio Extremo,, I made my way down a very steep, slippery track, lined with barbed wire that added another level of difficulty. Along the way was the final lookout, La Virgen, which didn’t offer the greatest views. The steps leading back to town, however, provided better shots, including a glimpse of one of the waterfalls that Baños is famous for. While descending the stairs, I passed a group of people coming up who were being followed by the white dog that had accompanied me this morning. He gazed at me like I was a long lost friend, and immediately dumped his group to join me on the trek all the way down to town.
After lunch I ventured out the northern side of Baños , where the mountains were just as high and just as steep. First I had to cross a murky grey river rushing through a deep, turbulent canyon. At one point the river squeezed through a narrow channel only a few metres wide, while a thin waterfall cascaded down the side. It would have been an amazing, but immensely dangerous, place to raft through.
Once across the other side, I commenced on a barely used track that provided a series of gentle switchbacks up the slope. Other than a couple of horses, there was no sign of life. The track emerged on a gravel road, where I passed the occasional house and angry dog. The incline then increased exponentially, making me privy to higher and higher views over Baños and towards Tungurahua, which was still shrouded in clouds. It wasn't long before I hit the main paved road, where the gradient didn't relent but the increased traction on the bitumen made the hike slightly easier. Over the next few kilometres I only saw a couple of cars and no other hikers. It was a wonderful feeling walking alone in the mountains, surrounded by greenery, with no altitude to worry about.
My map showed there were several viewpoints along the road. However, I didn't realise that they would all be paid sites filled with gimmicky statues that you could take photos in front or from the top of. Most were virtually empty. One of the sites was apparently abandoned, so I walked along a snake/dragon sculpture for free. Apart from this, I took all my photos from the side of the road for free. As I ascended further, Tungurahua slowly came into view, its bright red-brown scree top looking quite menacing. I hadn't decided if I wanted to climb it yet.
A little over 2 hours after starting out I reached the final lookout (according to my map), where large antennas blocked the view. In total, I had climbed 950 metres in just 8 km, giving my legs a decent workout. From there I turned around and half walked, half ran all the way back down the paved and gravel roads before cautiously traversing down the narrow switchbacks. Once I reached Baños, I recovered with an ice cold shower (thanks cheap hostels!), happy hour and the largest meal I had eaten in Ecuador.
It rained all night in Baños and it was still falling lightly in the morning. The clouds were so low I couldn't see any of the mountains overlooking the town. This was the day we chose to venture out to Volcan Chimborazo for our hike and bike expedition. Although Chimborazo only sits at 6,263 m, it is famous in mountaineering circles for being the closest point on Earth to the sun (or, if you like, furthest point from the centre of the earth). Due to a bulge in the equator, it is actually closer to the sun than Mt Everest. We weren't experienced enough to undertake the trek to the summit, but we were happy enough to explore its lower slopes.
On the 2.5 hour drive to the first Chimborazo refuge, at 4,800 m, all we saw were brief glimpses of snow poking through the heavy clouds. Emerging from the car, a little more was revealed to us but the scene was mostly grey. Our driver treated us to a cup of coca tea, a South American speciality that apparently assists in acclimatising to high altitude. I don't like regular tea, and I soon discovered I wasn't a fan of coca tea either. Once I had forced it down we commenced the freezing walk up to the second refuge. Being a weekend there were plenty of people around, but even without following the masses it was easy to navigate the well-made path up the snow-lined trail. The elevation gain was similar to the hike up to the Cotopaxi refuge, but this trek felt much easier.
That feeling didn’t last long. The higher we climbed, the stronger the headwind became. At times I was at a standstill, not being able to push myself against the force of nature hurtling down at us. Standing behind the second refuge gave us a short relief before we braved the gale for the walk up to a semi-frozen lake, sitting at 5,100 m (lake is a bit of a stretch - it was more like a large puddle. Our driver reported it was shrinking each year, thanks to climate change). Here we had the clearest view of the peak, even though it was still partly hidden under the clouds. The wind hadn't relented, continually throwing dust into our eyes, so after a few minutes we made the return trek. It wasn't much easier, with the wind trying to push us down the already slippery path.
Back down at the first refuge, it was time to begin the bike part of our adventure. We dressed ourselves in all the safety gear possible, jumped on our mountain bikes and set off. It was 7 km back to the entrance of the park, all of it downhill on a dirt road filled with rocks, holes and corrugations. Danny flew down the road as though it was a smooth, gentle slope, while I continuously had my hands on the brakes and was bracing for the fall. The wind followed us down here, threatening to throw us off our bikes and chilling our bodies to the core. I never thought I would make it, having limited off-road and hurricane force-wind cycling experience, and almost gave up numerous times. But I stuck with it and thankfully made it without incident.
From the entrance it was another 24 km down to the village of San Juan, where our lunch would be waiting for us. Even though the roads were paved, the presence of potholes, stray dogs and plenty of traffic caused us to slow down and weave haphazardly across the road. Once again I lost Danny in an instant as he whizzed ahead, while I tried to fight back the fear and take my hands off the brakes occasionally. We were both bitterly cold and eager to retreat to the warmth of the support car, but stubbornness and the slowly increasing air temperature forced us to continue on. The entire time I never turned around to look at the scenery, afraid I would miss an obstacle and that would be the end of me.
By the time we reached San Juan we had descended 1,600 m but we were still unbearably cold. While scoffing down our lunch, our driver decided that this was a good time to tell us that a female tourist died 2 months ago on this exact bike trip, being hit by a truck while flying down the road. I'm extremely thankful I didn't hear that story before we started. Thankfully it was a smooth and marginally less chilly drive back to Baños, although it took many more thermal layers and blankets in our room before we could feel warm again.
(The day we left Baños to travel to Cuenca, we passed close to Chimborazo again. As it has been for our entire holiday, there were perfect blue skies and crystal clear views of the volcano. Sadly there wasn't much of a chance to admire it from the bus. I feel like our luck will have to change at some stage, although after following this pattern for 2 months now, I'm not so sure...)
Danny enjoyed his previous lazy day so much that he was keen for another. The fact that England were playing in the European Cup that afternoon may have had something to do with it. I took the opportunity to trek up Volcan Tungurahua, with the aim of reaching the refuge at 3,830 m. Most people take a taxi to the park entrance, but I decided to add an extra layer of difficulty by walking from Baños, an almost 7 km walk with 1,000+ meters of ascent tacked onto an already demanding hike.
From the outskirts of town I turned onto a path that ventured straight uphill. The constricted trail was bordered by head-high, plant-covered dirt walls, the centre being filled with oversized rocks tumbling down the middle. It was ankle-breaking work climbing up the unstable pile. Within 2 km of leaving Baños I was already in the clouds, although it didn't matter as the jungle beside me blocked any chance of a view.
Eventually the rocks gave way to dirt covered in pine needles, with condensation falling on me from the trees. It was a relief to make it up to the dry main road, where the paved surface made for easy walking. I passed through the little village of Pondoa, where there were approximately 10 houses, a handful of farms and a chorus of barking dogs. For a while I was walking in between clouds above and below me, allowing me to see the rolling hills in front but no sign of the volcano overhead. The road quickly turned to cobblestones then to dirt, and I didn't pass a single car the whole way (I did pass a local on horseback, but that was it). A few kilometres later I arrived at the entrance to Sangay National Park, two hours after starting out.
Leaving the entrance, I had no trouble following the path that led up the mountain. From the first step the trail was covered in mud, and it stayed this way for the entire 4.5 km to the refuge. Much of it was mixed with gravel, making it somewhat stable to walk on. Light rain fell on and off, and for the majority of the time I was surrounded by clouds. Once again, the scenery consisted of a dense jungle with high walls on either side. At times the trees crossed over from one side of the path to the other, creating dark archways to walk through. The average gradient over over 20%, meaning there were no easy sections. I passed many hikers on their way down, some of whom were carrying so much gear I guessed they had climbed all the way to the summit. At times the wind was howling around me, but I was protected from the gusts by the dense foliage. The higher I climbed the slower I became, the altitude slowly but surely wearing me down.
In the end it took me an hour and 45 minutes to climb the 4.5 km from the park entrance to the refuge, although it felt much longer. I sat outside on a bench seat, ate my lunch and looked out at the thick blanket of grey. There were no hikers here and the manager was busy cleaning up inside. The only time he spoke to me was to let me know there was a $2 fee to visit the refuge. I didn't step foot inside the place, didn't refill my water or use any facilities, yet somehow I was visiting the place as though it was a tourist attraction. After I paid I sat there for another 20 minutes, getting my money's worth. I contemplated continuing on towards the summit, but there didn't seem much point. The clouds weren't moving, the rain showers were becoming more frequent and I already had 2,000 metres of ascent in my legs. I turned around to head back down, disappointed about the lack of views. I wished I had time to undertake the 2-day trek to the summit, where it was almost certain that I would have an incredible outlook at sunrise.
A steady drizzle fell almost the entire way down to the entrance, the water collecting on the leaves and falling on me in large droplets. This caused the terrain to become even muddier, creating a slip and slide that tested my balance over and over again. It wasn't long before my boots and pants were covered in the muck.
Once I was out of the park I retraced my steps back down the road, through the pine needles and over the rocks. Negotiating the rocks actually took longer going downhill than it did going up, as I constantly slid on the grassy slopes on the side of the path down to the wobbly rocks below. The skies cleared up slightly later on, but Tungurahua remained permanently hidden all day.
On our final day in Baños we set off for the most popular sight in town: the waterfalls, known as the Ruta de las Siete Cascadas (Route of the Seven Cascades). We hired mountain bikes and rode along the highway, with little room between us and the traffic. Although the road was mostly downhill, a strong headwind meant we were peddling frequently. We followed the Rio Pastaza, flowing rapidly down the valley beside us. Along the way were clear signs of the recent landslide, making us wonder how safe we really were in this area.
Waterfall #1: Ulba. We cycled up a residential street and parked beside the river when the path became too overgrown to ride on. After a short walk we could see the falls in the distance, but the wide, raging river blocked us from getting any closer (I wasn't prepared to get my feet wet that early in the day). Disappointing.
Waterfall #2: Silencio. The entrance was located at a small hostel, but we seemed to be the only people there. A short path led us to a lookout above the falls, then a steep climb down dropped us off at the bottom. We could walk right up to the sides of the cascade, where we were drenched by the spray coming off the pounding falls. It was an incredible sight and much more impressive than Ulba.
Waterfall #3: Agoyan. Here we were treated to a 2-for-1 deal, with one waterfall coming straight from the mountain, its water crystal clear, while the other was part of the main river and dirty grey in colour. Both were humongous but far away across the other side of the valley. I had heard you could zipline over the waterfalls here, which of course I had to do (Danny was happy to be the cameraman). From the variety of zipline positions on offer, I chose the Superman: face down, head first. After the initial stomach lurch starting out, it ended up being a smooth, 700 m ride over the stunning scenery below. I couldn't wipe the smile off my face. The end appeared quickly, and I slammed into the braking system at full force. But I didn't care - I'd had a blast. To return to the other side I took the cable car, along with the other zipliners. None of us had carried a camera over, which meant we missed out on taking photos of the gushing falls up close.
Waterfall #4: El Manto de la Novia. I skipped over the zipline here and instead Danny and I caught the cable car across the river, this time with a camera. The open-air, hanging basket-style cable car was excessively wobbly, causing me to hang onto the railing for dear life. It was more nerve-racking than the zipline. We paused briefly over the middle of the river, allowing us to take our photos, before returning to the start.
Waterfall #5: San Pedro. The waterfall was underwhelming, so we just took a couple of photos from the road rather than opting for the cable car. At this point it started raining, so we hung out at the cable car station until the rain ceased.
Waterfall #6: Pailon del Diablo. This was the main attraction, the one everyone comes to see. There were 2 entrances, one on either side of the falls, and we chose to explore both. The first led us down a path with multiple viewpoints right beside the falls, its spray making us glad we were wearing rain jackets. The force of the water was monumental, crashing down into a rocky gorge below. It was easily the best waterfall we had visited on our trip. The second entrance offered different but less impressive angles of the cascade. What made it stand out, though, was the option to crawl (literally, on all fours) through a rocky cave then climb a set of stairs to reach a point behind the falls. There was no way to do this and stay dry. Danny watched while I sprinted up the stairs, drenching myself in the process. The view from the back wasn't worth the effort, but the entertainment value for Danny was first class.
Waterfall #7: Encanto del Rocío del Machay. It was a long way down a never-ending set of steps to reach the river, where we found the thinnest but longest of the seven cascades. There was the option to swim in the river, but I decided I was already wet enough.
From the end it was a short ride back to Pailon del Diablo, where we loaded our bicycles into a truck and were driven uphill to Baños. Although our total bike ride had only been 22 km, we felt as though we had undertaken much more of a workout. More importantly, we both agreed it had been an awesome day out.
