High above the chimney top

Trip to Cayambe Mountain - The highest I have ever been (15 753 feet).

On boxing day, the Wilf and I arrived in the town of Cayambe, with child-like enthusiasm to climb the volcano nearby. All this positive energy was soon met by our hostel’s owner, who told us that it was a six-hour hike and taxis would only take us up there for 60 dollars, which was roughly an eighth of our entire trip's budges combined. However, he mentioned that there is a bus that went half ways and if we wanted he would take us up for 50 dollars. We considered all three options over some coffee and biscochos (a local specialty of Cayambe, which I could best describe as a savory shortbread) and after we found out that the buses didn’t run on the 27^th, we took up the 50 dollar offer.

Early next morning, promptly at 7:12 (Ecuadorian 7 o’clock on the dot) we set off. The road up Cayambe mountain was in horrible condition. The once dirt road was covered with rocks of various sizes, so it would be travelable in the rain as well, but all this did was make it ten times more stressful on the cars’ wheels and suspension. Despite the roads condition, our driver went 40-60 km/h. – And boy was I glad to have my seat belt on, especially the times we even caught some air.

The scenery on the other hand was much more pleasurable. Fields after fields of potatoes and grass, where cows, horses, llamas, sheep and mules grazed, while clouds literally formed above them.

As we got higher, I noticed that the clouds were no longer above us, but under us, covering everything like fluffy blankets. The trees started getting replaced by tall bunches of yellow grass and caramel shrubs. Soon we couldn’t see any of the land below us and the road got exponentially worse. The small rocks became more seldom, leaving only the bigger ones lying in the middle of the dirty road, which our chauffeur dodged with swift and energetic turns of the steering wheel, consequently slamming Wilf and myself to the right side of the car.

All of a sudden we slowed down and then came to an abrupt stop. Our driver popped out to check the front wheel, and after asking me to drive the car slowly, he diagnosed that a screw was missing from the front right shock absorber.

With our industrial Sherpa disabled, Wilfred and I continued on foot, while the driver called for a mechanic. The altitude made breathing challenging and the steep path didn’t help either. We had to stop every three-hundred meter to catch our breath and slow down our heart rate, which sometimes got up to 160/60. We only walked about three kilometers like this, but it was more grueling than the entire hike through the jungle (link to my post about that). Just as we passed a waterfall next to the road, a grey Toyota Hilux (a.k.a.: the undestroyable pickup truck) crept up behind us and the driver offered to take us to the refugee camp for a dollar each. After paying, we jumped on the back platform and what followed was the bumpiest ride of my life. Even Wilfred admitted that it was no joke to hold on.

The refugee camp consisted of a two-story wooden house at the 15700 feet mark, with some rooms to rent on one end and a small rugged restaurant on the other. When we got to there, we relaxed with a hot cup of instant coffee, mentally preparing for the hike to a lagoon. I gazed out the window of the restaurant, which overlooked a valley covered in snow that the clouds revealed and hid every three minutes.

After Wilf and I finished our coffees we headed for the trail that would have taken us to the lagoon, but after realizing that it was too challenging, we decided to turn back and take a different trail, which was a good idea, for we later on found out that

it was for semi- or professional climbers, and even on our best day, the Wilf and I would only qualify as beginner amateurs.

Luckily, when we got back to camp, our driver had arrived and was just on his way to guide some people to a more accessible snowy area of the mountain, so we joined the eccentric group of swedes and Ecuadorians. As we walked along the trail, a ray of sunlight turned the grey and hazel mountainside into a magnificent golden-brown wall, prompting everyone to gasp in unison. We had a similar reaction when we finally saw the glaciers about 100 meters ahead and 20 meters above us. Suddenly the shortness of breath and the exhaustion vanished the way the clouds had to unveil our well-deserved reward and destination. Everyone charged forward like children who saw their house at the end of the street. The mountainous blocks of ice made everyone feel like children again, climbing on top of them and posing like Jesus, Superman, Wonder Woman, and many other who have distinct poses.

Between the blocks of snow and ice ran several streams of melting snow, which was black from volcanic ash. Our guide casually mentioned that the streams used to be stronger 10-15 years ago, for the blocks of ice were also larger.

We had a short high-stakes snow fight, where if someone had gotten hit hard enough and lots their balance, they would have slid on mud for a good five meters before crashing into a block of ice. Luckily no one did. After we fighting and posing for some pictures, the group carefully climbed back to the trail and hiked back to camp.

On our way down the mountain, just ten minutes from the town of Cayambe, we saw a moss green jeep on the side of the road. Our driver chuckled and explained to us that is was the mechanic who helped him. Wilf and I looked at each other and knew, this road was a serial-car-killer.

Other pictures you might enjoy:

Biscochos