Chungchallan

The ride from Latacunga to Quilitoa started out sunny and warm but as we hit the mountains the mist came down and the scenics views, which were amazing with yet again farms going right to the top of high mountains on slopes that no machinery could handle, being glimpsed between the clouds. The lake was not visible at all and the intended walk was cancelled as by this time the rain had set in and the gravel/mud road from Quilatoa to Chungchallen was one scary experience with me closing my eyes and hanging on with white knuckles much of the ride. Although a bus may hold 25 people no one is ever refused as they flag down the buses and get on and off as needs be throughtout the long winding root. Crossing rivers was part of the adventure as was seeing the small adobe and thatched roofed cottages in which the people live wearing their beautiful traditional dress which is not just for special occasions.

We stayed at a lovely rustic lodge at Chugchakllan where a welcome wood stove greeted us and we exchanged escapades with the other travellers staying there. it was one of the places that we would have loved to stay for several days as it was QUIET and peaceful and the scenery charming. Felt i could get some thinking done but given the weather which continued misty the next day we cut our losses and headed along the rest of the loop to Sigchos.

This was a great adventure as we caught the milk truck (there being no buses) which turned out to be the propane gas truck as everyone loaded their empty tanks onto the back and the roof of the camionetta, where they rattled around throughout the long journey giving me a few jolts. The bus truck was so old i think i have seen similar ones in museums but it was Saturday morning and everyone was in a good mood so we kept stopping and loaded up the passengers many f whom seemed to know each other by the greetings that were exchanged. Onto the 20 seater came 50 plus people including children in their white lace communion dresses, old and young with baskets for market and baby chicks. The women with braided pigtails and felt trilbys and babies, and the old men with wizened mahogany polished faces still strong and agile climbing over the bags of seed and flour in the aisles....then came the band At each stop we seemed to pick up another young guy with another instrument .... there were drums including the very big one, cymbals, trumpets, trombones they were obviously on their way to Saturday practice or event I´m not sure which BUT the piece de resistance was when i looked out of the window at one stop to see a huge woolly sheep being manhandled onto the roof of the bus along with the propane tanks which is where he was tethered and stayed for the journey to Sigchos. We giggled the whole way thinking about it and then watching him being off loaded at the other end. What a riot. A great adventure which fortunately we survived.