Lets NOT Stop and Admire the View

On Saturday we joined a hike organised by the school to the volcanic crater lake of Quilotoa. We got up pretty early to wait outside the school on a rainy, grey morning. I copped a few jests as I was sporting my purple stripey long johns instead of the in-vogue zipoff pants. Our ride to Quilotoa was a school bus that was branching out for the weekend. As the clouds clung to the hills and the stereo provided soothing/annoying "pan pipe classic hits", we wound our way out of the city, detouring around the massive sinkhole that has appeared in the middle of Quito´s southern highway.

The weather started to lift as we got closer to our destination and those of us who were still awake were treated to some amazing views of the rolling highlands patched with fields and dotted with shelters made of straw. Perhaps all these shelters should have given us an indication of what was to come...

We arrived at the small township of Quilotoa as a few locals stopped to stare. The township is located on a plateau above the crater and a short walk from the carpark provided us with a stunning view of the eerie green lake sunken into the landscape. Those of us who were keen, set about the walk that circumnavigates the lake along the high ridges. After a short while the sun came out and the weather was perfect.

As we neared the half way mark an ominous dark grey cloud began to accumulate on the far side of the lake. Soon enough we found ourselves walking straight into an electrical storm complete with rain, thunder and sheet lightning.

We were prepared for rain of course but as we walked along one of the higher ridges, we were all struck by a flash of sheet lightening! The first strike was like a small pat on the head, but the second strike was like simultaneously grabbing an electric fence with your hand, foot and head. Tessa saw an arc from her foot to the ground which lit up like a lightbulb. I hit the ground for fear of another stronger strike and after making sure everyone was still alive, we dashed frantically for lower ground. We spent the next hour nervously rushing over any remotely high ground.

Our next life threatening challenge (Mum maybe you shouldn´t read this blog) was when we discovered that parts of the track had been washed away by the persistent rain of the last few weeks. Our guide was quite cavalier and charged ahead over tenuous soft earth precariously perched 400m above the lake edge below.

Along this precarious, life threatening route we passed a local on his way home after the Saturday markets in the town. He was carrying a 40kg sack of produce on his back and was quite obviously well boozed, stumbling along the track and slurring incomprehensible spanish. As market day is pay day for the locals, many of them head to the pub afterwards and get on the turps, literally as the spirits they drink are around 80%!

We made it safely back to the township tired and incredibly wet and headed straight for the nearby hostel for some hot drinks. Once we had recounted our story to the others and recovered mentally, we piled back in the van for the four hour drive home complete with mexican reggae music.