Loathsome Latacunga and cheery Chugchilán

Top ten things I would not be surprised to find in my Latacunga soup:

1. A human eyeball
2. Hemlock
3. Ten small children
4. A windshield wiper
5. Used dental floss
6. A handful of human hair
7. A lightbulb
8. A gerbil
9. My nalgene bottle that I lost on route to Mompós
10. A middle finger

What a terrible terrible city. But wait, let’s start at the beginning.

We left Quito after a wonderful rooftop breakfast at the Chicago Hostel on Monday September 8. We chanced a local bus to the Terminal Terrestre. 25 cents each later we arrived and headed down the stairs to the ticket booths. As we purchased our tickets to Latacunga, the woman at the booth gave us a very serious look and told us to watch our bags. Yea. I’m used to it these days. But when we went outside to find the bus, everyone we saw told us the same thing. Watch your bags. Keep an eye on your bags. Keep everything close to you.

It was a little unsettling. I didn’t like the vibe I got from the situation. I’ve never had that many people caution me at one time. Reluctantly I allowed them to put my backpack in a compartment under the bus, which left me with my computer bag and Nate with his backpack and his mini-guitar.

We were led to the back of the bus and a friendly man helped Nate put his bag securely under the seat. He tried to help me with mine, but I was fine with putting it at my feet. We made sure that the camera was safe in Nate’s pocket and that both of our bags were locked. I felt pretty good about our situation.

The bus pulled away from the station and we were on our way. The man across the aisle from Nate struck up a conversation and I jumped in to help with the Spanish. In retrospect, it was a little odd. The man didn’t seem like a person who would just randomly start talking to you. He was a little sketchy.

Let’s say a half an hour into the ride, a man got up and walked past us saying something to the guys sitting directly behind us and made a motion with his hand. It was too fast for me to catch, but all of a sudden everyone was looking at us. Nate whispered something worriedly to me about the pocket of his bag facing behind us, so I told him to turn it around if he was suspicious. When he did, he discovered that the pocket had been opened and that his pocket knife and deodorant were missing. The men sitting behind us, realizing that they had been found out, got up to get off the bus. We had to stop them somehow, so it was either me or Nate. Nate knew who they were and was more angry than I was. But I was able to communicate in Spanish. So I went to the front of the bus saying “nos robaron!” (they robbed us). I wasn’t sure who it was exactly who had done it because I hadn’t gotten a good look at them. I also wasn’t as assertive as I should have been. Any way, the driver let them off and they went scurrying for the brush. The police were called over, but there was very little they could do at that point. I should have done something to stop them, but in the moment I froze. Plus, if they had our knife, I really didn’t want to start a confrontation.

I got back on the bus and found out that the men had used the very knife in Nate’s bag to slice a hole into the main compartment of the bag. Good thing we caught them when we did because it didn’t seem like they got anything else. Luckily the damage was minimal, a few stolen objects and a torn pocket; could have been a lot worse.

But still the feeling of having had something stolen, however small it may be, is terrible. It put us both in a terrible mood. We rode the rest of the journey with our bags on our laps (I got my big backpack from underneath the bus and put it on my lap as well). What really got to me was that if everyone at the bus station knew that this was going to happen, why didn’t any one DO anything about it?! The usually smiling Nate was sullen. We spent the rest of the bus ride under the stresses of coulda-woulda-shouldas and dodging repetitive conversation with an old man next to us.

We arrived in Latacunga and got off the bus. Our priority was to find a place to put our stuff and to put our minds at ease. We walked across the bridge from the PanAm to market area Latacunga. Everything smelled like urine. I kept glancing behind us.




We asked directions to Residencial Amazonas and ended up walking right by it. We got a room overlooking the market with a private bathroom for $5 each. Not a bad deal! We secured everything in our room and set off walking. I was hungry!

We walked through the market and down a few streets. Very few places still served almuerzo, so we took our chances on a Restaurante Criollo. We sat down and ordered our soups first. I got a Yagrilocro and Nate got a Caldo de Gallina. When our soups came mine was full of unidentifiable meat pieces of different textures. That and the blood sausage was enough to make my stomach turn. The next course was pretty bad as well. My meat was chewy and Nate kept making faces at his. Even our Yakour wasn’t very good. We finished eating as quickly as we could just to get it over with.

Unsatisfied we walked back to the hotel. Next errand was to get the hole in Nate’s bag sewn up. We walked to one place that said that the bag would damage their sewing machine. They directed us to the shoe repair man, who told us that he only repaired shoes. Finally we found a store that seemed to repair everything. The old couple who ran the store said that they could have it done in half an hour for $1.






I think he did a good job.




No one smiles to us in Latacunga. The people are very cold towards us. A woman in the back of a pickup truck gave us the finger. The people in the internet place gave us looks like we were stupid and unwanted. No one returns our buenas tardes. No one goes out of their way to be anything but unpleasant. Take our dinner, for example. We walk into a restaurant less than a block away from our hostel. Everyone already in the restaurant gives us the yourenotwantedhere looks. We ask the woman running the restaurant about dinner and she frowns. Despite all of the unpleasantness, we sit down because really we haven’t found anywhere else to eat. Our soups arrive… but there’s something in it! I nudge Nate; there’s a chicken foot in my soup!! There’s one in his too. Is this normal? It can’t be.

Regardless, we eat around the foot. The next course was better, nothing suspicious. I overhear something at the next table about us “gringos.” And I just smile; two unpleasantnesses don’t equal a niceness. I thank the woman for the meal (at least she doesn’t overcharge us) and wish her the best. As we leave, I sneak a look at the soup at the next table. Just as I thought, they didn’t get the foot. It’s a special treat just for the gringos.

Our hostel room was our sanctuary. We felt the most comfortable there and every time we prepared to leave it, we sighed in anticipation. It was like we were preparing for battle. Every errand we ran was as short as possible. The coldness of the people and the darkening streets were unwelcoming and we wanted to avoid it at all costs. We made a trip down to a hardware shop where I bought a 2 meter chain and a lock for my back pack. I want to be as prepared as possible for any situation. And I have to admit, my backpack now looks rather gangsta.

That night I woke up every so often thinking someone was going to climb into our window. It was also very very cold. I wore my hat.

The next morning was exciting! We were leaving Latacunga!! We twirled through the market and got some coffees. The woman across the rickety table from us thought that I was Nate’s local guide. She was nice enough. My eyes kept drifting over to the next stall where they were making some concoction with raw egg, various juices, some brown paste and other unnamable things. Then the customers would drink it. I think my face aptly expressed my disgust. We had yogurt and granola for breakfast and happily shouldered our packs for the bus terminal.

We rushed out the door, down and across the urine bridge, and along the streets til the terminal. I have very few pictures of my least favorite city, but I managed to snag a few before we left. We arrived just in time for the 11:30am (the only) bus to Chugchilán. I hoisted my bag, chain and all, onto the top of the bus and we took our seats.

South America wasn’t designed for tall people. Even at my hardly impressive 5 foot 5 inches, I am towering over many of the people. Poor Nate at over 6 feet has a hard time finding beds long enough and has to bow his head in buses. We find our seats and cautiously keep our bags on our laps. The bus is packed. People stand in the aisle holding on to the ceiling bar. Vendors smush in also with their fruits and crispy munchies. It’s a full ride.


We bounce along. We pass Saquisilí, Sigchos, and various other small towns nestled in the hills. The view is patch worked with crops quilting the countryside. The paisaje is breathtaking.

A little girl, Ayla, sits next to me with a baby. We all smile and I coo at the baby, who I end up holding in my lap as she grabs Nate’s pinky finger.

Hours roll by. The potholes and the chickens tied to the roof make for a longer journey than we would have expected.

We arrive in Chugchilán (population 100 maybe, altitude 3200 meters!) and walk through the little town to check out the three hostels vying for our backpacker cash. On our way we say buenas tardes and get smiles and the greeting returned to us! Wow. What a difference from Latacunga! Friendly people? I could really get used to this place!

We end up at Hostel Mamá Hilda in a cozy room with an immaculate bathroom! Wooden floors and everything. Plus breakfast and dinner are included! What a great deal! Mama Hilda herself shows us the room and sneaks us a deal on it, shhhh don’t tell anyone she says.


By the time we get settled and check out the main room with all the tourist info, it’s 5pm. We have two hours before dinner. We decide to chance a hike down to the canyon.

We set off with sunglasses, for the setting yet still abundant sun, and camera, for the prospect of fabulous photos. We follow the main road until a tiny path to the right. The path rises briefly and then plummets into soft white sand. Our sneakers sink through the sand and our pants emulate the color. Down through the trees and then the view opens up! It’s beautiful! We see the mountains rising up around us. And between them we can see forever. We climb down and then up again.



The scenery opens up to endless fields. The setting sun casts long shadows through our photos. We find a smaller canyon, but head back after that to avoid nightfall. Back in town we buy a 5 liter bottle of water and a Pilsener. We walk up the road a bit to find some colorful houses undergoing sunset.




Back in town we stumble upon a volleyball game. We sit and watch the entertainment for a bit. They were really good!



Dinner was great and exactly what we needed. The weather had turned cold so the lentil and potato soup was perfect. Next there was chicken and fried rice. For dessert a lemon cake. So filling and the company was good. We spent hours after dinner talking with our tablemates. We exchanged stories and plans for upcoming days.

It was cold that night but we hid under the warm blankets. Big day tomorrow with Laguna de Quilotoa in our future!