Ecuador Adventure: Part 1

As I take each steep step closer down to the small rock ledge below, I struggle to rid my brain of the image of myself tumbling head over heels straight down. I lean back, keeping my weight evenly spaced and my arms out. I move slowly and deliberately, grasping the coarse grass in fistfuls, my hands white from gripping so hard.

“You okay?” Henry asks.

“Yeah,” is all I can muster, trying to keep my voice steady, but hearing it waver regardless.

We are in Quito, the capital city of Ecuador, and at the present moment I am crouched haphazardly on the side of the Pichincha mountain some 4,500 meters above sea level. The air is thin and my breathing is shallow. My ears popped three times on the cable car ride up the side of the mountain.

I find myself gasping for air after every 25 paces or so as we walk the last 200 meters to the top. I shiver as clouds whip past my freshly buzzed head and follow the natural curve of the mountain.

They break for a moment and reveal the city below. The view is absolutely incredible. From the street, what I’ve seen of Quito is charmingly rundown with faded bright colors and many unfinished buildings. But from up here, it all becomes a shiny grey mass. I can barely even make out individual buildings.

There was supposed to be three of us on this Ecuador adventure. But Rel was unfortunately stopped at the airport because his passport is less than six months from expiring.

It’s valid for another four months and we all have a return flight in 10 days. But the airport security refuses him and after spending an hour or so arguing his case, we sadly board the plane without him. (He got his passport taken care of and is joining us later today.)

We are traveling with Peter, Henry’s uncle, who is close to opening a bed and breakfast a few hours from Quito and has been traveling in Ecuador for years. He is looking for lamps, so we accompany him on a visit to a market with long thin corridors packed with booths full of hats, jewelry and rugs. Most of it is touristy junk, though there are a few nicer booths. The currency here is the U.S. dollar. It’s only fairly recently that they’ve switched over and a few of the booths hold large rubber banded stacks of $100 bills of old currency. We are heckled as we make our way slowly through. We don’t find any lamps.

Outside, young children try to sell us candy. Their eyes well up as they call out to us, “Mister, mister, please.” It’s hard to walk by them. But we do.

We eat at a very good Cuban restaurant for dinner and as I sip an ultra sweet, very strong mojito, I am surprised that it has only been 13 hours since our plane took off from JFK. The thin air mixed with the mojito makes me feel light headed and I am asleep that night as soon as I lay down.

Back on the side of the mountain, I make my way down to the small rock ledge. I peer cautiously over and find it to be as far down as I feared. I carefully pull myself up to a sitting position on the rock.

“Okay,” says Henry, “are you ready?”

The whole point of the trek was for a picture.

“Yeah,” I say and smile sheepishly, keeping my hands glued to the rock.

Click.

Henry and I pay $5 each to take a half-hour horseback ride around the top of the mountain. The guide doesn’t ask me if I know how to ride a horse until I am already up on top of it.

Later that night, back in our hotel room, I look over the photos of the day, coming to the one of me sitting on the rock ledge. I zoom into my face. I look absolutely terrified and I can read my thoughts.

“This rock is about to fall. I know it.”

I find climbing back up entirely more enjoyable and wonder aloud exactly where my fear of heights came from.

- Zachary Stuart-Pontier