14,400 ft to Sea Level on a Horse

May 27, 2008
Tuesday
10:45AM
Our Room
Sayausi


We made it back from our four day, 4,000 vertical meter, horse trip!

For those of you interested in the details, here they are…


Friday
The first day of our four day horseback trip into the outer regions of the developing world.

We met at the church in Sayausi at 9:00am to discover that my padre, Padre Oscar, would not be coming with us on this trip (nor would Benito the ecua-poodle). Instead, Padre Constantino and two seminaristas would be coming with us. Now having returned from the trip I do have doubts about Padre Oscar’s motives for sending another priest in his place. He says the other Padre wanted an opportunity to get to know these caserillas because he hadn’t had a chance to visit them yet so he graciously allowed this new Padre to go in his and Benito’s place…my doubts about the altruistic nature of this great padre switch should be made clear by the end of this post.

So, the five of us (Padre Constantino de Colombia, Bernarnardo de Bolivia, Giovanni de Colombia, myself, and Mike) crammed into a small pick-up truck along with a driver to travel up to 4,200 meters above sea level (this is almost as high as the highest peaks in the continental United States….brrrrrr-chilly) to rendezvous at the trail head in Parque Nacional Cajas with 15 members from Leon Huaco (one of the caserillas), 18 horses, and dozens of sacks of rice, plantains, noodles, and who knows what else.

Needless to say the cabin of the small truck was a little cramped with myself, Mike, and the driver all in the front seat. Legs were everywhere but where they would naturally rest and by the time we arrived at the rendezvous point nerve endings were not functioning to their normal capacity. This is best exemplified by describing Mike’s exit from the truck. Please keep in mind that there are 15 people from these small caserillas watching our arrival anxiously and with all of their attention. Mike opens the door. Mike puts one leg down on the ground. All is well. Mike turns to step away from the car to let me out and puts the second leg down. Mike’s second leg collapses beneath him and his entire body follows suit tumbling several feet from the car. After seeing that Mike is OK, Mary bursts into fits of laughter and gracefully exits the truck. The 15 observers showed much more tact than I as they merely continued to watch with interest but without laughing (Turns out Mike’s entire leg (up to, and including, his hip) was fast asleep and it just didn’t hold his weight because he couldn’t feel anything. Please don’t worry, Mike is and was fine, just a little muddier than he started out….but not nearly as muddy as he would get).

Thus began our trip into the wilds of the caserillas that border Parque Nacional Cajas.

An hour later we were saddled up, me on the biggest horse and Mike on the smallest (go figure), and headed toward a caserilla named Baute. After about five minutes I was way ahead of Mike , reference my former statement about horse size, and holding on for dear life as my horse tripped, stumbled, teetered, scrambled, and tumbled down the slippery, rocky, narrow, steep, scary, wet, quasi-trail that we would be on for the next six hours. If only I had known then that this was the easiest trail we would be on for the next four days.

After 3 hours I arrived in Baute where we stopped to have some lunch. I dismounted, gracefully again, after watching Bernando tumble off his horse and roll around on the ground as he tried to dislodge his leg from the stirrup (he was fine too just not used to mounting, riding, and dismounting from horses). Mike arrived about 10 minutes later much muddier than when I had last seen him.

As we shared a lunch the townspeople had packed, in the middle of a field in the middle of nowhere, of guinea pig, mystery bird meat, corn, mote (another type of very watery corn), hard-boiled eggs, boiled bananas, and little bag of salt, Mike told me about his morning on horse back.

It begins with the fact that the other villagers kept referring to his runt horse as “pendejo” which translates to “fool” or “ass”. It continues with Mike’s knees being about level with his chest for the entire ride because the ecua-sized stirrups were not long enough for his legs. Then, somewhere in the middle as his horse was tripping, stumbling, and teetering down a muddy, slick, narrow, quasi-trail Mike threw himself from his horse because it seemed as though the tripping, stumbling horse was actually going to flip over and fall with him on top. It turns out the horse did not flip over but both its front legs were resting on its knees when Mike jumped off into the muddy paramo grass to the side of the trail. It ends with Mike being advised by the accompanying villagers that he should not have “botar”-ed himself from the horse. I side with Mike on the fact that the horse could’ve flipped and was much better for Mike to be off the horse than on it if that happened (Again, please don’t worry Mike is and was fine, just a little muddier than he was…..still not as muddy as he would get).

So, we ate lunch in what really looks like the shire from the Lord of the Rings laughing about the first half of the trail, the lunch of meats and corn, and the fact that we still had three to four more hours to go. Surprisingly, the rib cage of a guinea pig is rather delicious. We washed our hands in the stream, hid behind shrubs when needed, and then continued on our way.

Thankfully, the first half hour we got to walk through an absolutely beautiful field with streams running through it and a light mist blurring the surrounding hillsides. It might have been because the landscape was so beautiful, or that he was talking to one of the villagers, or that the “little muddy patch” was just inherently deceiving in nature, or that he was not really watching the terrain in front of him, but for whatever reason Mike went confidently walking through a patch of wet mud that the villager had just passed through (I was still several steps behind, thank goodness for short legs) and he sank immediately down to his thighs past the point where his farm boots protected him into thick, sloppy mud! I, again, broke into fits of laughter as I then jumped around the spot where he sank and crossed to the other side, completely mud free. Mike quickly dislodged himself from the muddy stream and continued through the field with no damage to his person (I feel I must warn all of you that this is still not the muddiest point in our four day adventure).

We then mounted our steeds, again me on the largest horse and Mike on Pendejo, and continued on for another four hours with little to impede our progress except rain, more muddy trails, thick fog, and sore legs.

When we arrived in Leon Huaco, we were greeted by very nice people that were very concerned with our well-being and immediately gave us café con leche and a light dinner of mountains of rice, sardines, beans, potatoes, and chicken stew. It was only after we had eaten, when it was dark, rainy, and oh-so-cold, that we realized we had no idea where our bag with all of our clean clothes, sleeping bags, and toiletries was located. Last we had seen it was packed in a used grain sack on horse several hours ago. We also knew that some of the horses were going on to another town several hours further down the “road”. “No preocupen!” was what we were told by the nice women who had made us dinner. “Estara aqui.” Don’t worry, it will be here. So, we went to mass (one of five in the next forty-eight hours) and no nos preocupamos.

Mass was held in a tiny chapel made out of adobe and tin, just like the eight other houses that made up the entire town of Leon Hauco. It was freezing inside and all twenty to twenty-five people from Leon Huaco attended, including ourselves and few local dogs as well.

After mass we were shown to our room, where luck would have it our bag was propped up in between an adobe wall and a saco of plantains. We stayed in the room where the teacher from the school used to sleep when the town had a teacher for its five to ten students. The teacher left last year and as far as we can tell the kids haven’t been in school since and there is no teacher planning to come back to Leon Hauco. In the room there was a small cot which they loaded up with all the blankets they could find, two small tables, a chair, and lots of random stuff which would take a long time to write about, and since this entry is already exceedingly long and we’re only on day one, it should suffice to say that there was a lot of random stuff in that room with us.

Despite the cold, cold, cold we actually slept surprisingly well all through the night until the next morning when some random villager came into the room (the door isn’t solid, it has a large opening so that you can put your hand through and unlatch it), said “Perdon,” continued to walk all the way into and across the room where she grabbed the sack of plantains that our bag had been resting against, then walked back across the room carrying the sack of plantains, out the door, stuck her hand back through the door, latched it, then left. At this point, we decided it was time to get up and out of bed.

Saturday
The second day of our four day horseback trip into the outer regions of the developing world.

The kitchen in Leon Hauco is a large room made of adobe with a pitched tin roof and many two-by-four beams spanning its length and width. Precariously balanced on top of the two-by-fours are various sacks filled with kitchen ingredients and slats of wood positioned to create shelves. In the corner farthest from the door, on the floor, is some smoldering firewood with an iron grate on top that serves as the cooking surface. Above this grate is a tin hood that is supposed to serve as the chimney but it has a closed top, thus all of the smoke from the firewood stays inside the kitchen. In another corner was a non-functioning sink and countertop that you couldn’t see because it was covered with tons of stuff (again we won’t go through the list but it was a ton of stuff). The final corner hosted a wooden table with benches that were only functional if people were sitting at both ends, if only one person were seated at one end the other end of the bench would pop up and the person seated would fall to the ground.

At each meal our little traveling party of five was served first and as we finished the rest of the town would trickle in until all twenty-five of us were huddled in the kitchen eating rice, rice, mote, various pieces of meat, rice, mote, fried eggs (only for us, don’t know why), and some slightly warm drink. Breakfast our first morning was good and hearty and settled in my stomach well enough to stomach the mid-morning activity.

Shortly after eating Mike and I were standing outside talking with the Padre, his seminaristas, and some local villagers when a few men went and untied a young bull that had been grazing beneath a nearby tree. Then, a forth man joined them with a piece of long rope which he started to lightly toss at the hind legs of the bull, trying to lasso the legs. This man was followed by a fifth who carried a five inch knife. This is when we were advised that they were in fact going to slaughter the bull for their festival (the festival is the reason why our trip was scheduled for this weekend). You can imagine the scene that followed. Mike and I watched the entire thing and it certainly made me think again about the consumption of meat. Once the bull was actually dead, and no longer groaning, I stopped feeling quite so queasy and began to watch with more interest than uneasiness (however, as different parts were removed and they all went into the kitchen, including the bucket full of blood, I did start to feel a little uneasy about lunch).

The men had obviously done this many, many times before and their attitude was jovial if anything. Throwing parts of the bull around was acceptable and hilarious. One man actually tried putting the testicles of the bull in another’s pocket…he was unsuccessful but it did elicit many laughs from the group. About half way through the process we thought to get out the camera to see if it was working. You’ll all be happy to know that is was and that the pictures from this morning are included in this post!

As the carcass diminished and the viscera remained, the men were replaced by the women of the village. The women were in charge of cleaning the viscera, locating and discarding the gallbladder, emptying the multiple stomachs, and of course cooking the actual meat. And nobody was thrown off their work when a soccer ball from the nearby field bounced through the viscera as they were sorting through it.

While lunch that day did consist of more beef than any one person should ever eat in one meal, there were no mystery parts to identify or digest (thank goodness!). We sat by the fire in the smoked filled kitchen for the entire afternoon. We sat there nice and warm until it was time for another mass. The two o’clock mass was held in the same chapel, as there is only one, the same people and dogs attended, and the exact same mass was given, sermon and all. We then returned to the kitchen fire until it was time for the next mass. The seven o’clock mass was also exactly the same the only difference being that it was also the first communion for two of the local children and that without any warning Mike was asked to speak on their behalf. Yes, Mike who everyone had met a day ago was asked to speak during the mass for a first communion and tie in how Peace Corps’ mission was related to their festival and the first communion of these two children. With some leading questions from the priest, and an impromptu St. Francis reference, Mike successfully managed to accomplish all of this within one or two minutes.

The mass was followed by dinner, more beef and some mystery mountain fish, and a baile (dance) which we only stopped by momentarily as I was still with the “gripe” (cold/flu) and wanted to get to bed early and get some rest. Well, getting to sleep early and getting rest while an Ecuadorian baile is going on do not go hand in hand. The music was blasting until at least three o’clock in the morning and followed by much jovial chatter until at least five o’clock in the morning. By five o’clock in the morning the roosters had long since begun their daily calls, followed by the sheep, the pigs, and the villagers of Leon Huaco starting their morning activities.

Sunday
The third day of our four day horseback trip into the outer regions of the developing world.

Before we went to bed on Friday night Padre Constantino informed us that he would be up at five o’clock if we wanted to come by to use the only bathroom that Leon Huaco has. At seven o’clock in the morning the chapel was still locked up tight with a Padre and two seminaristas sleeping soundly inside. At nine o’clock they emerged and were surprised that we hadn’t come by.

After a quick breakfast of beef, fried eggs, rice with rice, and tinto (warm water with instant coffee and an unimaginable amount of sugar) there was a procession from the top of Leon Huaco down to the bottom half of Leon Hauco. At the bottom of Leon Huaco is another small chapel. When we reached this chapel there was another mass and again the readings and the sermon were the same as the previous three masses.

After our fourth mass in less then thirty-six hours we left for the next caserilla, Chacanceo. Chancanceo was located four hours by horse back from Leon Hauco and was about 2,000 meters lower than Leon Huaco. The trail between Leon Huaco and Chacanceo was steeper, slicker, rockier, and by far scarier than the trail that led from the highway to Leon Huaco (where Mike jumped off his horse for fear that it might fall on him). And there was more rain on this day than there was on the previous day we had traveled by horse. So, I endured another day of tripping, sliding, stumbling, and clinging for dear life to the homemade saddle and reins. Mike opted for walking this trail instead of riding on horse. This worked out especially well because they actually didn’t have enough horses for all of us. I only wish there had been two too few horses so that I could have walked as well. The two seminaristas dismounted halfway through the trail to walk. This was not the reason they gave. They got off so that our two guides (local villagers) could have a chance to ride the horses through the steepest, slickest, scariest part. This meant I had to stay on the horse as there was no one to lead it if I got off. Thankfully, we all arrived safely to Chacanceo in time for an early dinner and another mass.

The dinner was good…it consisted of beef, fried egg, rice with rice, a chicken stew, and tinto. Our dinner company was also nice: a few older village members, two cats, a few chickens, and thirty-five guinea pigs that have free range of the kitchen….don’t worry though, they never leave the kitchen because if they did the dogs outside would eat them.

The mass was held in another small chapel at seven o’clock and consisted of the same readings and sermon as the previous four masses. Those forty years in the desert sure do sound awful.

The mass ended with a grand discussion about what time we should leave in the morning to make it to the next town that has one car that leaves at 7:00am each morning, so we could get to another small town to get a bus to yet another small town to get another bus that goes to Cuenca, so that the Padre could catch his afternoon international flight to Colombia. But people didn’t want to lend their horses to us because they needed them and they wouldn’t get back until late in the afternoon because the first small town was “two hours” away. This conversation went on for a good forty-five minutes and the strangest part was there wasn’t any real official end to it. When it ended we were still a few horses short and no one knew if the car actually left at 7, 8, 9, or 10 in the morning. When we left the Padre to go to bed he told us to meet him at the chapel at four-thirty. Now what I do next may sound odd but it really does make sense here to do what I did. I set my alarm for four-thirty five.

After mass and the cyclical discussion about the morning, Mike and I went right to sleep on a what looked like a mountain climber’s crash pad on the floor of the local school (maybe someone told all these villages that we used to be teachers and that we would be most comfortable sleeping in school related places). The school room was surprisingly nice especially when compared to the other seven adobe structures that made up the town. We slept relatively well considering at random intervals throughout the night people set off firecrackers that sound like gun fire (I guess it had something to do with the festivals).

Monday
The forth and final day of our four day horseback trip into the outer regions of the developing world.

At four thirty-five my alarm went off, we packed up, brushed our teeth, and met the Padre at five o’clock at the chapel where we waited for him, the horses, and for the local women to feed us a piece of bread with some tea until 5:40 when we actually left. I should note that Mike was thrown from a horse while he was trying to mount it. It was still very dark, so all I could hear was the horse moving and Mike hitting the ground. Startled at first, he seemed to be ok. He then tried to tell the owner that he would walk instead and the owner of the horse responded by saying Mike just didn’t know how to mount the horse. The owner then proceeded to mount the horse to show Mike how it was done. The horse then proceeded to throw the owner off as he tried to mount. Mike felt redeemed and was allowed to walk…at the beginning.

So, off we went, before sunrise, to get to this small town (Caimantal) with some car to take to some other small town (Manta Real)… I was tired at this point in the trip and was relieved that the villagers had told us that the trail between Chacanceo and this random small town was wide and flat. I feel like it’s worth saying here that all during training they had warned us that Ecuadorians don’t like making anyone upset and that because of this they often tell people what they want to here instead of the truth. The truth is that this trail was muddier, slicker, and if you can believe it scarier than all of the other trails we had previously been on. What’s funny here is that Mike was comfortably walking when the Padre told Mike he should “rest” and ride the horse for a little bit. Mike said he preferred walking to which the Padre insisted that Mike should “rest” and ride the horse. Mike responded, “I’m fine but if you want to walk I will ride the horse.” The Padre consented and got off to walk as Mike, knees to chest on such a small horse, stumbled and slipped down the trails on horseback.

I dismounted several times during this trip after my horse had nearly gone face first into the mud below only to be told that there weren’t any other steep muddy parts and I should get back on the horse. Silly me, I listened and got back on the horse each time until the time they made everyone get off because the mud was so deep the horse couldn’t walk with anyone on it.

The mud in this part was so deep my feet got stuck in several parts and the mud went past where my huge rubber farm boots covered and got into my socks! This is the muddiest part of the trip and Mike and I emerged looking like we had literally rolled around with the chanchos. When we made it out of the muddy part a guide and my horse were waiting at the bottom but the horse Mike had been on before the muddy part had been reclaimed by Padre Constantino as the rest of the trail (20 minutes max) was actually flat and wide.

We did finally arrive at the small town (with the car that was leaving at 7:00) at 8:30am, a full three hours since we left. Fortunately, everything seems to run a little late and the car was still there. Thirty rainy minutes in the back of the pickup truck got us to the local bus which, after an hour, got us to the first road we had seen in days. From there we got a real bus, and even though Mike had to stand for the first hour and a half, it was a nice ride back up into the mountains.

Everything else went well enough and we arrived back in Cuenca at 2:00 that afternoon, having had only a piece of bread (breakfast in Chancanceo) and a slice of watermelon (from a vendor on the bus) since eating dinner at 5pm the previous day. Being out of water, and incredibly hunger, we were really, really happy to see that vendor.

We were absolutely filthy when we got back home, not to mention tired, and hungry. Luckily there was water, a clean bed, and we had gummy candies, rice krispy treats, and granola waiting for us in our room in Sayausi when we got back (thanks mom, dad, and the store in Cuenca where we buy granola)!

Conclusion

We traveled from 4,400 meters above sea level (just below the snow line) to less than 200 meters above sea level, in 4 days, on a horse. While the people were great, and the scenery fantastic, we would be very surprised if we did it again.


Enjoy the pics....

as always, click to enlarge and to see the captions!