I asked Alejandra if she was available over the weekend. I wanted to do a day trip to Quilotoa, an exctinct volcano whose caledera filled with water to create a three-kilometer-wide lake. An Ecuadorian friend of a friend who had seen I was in Ecuador had messaged me on Instagram to tell me I had to go.

She told me she was available and excited to go, but she had to check with a friend to see if she could borrow his car. She didn’t think her car would make the almost three-hour drive from Quito up into the mountains. At 3,914 meters above sea level, it wa almost a kilometer higher than Quito, which was already at a hefty 2,850 meters above sea level. She said she’d get back to me as soon as she could.

She texted later to say that she had secured her friend’s car and that she’d be picking me up early in the morning. And then she texted to let me know she could no longer go, but her friend Patricio would be happy to take me in his car, the car she was to borrow. Something had come up. She said Patricio would meet me at the same time and sent me his WhatsApp. I thanked her and told her I was sorry she couldn’t come on the adventure and that I was excited to meet her friend.

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It was overcast and not quite light when Patricio arrived. I had packed a number of layers and a waterproof jacket in case of rain. I wasn’t sure what the weather would be, and how the altitude might affect the air temperature. As we were headed out of the city Patricio said he had to get some things and parked near a bakery. I hadn’t had time for breakfast and I bought us some breads and snacks.

Patricio didn’t speak English, though we made do as well as we could. He played a playlist of Spanish songs, and I was excited to hear my favorite Mana song amongst the songs he played. Now and again I would ask him who sang a particular song and I slowly built up a list of artists to check out.

It rained off and on as we drove further into the mountains, sometimes the skies clouded over, sometimes the clouds gave way to piercing blue skies. Out the window, the world became more pastoral and animals began dotting the landscape. In the distance, we could make out people, drawfed by the massive Andes mountain range.

Nearing Quilotoa, we passed a small town with a thriving market. We slowed as we drove down the main street past the town square, and I thought about asking Patricio to stop so we could walk the market. But I was eager to see the lake and hike the volcano before the rains and we passed on.

We parked in a lot by the entrance to the tourist village that had sprung up around the entrance to the volcano. We walked past hostels, hotels, and restaurants, all catering to the visitors who had driven or hiked to see the volcano and the lake contained within its crater.

At the viewing platform we took each other’s photos and sdmired the emerald waters. Clouds shifted along the edge of the caldera, but for the moment, the day was clear and the sun was warm on our backs. We began our descent.

The path was well-maintained to start, but as we continued there were parts that had crumbled into dirt. At times the path was surprisingly steep and our feet sunk into the sandy ground. From the edge of the crater to the lake was about a 30 minute hike. I didn’t want to think about ascending.

Towards the bottom, we veered off the path to take in the view from a rocky cliff that jut out into the water before returning and walking down to the water’s edge, sitting at 3,500 meters above sea level. Kayaks were available for rent and I asked Patricio if he wanted to go for a paddle. He readily agreed and we climbed into a tandem kayak, with Patricio in the back.

As we paddled out, it became apparent that Patricio had very little experience in a kayak, but it was too late to change places; we were already well on our way. Pulling a kayak from the front seat at altitude was no joke, but I was determined to make it to the other side of the lake.

Clouds danced on the edge of the crater, sometimes threatening to spill over and douse us with rain. Upon reaching the other side of the lake, we made our slow way back to the dock. As we arrived a large group of Chinese tourists arrived, and they fell into a set of kayaks, taking selfies and laughing and screaming each other as they kayaked into the lake.

The climb back up was long. Patricio wasn’t quite ready for the climb, and at one point, I decided to push on, fearing that after the next break I wouldn’t want to continue on. At the top, I found a wooden bench and lay down. A young woman sat on the far side of the bench and we struck up a conversation. She was from the United States and was living with a local Ecuadorian family as part of an immersion program. She said that her family had decided to come that morning  and told her to pack for a possible overnight. She was having a great time in Ecuador, practicing the languge, and spending time with her host sister.

Soon, Patricio appeared on the path. I asked if he wanted to have lunch and he nodded quickly. I told him to choose, and within minutes of being seated we were feasting.

On the drive home, the skies grew dark and a heavy rain blackened the skies. At one point I told him I wanted to stop and pick up some watermellon if we passed a stand. I had seen a number of them on our way to Quilotoa and suspected we’d see more as we neared the city. I wasn’t wrong; we soon saw a number of stands. It was pouring rain when we stopped to take a look and I got soaked as I went about making my selection. I asked Patricio if he wanted one; he shrugged and said yes. I picked two out and loaded them into the car.

Back in Ecuador, Patricio invited me for an ice cream. His girlfriend owned a small shop that she ran out of a room on the ground floor of what looked to be an apartment. He suggested the coconut and fished two ice cream pops from out of a freezer. He danced with his girlfriend and chatted her up before she had to go. She disappeared into the back and emerged with a helmet. She bid us goodnight, got onto her scooter, and drove out into the night. 🇪🇨