The second day on the Quilotoa Loop. 

As mentioned before, we thought this Loop was just a trail around the Quilotoa lake, but in fact it’s a much larger area and for us the lake was not even the highlight. So what does it mean?

There is a road that shoots off from Pan-American highway and literally loops through the countryside and many small indigenous establishments, including Quilotoa, ending in a not so interesting town Latacunga back on Pan-Am. Off that looping road there are numerous walking trails, which snake through tiny villages and drop dead stunning landscapes. And so we hiked for two days on very quiet and remote paths.

The perfect way to hike the Loop would be to start from Tigua and finish at whichever village you want, but we hadn’t done the research and headed straight to Quilotoa by bus and hiked to the furthest point on the Loop, Chugchilan. Then we got a bus back to Tigua, a well known small community of artists, who paint landscapes in a particular style that became renowned in the 70s. We were going to have a very relaxed day in a local hospedaje (home stay) and pay a visit to the gallery.

The bus clocked another record time as it dropped us off at a sign which pointed to Tigua. (The driver chucked his rubbish out the window despite the signs telling passengers not to do it. Come on man!? Have some pride!) From here on it was a walk on a dirt road to this strange little village that many locals weren’t aware of. Always a comforting sign. And so we walked. And walked, and walked. We noticed nothing that looked like accommodation, never mind a gallery. There was a deserted school and a small farm, which showed no activity. We were also distracted by Hendrik causing the first bit of plastic waste on our journey when he dropped the lens cap into the only river flowing through the area. Rescue search produced no success.

The scenery was once again sublime so we didn’t mind just wondering for now. In the distance there appeared a small colourful cluster of buildings, which we assumed must be the artists’ community. It was a graveyard. And also the end of the road literally speaking.

We walked back some 30 min and took the option B from the T junction, from where we’d previously headed towards the tombstones. There was a shepherdess in the distance herding a bundle of sheep. We chased her down to ask about art. She had no idea what we were talking about, but pointed us towards the lodge, we were looking for. It was an hour’s walk back to where we came from. Of course, it was the farm we walked past, but didn’t think anything of. This time we walked in and discovered a beautiful farmhouse at the back and were greeted by a gentleman in a sombrero. A phenomenal little room was ready for us.

Posada la Tigua is one of the most pleasant places one could hope to stay. It is run by a family who grow most of the produce they cook for supper and breakfast in their own back garden organically. The house is kitted out with animal skins and alpaca wool blankets. No internet, no phone, no TV, but plenty of great hospitality and excellent food.

We asked about the gallery again, received what we thought were pretty clear directions and stubbornly set forth again to discover it. We walked an hour to the same point where we previously met the shepherdess and had turned back, but this time we carried on. For another hour and some. The sun was shining bright, the scenery was spectacular, but no gallery in sight and doubt was eating into our enthusiasm. Half way up another mountain, we stopped to consult with a family working in their field. They knew nothing about the gallery or any sort of Tigua painting, but what they did know was that the path we were on was headed to Quilotoa. Thank you, but we came from there this morning. Although we turned back, we did notice a bright white building on another mountain nearby. Considering that most locals lived in humble little huts, this outstanding building must’ve been the gallery. You can see it shining in the background.

It took us about an hour again to reach this modern and fashionable white house. But a gallery it was not. A hairy geezer in pants came out music blaring from a cassette player and announced it was his home. We turned back again,  we were used to it by now and walked to our home for the night defeated and knackered yet filled to the brim with joy for the beautiful landscape and interesting rural life we got to witness.

This was a story of three culture vultures searching for a gallery in the wasteland for 8h. Don’t think we’ll be interested in a gallery any time soon. Instead we got to create some art ourselves in our farm stay, by planting potatoes with our hosts and lovely fellow travellers, Melanie and Patrick. The star of the show is the acclaimed Muro Poncho variety. Here’s how the magic happens:

PS! The following day we walked 30 minutes to the road, jumped on a bus for 5 minutes and arrived at the gallery. 4 galleries to be correct. Lucky we didn’t know about the bus option the day before, we would’ve missed out on an adventure. Getting lost is often the best part of travelling. The artwork wasn’t very impressive, but we did sort Frida out with a strong new look.

Still writing from a cabin by Lake Titikaka, in torrential rain, catching up on thoughts and feelings. Date unknown.