15th April: The Cota-poxy Volca-nooooo!

When we first arrive at our hotel, the lobby is like a scene from Cocoon: swarms of septuagenarians in zip-off shorts and hiking boots are gathered for a G-Adventures welcome meeting. The strapline for the company is ‘G Is For Good’, but it would qppear that G is also for Geriatric, as these desiccated guests are practically fossils. This is actually pretty reassuring to us - if these ancient relics are able to negotiate hair-raising adrenaline-fuelled day trips then they should be a piece of piss for us, right? 

Right?! 

We set the alarm for 6am, although we both know the fact that Ecuador is 6hrs behind the UK means that this entirely unnecessary - jet lag will have our eyes pinging open at 2am anyway. Well, jet lag and the ominous sound of shrieks, screams and sirens from the city streets below which are clear as a bell, even from our room 9 floors up. 

Sure enough, I’m jolted from my bed in the early hours. It takes a moment for me to remember where I am, then I sit bolt upright as realisation hits: there’s an earthquake. Shit! I scramble to wake De Mama and it dawns on me: the earthquake IS De Mama. She’s snoring so bloody loudly that the windows are rattling in their panes, and even the local junkies slumped on the street below are suddenly alert and looking up for the epicentre of the emergency. I try to calm my racing heart, but it’s futile. Every time I start to snooze she’s off again, triggering Richter-registering rumblings. 

At 5.30am I accept that my shut-eye attempts have been shattered, and haul my ass into the shower. One rocket-fuel espresso later, and having inhaled the breakfast buffet, we run the gauntlet from our hotel to the pick-up point to join our mountaineering group, remembering to look assertive and like we know where we’re going, which is no mean feat for a couple of lone women with zero sense of direction in a strange city, woozy from jetlag and high altitude. 

We arrive at the meeting point wide-eyed and clammy; gallons of adrenaline coursing through our veins already just from the stress of walking down the city streets for 5 minutes. Fight or flight mode: activated. Christ knows how our adrenals will cope with 2 weeks of this 😂. 

Our fellow adventurers are all from the US or Canada, and we make our introductions and set off on our mission. A quick pit stop for coca leaves and coca tea is compulsory - it is widely consumed here for energy and altitude sickness prevention - and then we’re back on the minibus to make our way to Cotapaxi, the second-highest active volcano in the world. As the bus climbs and winds ever-higher, bumping up and down on unmade roads, you can feel the air getting thinner and your lungs having to work harder; breathing feels like an effort, and we’ve not even started hiking yet. 

Finally, we arrive at the foot of the imposing volcano. It’s freezing cold with icy winds biting into our cheeks, and visibility is poor due to the fact we’re in the clouds. The volcano last erupted in January, but our guide tells us not to worry, it’s only sulphuric gas that’s billowing out right now. Only?! There’s always the risk of further eruptions since Cotapaxi is a teenager in volcano years, unpredictable and rebellious. The risk of an avalanche is ever-present too, and there have been many deaths attributed to these sudden snow-dumps. Gulp! We wrap up warm, grab some walking poles and prepare to start our hike. 

Within a matter of minutes it’s clear that some of the group are struggling, and the fun hike the guide described in our briefing is in reality a gruelling near-vertical climb up a gravelly volcanic rock-face which crumbles and slips away underfoot. It’s definitely not for the faint-hearted; Mum’s meds don’t mix well with the coca tea nor the altitude and I can see she’s about to chuck a whitey, so one of the other group members who is also struggling links arms with her at around 6000ft and they opt to escort one another slowly back down to the van. Her lips are blue and she’s breathing hard, but she encourages me to continue, and her calm Canadian companion reassures me that she’ll take good care of her. I hesitate before continuing onwards with the remaining group members; the only thing keeping us going is the promise of steaming mugs of hot chocolate when we get to base camp at 16000ft. 

Once at the camp we marvel at the view, Cheers! with hot chocolate and refuel with sugary snacks, dizzy with the combined effects of altitude and achievement, before slip-sliding back down the steep sides of the volcano, stacking it at various intervals into deep volcanic ash. I’m leaning so far back to counterbalance that I’m practically horizontal, trying to avoid falling onto my newly-healed metacarpals. 

When halfway down we regroup with the rest of our crew, before jumping onto mountain bikes to complete the descent. The last time I cycled (outside of a gym) was on a similar adventure trip down the World’s Most Dangerous Road in Bolivia, 15 years ago, and I swore never again. But here I am, crapping my pants once more as my rickety old bike zooms down the unmade road which wraps around the mountain, my back wheel skidding out as I hit huge volcanic rocks. I’m white-knuckling it all the way down, my top lip stuck to my teeth in an unattractive rat-face, brow furrowed in concentration, and as I whizz past a curious Andean fox I’m not sure who’s more shocked to see the other. 

Once I get into the flow I surprise myself with the euphoria of the experience…although when we eventually reach the lagoon at the foot of the mountain 45 mins later it is a relief to step wobbly-legged back onto solid ground and admire the birds nesting in the reeds and wild horses grazing on the plains. 

By now De Mama has managed to remould herself into the vague form of a human, and we are rewarded for the day’s efforts with a stop-off en route for a hearty Ecuadorian meal and cuddles with a couple of huge bulldogs who reside at the restaurant, which is the highlight of Mum’s day. 

Then it’s back to civilisation and our drop-off point in Quito. A quick pit-stop at the minimart for wine and snacks on our walk home takes a sinister turn when a drugged-up dude starts sizing us up and the shop’s security guard has to hold him back so we can beat a hasty retreat. The shop staff tell us sternly that we should not be out alone (despite it still being daylight), so we scurry back to the safety of our hotel room and collapse on our beds, agreeing that we’ve had more than enough excitement for one day. 

As we reflect on the day’s events before plunging into a fitful slumber I’m sure I hear Mum mumbling something about that “poxy Cotapaxi” 

“I don’t wanna go to the volcano…no…no…nooooo…”