The Rural Route, Ecuador

The expectations we shared about this stage of the route revealed our shortcomings in cartography. What appeared to be a smooth descent along a meandering river into Peru turned out to be a rugged track that circuitously wove its way through fly-infested forest at an insurmountable grade. Apparently, none of us scrutinized the various map keys that indicated a footpath, if any, across the border. But, in characteristic fashion, we pursued it with confidence, ignorance, and obstinance, and ultimately, we managed to tread the non-existent track with gritted teeth, the result of which has left us in Peru with sore jaws.

As Vilcabamba receded behind us, the terrain opened up into a rural landscape that grew in every direction. The expanse flourished, as did our spirits, because for the first time, I felt what I had anticipated Ecuador would be like, finding it in the most unlikely quadrant of the map. The road that led us southward deteriorated incrementally until we found ourselves alone, on a one-lane dirt road that appeared to be the only visible intrusion on Parque Nacional Podocarpus. Finally, the isolation that we craved was all around us.

The remoteness remained for the following few days, as did the decrepit track. Clouds accompanied us for most of the mornings, leaving our gear soggy, smelly, and heavy for the day´s ride, but come afternoon, the blaring sun reminded us that we were near the equator. Other reminders confirmed that we were the ones that were beaten, not the track. Fourteen-percent grades on loose rock with mud that seized our tires ingrained the last few kilometers as being arduous, but authentic. On our last night in Ecuador, we found ourselves camped near a ramshackle sugar cane distillery, tended by a handfull of young military personel who provided the finest liqour to accompany our extravagent rice concoction, the result of which was easily shaken off by the second-breakfast they served us the next morning.

After nearly a week of wondering where and when Peru would be, we came upon a sleepy border crossing at the bottom of another harrowing descent. After a ceremonial stamping process, we were through: 1000 kilometers, 20 days, 1 country. Since then, our bags and bellies have been full of bananas, given with gusto by Peruvian villagers with little to spare. The hospitality we´ve seen has almost mended the cramps, bites, and bruises we suffered by taking the rural route, and yet, there won´t be a shred of regret heard through our whining and scratching.