Ciara decided that the only way to atone for eating horse four days ago would be for us to sit on one and force it carry us to the top of a bloody enormous mountain. I am not convinced the horse would agree.
We looked at a few places around town that rented horses and found a reputable looking one that offered three options. A four-hour trek for $25, a two-hour trek for $15, or for the bargain price of $2 some little bloke would follow us around clapping coconuts whilst we whipped him.
We opted for the four-hour trek and it was fantastic choice with some of the most (CLICHÉ ALERT) stunning scenery I have seen in South America. The trails that the horses followed along the top of the mountains were precarious to say the least with either side falling away hundreds of metres to rocks below – it was around this time I started to question the logic of putting my life in the hands of an animal whose mother I may have recently eaten, however, the animal was only keen on sugar cane not revenge and safely took us up and down.
In the afternoon we went to the Rum Wilco Nature Reserve which offers a variety of hiking options. I have done a fair bit of hiking in the past and know that maps (in most countries) when describing walks will usually get a volunteer whose level of fitness is comparable to Stephen Hawking watch him do it then publish that as a guide.
Not in Ecuador. The dubious map we received described one trail as 'rugged' which is not precisely how I would have described it unless you were following 'rugged' with the words 'death march'. I had taken to rugged to mean the way Gordon Ramsey describes a hastily-put-together salad. It was after climbing the fallen trees, squelching through the venomous spider and snake bog, just as we approached the vertical wall of rock, that CIara and I decided rugged – in this case – might actually mean certain death and turned back.
Recovering in the evening I was not overly dispirited when the waiter told me they had sold out of frogs legs.
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