
Courtesy of Louisa Rogers
A year ago, a friend hiked the Quilotoa Loop, a three-day high-elevation trek in the Ecuadorian Andes. It’s a challenging trek culminating at 13,000 feet on the rim of a crater lake located three hours south of Quito.
Despite its name, it’s not a loop, but a 22-mile point-to-point route with 7,100 feet elevation gain. As lovers of long-distance walks, my husband and I were intrigued. We wondered if we could do it at our ages — 82 and 73 — and decided to give it a try this April. While a lot of it was difficult, we’re so glad we went.
Before starting our journey, we adapted to the elevation
After staying in Quito for two days to adapt to the elevation, we hired an Uber for $45 to drive us two and a half hours to our hostel in Sigchos. We were the only guests there. Because it was the rainy season, most of the people we saw weren’t other trekkers, but innkeepers, shepherds, and farmers, looking tough and hardy from daily physical work at high elevation.
That night, after a filling home-cooked dinner of potato soup, beans, corn, cheese, and homemade bread, I slept restlessly, worrying about our fitness levels and if we’d get soaked, as afternoon thunderstorms were common.
The next morning, we established our pattern of leaving before 7 a.m. after a hearty breakfast. Though each day only involved 6-8 miles of trail, we had to pace ourselves because high-elevation hiking takes much more exertion.
The terrain was steep, uneven, and muddy, plus we each had health challenges: I have a metal plate and pins in my right ankle, which can cause osteoarthritic tenderness and stiffness, while Barry has lingering chemo fatigue after contracting lymphoma last year.

Courtesy of Louisa Rogers
There were a few surprises on the trail
An hour outside Sigchos, as we headed down a steep track into a canyon, we suddenly reached a huge mudslide, not visible on our trail app, and had to backtrack.
Eventually, we crossed a creek, then started plodding up the other side of the canyon, a slippery, muddy stretch. When we finally reached a paved road, we were relieved to see the village of Isinlivi, our destination, at what looked like only a short distance away.
But it was another good hour up steep, mossy paths before we got to the village. It was a six-mile hike with only 1,450 feet of ascent, but it took us a humbling six hours.
The hostels were fantastic
Our hostel in Isinlivi felt like a boutique hotel, with home-cooked meals, wifi, a fireplace, bar, spa, sauna, and even yoga classes, perfect for relaxing tight muscles. Since the only other hikers there were a friendly Israeli couple and their adult son, the owner offered us a cottage overlooking the valley for the price of a single room. It was so luxurious, Barry wanted to stay another night, but I felt we had barely gotten into the rhythm of hiking, so we left the next day. Now I wish we’d stayed!
Our later hostels were not as elegant, but they too offered “Turkish saunas,” or steam baths with fragrant eucalyptus leaves. The second night, I lingered in the hostel’s steam room for a full hour, breathing in the eucalyptus and listening to the thrum of heavy rain outside.

Courtesy of Louisa Rogers
The last day was the toughest
The third day we climbed a tiring 3,650 feet to the rim of the lake. As I looked down into the caldera, I admired the turquoise water, but knew we still had more than an hour’s walk to our final destination, the touristy village of Quilotoa. As it turned out, because we missed our turnoff, it took us an extra hour, and en route we got drenched for the first time.
Our hostel caretakers in Quitoloa took good care of us. The husband built a wood fire where we huddled while we dried our wet clothes and consumed his wife’s lentil soup and homemade bread.
It was difficult, but beautiful
Strenuous as the trek was, I found the combination of simple beauty, invigorating mountain air, and the unthinking act of putting one foot in front of the other almost mystical. I was enchanted by the beauty — deep valleys lined with ridges of different shades of green and lush pastures dotted with llamas and cows. I felt like I was seeing green for the first time in my life.
Now that I’m back into my sea-level routines, I’m still inspired by those strong, wiry shepherds and farmers. Thanks to them, I’ve set a higher bar for myself. Walking the Quilotoa Loop reminded me of what I’m still capable of in my 70s.
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