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Travel to Ecuador and cruise the Galapagos—a given. Travel to Ecuador and trail ride on horseback—not so much. Who would suspect that this South American country offers a unique horseback riding experience mixing dirt road trots through deep valleys to cantering amid bands of wild horses over the lichen-covered altiplanos of Cotopaxi, the world’s highest active volcano. And, at day’s end, an elegant, historic hacienda awaits.

In one week, the “Hacienda-to-Hacienda” tour offered by Ride Andes covers territory north of Quito for four nights and south of the capital for three nights. The areas have two things in common: vistas of snow-capped volcanoes and altitude ranging from 8,000 to 13,000 feet above sea level. Fortunately, the well-conditioned horses do most of the work!

“If you feel any discomfort—headaches, nausea, weakness,” insisted Sally Vergette, the owner/guide of Ride Andes, “tell me immediately. Altitude sickness is nothing to fool around with.”

In our group of nine riders (three Americans, four Brits and two Canadians) that ranged in age from 30ish to 78, no one lost a day to altitude sickness.

Day One: A van picked us up in Quito and deposited us at the Otavalo market to pick up last minute supplies and forgotten items. I had first been there 15 years ago when it was less clogged with tourists. Next stop was Hacienda Pinsaqui (built in 1790 and host to General Simon Bolivar, the South American George Washington who had a penchant for sleeping in commodious homes and massive Photo by Adele Hammond fireplaces). Our rooms were spread among hidden patios abuzz with hummingbirds zip- ping from oversized honeysuckle to gerani- ums, nasturtiums and impatiens. Above the ubiquitous eucalyptus trees, a distant volcano loomed. The patios and main house were laced together with cobblestone paths. At lunch, while we gobbled passion fruit, Sally dutifully warned us about eating seafood, unwashed fruits and vegetables and street food. After lunch we changed into riding gear (“kit” to the Brits in the group) and gathered in a corral to be assigned horses.

The short, shake-down ride allowed Sally to evaluate the abilities of each rider. My horse, Farillon, an Arab-thoroughbred cross, lived up to his breeding.

Antsy, forward and competitive, he pre- ferred a gentle lope to a trot. We finally came to an understanding of sorts regarding the pace as we crossed the Pan American high- way, two lanes connecting Alaska to Chili, and headed to the hills. Sally led the climb above a village and steered us past tethered livestock—pigs, chickens, cows. Short, wiz- ened women burdened with bulging bundles of wood or corn stalks strapped to their backs appeared like moving haystacks in the mist as they wound their way downhill; shy children offered “holas” and a wave as we passed. When we returned to the hacienda, grooms took our horses to a deep-grass paddock and we headed to our rooms to change into casual dinner attire.

Dinner introduced us to some local dishes. Locra con queso, a potato and cheese soup topped with avocado, which quickly became a favorite with the vegetarians.

Everyone retired early in preparation for the first long day of riding.

Day Two: A perfect riding day, with cool morning breezes, a sunny afternoon. However, within the first hour, Farillon threw a shoe. Although I tried to favor that foot over the rocky ground, even with a boot, he continued to stumble a bit during canters; Sally thought he might have pulled something and we exchanged horses after lunch. Her horse, Benjamin, a compact Paso Fino cross, had the only English saddle; the other horses sported comfy McClellan saddles padded with two sheepskins. Tied behind each saddle was a heavy wool poncho should the weather change abruptly. Little did we realize their protective value at the time. 

After more than two hours, our cultural rest-and-water-the-horses stop afforded us time to stretch and watch a traditional back-strap weaving demonstration. Next, we proceeded uphill to picnic on garlic salami, cheese, olives, peanuts roasted corn kernels, oranges, tomatoes, coffee, juice or wine while overlooking Lago San Pablo. Breathing was a tad difficult as we climbed to higher altitude. 

By four o’clock, we were clip-clopping our way through the heavy wooden gates into the cobbled courtyard of Hacienda Cusin (1602). Describing another outstanding horticultural delight would be redundant, but the leather ceiling in the candle-lit dining room off the library where cocktails are served in front of a crackling fire, is worth the stay. 

By this time, many of us were suffering from severely swollen and sunburned lips. The equatorial sun at high altitudes is a serious adversary. We shared stronger and stronger sun blocks and discovered that the area between riding gloves and shirt cuffs was particularly vulnerable. 

Day Three: Another long day of riding began around 10 a.m. because the horses needed two hours to digest their grain due to the altitude. Benjamin was a delight during the morning, but as we descended into the Zuleta valley, he sensed the end and began throwing his head during the long canters, causing me to lose my stirrup and balance numerous times. As I was tiring after six hours in the saddle, I decided to deal with the problem the next day. 

The verdant Zuleta valley was different: larger, well-tended farms, more mechanized farm machinery, and even denser grass. We ended the day at a dairy farm, La Merced Baja with its eclectic mix of rustic Chagra (Ecuadorian cowboy) gear of carved wooden-shoe stirrups, goat skin chaps and mounted bulls’ heads lit by crystal chandeliers. Oswaldo, Diana, their children and dogs welcomed us warmly. Under strange bumps in the land rest caches of pre-Incan pottery; La Merced Baja displayed their collection in the living room. In addition to maintaining a hand-milked dairy heard of 130, Oswaldo raises champion Andulusians and fighting bulls.

After a jolly cocktail hour, the three-course dinner including steamed corn and cheese tamales served by Diana and an Indian woman in traditional dress consisting of a dark blue scarf, a necklace of multiple strands of golden beads, and a white blouse with embroidered, flounced sleeves (Zuleta women are renown for their embroidery), and a dark, full, long skirt.

Throughout Ecuador, many women continue to dress in native attire; men do so to a lesser extent, sporting felt bowlers and colorful ponchos. Dessert was a tart but refreshing traditional fruit pudding/mousse topped with a mint leaf.

Oswaldo lit a fire in the corner fireplace in my room and I fell soundly asleep, grateful for the hot water bottle tucked between my sheets.

Day Four: Awakened by the soft mooing
of cows outside my room, we lingered over coffee before bouncing over rutted roads to view—from a safe distance—the fierce black bulls double-fenced in a canyon. While waiting for our horses to be tacked up, we watched the equine dentist who was riding with us for three days work on Kilimanyaro, the farm’s prized Andulusian stud.

The climb out of the Zuleta valley was steep and long. As we crested the peak overlooking the ranch, we allowed the horses a much deserved rest. Following Sally’s directions to control Benjamin (“sit back and play with the reins every time he tosses his head”) the canters soon smoothed out.

After another hour, we left the horses in order to take a van to La Compania, a 100 year old hacienda that overflowed with magnificent bouquets of roses placed amid original antique furnishings. Again, because of the high equatorial sun straight overhead, the gardens outdid themselves and thousands of rose petals floated in the front fountain pool. We were graciously greeted by the owners, served a sumptious buffet lunch followed by a tour of the family’s 1690 chapel. The day ended with a visit to their rose plantation where hundreds of people worked non-stop cutting, sorting and wrapping millions of roses to be exported for Valentine’s Day .

Reluctantly, we bundled into the van and headed south through the Avenue of the Volcanoes and Quito’s traffic to Hacienda La Carriona (1800s) in the Valley of the Chillos where we were greeted by the resident alpaca. After dinner, several of us indulged in a massage in our oversized rooms—again with fireplaces.

Day Five: Today’s ride would take us further away from a rescuing van than at any other point on the tour. I awoke feeling lifeless and told Sally of my decision to not ride. With none of the classic symptoms of altitude sickness, the best we could determine was that my low blood pressure had collided with the high altitude. The suggested solution was a muddy mix of raw sugar and bottled water, which I dutifully sipped.

Waving good-bye to my buddies, I chatted in halting Spanish with the van driver as we headed to Hosteria La Cienega where we would spend two nights.

Hosteria La Cienega (1600s), its classic, white washed Moorish style facade framed by towering, dark eucalyptus trees lining the quarter
mile entrance, epitomizes Ecuadorian haciendas. Built on marsh lands, it has survived earthquakes and volcanic eruptions while hosting foreign scientific expeditions studying these phenomena. Alexander von Humboldt slept here. A formal interior garden is flanked by the private chapel with its twin bells and elaborate wooden door. Not a bad place to spend a day of rest with a good book, even if my fantasy of riding down the tree shaded entrance never materialized. The warm sugar cane liquour and rum drink served before dinner plus the energetic music of Grupo de Musica Latinoamericana Cotopaxi wasn’t bad either.

Day Six: To market we go. This time there was nary a tourista in sight amongst the squealing pigs and meandering cows and llamas. We spent two hours browsing and shopping for everything from knitted finger puppets to picnic cloths to paintings and hay for the horses.

At Cienega, I was given General to ride for the next two days. A dream horse. He had followed our group untethered for two days and his canters felt like I was sitting on a swaying sofa. That morning, we kicked up the dust on many long canters as we headed for Cotopaxi National Park where we left the horses for the last day’s ride.

A buffet lunch at Hacienda Avelina included an outstanding quinoa soup. We returned to Cienega for dinner, to collect our laundry and pack for our last night before heading back to Quito.

Day Seven: On our drive to retrieve our horses at the gate of Cotopaxi Park, we stopped at Hacienda San Augustin de Callo, a five star establishment erected over exquisitely
fitted Incan stone walls. In true tourist fashion, we wound up feeding carrots to a herd of llamas before heading to our horses.

Again, long canters as we climbed to 13,000 feet above sea level. Between the jagged
remains of volcanic walls, we reached the vast, grey, lichen-covered altiplanos dotted with small bands of wild horses. Adele, our official photographer, raced slightly ahead of our group in order to turn and photograph us as we cantered toward a shallow lake.

At the lake, Adele waded into the lake to photograph the horses watering under the shadow of Cotopaxi’s glacier.

Adele’s horse, however, decided it was time to bathe and slowly began to roll. Stepping out of her stirrups, Adele went over with him but, a true photographer, she managed
to hold her camera aloft in one hand as her boots filled with water and she was doused. At this moment, a wickedly cold wind whistled and scoured the expanses. We grabbed for jackets or those thick ponchos on the saddles and threw Adele any dry clothing we happened to have stuffed into our saddle bags.

Once reorganized, we headed at a brisk pace to the lodge where lunch and a wood-burning stove awaited us.

Brian, 78, gave a charming farewell toast. “I want to thank Sally for another wonderful ride. She is outstanding and I will be doing the Over the Andes ride with her in two years with my granddaughters.

And, I want to thank you ladies for including me as a token male. If I was forty years younger and between marriages, I think this would have been a very different ride. However, I will leave that to your imaginations
and my fantasies.”

Lunch was followed by a sad, short ride to the rustic Hacienda El Porvenir where we gave our horses a final pat and headed back to Quito. With so much friendship, sharing and exposure to Ecuador, it hardly seemed possible that a week had passed.