Cotopaxi to Quilotoa
June 5. We left Cotopaxi National Park later than planned, probably should have spent the night at the park. But stopping at 3pm felt a little too early. We thought we’d make our way and find a place later to park up. The line on the map from Cotopaxi to Quilotoa squiggled and curled promising lots of gear changes & hill climbing. Andy had recommended the drive so we knew it was worth going, but the weather had closed in—thick cloud pressed low over the land, making everything feel heavy and damp, which is why we debated going forwards.
In the end curiosity won out. The road took us west, winding past tiny villages and scattered farms. The clouds hung in the valleys, and in the fading light we caught glimpses of deep canyons plunging beneath us, impossibly green and dramatic. Every bend in the road revealed another layer of hills folded into each other.
We’d pushed it too far. After a long day, and not seeing anywhere to pull off safely, we drove on past Sigchos and through Chugchilán before finally spotting a quiet patch of roadside just after dark. Not glamorous, but peaceful enough to sleep.
morning views
June 6th. Morning brought clarity, the cloud lifted, and with it came a whole new appreciation of where we were. The drive from Chugchilán to Quilotoa was pure magic. Terraced farms clung to steep hillsides, stitched together with narrow trails and lined with hedges of blooming flowers. Faces sitting in doorways, dogs barking as old people walking bent over with heavy loads walked slowly on the road side. People must be up to start working at the first crack of daylight.
We reached the entrance to Quilotoa just before lunch, paid our $2 each at the gate, and rolled slowly into the small town perched on the edge of something immense. The moment we saw the crater rim for the first time, my jaw dropped. The sheer size of it, the depth, the still turquoise green water cupped in the middle.
Crater rim hike
The hike around the crater rim is one of those hikes where the view never lets up and never gets old. From the moment we stepped onto the trail, we were walking the edge of the ancient volcanic caldera.
The full loop is just under 12 km, starting at over 3,900 meters (nearly 13,000 feet). Having been considerably higher just yesterday, we were feeling good and didn’t struggle too much with the altitude. The trail undulates around the rim—sometimes narrow and eroded, other times wide and rolling, all with endless views across the jagged crater walls. Andean peaks in the distance, and tiny villages scattered across the high-altitude páramo, it really was a pretty picture.
In places, the drop is dizzying. In others, the path wanders through scrubby bushes and tufts of grass, allowing a little ease before the next steep climb. One minute we’re peeling off layers under the sun, and the next, clouds race in and I’m zipped up tight against the wind. There’s nothing along the route, just a few worn wooden signs and the occasional local passing by on foot, mostly we had the trail to ourselves.
It took us about 5 hours with a few snack stops and plenty of photo breaks to loop around back to the truck. I can quite honestly say that this was the most beautiful hike I’ve ever done.
