The Valley of Longivity

I’ll put my hands up and say, I absolutely love Ecuador. I spent 6 months living and working in Cuenca, taking Spanish lessons, and getting to know it better. It’s a great country, clean and developed compared to Peru and Bolivia, the people finish their buildings here, it’s got amazing landscapes within a hundred km’s of each other - 6000 metre mountains, Amazon, and surf beaches, they use USD so there’s no issues with currency, and generally, Ecuadorians are sound. Generally.

There is a little undercurrent of dodge in it too. It’d be in the top half of the fun danger scale.

I landed up in the town of Vilcabamba, a little hippie town that’s slowly being overrun by Americans retiring here. It’s planted smack bang in the middle of the valley of longevity- called so because Readers Digest reported an unusual number of 100 year olds here, in 1957. I don’t know much about Ecuadorian history, but I’m confident their birth records in 1857 weren’t great.. After reading up a little bit more, it turns out that most of the residents were high as a kite during the survey by Readers Digest, and talking out of their holes. One had claimed to be the ripe old age of 127, but was found to be 91. Sure what difference does 36 years make?

I can’t blame the American retirees, really. Vilcabamba is a breath of literal fresh air, tropical weather, 25 degrees, a complete contrast to the desert on Peru’s coastline, and with the added plus that there’s no cunts beeping all the time. Talking to a Dutch couple on the bus coming in from the border with Peru, there’s a few walks around Vilcabamba to keep people busy, and one looked exceptionally good - the Mandango hike. A series of ridges cutting across the top of a mountain range, separating two tropical valleys from one another. Online told us a less seductive story, there were some hints that it was a bit dodge. One forum had reports of some local lads with machetes who like to kidnap foreigners and hold them ransom, even groups, and that you needed a guide. The Dutch couple had seen these too, along with other muggings and robberies on the trail. We decided to call into the tourist office in Vilcabamba the next morning to see what the craic was.

The official in the tourist bureau looked shook at 11am on a wet Thursday morning. He must have had a big night, or, by his stagger, a big morning. He said there were no issues with the hike, you don’t need a guide, don’t worry about your safety, it’s all good. He did not want to be there. An American guy came over and asked if we wanted to go with him and his girlfriend to climb it, because he thought it’d be safer in a big group, they were going right away. Having had no breakfast, we declined and got a bite to eat first. We said we’d get a second opinion from our accommodation. At the reception, the owner of our accommodation strongly recommended a guide, and told us that it was obligatory from the tourism office. His map mentioned that you hike through private land at the end of the loop, where you might have to dodge vicious dogs. Lovely.

Ah well, the tourist office said it’d be grand, so the Dutchies and myself went off by ourselves. Walking along the trail just outside Vilcabamba, with overgrown fields on each side of us, a small white spotted mutt jumped out and started leading the way. We called him Negrito. Like a guide dog leading the blind, he seemed to know where we wanted to go, and skipped up the mountain trail ahead of us. The slick rocks slowed us down behind him. The Dutch couple and I discussed the trek. Maybe this is all an elaborate scheme by the Tourist Office to rob people? And Negrito is part of it? Or maybe our accommodation owner just wanted a commission from a guide? Hard to know who to trust.

The weather was getting worse as morning turned to afternoon - clouds were dropping and fog gathered in the valley, and the rain sheeted in warm waves. At the first viewpoint, there was no view. And naturally, we were the only ones here, because who else would climb in shit conditions? The Americans were nowhere to be seen.

The actual Mandango peak is a rocky outcrop, about 100 metres above the viewpoints, with a steep path zigzagging up, almost vertical. Negrito was mad for running through our legs,

as we crept up this 1 foot wide path, with a 50 metre straight drop on our left. Good doggy. At the peak, you could see both valleys below us. On the right, the valley was completely shrouded in white, the emerald vegetation disappearing into the fog a few feet below us, while on the Vilcabamba side, the valley of longevity was just permeable through the cloud.

The trail continued from the Mandango, precariously perched on the ridgeline. Amazing, with steep drops on each side, and with patches of rainforest below, and cactus and spiky trees overgrowing the train. After an hour or so more of hiking, there was a fork in the path. Negrito went downhill, and jumped through a fence here. Do we follow him? Or continue along the ridge to the highest peak on the line, and try to see the path from there. The weather clearing up, we choose the mirador. A nice place to have a break and a snack.

Looking down on the valley from the view point, you could see for miles as the clouds lifted, revealing valleys that looked incredibly green and alive.. And below us, you could see a guy coming out of a shack, with a dog on one side and strapped up with a machete, making his way towards the trailhead. Maybe you should believe some stories on the internet. It was slightly unnerving.

The three of us looked at one another. And made shapes down from the peak fairly rapidly. Negrito had tried to lead us astray. Fences mean private property. Lucky we hadn’t followed that mutt through it, yer man climbing up from below us didn’t look like he wanted a chat.

We didn’t fancy getting macheted or kidnapped and ransomed, and didn’t want to follow the same ridgeline back just in case - it was very exposed. We knew the general direction of the town, and could see a main road 600 metres below, so we went off piste. Two hours of ups and downs following animal paths on the steep ridges, as it turns out, was not a perfect path. Climbing through overgrown trails in the jungle was not recommended. If only someone had a machete to clear the path for us. Three hours later, we were back in Vilcabamba. We needed a pint after this day.

Initially we were refused pints of Pilsner at the bar on the Plaza de Armas. It was an election weekend, and in most Latin American countries, you can’t get alcohol on election weekend. The reason they don’t allow alcohol on these weekends? Apparently, before the law was brought in, on election day candidates used to throw massive street parties, where they’d buy all the alcohol they could for townspeople, get them drunk, and get them to vote for them. Can’t see how that could go wrong. Could explain why the guy in the Tourist office had such a big one last night - it’s like Good Friday for people in Ireland. We did find a shop willing to sell bottles, which we took outside and drank in front of the building on the Plaza de Armas, much to the disapproval of the owner. Today could have gone worse.