Upscale Markets. Way, Way Up.

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All You Need Is a Good Altitude

From mansion elegance to street vendor chic, the great buys in Ecuador may only be exceeded by the breathtaking environs.

» LAUNCH PHOTO GALLERY

Our plan of using drivers was working out well -- it certainly eliminated any fears we may have had about safety -- and it was a scenic three-hour drive down the Pan American Highway the next morning to our new digs, Hosteria La Cienega.

La Cienega was a different kind of "wow." Built in the mid-1600s around a central courtyard, it had a much more formal feel than Cusin, with waiters and bellmen lined up in a stiff little receiving line when we arrived. You didn't exactly want to kick your shoes off in the salon, which was furnished with velvet sofas, a piano, lavish flower arrangements and oil paintings of distinguished-looking people. But what a setting, with views of the spectacular Cotopaxi volcano. We had to see that thing up close. We arranged for Segundo, from the hotel staff, to drive us to Cotopaxi National Park, with the 19,347-foot volcano at its heart.

In the car, there was a collective "oooh!" as we glimpsed the symmetrical, snowy top of the volcano, glowing red from the afternoon sun. Driving up winding roads through the clouds, we parked at 13,500 feet and set out on foot.

While Adele trotted up the mountain like a gazelle, I plodded along with leaden feet, my lungs burning. Did you know high altitude can even make your ears hurt? I glared at two Brits skipping past on their way down. "It's great at the top!" one called out cheerily.

Segundo looked at me with concern. "You're a smoker?" he asked.

Sheesh, no. I'm just out of shape. But it was also the altitude: 15,255 feet when we finally stopped. The big revelation: It was snowing up there, despite the year-round springtime temperatures in the valley. As the Brit said, worth the climb.

There was another natural landmark in the area that we had to see: Quilatoa, an emerald-green lake set in the crater of a volcano. So the next morning, after a pass through the hectic Latacunga market (we stocked up on bananas and citrus fruit), we set out with Segundo again. The plan: We would hike the mile or so down the steep crater to the lake, then ride horses back for the tough uphill climb.

I was happy just with the drive to the lake, over switchbacks and hairpin turns, with panoramic views of the valley below. The green velvet mountains were, amazingly, cultivated as farmland, dotted with bright spots of blue, orange, red and shocking pink: the ponchos of the Indians working in the fields.

In the village of Tigua, we made another find: an artists' co-op selling the town's signature naive paintings on stretched sheepskin canvases, with startlingly fresh religious and agricultural imagery. I bought a fanciful deathbed scene for $95 -- a bargain, trust me -- and another of the crater lake where I'd soon be hiking, illustrated lavishly with condors and llamas.

There were more paintings on display at the trailhead, where indigenous women had set out their wares. They beseeched us with soft, pleading voices. "Amiga, amiga! Laguna, Cotopaxi, condors!" We promised to buy on our way back. And after hiking down the steep incline, kayaking on the pristine lake (how is it possible to get lost in a crater lake? but we did) and riding horses back to the top, we did just that.

Hitting My Limit

Cuenca is widely considered the most beautiful city in Ecuador. The World Heritage Site, with its narrow cobblestone streets and sea of terra cotta roofs, is home to two great cathedrals, a wealth of colonial architecture, world-class museums, markets, sophisticated restaurants and shops. But I'll always remember it for the Mansion Alcazar.

That's where we wrapped up our trip -- not at a hacienda, but an elegant boutique hotel, housed in an 1870s mansion built around a tiled central courtyard and furnished with antiques and Oriental rugs. Our room, with rose-petal-strewn beds and an ornate marble bath, was so far above our usual as to be laughable -- but here, it cost about the same as a flophouse in New York.

We visited lots of museums and cathedrals during our two days in Cuenca, I swear. But we also hit the markets. I hated to admit it, but I was slowing down. I bought a bar of "Come to Me! Come to Me!" soap just for the lurid packaging but mostly indulged in some prime people-watching: a young Indian woman in an indigo velvet skirt trying on a snappy red fedora, guys hawking rat poison and toilet paper, a weathered indigenous woman with a basket on her back sharing the sidewalk with a miniskirted teen in a tight T-shirt decorated with rhinestones that spelled out "Little Angel."

We walked and walked. At a place called 106 Artisans, we found three entire floors packed with vendors, but I didn't buy a thing. I was marketed out. Must have been the altitude.