Ecuador - Chimborazo & Galapagos
I landed high in Quito, Ecuador, just past midnight. The city lights stretched across the mountains like scattered embers, flickering in the thin Andean air. My flight from Phoenix connected through Houston, and by the time I reached my hotel, it was 2 a.m. I checked into my executive suite overlooking the city, exhausted but in awe of the altitude and the vastness below. Even half-asleep, I could feel that I was standing closer to the sky.
Sunday morning, I woke early to attend Mass at the Basilica del Voto Nacional, one of the most striking cathedrals in South America. The bells echoed through the city, and the air carried the scent of morning rain. After Mass, I explored La Carolina Park, where families strolled and soccer games filled the fields. Quito was alive, chaotic, and full of color. By nightfall, I returned to my hotel to rest. The next morning would begin the true test of the trip: Chimborazo.
I had booked my climb through Kuntur Adventures, and my guide Ramiro was with me every step of the way. Monday morning, we drove four hours south from Quito toward the mountain. The ride felt surreal, passing through small towns, past llamas and dusty fields, until the white crown of Chimborazo appeared in the distance. At 20,548 feet, it stands as the closest point on Earth to the sun, even higher than Everest when measured from the planet’s core.
At the park entrance, we filled out paperwork and drove up to the base camp at 15,000 feet. The air was thin and sharp. From there, I changed, packed up, and started hiking toward high camp at 17,500 feet. The trail was steady but relentless, climbing through scree and snowfields under gray skies. I reached high camp late in the afternoon, where I had dinner and managed maybe four hours of restless sleep.
At 11 p.m., I woke, strapped on my crampons, and began the ascent. It had snowed for hours earlier that day, and the fresh powder made the climb dangerous. No one would summit that night. By 19,400 feet, I was exhausted and numb from the cold. The wind howled, the snow reflected moonlight, and I made the call to turn back. For a few minutes, I stood there alone, the highest I had ever been in my life. I looked up at the dark sky, realizing the lesson wasn’t in reaching the top. It was in knowing when to stop.
By 6 a.m., I was back at high camp. I slept for two hours, ate breakfast, and began the descent. The drive back to Quito felt endless, but peaceful. I had pushed myself harder than ever before, and I had made it higher than I ever thought possible. Tuesday night, I packed my bags again. The next morning, a new adventure waited.
At the airport, I went through extra screening to get my TCT card for the Galápagos Islands. From Quito, I flew Avianca to Baltra, then went through another inspection to prevent non-native species from entering the islands. The journey to my hotel was a chain of connections: bus to the dock, ferry to Santa Cruz Island, another bus to Puerto Ayora, and finally a taxi to Hotel Flamingo.
That afternoon, I visited the Galapagos Frontier Reserve and saw the giant Galápagos tortoises up close. They moved slowly but carried centuries of quiet wisdom. I decided to run the 3.5 miles back to the hotel, passing cows, stray dogs, and more tortoises along the way. The air smelled of salt and volcanic dust, and it felt good to run again.
Thursday was scuba diving day at Mosquera and Daphne Menor. Beneath the water, the world changed entirely. I swam with hammerhead and Galápagos sharks, manta rays, and schools of tropical fish that shimmered like glass. Starfish and sea turtles drifted across the ocean floor. The silence of the deep was perfect. When I surfaced, the crew laughed as I realized I had lost my hat to the current. I let it go, happy to leave something behind.
Friday, I joined an island-hopping snorkeling tour at Pinzón Island. Sea lions played in the water, bumping into fins and twisting like dancers. Sea turtles swam beside me, slow and unbothered, while crabs crawled along the rocks. It felt like living inside a dream that didn’t want to end.
Saturday, I flew back to Quito with a layover in Guayaquil, and by Sunday at midnight, I was on my way home to Phoenix, once again passing through Houston. The seafood, the people, and the sheer wonder of it all made Ecuador one of the most unforgettable trips I have ever taken.
The song I wrote afterward, “Closer to the Sun,” tells the story best. It’s about the balance between chasing summits and finding peace when you fall short. It’s about learning that victory isn’t only at the top of the mountain but also in every breath you take along the way.
From the thin air of Chimborazo to the salt of the Galápagos, I found something deeper than I expected. You can climb, dive, and run across the world, but the lesson is the same. The Earth doesn’t belong to us. We just walk where rivers run. And sometimes, if we’re lucky, we get a little closer to the sun.
