Big Sur

The border town of Tulcán isn't Ecuador's most picturesque place but its newly renovated market with delicious fruit juice stalls, free wi-fi and cheap set lunches were enough to give us pleasant welcome into the country.

We'd heard from other cyclists of a road leaving Tulcán leading up into the páramo highlands that was found by looking for the statue of a dwarf resembling Hitler, brandishing a rifle outside a modernist church….with such weird and specific instructions we couldn't really go wrong and sure enough, we found the statue and followed our road…

…to a remote camp spot at around 2800m where we dropped the bikes, put on all of our clothes and fired up the stove to make a hot chocolate in an attempt to warm up in Ecuador's cooler climes.

After a night of pure silence, camped under a blanket of crisp, crystal stars we were up early and raring to go across the páramo…

…16km more of climbing to the top and every centimetre of it covered in frailejones.

Around every corner these plants, which are only found above 3000m in Venezuela, Colombia and Ecuador, were waiting to welcome us….

…beautiful, eerie, and so unlike any terrain we've encountered elsewhere.

There are other species of plant that thrive here too…delicate colours and textures we were surprised to find in such harsh conditions.

No need to worry about encountering any other traffic on this lonely desolate road…

…which gives us time to get to know these plants a little more intimately…

…I enjoyed stroking their furry leaves!

In beautiful weather, we then descend over 50km, through a vibrant patchwork of fields…

…down and down and into more rugged terrain that reminds us we have truly reached the Andes. Those mountains looming ahead of us today, will be the climbs we have to undertake tomorrow, and the next day, and the next day.

Reaching Salinas, just off the Pan American which we have (smugly) successfully avoided so far, we encounter a sleepy forgotten town on the edge of the mountains…

…and on leaving, in another attempt to avoid the main road, we kind of make up a route as we go along. Using Volcano Cotacachi as a landmark, we stumble upon the old route to Ibarra…

…weaving along dirt tracks reminiscent of Mexico…

…through the familiar heat of sugar cane fields and down into a quarry…

…which at first glance makes us think we've been a bit ambitious with our wanderings and we've hit a dead end. Beady eyed Jams spots an exit however and…

…a series of tunnels from an old railway line guide us back to the “road” towards Imbaya.

Throughout Central America, I wailed with discomfort whenever we reached a colonial town because it inevitably meant saddle-sore inducing cobbled streets. Imagine my dismay then at arriving in Ecuador to find that cobbled roads are not something reserved only for pretty towns here, but are seen as a legitimate road building technique. So it seems James will have to suffer much more of my complaining if all of the ascents ahead of us are to be cobbled.

Excitement levels went up considerably when I saw this sign, thinking my favourite chickpea snack was for sale nearby…whilst I was salivating with anticipation, Jams helpfully pointed out that “humus” in this case is the Spanish word for soil…I know, I know, it's not even spelt the same way but after nearly two years of craving, you can't blame a girl for getting excited.

It couldn't have felt more different to our morning's ride when we hit the Pan American at Ibarra. From field tracks to four lane highway in just a few hours. Thankfully we only had to do 4km on this monstrosity before exiting again for a more peaceful route to Otavalo.

Along the way, we learned, from a helpful poster in a fruit and veg shop, that the current president of Ecuador, Rafael Correa, shares our passion for two wheels.

Ahead of us lie more mountains, greater altitude, more snow and colder weather than we will have experienced on this trip so far. We take the chance to stock up on woolly winter warmers in Otavalo, a town famous for a market selling deliciously snuggly clothing made from llama and alpaca wool.

Another cobbled climb led us to a wonderful camping spot between two volcanoes. Looking right we had Imbabura standing majestically in the last of the evening light and…

…looking left the summit of Cotacachi was shrouded in clouds but still there…looming from the other side. Ecuador, land of volcanoes.

There are no pictures of our 14km cobbled climb up to the Lagunas de Mojanda, a series of lakes at 3700m, partly because it was extremely misty but also because it took every breath, every cell of the body to turn the pedals to get up there. We are definitely still adjusting to the altitude here, but it's all good training for when we expect to reach dizzy heights of 5000m in Bolivia. This was the first we saw of the lakes as we rounded the corner at the top of (what I thought was) the end of the climb.

We had the place to ourselves and as the mist cleared and a deliciously warm sun showed itself, we followed the twisting path alongside these beautiful lakes.

As with the páramo between Tulcán and El Angel, we were discovering stunning nature we'd never seen before. South America's version of thistles perhaps?

Rounding the lake, we were foolish to think the hard work was over and this steep section had us both off and pushing – we are thankful that we've got the weight of the bikes down as low as possible to be able to – just about – tackle tracks like this.

After lunch, sheltering out of the wind at an deserted tourist complex, the realisation slowly dawned on me that there was more climbing to come. If the lakes were in a basin, it was inevitable that we had to climb back out of it…steep grade on loose dirt after lunch…there was a lot of swearing. But at least the view was nice.

As I was choking to take in air when we got to the top, this sign managed to bring a grin to my face…a reminder, in case we needed it, that cyclists can expect steep climbs on uneven surfaces around here.

Finally we reach the top and at 4000m it's the highest climb of our trip so far. The rugged backdrop, fluffy white clouds and bright sunshine make it all seem worth it…

…especially when you look back and are rewarded with this view…

…and you look ahead and see that the road to come is just as inviting.

Setting out on the descent to Tabacundo, James looks as thought he's about to ride right off the edge and into the clouds.

Halfway down the descent we are stopped in our tracks by a team of horses who demand all the space on the road as they gallop on by.

Arriving in Tabacundo, we decide it's time to try out some Ecuadorian snacks and we waste no time in ordering one of everything…so we can make some discerning choices of course. Clockwise from top left: potatoes with greens and toasted maize, wrapped humitas (maize dumplings with cheese and sugar), an unwrapped humita ready for eating and cheese empanadas…thankfully, everything was yummy and passed the test.

While I was stocking up with veg at the market, James was approached by Germán who runs a paintballing ranch just outside Tabacundo. He generously invited us to camp at his house where he and his wife Fabiola made us incredibly welcome. We were treated to an open fire, beer and delicious food, and even an exclusive performance of traditional costume and local dancing – usually only seen at the month long festival for St Peter and Paul held in June.

After a big breakfast with Germán and Fabiola we set off to cross the equator. Reaching this landmark, I felt it important to remind James which direction we should be heading in over the next nine months – the same as always….generally…sort of…south.

Cobbles keep you warm. A massive cobble sceptic, I found that they do have a benefit after all…tackling a 15km climb on cobbles definitely maintains a cosy body temperature.

This donkey, just near volcano Cotopaxi, has just the right amount of snuggly fur to keep a smile on his face…ascending higher, the donkeys put on more fur, getting shaggier and hardier.

On the approach to Volcán Cotopaxi = layer up with all the clothes you've got and then sit back, pedal and enjoy the view. Riding your bike doesn't get much more spectacular than this.

Determined to soak up this incredible view, we search around a boulder field for a good sized rock to shelter behind…

…and find ourselves with a sweet spot to spend the night.

Not all of our campsites are as idyllic as this and we were so lucky that the volcano came out to play having been shrouded in cloud for most of the day.

Local flora.

With just a few clouds and soft morning sunshine, Cotopaxi knows very well how to show off all of its 5897 metres.

Never more grateful for our trusty little stove, we are making hot drinks throughout the day to keep warm. A shame then, that on this particularly crisp morning, we run out of fuel for our stove and have to abandon plans for coffee and porridge.

Arriving in the bleak little village of Yanaurcu Grande, we find Patricio pushing his five year old daughter home in a wheelbarrow. Everyone shelters together in his little shop from the miserable weather and then he kindly invites us to camp at his place across the square.

As she refuses to give us her name, we christen Patricio's daughter “La Osita”, the little bear.

Not only bears trying to stay snuggly around here. The sheep in this neck of the woods have developed a dashing furry coat to keep the warm in and the chills out…quite how they manage to see anything is another story.

Camping in Patricio's sheltered yard is a blessing as the mist rolls in and the rain comes down; not before the day goes out with a spectacular sunset…

…and then an early morning farewell. Standing in the rain, with La Osita perched on my bike, we have a last minute giggle and wave goodbye before disappearing into the mist. The little bear is off to school and we are headed for the Quilotoa Loop, a series of roads taking us past Lago Quilotoa, a crater lake at 3800m.

Climbing out of Yanaurcu Grande, another volcano comes into view. The snow covered twin peaks of Illiniza.

One. Chilly. Cyclist.

On a bitterly cold descent to the village of Isinliví, we meet Patricio's father coming towards us on his donkey. With only the traditional felt hat common in these parts and a fleece jacket to keep him warm, I am surprised he's not shivering away like us.

“Warning: snow-capped volcanoes in mirror may be further away than they appear.”

After a couple of nights camping in the cold, we're grateful to come indoors at Chugchilán. Thanks to a very generous gift from Raul & Lina in Medellín, we can splash out and spend a night at the lovely Black Sheep Inn…

…where the eco-tourism credentials are impressive. Recycled rainwater feeds a living flower bed in the toilet…

…and walls are given a cheerful look with colourful old glass bottles.

I am half tempted to pinch a pair of these snugglies while we are at the Black Sheep. My thick smart wool socks are currently my most prized possessions and seeing these beauties all lined up makes me crave a second pair.

Making friends with one of the two resident llamas at the Black Sheep…

…it seems she's more interested in her breakfast…

…but eventually she pauses for a moment to bat her eyelashes and pose for the camera.

Half a day's climbing through ugly roadworks and in freezing rain brings us to the beautiful Lago Quilotoa. We're not lucky enough to see the famous turquoise colours in the water but we do catch it at sunrise the next morning with Illiniza lurking in the background.

We visit the colourful Saturday market in Zumbahua and take note of how the locals wrap up against the cold. I'm still not convinced that the trademark felt hats worn in these parts are enough to keep you warm but teamed with a colourful poncho and layers of blankets, they do look very fetching.

Not many rides in Ecuador start like this: a smooth, fast descent from Quilotoa…

…past more of those classic patchwork fields of green…

..and towards Zumbahua, where we'd visited the market the day before. Today, the town feels sleepy, hungover even – but not enough to stop Sunday League football, which is in full swing against a looming Andean backdrop.

From Zumbahua, we wind our way slowly up on the paved road towards Quevedo, before turning off onto a dirt road across the páramo towards Angamarca – “Nido de Condores”, or “The Condors' Nest”.

As the road winds its way up past thatched shepherds' huts, the clouds close in, the rain begins to fall and we start to get that cold and wet páramo feeling. A bus driver stops to ask where we are headed. “Angamarca!” we reply. He bursts out laughing, and rolls on.

Eventually we hit the top of the pass and begin a freezing descent, pausing to defrost our fingers and admire this Superpig in his fertiliser bag cape. You know it's wet when even the pigs are wearing their rain gear…

…and we are truly sodden by the time we roll into Angamarca. We get lucky – it turns out the village is home to an Italian mission, and the priest takes pity on the two soggy cyclists asking for permission to camp on his very nicely-tended lawn. Within half an hour we are set up with bunk beds, sipping espresso and tucking into a pasta meal. Grazie mille Padre Bautista e Mario!

The next morning the sun is shining, revealing Angamarca in all its tumbledown, friendly charm.

We head for the village bakery to begin our daily search for cheap, filling calories. To our delight, Ecuador seems to have far more sophisticated bakery tastes than Colombia. Baguettes, brown bread that's not sweet, and, best of all… croissants, or cachos as they are known here. We sit in the sunshine and devour a batch fresh out of the oven.

From Angamarca, the Cordillera begins to drop away towards the coast, and we descend – past sheep, cows and goats brought out to the roadside to graze, watched over by young children and old ladies…

…and past farmers working the impossibly steep fields. Before reaching the town of El Corazón, we turn off in Pinllopata onto a seasonal track which should lead us towards Simiátug.

Just as the now regular afternoon deluge begins, we make it to Quishpe, a sorry cluster of houses draped in plastic sheeting for the rainy season. We shelter in the porch of Maria's shop, and watch as the basketball court where we are planning to camp begins to fill up like a swimming pool…

…and so when Maria offers us a spare room to roll out our mats, we are quick to accept.

The next morning the rain is still falling, and even the donkeys are refusing to budge. Gradually though, the downpour eases and we set off nervously, expecting a mud-bath…

…and we're not disappointed. Luckily though, most of the route is still rideable…

…give or take the odd minor landslide, which calls for a bit of push and shove. Somewhere under here, there is a track.

By mid-morning the clouds begin to disperse, breaking the misty bubble we have been riding in, and revealing the road snaking ahead, ever upwards.

By Mindina, a calorie crisis is looming and we set about finding the village shop. It's dusty and half-empty, but with the stove on hand you can always rely on bread and eggs to plug the gap. Possibly the yellowest eggs I have ever eaten – somehow I think they may have been free-range.

We had been warned that this leg to Simiátug had a sting in the tail, and so it proves. Some very thoughtful, very un-Ecuadorian switchbacks provide the warm up; followed by a far more typical, brutally steep and direct last few km into Simiátug.

The scenery as ever does its best to distract, as we crawl our way up through a beautiful lush valley peppered with wild flowers. Not for the first time in Ecuador, it feels like we had been transported back to Scotland or the Lake District.

Gourmet street food, Ecuadorian style. After days of fantasising about chips (our food fantasies go through these phases), we make it to Simiátug and Sarah finally gets to indulge. It definitely feels like we've earned them.

After a night snoring peacefully on the floor of the office of the Ministry of Agriculture (long story), we set out to explore Simiátug in the morning sunshine. It's a friendly, well-worn place – all ramshackle wooden balconies…

…peeling walls and intriguing doorways.

By pure luck, we've managed to coincide with the town's weekly market. It's by far the least touristy and most interesting we've seen so far – piles of fresh veg laid out on simple wooden tables…

…and the effortlessly cool Ecuadorian felt hats. Gringos need not apply.

Forget poncy cycle tourists, these guys are the real heroes of the Latin American cycling world. They spend all day every day hauling massive loads on their cargo bikes – and still manage a friendly grin.

We come across a guy who must be in his seventies struggling to push his bike loaded with chairs, tables and salted fish up the slope into the market place, and so I offer to lend a hand. Don't worry, I say, I've had a bit of practice at pushing heavy bikes up hills around here.

Back in the main square, the local volleyball tournament is in full swing as the mist rolls in. This seems to be Ecuador's national sport, with courts squeezed into flat spaces in even the most tiny of villages.

The next morning, we set off towards Chimborazo and Riobamba, hoping to make it in time for Easter. In accordance with Bolívar's First Law of Andean Town Placement, Simiatúg is conveniently nestled halfway up the mountainside – meaning that as well as a climb into the town, we are treated to a climb out of it as well…

…up towards the distant radio masts.

Even on rested legs, it's not easy, gaining 1,000m over just 14km into a vicious headwind…

…but by the top, we really are up above the clouds. At least, you'd think, we'd be rewarded with a decent descent…which we are – except it's cobbled. And so after 10km of truly unsatisfying, bone-rattling descent, we pop out onto the Vía Flores, feeling like we've just stepped out of a blender.

However, this is where we do get our reward – a first view of the snow-capped Volcán Chimborazo, the highest point in Ecuador's chain of volcanoes at 6,310m.

With time running short, we decide to take the paved loop around Chimborazo instead of the tempting dirt option through the middle. It turns out to be a good decision, as we are treated to spectacular views of the mountain in the evening light…

…with herds of beautiful vicuñas (a wild, more athletic type of llama) grazing on the lower slopes.

Surely we're allowed at least one cheesy “girl conquers volcano” shot, right? Go Bedders!

After probably our most freezing night to date sleeping in the half-constructed Chimborazo visitor centre at 4,350m, all that's left the next morning is an easy coast down towards Riobamba – but not before Chimborazo allows us a sneaky summit glimpse in the early morning light.

We roll into Riobamba on Good Friday, hoping to sample the traditional Ecuadorian Easter dish of fanesca – a soup made with 12 different grains and topped with cheese, salted fish and boiled egg. Within minutes of arriving, Ecuadorian hospitality strikes again – we are adopted by Ruperto, and spend a brilliant afternoon with his family of 40 sampling the fanesca they have spent the last two days preparing.

Appetites still raging, on Easter Sunday we head to the market to experience another Ecuadorian culinary tradition: chancho horneado, or roast pig. It's like a scene from a vegetarian horror film – imagine a room with wall-to-wall pig heads and parts, presided over by ladies in blue surgeons' uniforms wielding huge carving knives. Now I know what happens to all those roadside pigs – but it has to be said: the crackling is to die for.

Finally sated, we head back to our characterful hotel room, which – in keeping with the Easter theme – is presided over by a beautifully coiffeured Jesus. “Please Lord,” he seemed to be saying…”Just spare them the cobbled descents.”

Leaving Riobamba with a bit of a false start: James has a dodgy stomach – perhaps an overdose of Easter eggs – and we cut short our day after just 20km in the small town of Punín. With no accommodation available, we ask at the nearby convent and the priest grants us permission to camp indoors at the aptly named Posada Señor de la Agonia or “Guesthouse of the Lord of Agony”.

An everyday sight around here: a lady carrying animal feed on her back and milk in a bucket.

Wheat blowing in the breeze…almost feels like home.

We pass a series of Cuban-style billboards extolling the virtues of a newer, happier, Ecuador since President Correa has been in power. The link between national pride and the girl with a lamb is still unclear to me.

It's clear that this guy has had a dull morning when he jumps up and demands a test-ride of James' bike as we pull into the petrol station to fill up on fuel for our stove. James looks on anxiously as his baby is taken for a turn on the forecourt.

The ride to Lagunas de Atillo is beautiful, on a blissfully quiet paved road. We happily spend the day switching between waving and chatting to farmers and soaking up the wonderful rolling scenery.

I feel the estate agents' spiel would read something like: “Quaint country cottage with thatched roof, open fire and original features”.

Invited to shots at four in the afternoon with three cowboys. Why not?

Thanks to the shots, we arrive at misty Lagunas de Atillo with a fire in our bellies.

The spaceman panniers look a little out place leaned against the wall of school at Punto Cero where we camped for the night…

…as do my waterproofs and bike alongside a poncho-clad chap on horseback.

The kitchens around here are thatched – it lends a certain charm you can't buy from B&Q.

Always seeking the less trodden path can sometimes find you in some very sticky mud…

…but it does often bring you to places where seeing donkeys crossing rivers is more common than seeing a car.

Can't get enough of the shaggy donkeys around here…

…but would rather see less of the vicious dogs. We're encountering more yappy and aggressive hounds here than anywhere else so far.

Reaching Totoras, tucked away in the mountans, we happen on the market in full swing…

…and then find ourselves riding a beautiful dirt track between Totoras and Achupallas.

These ladies were a delight to talk to…

…and this view was a delight to camp in front of.

Camped on a manure pile (another first on our campsite list), we provide endless entertainment to Hector who lives nearby. He spends the evening running backwards and forwards delivering fruit to us from nearby bushes.

The following morning we waving goodbye to Hector, we ride straight into the middle of a group of inquisitive school kids. One is foolishly brave enough to ask about our trip…

…and out comes the globe for an impromptu geography lesson. I've never seen such an amazing collection of hats.

In Achupallas, a man with the machete insists we take his picture – and you don't disagree with a man carrying a machete.

The thought of spending a day on the Pan American heading towards Cuenca was filling us with dread, but thankfully the traffic levels are not as heavy as anticipated – and the views are still as epic as out in the sticks.

At 1030 in the morning, this fella is already enjoying the after effects of a session on the local firewater.

Just outside Cuenca we arrive in little Cojitambo after a long climb up as the sun is going down. We're fortunate to meet Natividad, a lady who runs a shop in the square. She promptly gives us a room to sleep in complete with our own set of keys; the keyring reads “Lord of the Good Death”…is there such a thing?

We can't resist making a final stop before Cuenca when we see Yolanda and Luis making empanadas over a wood fire by the roadside. Talk covers politics, geography, education and of course national cuisines. Soon two hours have passed by and we have eaten more than twenty of the delicious fritters. On a carb and sugar high, we ride the remaining 30km into the last major city in Ecuador.

Rhiannon flatbread: flour, oil, salt, water and a hot pan

South African stickbread: just add campfire

Use exactly the same recipe and method as above, but once you have rolled up and sliced the bread “sausage”, simply skewer each bread onto a fresh, green stick…

…you should end up with something that looks like a bread barbell.

Hold the stick over the embers and rotate. Once it’s cooked, the bread will slide off, and break into crispy, pastry-like layers. Buen provecho!

Every good meal begins with a bike: select your kitchen implements from Rhiannon's bike wheel of culinary fortune…and start improvising.

Breakfast is the simplest and quickest of the three meals, but still delicious: porridge with panela (brown sugar), fruit salad with pineapple, orange and banana, and hot, deep fried empanadas.

The Rhiannon cooking rota board: culinary battle lines are drawn.

Daily salad harvest from the Rhiannon garden.

Cinnamon: grind fresh and add liberally to porridge, pancakes, cakes and biscuits.

Nothing is overlooked as a food source – after being heated on the burner to loosen the spines, locally foraged nopal cactus is prepared for the pot by Helen and Sarah.

Be here now: welcome to the wonderful world of Rhiannon.

6am. Up early to take in the early morning views. Perched high on a ridge near the village of Malchingui, Rhiannon has a stunning, ever-changing 360 degree panorama…

…where mountains and volcanoes loom beyond the tipis and yoga platforms. On a clear day you can see 17 volcanoes from here…

…and as always, my gaze is drawn back to the perfect cone of Cotopaxi – here mirrored by the roof of the Gnome Dome, one of Rhiannon's growing cluster of adobe houses.

6.45am. Breakfast Bell. Life at Rhiannon revolves around two things: the bell, which means that food is ready…

…and the rota boards, which set out your day's work. As well as the five hours work a day, as a volunteer you are also responsible for cooking one of the three meals each day. The food at Rhiannon was so good, we decided it warrants its own separate blog post.

You're never far from music at Rhiannon. Here Joel – a bass guitarist from the US – and Elizabeth – a yoga teacher from Jamaica – squeeze in a morning session over their breakfast tea.

7am. Take on the breakfast challenge: trying to get food into the mouth of Helen and Nicky's daughter Satya faster than she is able to throw it onto the floor. On most days, it's a losing battle.

7.45am. Pull on the wellies for morning chores – including feeding the chickens and dogs, taking the donkeys out to graze, cleaning the house and watering the gardens.

For me, early morning means compost making. Rhinannon's compost recipe is a perfect example of the farm's philosophy in action, where “waste” is turned into something useful. Take leftover organic material from the kitchen, throw in a few handfuls of donkey poo, combine with ash from the fire, and bind together with yesterday's pee collected from the toilets. Cover with plastic sheeting to marinate in the sun, turn daily and bingo – within two weeks you have rich, homemade compost.

8.30am. The day's work begins in earnest. I spend much of my time working on the farm's earthbag houses, which will provide accommodation for future volunteers. First, bags are tightly packed with earth dug from beside the house, before being carefully stacked to form the structure. The hole dug to build the house is then terraced and planted, creating a kitchen garden which will help to feed the community.

Once the structure of the house is complete, it's covered inside and out by hand with a layer of adobe: a traditional mix of sand, sawdust, water, and – the secret ingredient – donkey poo, which acts as the glue to bind the mix together. The donkeys, Ursula and Freya, are a critical link in the Rhiannon chain – as long as they are pooing, everyone's happy.

Once the adobe dries, it's then sealed with a coat of paint or cactus juice, making it weatherproof for a good few years. A window made using recycled glass bottles lets in light and provides a splash of colour.

The finishing touches – Nicky decorates the “Snake Pit” in one of the larger adobe houses, where we also helped to construct a swinging double bed from old pallet boards.

And here's one they built earlier, the Hobbit House: an earthbag and adobe home, built largely from local and recycled materials – and all for just a few thousand dollars. A touch more charm and character than your average lego-brick, Persimmon estate house, don't you think? I would happily live in a Hobbit House…

After three weeks of cleaning the donkey poo from under her fingernails, Sarah spends her last week in the greenhouse, cultivating locally collected seeds to grow avocado, beetroot, onion, beans and maize. In the semi-desert climate, everything needs careful nurturing and watering, but the long term aim is for the farm to become as self sufficient in food as possible.

Trees are essential in this process, helping to retain water and provide shelter from the gusting wind. Regular weeding, mulching, a daily dose of pee from the toilets and a hug from Karrey helps them on their way.

1.30pm. With no connection to the grid, power on the farm comes from these solar panels. Hot water also comes from the sun, warmed all morning in a series of outside pipes – making this prime time for a deliciously hot shower before lunch. Used shower water is then directed through natural filters into a lagoon, from where it can be re-used to irrigate the gardens.

2.30pm. After lunch, work is done for the day and the Rhiannon playground is yours. If laziness strikes – like it often does for Azul, the most relaxed of the farm's seven dogs – then pick a book from the library…

…head for the lounge and raid the stash of local Salinas chocolate in the community shop…

…grab a blanket from the box…

…and curl up. If you're lucky, you'll be rewarded with a visit from Chachi, a cute, ever-purring ball of fur with a magnetic attraction to a warm lap. One evening, she even managed to find her way into my sleeping bag, where she slept quite happily for the night.

If you're feeling the need for some solitude and contemplation – and you're not claustrophobic – then the meditation hut might be just what you need to help empty your mind.

If you're after something more energetic, then there are plenty of options: sing along with Italian Federica…

…join in a hula hooping masterclass led by South Africans Stefan and Jaco…

…or even practice some acrobatics in the Yoga Room. Speaking of which, yoga was one of the big draws for us to Rhiannon, and we had a great introduction courtesy of several different teachers…

…including Nicky, who is here demonstrating what is supposedly the yogi “sleeping position”. Not that I got anywhere near this – as a clasically inflexible and hamstrung cyclist, I'm still working on the basics – but we did come away with lots of good new stretches to counteract our cycling posture, and a desire to do much more yoga in the future.

If the smell of your own clothes is becoming overpowering, then it's probably time for a spin in the pedal-powered bicilavadora…

…and if you still have energy left, you could take Isla and Lobo – two dogs with severe attention defecit disorder – for the most unrelaxing afternoon stroll ever.

5.30pm. As the sun begins to drop, the last job of the day is to bring the donkeys in. Most days, the clouds have rolled in by now, bathing the farm in mist – but just occasionally it remains clear…

…and the sunset over the mountains is a stunner.

Occasionally there are organised evening activites, like the temascal ceremony which was one of my favourite experiences at Rhiannon. Imagine the most intense steam room ever, but inside a tiny adobe hut in the pitch black, shoulder to shoulder with twelve other people. Then bring in red hot stones which have been heated in an enormous fire, and add water. As the ceremony progresses more stones are brought in and the temperature rises, accompanied by singing and prayers. The aim is that the profuse sweating and meditation acts as a purge – and for me, emerging from the hut into the cool night after two hours was literally like being born again. Thank you Monika for leading an amazing experience.

8pm. Otherwise, evenings at Rhiannon are usually a relaxed affair around the woodburner: reading, talking, attempting to make bread or desert in the fire (requires a degree in flame control), or playing board games – Jaco and Stefan's “Beanopoly”, a home-made South African version of Monopoly using beans for currency was a triumph.

The Rhiannon philosophy – Do what you love. I'm not sure I could think of a better set of principles to live by. A massive thank you to Helen, Nicky, Satya and all the other volunteers for a wonderful month of work and laughter with the Rhiannon family. We'll miss you all!

The market pigeons stage a line up to bid us farewell from Cuenca.

The ride out of town spits us out into the countryside fairly swiftly and after nearly six weeks off the bikes, the legs start to feel the burn immediately.

First night’s accommodation turns out to be a cosy little spot nestled among some pine trees at over 3000m… 

…and as we remind ourselves how to put up the tent on a nice spongy bed of pine needles, the stove bubbles away with a quinoa/pasta feast. 

Early next morning, the mountains reveal themselves in all their glory.

It’s appropriate that we arrive in Vilcabamba – Ecuador’s village of eternal youth – on the day before my birthday. The poem reads “Lady take care of your husband, man take care of your woman, because when you are both elderly, the only sure thing you will have is each other”. 

All smiles as I wake up another year older and think of the big climbs to come that day…

…even happier when I find a packet of crisps bearing my adopted Spanish name; what a treat – doesn’t take much to please this birthday girl.

Then after the crisp excitement, it’s back to business as usual the next day with a long but beautiful climb on the way to Valladolid. 

We are warned of major roadworks ahead with accompanying mud and dust so the buff comes out for the chic cyclist/bandit look. 

Coconut treats from the bakery in Vilcabamba help keep the legs turning…

…and ongoing construction provides a chance to stop for a breather and chat to the friendly gangs of engineers who line this part of the route. 

In Valladolid on a Saturday night, on the weekend of my birthday, we are sorely tempted to stick around and see what goes down at Danni’s Discotek…

…instead we end the day further along the road at Palanda, camped out in the church sacristy while ladies busily prepare the next day’s flower arrangements around us.

Onto dirt after Palanda, and though the road building continues we are lucky to get away with very little mud – cyclists passing through here shortly before us talked of pushing their way through ankle deep bogs. 

A nasty steep climb in the rising heat has us both seeing stars by the time we reach Progreso for lunch. 

There’s only more of the same after lunch; it feels like we are back in Central America and with sweat pouring off in all directions, we dig out the sun hats, slap on the factor 100 and grind into the pedals. This is by far the hottest weather we have experienced in Ecuador and it feels alien. Making it to Zumba feels like a real achievement.

Almost at the border so almost time to say goodbye to charismatic Presidente Correa… 

…not before admiring the name choices of his colleagues…Clever, now there’s one you can trust.

Our last night in Ecuador mirrors our last night in Colombia – spent enjoying the hospitality of the local nuns; we camp in the cloisters of the convent at Zumba…

…and in the early morning mist, we leave the oddly placed mosquito sculpture behind us in the town square and set off for the border. 

This road through the mountains into Peru is a pretty quiet crossing and the dirt track leading to immigration at La Balsa hardly feels like we’re on the way to an international border. 

Ecuador still has a few hills left for us to admire…

…and one brutal one left to climb…

…before we reach immigration. 

Turns out the immigration office is just as low key as the road leading to it. 

We are stamped out of Ecuador with just a day to spare on our visas.

Now onwards into country number thirteen – I am off in search of an old childhood friend…

…who supposedly came from “deepest darkest Peru”.