In December–January 2026, I spent twelve days in Ecuador moving through the Andes, each landscape marking a shift in rhythm, altitude, and perspective. The journey began above Quito with a hike on Rucu Pichincha, followed by ringing in the New Year amid the crackle and smoke of the monigote-burning ritual, before easing into horseback riding across the open páramo of Tambopaxi. From there, the focus turned upward as I climbed Cotopaxi, one of the highest active volcanoes on Earth, in rare, generous conditions—clear skies, a luminous full moon, and long, quiet hours on the glacier—an experience that distilled vulnerability into gratitude. Two days later, I attempted Chimborazo, the tallest mountain in the country and the closest point on Earth to the sun, reaching the Veintimilla Summit at 20,440 feet before turning back, guided by the Andean understanding of Chimborazo as Taita—an elder approached with respect rather than conquest. I ended my trip in the warmth and green calm of Baños de Agua Santa, recovering in thermal pools and wandering among waterfalls, a gentle return after days spent in thin air, where endurance, humility, and awe quietly shaped the images I brought home.