Things to Do in Ecuador in January

January opens the Galápagos warm season, and the difference underwater is immediate. The Humboldt Current loosens its grip, surface temperatures climb into the mid-twenties Celsius (mid-seventies Fahrenheit), and you can float alongside sea lions off Isla Lobos without a wetsuit for the first time since May. The real draw, though, is what is happening on land. Marine iguanas on Española enter breeding season and flush an almost unbelievable red and green, like someone hand-painted each one. Green sea turtles haul onto the black sand beaches of Floreana to nest, and if your timing is right, you will watch a female the size of a coffee table dig her chamber at dusk. Visibility underwater tends to be slightly lower than the cool season because plankton blooms attract more marine life. That trade-off is the whole point. The plankton brings whale sharks to the northern islands and mantas to cleaning stations at Cousins Rock. January crowds are moderate, well below the June-September naturalist-trip peak. Zodiac landings feel less like queuing at an airport.

Baños sits in a volcanic valley at 1,820 m (5,971 ft) where the Andes crumble into the Amazon basin, and January catches the rivers in their sweet spot: full enough from early rains to run exciting Class III-IV rapids on the Pastaza. But not yet the churning brown torrents that March and April bring. Canyoning in the Cashaurco gorge drops you through waterfalls into pools so cold they knock the air out of your lungs, the mist hanging in the canyon like smoke while the basalt walls tower overhead slick with moss. The town itself smells of sugarcane being boiled into melcocha, the taffy-like candy that vendors pull by hand on wooden hooks outside shops along the main drag. After a day of getting thrown around by water, you lower yourself into the thermal pools fed by Tungurahua volcano's geothermal seams, the sulfurous water hot enough to redden your skin, and watch clouds settle into the valley below. The walk out to Pailón del Diablo waterfall, where the spray soaks you thirty metres (a hundred feet) before you reach the viewing platform, is worth the wet shoes.

Two hours northwest of Quito, the road drops from the parched inter-Andean valley into Mindo's cloud forest at around 1,200 m (3,937 ft). The temperature rises. The air thickens with moisture. The noise shifts from honking Quito traffic to a wall of insect and bird calls that never quite stops. January is prime birding. Booted Racket-tails and Violet-tailed Sylphs mob the feeders at dawn, their iridescent throats flashing in the first light. The cock-of-the-rock leks are active. The males' absurd orange crests bob in competitive display at specific spots the local guides know by heart. The cloud forest in January is lush to the point of excess. Every branch drips with epiphytes and orchids just coming into bloom. The trails are muddy enough that you feel the forest working on you. Canopy walkways strung between ceiba trees put you at eye level with toucans and tanagers that you would never spot from the ground. The humidity sits close to saturation. Your binoculars fog constantly. Your clothes stay damp from the moment you step into the trees. That is the price of seeing one of the most biodiverse square kilometres on Earth at its most alive.

Quito's colonial centre is the first place UNESCO ever designated a World Heritage Site, back in 1978. On a clear January morning it earns that status within five minutes of walking. The Plaza Grande opens up between the Presidential Palace and the Cathedral. The volcanic stone facades catch the equatorial light at an angle that turns them gold. Pigeons wheel above the carved balconies. Step inside La Compañía de Jesús. Seven tonnes of gold leaf on the walls and ceiling hit you with a physical sensation closer to vertigo than admiration. The real January experience in Quito's old town is eating your way through it. The food stalls around Mercado Central serve locro de papa. The thick potato-and-cheese soup comes topped with half an avocado and a scatter of popcorn that crunches against the creamy broth. You eat it standing at a metal counter while vendors shout over each other. Walk down La Ronda in the evening. The narrow colonial lane is lit by wrought-iron lamps. The air carries canelazo. The hot sugarcane-and-cinnamon drink is spiked with aguardiente that warms you against the 9°C (49°F) night air dropping off the flanks of Pichincha.

Otavalo's Plaza de los Ponchos has been a trading ground for the Kichwa Otavaleño people since well before the Spanish arrived. On Saturday mornings the market swells to fill every surrounding street with textiles, produce, and livestock. January is a good month for it. Tourist density is manageable compared to the June-August peak. You can linger at the weaving stalls where women in embroidered blouses and wrapped anacu skirts explain the natural dyes. Cochineal gives the deep reds. Indigo gives blues so dark they look black until the light catches them. The animal market starts before dawn at the edge of town. Pigs squeal as they change hands. The smell of hay and damp wool is thick in the cold mountain air at 2,532 m (8,307 ft). Otavalo sits in a valley flanked by the Imbabura and Cotacachi volcanoes. Both are visible on clear January mornings before the clouds build. Their peaks are sometimes dusted with the last of the dry-season snow. The town itself is quiet by Ecuadorian standards. The walk around Laguna San Pablo, about 4 km (2.5 miles) of path circling the reed-fringed lake below Imbabura, is one of the most peaceful hours you will spend in the highlands.

Tena sits at 500 m (1,640 ft) where the Andes flatten into the Amazon basin. In January the Jatunyacu and Misahuallí rivers run at levels that make Class III rapids accessible to intermediate paddlers without the terrifying volume that arrives in March. The drop from Quito's cool highlands to Tena's tropical heat takes about four hours by road. The temperature shift is disorienting. You leave 9°C (49°F) morning fog and arrive in 30°C (86°F) humidity so thick the air feels like warm water on your skin. Rafting here is not the polished, safety-briefing-heavy experience you might find in Costa Rica. The rapids are genuine. The jungle presses in from both banks with ceiba trees trailing lianas into the current. The sound between rapids is howler monkeys and the slap of paddles on flat water. January afternoons bring thunderstorms that roll down the valley with a metallic smell of ozone and a wall of rain visible from a kilometre away. Morning departures are standard. A full day on the water with lunch on the riverbank, grilled tilapia wrapped in bijao leaves with rice and green plantain, is the kind of thing you remember longer than any church or museum.