When we hopped off the boat we were handed a ticket to some sort of lift up the side of the mountain. Already hot but excited for the view, we loaded on without any complaints.
We weren't disappointed.
We were a bit surprised by all the donkey business, but a shop owner warned us we would soon find out what the fuss was all about.
We snapped some nice photos and strolled around the shops. They were certainly touristy, but I had no complaints about the gauzy white dresses and floppy hats.
We had been directed that the easy way back down was to use the lift, but the line to return down had hundreds of sweaty, tired souls. We decided to put on our hiking shoes and tromp down on our own. We were told there was a paved path.
Then we heard it was 600 steps down an 800 foot cliff. And we saw something like this.
Full disclosure - no one I knew took this photo, I just had to find one that showed how daunting it was.
We started down and it was chaos. The steps were slippery in the wrong shoes, and tired donkeys lined every step. Men would charge by, using sticks to edge people out of the way as they blew by with a trail of small donkeys ridden by large tourists.
Screw tradition. These animals deserve proper living conditions, and not to be lifting tourists who weigh as much as they do.
All that aside, I've grown up with horses my whole life, so I wanted to pet and coo at every hooved critter we passed.
I got the attention of most.
Perhaps it was more than a few.
^ Look at those badonka-donk(ey)s
When it came to stopping at every donkey and mule, I pretty much did.
We finally made it back down, and happily set off on the water once more, ready for a cold shower and delicious dinner (both of which we got).
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