Riobamba to Cuenca

The Riobamba Municipal Band in concert

The gasping of air brakes as the driver pumps them rhythmically on downhills becomes the tempo of the road. 

 To get to Cuenca we spent hour after hour twisting through hairpin switchbacks, up and down thousands of feet repeatedly with the bus tilting from one side to the other, either throwing me against the chair arm or Ingrid. These Andes dwarf the Coast Mountains, and the big mountain roads are even more exciting when the fog is so thick you can barely see beyond the margin of the road.  

Riobamba Band fan

Riobamba did us the favor of showing us what a typical mid-sized Ecuadoran town looks like:  elaborate antique Spanish colonial buildings towering over narrow streets paved in cobblestones  crowded tightly by half-finished square and utilitarian buildings of concrete block with a strands of rebar protruding from them like cat’s whiskers.  

Cuenca street merchant

Once in Cuenca, we enjoyed dinner in the nicest restaurant we have enjoyed in Ecuador – improved by the entry of all the Miss Ecuador contestants – each giving us a nice open smile, a little wave and “Buenos noches” as they clicked past on 6” heels in the tiniest of skirts and dresses.  You could almost touch the excitement in their smiles.\

It is pretty much impossible to spend time in any Latin country without noticing how proud the women are in their femininity.  The dresses, skirts, heels, décolletage, the rhythm of their hips – all happily celebrate their pride in their female sexuality.  In contrast, our northern culture seems awfully dour and inhibited.

Church opposite our room

It seems a regular occurrence to close a street for an impromptu concert.  Yesterday we enjoyed the Riobamba Municipal Band in red serge dominated by the rhythm section and trombones playing finger-snapping salsa-style tunes.  But as always, police dominated.  Dozens and dozens of uniforms around and throughout the crowd.
 

They like their military here – departing Riobamba we saw two military tanks deployed in the streets, crowded about by soldiers and children.  Reassuringly, Ecuadorans probably like their ice cream more.

Alturo

Cotopaxi dominates Latacunga

On the buses we are a captive audience.  About 5 minutes after the bus hits the highway, a salesman will stand in the aisle and demand our attention as he begins his carnival side show barking, selling anything from ginseng, yoga and perfume to designer watches and sunglasses.  We play the “no hablo espagnol” card.  But you must give them credit for stamina – their pitches sometimes last a full hour.

Big buses weave tiny roads.

Our first bus ride took us to Latacunga a mid-sized town sitting below Cotopaxi, which at 19,350’ is a landscape-dominating strato-volcano that has destroyed Latacunga 4 times.

  Somehow this does not seem to faze the good folks of Latacunga, who simply rebuild their churches and put their faith in their gods – currently of the Christian brand.  Here we ate well, slept well and fortified ourselves for our time at altitude.

Leaving Latacunga, we spent four days in the high country of the Andes at altitudes around 13,000’ gasping for breath while walking about the villages.

Ingrid looks into Quilotoa's crater.

Isinlivi sits in a rich green valley at a moderate 11,000’ -- a bit of a Shangri La where the sounds and sights of spring abound: hummingbirds the size of a man’s fist, bright yellow thick-billed birds and flowers dripping everywhere.  Unfortunately, this is where Ingrid discovered the altitude exacerbated her asthma and our hiking was limited.

Tuesday we met Chugchillan, the ugly sister.  With only 50 inhabitants strung along a single dry and dusty street swirling with smoke and various detritus and not a mouthful of good food to be had, it left our spirits sagging.   

These Kitchua folks are tough.

But the next day we reached Quilotoa, a pueblo in a majestic setting that takes the crown for stunning beauty as the crater in the volcano of that name shifts hues in the changing sun. 

These tiny Kitchua people are a wonderful lot.  Dark and weathered and swaddled about in layers of bright wool, the women all wear their distinctive fedoras and sometimes you can see them carrying a shovel while wearing platform heels.  The men eschew fashion and work long days in fields that hang steeply down the mountains from impossible heights without any discernible terraces.

The laguna shifts colours with the sun.

We have descended now to a much more moderate 6,500’ where it has been drizzling for two days.  Terrace weather.  Right behind our town of Banos the 16,500’ volcano Tungurahua puffs and heaves and provides the hot springs that make this town a tourist draw.  This is in spite of regular eruptions – particularly since 1999 it has been erupting every couple of years -- and we are advised not to use certain roads or hot springs.  The emergency evacuation routes are painted in huge letters on the cobblestone streets. 

Although sun might be too much to ask for, we are hoping for one more day of seismic peace and a dignified departure for Cuenca.

La Comida

Our quiet hostal in Plaza San Blas

I have long prided myself on being an equal-opportunity abuser of languages.  Here I have been struggling with Spanish and inflicting it on everyone possible, leaving in my wake many puzzled and confused cabbies, waitresses, clerks and hoteliers staring after a grinning half-wit Gringo.

and up and down

In a day it is a rare thing for Ingrid and I to speak English with anyone other than each other.  It is not reassuring that the rare Ecuadorian with whom we rub some English words proudly asserts that here in cosmopolitan Quito we will find many more English speakers than out in the hills.  This portends poorly for our forthcoming clarity of communication.

We have begun a little sightseeing.  I have struggled with the altitude: a weak stomach, coughing, a daily headache – nothing bad, but added to the hourly grind up and down steep cobblestone streets, it has been a disincentive.  Now I am feeling better and in order to actually *see* the sights, I decided to get some new eyeglasses.  I got a very thorough exam and prescription, but the unintended outcome is that we must stay in Quito for a few more days for them to be made up.  

Eating well in some foreign countries can be challenging.  I mention this because it is not a challenge we have met successfully here in Quito.

all students are in uniform

Food is cheap.  It is plentiful.  Both a set breakfast and lunch (desayuno and almuerzo) can be had for about $2 for the fixed meal.  For lunch, typically you will receive a glass of juice with three courses:

•  A salty soup
• A fried slab of meat (beef or chicken) laid on a mountain of dry rice with a sprinkling of chopped cabbage, and
•    Jello

This represents a great number of calories, each one carefully squeezed free of flavour.   It contains nourishment, and is good for you in the sense that cod liver oil is good for you.  The good will, the welcoming camaraderie of the folks here, the ready smiles and desire to make our visit positive and memorable – these are the things that add flavour to our days.  

Even Ammo would find variety in instrumentation.

Now all of this can be avoided by spending your time in "Gringolandia," a part of Mariscal Sucre dedicated entirely to importing the international experience to Ecudaor: bars, clubs, western food.  We have found these places everywhere -- in Istanbul it was the Pudding Shop, in Kabul it was Chicken Street, in Bangkok it is Khao San Road, in Malaka, Love Lane.  

So far I have remained strong, but every time I see a KFC or Subway or McDonalds I weaken a bit.  I think if I saw a Timmies, I would fold.

I think, however, that a most damning indictment of Ecuadorian food is that Cuban cuisine is catching on here.  

magnificent architecture abounds

Finding our Feet in Quito

La Basillica

I have been slow getting this blog going because it has taken me a while to find my feet in Quito.  That may be because they are now 9,500’ above sea level.  We took a couple of days just to do some walking up and down in the Old Town to acclimate to the altitude.  

By “up and down” that is exactly what I mean.  


A man in our first hostal recommended we check out a park a few blocks away.  “It’s only about 400 steps.”  He meant a staircase with 400 steps.  We went to a restaurant instead.

The “Old Town” of Quito is a wonderful maze of narrow cobblestone streets littered with 16^th to 18^th century buildings and it was the first city to be declared a World Heritage Site by UNESCO. 

It is a delightful city in many ways, with a great richness of culture – and such a melding of musical traditions: Latin and jazz and pan pipes played together in the streets.

Quito is built on hills

Our first few nights were spent at hotel that is essentially a youth hostel.  It was fun to take a look at the backpacking crowd from a few years away.  They partied hardy into the night (above our ceiling!) and the conversations were often odd to my aged ears.  One young lady regaled the young man at our table with a detailed account of how often she changed her panties.  Mostly these little dialogues were coquettish patter between men and women, but one man felt such an appetite for dalliance he loudly offered himself to any man in the room, then as an afterthought decided he meant “all” the men in the room.  I suspect alcohol was involved.

We moved to a nice little place beside a church where the only sound is church bells and pigeons cooing.

But on the subject of sex, I have come to the conclusion that it is bought here like tropical fruit or cheese – by the pound.  Ingrid first noticed the hookers, but once I caught the “look” it was clear that (as in poultry) there is a market for plump. 

As part of our acclimatization, we took a “telefeirico” (enclosed chair lift) up to 13,350’ where we found little traction for our lungs.  I doubt we will be hiking much higher than that, but it was sobering to know we must spend more time at altitude to be ready for it.

The equator runs through it.

Yesterday we took a cab to the edge of town to “El Mitad del Mundo.”  This is a park through which the clearly-marked equator runs, so you can put a foot in each hemisphere.   Oddly, it is often cool at this altitude at the equator, which is misleading to many – those who mistake cool weather for lack of UV rays pay the price with blazing red skin.  

Mother Mary at the market.

Finally, to put to rest the Great Canadian Debate about breastfeeding in public, I offer this proof that the Virgin Mary openly nursed the Baby Jesus with a bare breast.  Let’s hear the warbling now!