Estados Unitos

So yes, the Travel Gods must be paid their due. 

Noon, leave Cuenca by car for Guayaquil.  Four hours.   Flight leaves at 6:32.  Wait two plus hours.  Bag still doesn't make it on the plane.  

Two and a half hours to Panama City.  Nine thirty, the airport shuts like a frogs ass. Wander the terminal.  Sleep on the floor.  2:40 AM on Saturday, the flight leaves for Houston.  No one on the flight so I manage a few hours sleep curled up across the three seats. I don't like Houston. 

Neither does my bag because it doesn't show up at customs.  "Good luck with that" is what the customs guy said.  

Three hours in Houston.   I don't like Houston.  Five hours to Seattle, dozing on a full flight. 

I'm "home" whatever that means.  My bag isn't, but my guy Tyriss says that it did make Houston after I did. Might see it tomorrow.   Four hours of sleep, sort of, in 40 hours.  Three countries, four airports, three flights, 27 hours elapsed travel time.  

Sometimes for the journey, you have to pay the price.  Hey, sleep deprivation is s cheap high.   Ciao for now!!!!  

Ultimate

It happens on every journey except the last one.  This day arrives.  At 6:30 PM the Copa flight will lift off from Guayaquil and the last leg of this odyssey will begin.  I do not want to go back to the USA.  I could keep right on, down through South America, straight on to Tierra del Fuego.  But it is not to be.  That time has not come yet.  But it may yet.

More dinners shared, more walks taken, we were even witness to a motorcycle accident last night. But there is not much more to say.  I have to go back to the salt mines so i can earn more money to travel. In three years and eight months I will no longer need to do that.  Then left the World Trip begin, the trip with no discernible end.  

But not for today.  It will be four hours by car to Guayaquil and then fifteen hours by various planes, Panama City, Houston, Seattle.  

i will reflect on the return in another post.  In the meanwhile my friends, be well, be happy, be unafraid, and live large and out loud.

Love to you all!

marco

Cuy

The Inca culture had three domesticated animals, the llama, the turkey and cuy.  I am sure that most of you dear readers are familiar with the first two of these critters.  Cuy was a food staple for the Incas, providing a large portion of the protein in their diet.  Small animals, easily raised, Cuy remains a delicacy in Ecuador and is served on special occasions.

Cuy on the hoof.  Yes, Cuy are Guinea Pigs and Guinea Pigs, at least in Ecuador, are Cuy.

Senor hansen had delayed sampling Cuy until my arrival and I, in turn, had refrained from any Cuy consumption until the appointed hour.  The appointed hour had arrived.  We walked to the special Cuy restaurant, Tres Estrellas, and were buzzed into this well appointed sanctuary of Ecuadoran cuisine.   This was an old establishment, frequented by well-dressed Ecuadorans.  The decor was a hodgepodge of collections; old radios, knives, farm implements and other olde-timey sort of stuff.  Arriving without a reserva, we were told that it would be an hour wait for Cuy, so we settled in to peruse the collection of antiques, nibble some queso and frijoles, and sip limonada.  

While we were whiling away the evening, the Cuy were rotating on their spits.

Appetizers.  The beans looked something like a lima bean, but tasted completely different.  Yummers!

As the magic Cuy hour of eight o'clock rolled closer, the restaurant filled.  Our waiters bustled about with trays of drinks and appetizers for everyone.  Our was  table suddenly covered with dishes of papas, ensalada, more queso, little potato pancakes and the obligatory hominy.  This was the setting, awaiting only the center piece.  Time for the Cuy!!!  As the spits stopped turning, Cuy started appearing on every table.

A feast fit for Incan Royalty with the center piece of quartered Cuy.  "Una Cuy para dos personas"

Doesn't it have a nice Thanksgiving sort of a look?  Sunset Magazine cover shot?

Cuy up close and personal before the gnawing began.

Señor Hansen and I had a moment of refelection, pausing over this noble beast that had given up its life to nourish ours.  With that, we tore into the poor little bugger like ravening beasts.  It was pick up a quarter and get to being a carnivore.  I took a fore quarter and he took a hind quarter, reversed of course on the second go.

Getting beastie with it.

Tiny, tiny guinea pig drumsticks.

Yes, Dear Ones, it is served with the head.

The poor little skull, picked clean.  Señor Hansen insisted we each have an ear.

Well friends and neighbors, i am here to tell you two things.  One, Cuy is damn fine eating and I look forward to another go.  Two, there was nothing left of the thing but bones, claws, and a skull.  It was so much fun sharing a meal iike this with Señor Hansen.  There is just no way that this culinary experience would have been anywhere near the fun it was.  Watching a guniea pig skull get gnawed on by a good friend is something you will not quickly forget.  

What cigar does a discerning Cuy muncher pair with a dinner of that magnitude?  In our case, we decided on a Willie Herrera Norteno.  It proved to be a great choice.  Tonigh's dinner was one of those meals that will be remembered for a life time.  The company was exemplary, jovial, and very open minded.  We had met the Cuy, and it was ours.

And remember folks, when in Ecuador, make like an Inca.

Cuenca Routine

The Cuenca routine had taken shape.  Up in the morning, coffee on the deluxe balcony over looking
the river, shared conversation while the folks walked, ran and bicycled to their day.  Watching the flock of swallows starting the morning bug hunt, the squawking parrots wheeling past, the fly catchers leaping for a meal.  Rotating breakfast at the next cafe with the ex-pat regulars.  It was lazy and wonderful.  Conversations ranging across the board, always interesting, always lively.  Señor Hansen and I talk of history, travel, the ins and outs of emmigration, the benefits and pitfalls of being an ex-pat.  It is a routine that has flowed throughout the week even as the time draws to a close and I am bound to board a plane for the Estados Unitos.  

This day started the same way.  Following breakfast we crossed the square and boarded the big double-decker tourist bus for a no thought trip around the town.  Just a lark, a trip to the high point overlooking Cuenca, and the ride back.

High above the Cuenca traffic. 

Señor Hansen basking in the sun.  

The double-decker bus lumbered through the streets, barely making the corners and our heads barely ducking under the overhanging wires.  Mind your noggin!.  The turnaround point for the bus ride was a church on a hill, complete with a gift shop.  All tours exit through the gift shop doncha know.

Cuenca from the heights, with El Centro in the center.  

Back down the hill, we disembarked and wandered around the old city. 

Afternoon found us back at Casa Luxurious and the cribbage board in action.  The Shaman Tune-up seemed to have also given my luck a change.  I finally won a few games despite my host's considerable skill.  We whiled away a pleasant afternoon, doing a lot of nothing and wishing for no more.  It was companionship of another level and will be sorely missed.  

As the evening came on, we cleaned up and dressed for our Big Night Out, a traditional Ecuadoran dinner at a special restaurant that serves a special local delicacy.    But that is the stuff of a blog entry all unto itself.  

Ingapirca

Before any serious sightseeing and certainly after a Shaman Tune-Up, a good traveler needs to take on provisions.  Since we were in the market anyway, we grabbed a little bite of Wilber from the tray, typically served with the large white maize that looks like hominy.  I was still buzzing from my Shaman treatment and now well fed.   As arranged by my distinnguished host, our driver met us outside the market for a road trip to Ingapirca, the site of some ruins to the North of Cuenca.  Ah, the luxury of traveling by private car!!  

We headed North on the Panamerican until we reached the town of Biblian and thence branched onto a two lane road that climbed into the high Andean countryside.  The same incredibly steep fields of potatos, pasture land and wind whipped hamlets perched on improbable slopes.  An hour and a half from Cuenca we arrived at the Archeological site of Ingapirca.

Ingapirca is an series of Incan ruins which were built on top of Canari ruins.  The Canari culture existed from about 500 CA until the culture was finally engulfed by the Inca culture just prior to the fall of the Inca at the hands of the Spanish conquistadores.  The last uprising of the Inca was finally put down py the Spanish in 1572.  

The Canari were known for their effective resistance to the Inca, both culturally and militarily.  The Canari eventually succumbed to the growing Inca empire and the Inca appropriated Canari villages and structures as there own.  The Inca added to or modified the Canari structures to suit themselves, and thus there are sites such as Ingapirca 

While wandering around ancient ruins is educational and interesting,  I have to admit that after visiting archeological sites in many parts of the world, ruins are ruins.  At least as much fun as walking the grounds was our interaction with some of the members of a local school field trip.  The girls just had to have their pictures taken with the big Gringos.  

El Gringo in munchkin land.  No, this is not trick photography.

Some things just don't change that much.

The closer set stonework identifies this as later inca craftsmanship.

After an hour of wandering the grounds, it was back to the car and the return trip.  Our driver detoured over the old unpaved route, with occasional stops for traffic jams.

Bad traffic on the backroads.

The clouds were building in the afternoon sky as we dropped back down to Biblian and a stop at the large church set high above the townsite.  The church is built into a rock face with the backwall of the church being the cliff itself.  Walking up the endless stairs to the top of the rock, we started seeing large beetles laying on their backs.  We  figured out that the halogen lights used to illuminate the church at night were also incapacitating the beetles.  They were all dead or dying, including the large rhinocheros-type beetle that Señor Hansen insisted on aiding.  After numerous tries to flick the giant insect right-side-up, he picked the thing up to set it on it's feet.  For his good intentions he was promptly  rewarded with a good solid pinch from the thing, which produced a fine bit of arm waving and curses.  Not from the bug, from the man.  

La Inglesia

The reward for the climb.  Beetle pinches were a bonus.

Our sight-seeing day had come to and end and our relaxing day was about to begin.  Returning to Casa Luxurious, we spent the late siesta on the balcony watching the world go by.  Evening brought hunger and this was sated with a carnivore's fiesta at a local grill place just across the river.  Meat, meat and more meat, enough to cause a healthy hombre's colon to shudder.  I may be forced to adopt a militant Seattle veganism as penance for all of the critter consumption I have engaged in on this trip.

I received another sound thrashing or two on the cribbage board before we gave up in favor of camaraderie and cigars.  I can only take so much humiliation in one day, Lady Luck having spit in my eye with the vigor of an Ecuadoran Shaman Woman.      

Shaman Tune Up

After weeks of journeying by plane, bus, boat, mini-vans, metros and on foot, a traveling bloke can get a little run down.  A dose of tender loving care is sometimes in order.  When a tune-up is called for, the need cannot be ignored.  What better way to get one's spirits revived and energy reguvanated than a trip to the local Shaman?

Tuesdays and Thursdays a Shaman woman is at her station in the local market building.  There was a bit of a wait as the Shaman worked over a squalling toddler.  Next came the older sister, who only shed a few tears.  I was next in line, eagerly awaiting my turn.  

The Shaman nodded me to the low stool in front of her as her daughter bundled up a big bunch of flowers and sweet smelling herbs.  I took my place on the low stool, which put me at about and even height with the short but stout indain woman who was about to make me right with the world.  

The first step in the process is the flogging.  The woman buried my face in the bundle of herbs and flowers.  Holding my head tighlty into the bundle, she mummered an "espirito sancto", touched my head at some key points, and then began wailing the bejesus out of me with the greens.  I can see why the little kid shed a few tears.  The flogging actually felt great, like birch branches after a sauna.  No part of my body was spared from a good vegetable thumping.

Here is a video link to the Flogging:

http://youtu.be/9erD_ZA4ZxA

Following the flogging, I was placed back on the stool and we began phase two of the process:  The Egg Roll.  Reaching into her magic bag of tricks, my Shaman produced a raw egg.  She proceeded to rub the egg over my body in a very thorough manner.  Shirt up, shirt down, stand up, sit down, working the egg over my head, in my eyes, aross my face, up and down my legs, etc.  The idea of the egg roll is to draw whatever is ailing me out of my body and into the egg.

My Shaman doing the Egg Roll with her daughter behindus making new veggie bundles.

More egg rolling.

I was glad the egg got warmed up a bit before this part.

Here Is a video link to the Egg Roll:

http://youtu.be/T8C8UKPWSP0

Once I had been thoroughly Egg Rolled, the Shaman broke the egg into a glass and examined it.  she proclaimed her diagnosis, which sounded like "Muy nervoso," and showed me the bad stuff the egg had pulled out of me.  I have to admit that the egg rollling felt pretty good.  i don't know about the "muy nervoso," but she's the Shaman, not me.

The last step in the process was the Final Rinse.  The Shaman took a long pull of some white liguid in a plastic bottle.  She then aerosolized the stuff in her mouth and shot me in the face with a huge spray.  You need to keep your eyes closed during this part.  Just a helpful hint.  The mouth spray was repeated, with great vigor, on my back, stomach, and then more juice was poured on the top of my head.  After giving the juice a good rubbing in, I was annointed with a charcoal-like substance on my forehead, belly and back.  The tune-up was finished.  I paid my bill of five bucks and offerd my thanks and farewells.

Bracing for the spray on the back.

More juice on the head for good measure.

One dot on the back.

Another dot on the forehead.  Too bad the juice doesn't grow hair.

Here is a video link to the Final Rinse:

http://youtu.be/jmxec3W_BIA

The whole experience was fun and fascinating, but here's the thing:  I felt great.  I understand that all of what follows can be chalked up to the power of suggestion, the placebo effect, or the weakness of my own mind.  That said, I really did feel good.  i was experiencing a sense of lightness and well-being.  My body was tingling and I felt happy and at peace.  All of these sensations continued for hours after we left the market.  Whatever the real effect of the Shaman's work, the perceived results were very much worth the five dollars paid, not to mention the really wild cultural interaction.  

Cuenca: Day One

It was a joy to wake up in a comfortable bed in the luxurious apartment of my Amigo Bueno Señor Hansen.  My friend emigrated to Ecuador about eight months ago and he has been sorely missed from our Brotherhood in Seattle.  The time for solo journeying has ended and the time for companionship has begun.  

Cuenca is the thrid largest city in Ecuador, sitting at about 8,000 feet above sea level in the Southern Highlands.  It is a very beautiful place, with four rivers, well maintained plazas, and a lovely colonial El Centro.  It is also a Unesco World Heritage site and home to about 3,500 ex-pats.  Seeing Gringos on the street here is not an uncommon site.  

The first order of business was sharing coffee and a cigar on the exquisite terrace overlooking the Tomebamba river.  Sorry, I spelled it incorrectly in the previous blog.  After watching the town wakingup  and waving to passersby on the river walk, we headed off to the local Gringo cafe to meet a few of Señor Hansen's fellow ex-pats.  

Following brekkie, Mr. Hansen led me on a walking trip around the El Centro, with a bakery here and a parque there.  We sat at a sidewalk cafe, sipping coffee and chatting with the owner while taking in the passing street scene.  Flower markets, colonial buildings, a good friend and a really lazy day, what's not to enjoy?

There was one mission for the day, which was shopping for a new hat.  Señor Hansen has talked up the quality of the local "Panama" hats and I was not going home without one.  We headed off to the hat emporium and museum, THE place to get a hat here in town.  

This is the room with the good stuff.  The tourist hats are outside in the big room.

With the help of the Hat Guy, I tried on hats, running into the same problem that I had in Otovalo.  My cabeza is muy gorditio.  But at this hat shop, that is not a problem.  I found the style I liked, a narrower brim in a natural finish.  The bad news was that there was not one in my size.  Es no problema, one can be made for me in a matter of hours.  The process was simple.  Find the correct size, which is XXXL, pick the style, pick the colour, pick a hat band.  It will be ready at four PM.  Simple, no?  Si!  

We strolled back to the luxury digs and passed the time with Señor Hansen kicking the shit out of me on the cribbage board.  By the time he tired of pegging around the board with wild abandon, it was time for me to retreat back to El Centro for a few errands and the retrieval of my new hat.  

Sporting the final product.

A fine eveing was spent at the home of a lovely Canadian couple over in Gringolandia.  After a pasta dinner and scrumptious dessert, we battled it out in partners cribbage.   I brought my bad card luck with me and my team was bested amidst tons of laughter and trash talking.  Full as ticks and tired, we cabbed it back across town and called it a night.

It was a day of laziness, fine companionship and relaxation, just what this tired traveler needed.  

   

Ultimate Bus

Today was the ultimate bus ride, the journey overland from Riobamba to Cuenca.  I was heading for  the last not so lonely house in Ecuador, the home of my bueno Amigo and ex-pat, Señor Hansen.  Day trips aside, Cuenca would be my home in Ecuador until the flight back to the Estados Unitos.

I was up with the sun, ransomed myself out of cute-ville, and optimistically headed for the volcano overlook for one last try.  Alas, although I was treated to a fantastic morning view, there was no volcano in sight.  

Being a Sunday morning, I feared the worst for breakfast and certainly for coffee.  On a Sunday morning, the only things open for business are the churches.  If a business is not involved in the maintenance of souls, it is shut tighter than a frogs asshole on a deep dive.   Today, however, I learned a new trick.  Outside of the churches, in anticipation of the newly cleansed and hungry souls, are food stalls!  Being a good pagan, I suppose I don't much hang around churches of a Sunday morning.  (Anybody get that little intentional Mid-West usage?  Anyone?)

Sweet coffee and chicken rice will do in a pinch when there is nothing else about.  Stocked, I retraced my steps back to the terminal, found my bus, and began my hour and a half wait.  Yes, going North to Quito i would have been on my way in five minutes, but South, no Señor.   I actually saw a very worn looking ex-pat guy smoking a cigar on the platform so, after an acknowledging nod to him, I followed suit.

Soon enough I was aboard for the six hours South.  Up and down, screeching tires, lonely hamlets far above the valleys, crowds of Indians off the bus, crowds of Indians on the bus.  My mind shifted into a dream-state as the unreal landscape swept by.  The central highlands are even more rugged and remote than the North.  

Mountains and louds, mountains and clouds, as if in a dream.

Even the Ecuadorans get pretty nervous when there is evidence of fresh rock fall.  We had to sit here for a few minutes before everyone decided to make a dash for it.  

Even six hours will pass and as the afternoon was waning, we pulled into Cuenca's Terminal Terrestre.  Being an Idiot, I had forgotten one crucial bit of information, or, more probably, hidden it from myself.  I did not have Senor Hansen's address.  I thought I had saved an email, a note on my phone, some damn thing, but no luck.  That morning I had messaged ahead asking for the addy, but I had to leave the wifi before I received the answer.  I was on my own with dead reckoning.

Before leaving Seattle I had Googled the address of the apartment.  I had a mental map of about where it should be.  I also remembered photots that Senor Hansen had sent to our group, a view of the river, tiny lane in front, benches for sitting, walking path.  OK, Cuenca is maybe the thrid largest city in Ecuador, how hard could it be to find one little ole' apartment?  As it turns out, not very.

Look at the big map in the bus station, read my own notes, compare those with the mental image in my noggin.  Southwest to the river Rio Tomba, strike out from the border of the El Centro and head towards the Unesco World Hertiage site center, look for wifi along the way.  OK, good plan except that it is Sunday and there isn't anything open on the streets but a few Paneria and they ain't sporting no stinkin' wifi for no lost touristo.  

Back to dead reckoning.

I reached the Rio Tomba with no trouble, just a good hike.  One side had a small lane and the other a busy avenida, so that was a clue.  I found the walking path along the river as dusk was coming on, and headed towards the center.  As I passed under the second bridge on the pathway, I started feeling a little hopeful.  There were benches and the river looked about "right" from what i remembered.  I started scanning the adjacent buildings carefully and: That's a Bingo!  (We just say "Bingo").  Shining out into the eveing from one of the apartments was a big, green tiffany-style lamp, the very lamp that Senor Hansen had proudly posted pics of not two days prior.  And outside this apartment, resplendent on the incredible balcony, was the man himself.

"That's a real purty lamp ya got there Mister" sez I out of the darkness.  Laughter and hugs and the stowing of bags was quickly followed by cigars on the balcony as the night wore on.  My solo travels are over for this journey.  It has been beyond wonderful, but now is a time for Brotherhood and sharing time.  I am really looking forward to it.  

Riobamba

Steep farm land on the volcanic slopes South of Quito.

The time had come to depart Quito and head further South through the central highlands of Ecuador.  I had a rendezvous in Cuenca and Senor Hansen was waiting.  Cuenca is a ten to twelve hour bus ride in one shot, well past my six hour allowable quota, so I chose the midpoint of Riobamba.  

December 6th is the real Founder's Day in Quito and this year it fell on a Saturday.  This was to my advantage, or so I thought, since I would not be fighting the rush hour crowds on the city bus ride I needed to take.  The southern bus terminal is a long, long ways South of El Centro because Quito is a long, long city.  I knew where I needed to go, which bus, and where to catch it.  How hard could it be?  As it turns out, pretty damn hard.

I saw my bus heading out as I was approaching the stop.  Well, damn, but another bus will be along soon, yes?  No.  After waiting for a bit with a bunch of locals, the attendant told us that all of the buses through El Centro were stopped becasue of the Founder's Day celebrations.  Most of El Centro had been shut down to vehicular traffic.  I got the gist of this and directions to another bus stop that would get me South.  After walking to this station, I found the same thing, no buses.  Giving up, I hailed a cab and we were off.   The cab turned out to be a wise decision.  As we drove past El Centor, I could see the streets crowed with people and traffic barricades all over.  Since the bus station is just about in the next damn province, the cab ride alone was almost 40 minutes.  Who knows how long the bus ride would have been.  Adapt, improvise, overcome.  Once I was into the shiny new terminal, I had ticket in hand, and was onboard the bus for Riobamba in a matter of minutes.  

Brief glimpses of snow covered volcanos.

We rolled down the ridges and valleys of the Andes, getting a few peaks at some of the 5,000 meter high snow-capped volcanos.  I fell into the bus groove of contemplating the landscape and letting the scenery drift past.  I enjoy the bus rides as long as I keep them under the six hour limit.  More than that and they become work.  All of the usual stuff happened.  Vendors got on and off, we stopped in different towns, and we had our visit from the snake oil salesman, or rather woman.  Today's brand of snake oil was some kind of magic roots.  These roots would cure anything, including male pattern balding, foot fungus, and heartbreak.  

I arrived in Riobamba after a few hours.  The sun was bright and hot in the afternoon sky, but I needed a walk  I shouldered the faithful Deuter and marched off the two kilometers to town.  Riobamba is a solid colonial town with a large indigenous population.  After getting good and sweaty, I followed my nose to the Saturday market and lunch.  Planting myself at an outdoor table with the standard blue tarp sunshade, I tucked into a bowl of stew in the company of a group of local Indian folks.  I have become so used to this that it seems perfectly normal.   It is not a cultural "experience" or some kind of tourist attraction, it is just lunch and I am treated accordingly.  

A new kind of stew with some local herbs for flavoring.  Most excellent.

After lunch I lucked onto a little cafe with great coffee and Ecudoran bread pudding!!!  

Passing the main square, church and more colonial buildings, I found my guesthouse.  The place was run by a very cute family all of whom had voices like squeaky dog toys.  It was crazy.  The courtyard of my ever-so-cute hostel was deocrated with every kind of gnome, santa, whirlygig and coloured light string that could possibly be fit into such a small space.  I used my room long enough to drop my bag and shower before heading back out for a quick walkabout.  I would be leaving the next morning for Cuenca, the last bus ride of this journey, so I wanted to see as much of Riobamba as possible.

The view through an artists studio window.  Ummmmm.......

The Mercado, where a Señora told my my sombrero was "Muy guapo"  Nice.

The local radio station is housed in this colonail relic.  

The plaza.  No town is complete without one.

There is a parque in Riobamba that sits on a small hill.  The hill is supposed to be a viewpoint for one of the big volcanos that make up the Andes chain.  Views of the heights are ellusive this time of year and they proved so this evening.  It was a grand vista of clouds and sky, but no volcano.  I decided to give it one more try on the way out of town in the morning.  

Back in my little room, I fell deep into my biography of Simon Bolivar and then deeper into a sound sleep.  It has been a whirlwind travel day, but Riobamba had proved well worth a stop and yet another Ecuadoran town that rewarded a weary traveler.  Tomorrow would be the ultimate bus ride and my arrival in Cuenca, with the promise of sanctuary at the home of Señor Hansen.

Quito Dance Party

The bull fight in progress as viewed from the rooftop.

Regardless that my feet might be a little tired from strenuous hiking, or that it was after dark in Quito, it was 5 Dicembre, the day that Quito fills up El Centro with parties, concerts and dancing.  Tired feet or no, I was not about to miss it.  I emptied my pockets of everything except a little bit of cash and headed out.  The bullfight crowd was queing up for the 8 PM show, but I was heading down into El Centro to see what was happening.

I fortified myself with a quick ensalada de fruita and a mita, a sweet masa tamale without any filling.  The party was a few blocks down Av. Guayaquil in Plaza de Theatro.  The crowd was already swelling out into the street and the band was just taking the stage as I arrived.  Lots and lots of happy Quitanos were already cheering as the EmCee introduced the performers, an eleven piece band all togged out in  natty matching yellow suits.  

Bang!  Cumbia beats filled the evening air as the band jumping into their first number and we were off.  With spins and moves that would make James Brown proud, the guys worked the crowd with a killer horn section.  In minutes the crowd was dancing and cheering and clapping.  I was right there with them.  One advantage of being a tall gringo is that I stand a full head above any Quito crowd, so I had an unobstructed view.  The next number was a song that everyone knew, including the hand gestures and response calls.  I gave it my best shot and my neighbors helped me out with genuine delight that the gringo was willing to try.  Fun, fun, fun!!

I danced along with the Cumbia until my feet finally started protesting that they had had enough.  Reluctantly, I dragged the tired dogs back in the direction of the hostel.  Stopping for a sanduche outside the bullring, I mingled with the bull fight fans, a totally different energy than the concert folks.  Eventually I retreated to the rooftop terrace for a well deserved cigar.  There were fireworks shooting into the skys above El Centro, the sounds of the bullfight crowd from across the street, and the mixture of music from every corner of the city.  It was "Ole!! Ole!!"  Bang-bang-bang-bang and random beats.  Craziness.  My last night in Quito was a celebration worthy of a send-off, even if it had not a thing to do with me.  Fantastic city, fantastic time, fantastic day.  

And now it is time to head towards Cuenca and Señor Mark's Casa.  In case you are wondering, there are no photos for this blog entry because a wise traveler does not venture into the party night of Quito and carry anything in his pockets that he might miss later.  

Andean High

The mission of the day was to walk through El Centro, the historic center of Quito, and thence Northwest to the foot of the first volcano to the West of the city.  At the foot of this volcano is the Teleferico, the gondola that would whisk me to the flank of the mountain.  From there I would explore the trails leading higher into the Andes.  It was three miles or so to the Teleferico, walking first through the old town, exploring new barrios to the West, and then through the Western edge of modern Quito. Before any serious walking could happen, I needed some real coffee.

El Centro has all the tiny cafes required for a good cheap breakfast, as long as one doesn't mind bad coffee.  There is good coffee to be had, though, and the cafe at the Basilica was my spot.  While I was imbibing the brew that energizes, I noted a few details of the Basilica that I had not seen on my first visit.

The earthquake damage on the South end of the Basilica.  The stained glass that once adorned the heart-shaped window has been replaced with modern glass.  Earthquakes are not uncommon in this volcanic valley, and repairing the damage to historic structures is constant.

One of the bronze doors of the Basilica.  This one depicts the arrogance of The Church wherein the native people are blessed with the salvation of the Lord.  i won't even begin to apologize for my use of the term arrogance.  Note the Conquistador on the left.   

With a sufficient dose of caffeine taken in I was off, climbing the steep hills of the barrio behind the Basilica.  Then it was downhill and out into modern Quito and not the nicest bit of walking.

Just in case you thought all of Quito was a jumble of colonial facades, think again.  This is a very large city of over 2.5 million people.

They do love their public art here, even along the busy arterials.  I guess this is a representation of slack lining.

I walked and I walked.  One would think that a giant gondola, whose cable lines and cars were visible coming down the side of a massive volcano would be easy to find.  Well so did I.  Eventually I found the road that led up to the Teleferico station.  Led up it did, and continued to lead up.  I thought I was going to have to climb the entire mountain just to find the thing.  With the help of a few locals who were probably wondering why the Idiot Gringo wasn't taking a taxi like any other sane traveler, I finally found the estacion.

Just below the Teleferico estacion is Volcano park, quite possibly the saddest little amusement park I have ever seen.  The only thing that could make an almost abandoned amusement park in Quito, Ecuador even more sureal was the piped in theme from the Howdy Doody Show drifting over the morning air.  i kid you not folks!

I gladly paid my $8.50 for the ride and climbed aboard.  I was not lucky enough to draw a sunny day, but this time of year in Quito most people do not.  Regardless of the weather, I was excited as the gondola lurched away from the station and started ascending the mountain.  While the Medellin Metro Car was far more exilerating as it swooped over the barrios, the Teleferico was still wonderful.  The views of Quito revealed what a massive amount of real estate this city covers.  Virtually the whole of the valley, every spot level enough to support a building, is covered for miles to the North and South.  Yet from East to West the city is as narrow as a wasp's waist.

The city of Quito, far below the flanks of the volcano.

I disembarked the Teleferico into a stiff breeze sweeping the mountain slopes.  i was glad for my new alpaca sweater and felt hat.  Taking in the views, I quickly found the hiking trail, which begins at an elevation of 4,050 meters above sea level.  Serious altitude.  That is just about 1,000 feet less than the summit of Mount Rainier, to put it in perspective.  

Clouds sweeping across the ridges.

The trail wound along ridge tops, steadily gaining altitude and heading West.  I was not prepared to do the entire hike to the volcano, as that is 12 kilometers one way.  That would be a 14 mile round trip, more than I was equipped for.  I decided to do as much of the hike as I was prepared for and until my water ran out.  At that point i would gracefully retreat to hike another day.

Happy in the thin air with the trail winding on behind me.

I cimbed far into the clouds, gaining altitude the entire time.  On the steeper slopes I dropped into a rest-step, which is an altitude survival technique.  Step, breathe, step, breathe, forcing the air out of my lungs with a hard exhalation.  As the air thins at altitude, the human lungs will not bring in enough oxygen through normal inhalations.  Forcing the air out of the lungs produces a corresponding greater inhalation, and thus more oxygen through larger volumn of air inhaled.  

The clouds were swirling around me, revealing and then hiding the terrain.  Tendrils of cloud were pulled down towards the ground, gyring across the valley like so many ghostly ballet dancers.  It was pure magic.  There was no sense self, only the sensation of being a part of the landscape.  Breathe, step, breathe, step.  Moving through while being a part of and being engulfed in.  Breathe, step, breathe, step.  The air is sharp, thin, biting.  The wind is chiling and invigorating.  Breathe, step, breathe, step.  

The ground was covered with tiny sedum-like plants, creating a yielding and fragile carpet.

I continued climbing until I was out of water, the trail head far below me and out of sight.  The next part of the trail was the begining of an even steeper climb above the first cirque of the volcano's summit.  This was where i would call it a day.  I was already climbing in the clouds and the trail ahead was completely cloaked.  I had gained somewhere in the range of two thousand feet, easily over the 15,000 foot elevation mark, the highest elevation I ever been to on foot.  It was pure joy to stand South of the Equator and at the highest point on Planet Earth I have hiked to in my life.  Chilled and tired, I watched the the spectacle of the cloiud dance as long as I could and then turned my feet downwards letting gravity do the work.  

The cloud dance across the approach to the cirque.

Down and down and down, and then, once more aboard the Teleferico, down some more.  It is amazing how thick the air can feel at 9,000 feet, the elevation of Quito, after the hike above.  It was like returning to sea level.

Heading down the Teleferico.

Down and down and down.

On foot once more, I walked East into New Town.  It was time for a greatly deserved late lunch and then, at another cafe, a wonderfully thick coffee.  There was more to come on this day, for it would be Party Time in Quito as the city came out in droves to celebrate Founders Day, but that is the stuff of another post.