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.