1 September 2007
DRIVING THE SIERRA Part 2
Saquisili to Sangolqui near Quito
The nightstop was another tranquillo triumph. It wasn’t until 06.45, that we had any noise at all – and in
We started our market visit at 08.30, and it really wasn’t difficult to find the squares on which the stallholders had settled themselves. During the course of the following 4 hours, we didn’t quite get to everything – the big animal market was quite a way away – but we saw enough to have a very good morning.
The nearest market to our nightstop was the first we visited: the clothing market… not that thrilling except for the colourful wool stalls. What we were to find as the morning progressed was that the idea promulgated by my library informant yesterday – that there were specialised markets – was only very loosely true: there were clothes being sold in other places… and fresh food seemed to be all over the place, as were meals.
The second market was the biggest of the fresh and cooked food locations, and the fresh food was very good. And we weren’t just looking: we needed to stock up. After picking up a few bits, we hit the area where the producers, rather than the greengrocers, were operating. At one stall, we bought two big and gorgeously fresh lettuces (elsewhere, they were selling Icebergs that were impossibly old), two leeks, a small broccoli head and a turnip, all for $1! (The lady wanted to give us change!). This market then concluded with huge blocks of brown sugar (some in a sort of raffia wrapping: MM said it reminded her of the 2ndWW when this was sold in
We went back to the vans for tea and to unload our purchases, and then set out again. Market 3 had yet more fresh fruit and veg but these were complemented by a street of bread vendors at the top of which was a bible-basher on the back of a lorry and beyond him, a small corner where people were selling what looked suspiciously like grass.
Market 4 was a short walk away, along a road where people were selling anything and everything from the pavements or from vans. The market itself had a strong line in live poultry but pigs could also be bought, onions (like giant salad onions or thin leeks: very popular here), and yet more grass.
Finally, market 5. The top end of this was the next best thing to a tourist market, though there were precious few tourists around. Lots of floor coverings, wall hangings, paintings on leather and pressed corn leaves, baskets, decorated gourds… We went a little mad and bought a floor covering for Jenni’s flat and several of the outrageously colourful woven shoulder bags.
Market 5 continued with a line of (male) sewing machinists, yet more fresh and cooked food, baskets, and then a further street of anything and everything.
We were tired by this point and returned to the vans, though I did a small detour to find the knife sharpener to do our kitchen knives, only to find him gone. A pity, that.
Lunch, after which we left to move further north having decided that we could easily make the very famous and touristy Saturday market at Otavalo (north of
It was only 15 minutes or so before we made the PanAmericana north of Latacunga. We were on it for the next 2 hours of more, broken by a >half-hour tea break. The road’s a busy one and on one long stretch, involves a lengthy and demanding hill. The hill has the best stretch of 4-lane road: the rest of the PanAm is rather messy, and includes a lot of simple 2-lane stuff.
At the start, we had a half-reasonable view of Volcan Cotopaxi to our right and very close, but after 5 minutes of so, cloud enveloped the whole of the snowy summit. Then beyond the long hill, there were three volcanoes to the right – two Ilinizas (South and North) and El Corazon – none fully visible, but as we swung round Quito to the east, we got terrifically clear views of the snowy and massive Cayambe (5,790m asl) in the far distance.
The eastern ‘by-pass’ road is really just an alternative run northwards, passing through or by a number of fair-sized dormitory towns for
The other problem we have is where to stop. On the road is not an option, and this is a well built-up area. However, although I say it myself, we are now pretty deft at finding somewhere. After 20 minutes or so on the ‘by-pass’, we can see a pleasant estate to our right, and then come to a roundabout that allows us to turn and access it. In fact, we don’t. It’s a gated community, but next to its entrance, there’s a public parking area. It’s actually close to the ‘by-pass’, but sufficiently far away to be acceptable as a nightstop. So with almost no effort, we have a place to stay.
The girls’ teatime starts now, and I go for a walk in search of milk. I find it, and an internet shop to which I return and send off this journal as well as addressing my correspondence. It’s interesting as it includes the info we need from Ana for the March sailing from
When I get back to the van, Margaret’s almost finished making a really tasty meal of Saquisili take-away pork and yummy mash accompanied by broccoli and peas, and followed by some very good strawberries and cream. A definite hit!
Friday 2 March
Sangolqui near Quito to Otavalo
A very odd day, in which we literally moved from Summer to Winter as we drove, and in which we avoided disaster by minutes and by sheer luck.
We set out at 08.30. The drive was largely uninteresting – through the Home Counties of Ecuador, the eastern environs of
So we stopped for a break reasonably early, on a large Texaco fuel station, and then dragged it out with a confab on plans for Manta (the ro-ro, and the complementary flight to Costa Rica) before starting out again down a short hill. At the bottom were two sleeping policemen and as we bumped our way slowly over the second, MM came on the CB: “Stop! Stop! There’s something wrong with your gas tank!!”.
There was indeed. The tank’s cover was tilted down at the front at an alarming angle, and this mirrored the angle of the tank itself. The back of the tank was held by its metal strap, but the one at the front had severed. The result was that the tank can only have been minutes away from sliding forward off the rear strap. Since it is full of liquefied petroleum gas and the main stopcock was not turned off, it is easy to imagine the conflagration that might have occurred. The first result of this episode is that we have reviewed our policy of driving with the gas ‘on’!
Stopped – and with the tank now turned off - we were in no danger, but we could not move to get help. So we took local advice and I joined MM to go back to the Texaco station where we were advised there would be help. We were diverted from this quest as we turned round as there appeared to be no fewer than three mechanical workshops within 50m of us in the non-Texaco direction. But they all turned out to be false leads, and we were soon motoring up the hill.
Opposite the Texaco was the dusty taller of The Man You Need. He was working on a school bus and there were several onlookers. Within a couple of minutes, two of the latter took me downhill in their pick-up to our van, and less than 10 minutes later, the tank’s dangling front section was strung up to the roof rack and I was driving back up to our man at 4kph (= 2.4 mph) with Margaret walking alongside to give a full progress report on any aberrant behaviour on the part of the tank.
But it was well secured, and even survived the serious bump on to the workshop’s compacted dust ‘forecourt’.
Work began immediately and was completed within an hour plus. The old strap was shortened, re-drilled and re-used, but most importantly, a major piece of welding went on above the tank. It appeared that two large bits of the chassis needed to be re-connected, and their disconnection had probably played a big part in the creation of the problem. At $10, the work seemed the bargain of the century, so in untypically generous fashion, I doubled it. Even then, it was ludicrously cheap.
At 12.30, we were done and retired to the fuel station to join MM and her van and to have a first-rate bacon, egg and tomato lunch. A further 90 minutes later, we set out again, very slowly in the initial stages!
It was nearly 15.00 when we reached the Equator and passed, with little difficulty, from Summer into Winter. It’s almost 300 years since French scientists, interested in the shape of our globe, came Equator-hunting to what was then the Real Audiencia of 
LINEA EQUINOCCIAL EQUATOR) to a modest tower.
We take photos and boast that we have now driven across both Tropics and the Equator (and in our case, across the
We arrive in Otavalo at about 16.30. It gives an immediate impression of being a cheery and vital small town. The streets are the usual regular grid with most designated UNA VIA. Margaret unerringly navigates us into the centre and right past the travel agency that is our first target. It is there we will book our air tickets to
They’re a nice bunch at Yuratours, but the reservations take an age (c80 minutes) to complete. However, we do also get useful info about the market (the main reason for being here), a laundry, a key cutter, a good restaurant, banks etc etc. But as it is 18.00 now, we make our next call at a parquedero we’ve spotted on the same, major drag as the agency. It’s a clean and tidy, large area that can accommodate us for $3 per van per night + $0.75 per hour during the day. We go for it, and within 15 minutes are installed.
We’ve already clocked the laundry and will do that tomorrow. After putting our glad rags on, we set out to the key cutter (no luck), the bank (ok), and the restaurant, El Otavalito, which delivers a fine meal for $10 per head all in. The highspot: two excellent pork chops per person in a lovely sauce. Most interesting culinary detail: as in some other restaurants, our veg is cold and appears to have been preserved in a very subtle pickling liquid. The red cabbage, broccoli and cauli are terrifically tasty and ‘cooked’ but crispy.
That was my birthday dinner, and a cracker it was too.
We’re back at the vans soon after 20.00, but ready for a cuppa and a rest, and the earliest bed we can manage.
Saturday 3 March
Otavalo
This was a really pleasant day, with none of the unwanted drama of yesterday.
The morning was pretty well full-on market visiting. By the end of it, Margaret was ready for a major sit-down, and her fatigue rolled over into the afternoon. After starting out at 09.00, we delivered the laundry to a shut shop (you have to bang on the door very insistently to achieve this) before splitting up. MM and Margaret were not interested in the animal market, so I went on my merry way - less than a km out of town but nonetheless over the PanAmericana, to a field - whilst they did the non-animal stuff in the town centre.
The animal market deserves only a cursory mention as it had none of the pzazz I remember from my first visit here in 1995 when I think cuy were in evidence as were poultry, and the market was just a block or two down from the major fabrics etc square. Today, it was pigs and cattle: pretty poor stuff.
The rest of the market deserves much more of a description. It is terrific and FAR more impressive that I expected. It is vast, varied, and, contrary to expectation, remains a real, local market despite its firm standing as a must-see for tourists. and thus the resultant skewing of products, pitch, and price.
The heart of the market is the Plaza de los Ponchos, a large square dominated by fabrics in one shape or form.
However, even it is remarkably varied. For example, the top side is dedicated to non-fabric items such as jewellery, musical instruments etc, and just in from the edge at the lower end is a line of local women selling their home-grown produce. One might have imagined that the latter would have been banned by local bigwigs swayed by the lure of the tourist dollar.
In addition, the Plaza de los Ponchos is only a fraction of the whole. The market occupies innumerable streets radiating off the Plaza. These again contain an amazing range of products – eg jade carvings, headwear, embroidery (so much like Hungarian work that you might think you were there), belts, and feather goods (like headdresses).
Prices are not stupid either. Margaret’s first purchase was a chess set in a box, all beautifully decorated. The price was $9.50. I bought a pair of shoes (nothing special) for $18.
On my way back from the animal market, I also discovered that the southernmost extension of the street stalls is entirely devoted to fresh fruit and veg, and they cluster around the covered market which includes meat. This entire section is almost tourist-free – though one has to say that the overall number of tourists today was exceptionally small. They were substantially outnumbered (50 or 100-1?) by locals.
And that’s good, because the locals are good to look at. The Otvaleños (or rather the Otvaleñas) have a distinctive dress and it is widely adopted and very attractive.
They are also renowned for their entrepreneurial abilities, and this woman can be seen counting the dollars after a successful transaction at the animal market.
At 11.45, in the Ponchos, I met up with MM and Margaret who were as blown away as me with the experience. As they know a thing or two about crafts and fabrics, their judgement on the quality of the goods was interesting: top stuff they reckoned.
We found our way just off the square to a café we’d spotted yesterday, and ate a very good lunch which included carrot soup, a veggie burger and fruit (!), a colossal pot of tea, and delicious glass of blackberry juice. From thence, we extended our shopping expedition to a supermarket and bakery for a very modest list of essentials, and to a camera shop where both MM and I bought new Canon cameras… less modest.
To the van next, collecting the laundry on the way, and for the next hour or two after the necessary decanting of washing and purchases, we enjoyed an hour or two of relaxation.
No peace for the wicked however. An internet session called which, for Margaret and me, focussed on our bank accounts (no apparent problems as a result of the loss, 3 weeks ago, of cards) and today’s English football.
Soon after 17.00, I set about cooking a stew in the van whilst Margaret went prone. Beef, sausage, onion, leek, carrot, turnip, broad beans, potato, chilli, ginger, herbs… 2 hours later it was ready and we retired to MM’s van to eat it. It turned out a great success: a really tasty mix of flavours with a spicy edge. There was enough for 5-6: we ate the lot. MM’s excellent choice of wine from her cellar (!) was a Chilean El Aromo Cab Sauv from the Maule, and she also provided a delicious greengage crumble. A feast fit for kings, and for British pensioners intent on world travel.
Sunday 4 March
Otavalo to Guayllabamba
A late start (09.10) as we slept in after the heavy day of walking yesterday and then readied the vans for today’s action. Our parquedero is much better appointed than most campsites (cf Cabanas Yanuncay, Humberto’s place). It is very, very tidy and flat, has lovely clean toilets, a water tap and two external 110 volt sockets. The lads will wash your van too. We didn’t have the vans done, but for 2 nights and a whole day’s parking bang slap in the city centre, we paid $15 each.
Our route took us out of town to the north, and before we left the urban area, we took a left to start a loop via Selva Alegre to Lago Cotacachi and then back to Otavalo.. The road was beautifully made, for the first 5 or so kms. It then started to deteriorate, and at >20kms out, the on-off tarmac finally turned ‘off’. The unmetalled road – and the unmetalled sections of the road – were awful, pockmarked so badly that bumping and swaying was the norm. We are not ones to give up easily, but at 11.30, we made a difficult 3-point turn to abandon ship. We had not even done half of the circuit, and we had wasted a morning.
We took lunch back near Otavalo, and started out southwards just before 14.00. Our objective now was the Tolas de Cochasqui archaeological site some kms west of the city of
Don’t press me too much about the Tolas de Cochasqui. We were tagged on to a tour in Spanish by a guide who had no English and no interest in making any concessions to those with no Spanish. In addition, there was neither guide book nor any helpful signs. However, the Cochasqui culture operated here from c950AD to 1550AD. The >60ha site is characterised firstly by a terrific location overlooking the massive valley that today houses the PanAmericana and was probably a major trade route 1,000 years ago with views (when the weather allows) towards several of the many volcanoes to the east and south.
Secondly, it houses 15 big to enormous mounds, simple flat-topped pyramids most of which have long, thin triangular ramps, and there are a number of other circular mounds dotted around. At least some of the pyramids were built rather than piled up: we were shown the excavated stepped exterior of one of them, and it comprises quarried blocks of stone.
So far as we could determine, knowledge of the purpose(s) of these constructions is sadly lacking, though the usual suspects were wheeled out – some of them seem to reflect star constellations; there may have been celebrations of the exquinoxes/solstices, and related to that, actions to ensure rain/good harvests… One excavated platform on top of a smaller pyramid looked like a beaten earth floor in which were many holes and several short and narrow channels which could have been graves for very thin people (but weren’t).
Tolas de Cochasqui is the best (the only!) pre-Hispanic indigenous site we have seen in
It was well after 17.00 when we left the site, taking a different, more southerly cobbled route to drop off the hill. We accessed the PanAmericana next to a toll booth then wound our way through a rather tortuous gorge. No chance of a nightstop here.
When we reached the point where our spur of the PanAm met the other (they form an ellipse), we opted not to head for
And so it proved. At 18.00 and a bit, we passed the plaza on the left (too busy) and then turned left up the next road to find a right turn that was flat, very quiet, and (later) well lit. Just the job. 10 minutes later, we walked back to the plaza. In one corner, chickens were being loaded on to a charcoal spit and we went in to order a whole chicken plus chips plus salad for the three of us.
30 minutes later, we had partaken of an excellent meal and were taking home enough cooked meat for three for the following day. At $6.70, that was bargain food as well as being muy rico.
In our van, postre was furnished by MM (fresh pineapple) and tea by the Brooks, and we enjoyed Episode 63 of the Barkers’ South American journal which has also become our staple fare in recent weeks.
Various jobs, and a visit from the policia which led to us turning round for a quick escape should problems occur, and then to bed.
Monday 5 March
Guayllabamba to Quito
I’m not sure how long it took us to get to the Autec garage in northern
The Autec garage seems to have dispensed with its Merc logos in favour of Iveco, Freightliner and even Land-Rover, but it’s still easy to find on the major northerly road into town. We were quickly assessed, but work started much less speedily. Our objectives included getting new batteries and repairing the air conditioning (MM) and new tyres, further repairs to the gas tank housing, and resolving two battery problems (us).
By the end of the day, some things were resolved. MM had 5 new batteries (!) at a cost of around $900 (!!), and our expert assistants could not find any of our tyres in
More on the tank. Yesterday, I noticed that the tank was far from stable despite its repair. I went underneath the van and discovered the cause. The weld (that had been done by our man after the initial problem) had failed. My inspection showed me for the first time the nature of the installation. The straps around the tank connect on to a sort of overhead cradle which in turn is bolted to the vehicle chassis. It was the cradle that had cracked, and it had cracked again. I said nothing to Margaret as I knew she would be overly worried, but did point out the problem to the Autec boys. In consequence, they took off the tank and the cradle and sent the lot off for welding and a third strap.
By evening, it was back but not installed, so our gas supply comes from the tank which is temporarily mounted on a vast tyre below the vehicle.
The staff at this garage are a delight, and nobody more so than Leonardo, our chauffeur to several battery shops. What an interesting guy! This mere mechanic is learning Russian, has visited Europe, is married to a gynaecologist, can sustain an intelligent conversation on the origins of Marxism in Hegel’s philosophy, loves operetta, and is excited by the coming appearance in
Dinner was chicken stir-fry and strawberries, neither sensational but both good, which we ate parked outside the very large workshop and protected by 2 young, gun-toting night security guards and a ferocious-sounding dog.
“Don’t leave the vans: the dog will be wandering around soon”, we’re advised. We won’t, of course.
Tuesday 6 March
Quito
It’s my best sister’s birthday, and there’s no chance of me getting a call through[1]. For a second day, we’re at the Autec garage, and for a second night too. We don’t move off the site today and stupid though it may seem as we aren’t doing any of the repairs, we’re very busy and by the early afternoon, we’re really tired.
How can this be? Well, there’s the constant nagging: “What’s happened to my batteries?... When are you coming to look at the charger I want you to install?”. They’re good folk here, but they aren’t fast and they need prompting. Our engine batteries were taken out at 16.00 or so yesterday, but they weren’t re-installed until 23 hours later, yet they only needed testing and a repair to a terminal.
The nagging is easily matched in time taken by the directing. The morning work on the re-installation of the tank demanded constant supervision, and the mechanics wanted that as this was totally new to them: they barely understand any of the issues or the way the tank and its accessories fit together.
Then there’s the fact that this nagging, supervising, and indeed all exchanges, have to be in Spanish. This is remarkably demanding.
Plus almost everything that is done by a mechanic involves me doing something else. Today’s electrical work meant I needed to climb on the roof to cover the solar panels, and later, to get out a number of cables to connect to the workshop’s electricity. And later still, to pack them up again.
So what did we get done? The gas tank is back on and in better shape than before it fell off – but the additional strap we wanted has not been installed. The engine battery terminal, melted by the
We made very good progress with two new jobs we commissioned when we were obliged to spend the day here to get MM’s air conditioning done (which it was). The jobs were the installation of a mains battery charger and a mains-to-24v transformer for the fridge. This took almost all day and the auto-electrician did some good work – but like all the other jobs, it was not quite completed. We wanted to test the installation on mains, preferably 110v, the North American standard, but this proved impossible largely because the workshop’s electrical supply was so poor. We were unable to get power with an earth!
By 17.30, we were finished (sort of) and very tired. But the fact that we were filthy doing such mucky jobs (and not having had a shower since…) meant that we raised our game to re-join the ranks of The Great Washed.
By dint of some good teamwork, we were out of the shower and had eaten chicken (in a yoghurt sauce with cumin and paprika no less) by 20.00.
Happy birthday Pauline, and sorry I didn’t make it to that phone!
Wednesday 7 March
Quito
We only have MM’s security bar to do plus a blow-out of our dusty air filters plus two van washes… and we have to pay our bills. But it takes all day!
We start with having the vans well washed at 08.30 onwards, then get the garage foreman to clean the filters. Soon after, it becomes clear that MM’s security bar is a complete cock-up, perhaps 150mm longer than required - and as the day progresses, this cock-up gets worse. Instead of measuring the required length, one of the garage staff sort of guesses what it should be and it is remade 10-20mm too short! It’s difficult to understand how such simple jobs can be turned into crises.
Meanwhile, I’m trying to get our bill without success, and I also want to find out where the mechanica is that re-did our tank housing so that we can go and get the ‘missing’ strap (or better still, two).
As it happened, the mechanica’s rep is on site, and after establishing that his workshop will be a pig to find, we follow him back there. It’s about 10.30 at this point, and the work at this big metal-bashing workshop starts immediately. However, it too almost becomes a crisis before my original idea – to have two simple straps that circle the tank and the cradle above, with the two ends joined to each other and the cradle – is accepted and implemented. By 13.00, we are the delighted owners of a tank that will never fall off again. Watch this space.
Not a bargain though at $50… or maybe it is a bargain because during the course of the work, I thumb a lift with our engineer and his brother and whilst the former is getting some metal cut for us, the bro takes me to a large ironmongers for the chains that we’ve been wanting in order to secure our roof boxes whilst on the ro-ro. Such a chauffeur service is invaluable, especially in a big city. How else to find such stuff?
13.00, the work is done, and it’s time to shop for a few fresh essentials and then eat. Next door to the workshop on this crummy back street is a pretty downmarket but clean fish restaurant which comes recommended. And my goodness it’s good! Margaret has beautifully presented, tasty and and plump prawns in garlic sauce and I have the parga (a lovely, whole, crisply-fried white fish) which comes with superb seafood rice, a refreshing onion and tomato salad, and chips. $10 all in.
Soon after 14.00, we’re back at Autec. MM’s security bar is in crisis, and the foreman gets down to sorting it which he does by mid-afternoon. At which point, he is able to focus on the bills. This too is a jolly old mess. MM’s battery work is on my bill, and mine on hers! Some items seem overcharged whilst others have been totally forgotten. Yesterday’s work (c6 man hours) on our charger+transformer installation is represented by a single entry for the creation of a small cage for the charger!!
It takes more than an hour to sort the final bills out and we kill some of the time watching the Autec telly - Arsenal vs PSV live in the Champions’ League on. The assembled small throng are wildly pro-PSV as the Ecuadorian Mendes plays for them. Arsenal are dominant but can’t score and are knocked out. I also use the waiting time to discover there’s a cabinas telefonicas close by, and I manage to call birthday-girl-yesterday Pauline who has a guest for dinner, our daughter Jenni. Two for the price of one: very good.
The final bills are agreed, but there’s more fun and games when we come to pay. Our Visa card isn’t accepted, but we pay the $175 bill in cash and sort the card problem out by phone later. Visa had stopped the card because it was being used abroad: we had not informed them of our peregrinations.
By now it’s late afternoon, but we’ve already determined what we will do for the next two nights and for tomorrow. Autec are happy for us to park here whilst we visit the historic centre of
A snack for tea, some planning for our visit tomorrow, some video for Margaret and scribbling for me, and then bed.
But not before our guards have requested that I take a photo of them and their hound.
Thursday 8 March
Quito
We set out for the old city by taxi soon after 09.00. It’s a 30 minute drive through heavy traffic, but in general the traffic is moving.
We spend the day in a very small area just to the south of the old city’s nominal centre, the Plaza Grande or Plaza de la Independencia. We start off at the house of Marshal Sucre, now a museum. Why? Because we like old houses (this is c 200 years old), and
The best thing about the museum is the house which is gorgeous with a classic courtyard arrangement and some lovely rooms. The second best thing is that they do have several authentic pieces of
Next, to the stunning Jesuit church (Iglesia de la Compania de Jesus) just round the corner. I use the word ‘stunning’ advisedly. We have now visited a very large number of the fabulous churches of Catholic Spain in its colonial territories, and this is up there with the best. 7 tons of gold make this the most lustrous church interior we have seen, and the detail is breathtaking. Wherever you look, walls, alcoves, ceilings… everything is decorated. Simply astonishing. But I can’t share the wonder with you, dear diary, as one can’t take – or buy - photos.
A very short walk down from the Compania is the aforementioned plaza. This houses a somewhat boring but very old cathedral, a lovely archbishop’s palace, and the attractive and exceptionally long presidential palace. The square itself is well planted and set out with a monument to the (again, very early) liberators of 1809. They failed in their quest, but earned martyrdom and the devotion of their compatriots through all the later generations.
Today, the square is very lively. Outside
‘Is the President of the Republic at home?’ I ask one young woman. It’s not clear if he is, but she hopes to see him nonetheless. And then, miraculously, he appears! I am gobsmacked!!
This is the youthful (aged 45) and handsome, new and radical president of
He then disappears and re-appears on the lower balcony, this time with the press, some aides and many soldiers and plain clothes guards, and launches into a fine speech. It’s unscripted, well delivered, and very well received. Margaret and I can understand a remarkably large part of it. He starts with a joke about his poor Quichua (the principal indigenous language), notes the huge economic importance of women (he is an economist), indicates his strong support for women’s issues including the struggle against domestic violence (he dismisses Latin machismo as an unacceptable excuse for bashing the wife), and ends with ‘Hasta la victoria siempre!’, a phrase associated with Che Guevara.
I’m totally bowled over by the experience of seeing this guy.
We walk back from the square to another square,
After 14.00, we go a-wandering again to find La Ronda, a street which allegedly includes some of the best colonial houses hereabouts. It is the only disappointment of the day. The street has been extensively restored and cleansed. It’s populated by security guards to offset its unwelcome reputation as the pickpocket centre of
Some of our party are now flagging, so we taxi back to the centre of our operations for today in order to find and visit the Museo Casa Maria Augusta Urrutia. The late, eponymous owner and patroness of the house was a lively and very rich woman who died in 1987. She made her mark through her good works which continue today through a foundation she created with the Jesuits in 1939. The house is massive and includes a remarkable number of things from around the world (including an English bath) that only the richest could have afforded. But alongside this, the house incorporated a school which was one part of the good works of a good woman.
A brief shop at a local panaderia and a supermarket, and then we climb into a taxi for the 30 minute return trip to the vans. To avoid the rush hour traffic, the route largely follows the Occidentale, a sort of
The Autec garage regained, we do a few small jobs and then relax before a mini-tea and yet more relaxing. One of our night guards appears in civvies with his wife and baby. ‘Have I printed the photo?’ and I’m pleased to tell him that we did manage to stitch this task in to a busy day. I hand over the slightly crumpled pair of pictures.
[1] There was actually: we were only 5 minutes walk from the phones, but I’d assumed that we were in the middle of nowhere.
28 February 2007
DRIVING THE SIERRA Part 1
We have several hours of the afternoon to enjoy the views, to sup tea, to chat with the local police commandant who comes to take the view and not to chide us for illegal parking, to watch yet more Bleak House, and to get to grips with processing photos on this new computer. Beyond Biblian to Ingapirca, El Tambo, and then some
Joyagshi to Lago Coltas
Lago Coltas to Penipe
Penipe to Banos via Tungurahua
Banos to Guaranda via
Guaranda to Patain, north of Ambato
Patain to Pujili
This turns out to be a lovely spot, if not the best crater/lake we’ve ever visited. The crater’s big but not that deep (300m), and the lack of sun means that the emerald green of the water is not evident, other than at the very edges. The ladies who brave the very windy and cool conditions to sell their wares come off best: both MM and Margaret buy stuff which is good but inexpensive. 
Monday 19 February
Cuenca
We’re all set for the early visit to the laundry and leaving
Back at Cabanas Yanuncay, we break the bad news to MM whose washing was also to be done, and then, just before 09.00, witness the first of the final minutes of that pig. It will be this afternoon’s carnival feast. Led to the slaughter by Humberto’s brother (who lives off site), it is trussed up and despatched after much squealing by a young slick-haired man who we’ve never seen before. The knife goes in under the beast, behind the front right leg.
In the next 90 minutes, several men cart the carcase to the open sink which generally houses the clothes and dish washing. There it is bled and eviscerated before being lifted back the 30m to that lean-to-cum-garage that was done out for Friday’s party, and is still done out for the pig roast. Lifted on to a small A-frame, The pig looks out at us in all its glory, though life, and its entire innards, have all departed. Then the flaming begins, powered by a large flame-thrower fuelled by a big gas bottle. Many men take duties over the next hour or more, but we do not see the next stage, when the beast is barbequed from below.
We keep an eye on all this as we do that job that should have been done yesterday – we unpack MM’s ‘shed’ and re-pack it with our security gates underneath the assorted boxes/genny/hosepipe/suitcase…
After having a cuppa and then filling with water and dumping the loos. we pull out on to the road. Our next move is to confront Humberto, and we think being out of the compound makes sense!
In reality, the meeting with him does not come to fisticuffs. After some vigorous debate, he makes an abject surrender with the words “Pay me what you like!” and “I don’t want this: I want my life to be tranquillo”. So we do pay him what we like – less than he wanted, much more than I thought reasonable, but sufficient for him not to be humiliated. He didn’t even check the money, wandering off as we counted it out as if in some grand strop. But when we left the house after him, he walked with us to the vans and recovered his bonhomie within seconds, plying us with advice for the run north.
That will not start for another hour. We drive round the houses (and through innumerable aqua assaults) to the SuperMaxi on Avenida Las Americas and top up with essentials first. It’s very shortly after midday when we begin the great circumnavigation of
Free at last!! It feels wonderful!!!!
The pranks continue as we drive. One feature of them is that they are commonly mobile. Numerous adults, who should know better, are driving pick-ups laden with youths armed with water – and there are some normal cars too doing the same thing. One good thing: the greatest pleasure is in scoring a hit on similar groups, rather than hitting
We reach Azogues by 12.50 and find a piece of scruffy land on which to park up for lunch. The view over the city is excellent and we spend 90 minutes there. We’re almost at today’s destination. H has advised that, after Biblian (only 10-20 minutes away), the road starts to climb steeply – and given our bronchial condition, it does not seem sensible to get too high.
But the inevitable happens. We’re climbing before we know it, and steep hills means radically fewer opportunities to park up. Margaret is not best pleased and, just as I’m ready to give in and retreat, we discover a blissful locale – a lay-by backed by a piece of grassy, flat land with the most outstanding view back down the valley from which we have come. We are in deepest, green Andes, and it’s gorgeous, even though it is at just over 3,000m and consequently has less oxygen and offers a much colder night than in
We have several hours of the afternoon to enjoy the views, to sup tea, to chat with the local police commandant who comes to take the view and not to chide us for illegal parking, to watch yet more Bleak House, and to get to grips with processing photos on this new computer. It remains tolerably warm until late afternoon, with a stiff breeze, but we put the blinds and insulating windscreen covers up soon after 18.00 to keep in the day’s gain. At the same time, I’m cooking so this makes a significant difference to the internal temp.
We eat after 19.00 – beef ribs, which are pretty tough and gristle-full even if they are tasty (he local dogs - we’re in the middle of nowhere but there are packs – will get a rare treat), with fried onions and carrots alongside asparagus… the best part of the meal and mighty cheap. Strawberries follow.
Tuesday 20 February
Beyond Biblian to Ingapirca, El Tambo, and then some
Our threesome’s condition precludes a pre-determined start time. We get up soon after 07.00 which means that we’ve had the best part of 10.5 hours in bed, the pattern since illness struck many days ago. And I promise: we are sleeping well during that time.
It’s cool this morning, but was far warmer overnight than expected. The first light temperature outside is 7°C, 2 warmer than both of the last 2 mornings in
We’re ready by 09.00, but there’s no message from MM… though she is up and about. It’s soon after 10.00 when communication leads to action and movement. Meanwhile, we’ve had a soporific time observing two of the boys from the nearby house having a top time with a wheelbarrow, and worried about their family’s health as their daily milk pail, delivered by pick-up (what else?), is assaulted by one of the dog pack. Mind you, they probably have immunity to dog saliva in their milk.
The road – and if I haven’t said this already, this is THE road through the Andes in Ecuador, the Pan-Americana, a real tarmac spine – continues upwards to over 3,500m through open land which is invariably green and supporting dairy cattle. We’ve seen a lot of the
We’re on the lookout now for an unmade road that will take us off to the right in a swing of c30kms, allowing us to visit Ingapirca and then to return to the major road at El Tambo. By the time we meet a police stop, it looks as if we’ve missed it, but it appears within a few hundred metres, accompanied by a massive pictorial sign for Ingapirca, and it’s paved. It offers a delightful, mazy run through the innumerable homesteads and their fields of potatoes, maize, broad beans etc. Many of the people here are indigenous, wearing trilbies and later a small, close-fitting hat with an upturned brim. Think 1stWW German soldiers. The baggy, colourful skirt of Andean women is much in evidence and backpacks are de rigeur.
Ingapirca is reached at 11.30. It’s
It’s not a spectacular place but it is pleasing and it is interesting.
We have a good wander round for 90 minutes or more and MM in particular is really tired by the end. So are we as it turns out: we have lunch and then flake out on our beds for well over an hour, sleeping some of that time.
So it’s just before 15.00 when we leave to continue that country by-pass we started some 20kms earlier. We descend into the small town of
The possibilities for an early nightstop are supremely limited. Properties occupy every inch up to the edge of the road and are protected by gates, fences, barbed wire – and very often by an uncrossable storm drain. But soon after 16.00, there it is, a big and very ugly patch of dirt which looks as if it could be the entry to a quarry (but isn’t), and just sufficiently off the road to give some relief from traffic noise.
We park up and I begin to make chicken curry whilst M visits MM for tea. We eat all together at about 18.30 and the dish is a big hit. I’ve included fresh ginger for the first time, based the sauce on onions and tomatoes, and the curry flavour level is pronounced but not over-hot.
Bed’s at the now-regulation time of 20.30 or so.
Wednesday 21 February
Joyagshi to Lago Coltas
On a glorious sunny morning with none of the swirling, white low cloud we encountered last evening, it’s possible to make a more upbeat assessment of our nightstop. True, there’s a small pile of rubbish, and the ground is bare and brown, but to the front, we have a superb view into a precipitous valley and to the left there are lovely hillsides with clear evidence of ancient (Incan?) terracing, long neglected.
We’re also next to a small village, Joyagshi, which is round a blind corner from the turning we made last night. I walk around. It’s poor, has a variety of shops (including a facility for sending giros to the
The road is as scenic as we expect: in this morning session, it’s characterised by dramatic slopes, deep, deep valleys, and farming at ridiculous angles. Because of the terrain, there’s an enormous amount of lengthy winding up valley sides and then down again having crossed the river. Two special features of the first 15 or so minutes are a view (not to be repeated) of the snowy top of a major volcano, and a panorama westwards over the coastal plain… unfortunately entirely cloud-covered some 1-2,000m below.
Farming at ridiculous angles? Here’s a small and unnamed village seen from across one of the impassable valleys. The farming is all done in the patchwork of fields above, and the incline is beyond belief… plus the distance from top to bottom might well be >500m.
Now look at the third, large field immediately above the village, the one above the second, horizontal field boundary. In the top right hand corner of the field, to the right of a green ellipse, is a short more or less horizontal line.
What is it? Photo 2 shows it more clearly. It is a line of c20 brightly–garbed indigenous people armed with hoes and progressing upwards, tilling the land!
We pass through Chanchi, and over the hill on a road that is in poor condition, come to the larger town of
The climb out of Alausi is of the epic variety. It’s very steep and continues upwards without respite until we have climbed 500m. The engine is hot, hot, hot, and we put the cab heater on to dissipate the heat.
We’re over 3,000m at this stage and the landscape changes markedly. We’re on something much closer to being a plateau and the rock is straight beach, a combo of pebbles and sand. It’s weak on farming though there are some tree plantations, and gradually, agriculture returns with alfalfa, broad beans, quinoa in evidence. The people are largely indigenous peasant farmers, poor and with uninviting homesteads, and this has been true since we left Joyagshi, very different form the area around Ingapirca.
We reach Guamote by mid-afternoon. This is where the newly-made road starts and travels, via the :Parque Nacional Sangay, SE to Macas, on the edge of the tropical, Amazonian oriente. We’ve seen a sign for it way back and read about it in the guidebook – but there is no evidence of any metalled road off to our right, let alone a major new highway. We plod on for over 20kms. Still no sign.
We arrive at Lago Coltas, a large lake by local standards. Mind you, any lake is a novelty. Lago Coltas hosts much activity, not on the lake but by its side, and football is the top thing. Next to the first match (it transpires it’s a tournament over 2 days), there’s lots of lovely flat parking, and as it’s 16.15, and MM in particular has felt drained all day, we choose to make it our nightstop.
The lake is almost surrounded by reed beds, and houses duck, grebe and coot. After a quick birdwatch, I return to the footie. The list of participating teams is impressive. Barca, PSV and Real Madrid are all on the day-long programme, alongside
We have a simple tea, banana and a roll, before settling down to some video-watching, photo-downloading and diary-writing and then bed, though Margaret’s actually in bed watching the vid by 19.30!
Thursday 22 February
Lago Coltas to Penipe
As we worked ourselves up to another demanding 09.00 start, something amazing happened. As the football tournament is about to resume, I realise that straightforward I can see –albeit vaguely, like an apparition – the colossal, snowy volcano (6,800m) that is
Just before, I had taken the opportunity to do what I should have done yesterday – asked the locals exactly where that elusive road to Macas is. And they confirmed what the guidebook says: it starts from Guamote. We agreed that we’d go back the 25kms/30 minutes to find it.
So off we went, along the same, flat, agriculturally-rich corridor we’d travelled yesterday afternoon. In Guamote, the first thing we saw was a sign to Macas. Small yes, but a sign nonetheless. Had we missed one coming the other way? Perhaps not. This sign says “Macas (en construccion)”, so it’s little wonder we did not see - and even now are not seeing - the 2-lane metalled road we were expecting. We enquire at the gasolinera. The attendant says that the turn opposite the fuel station is indeed the road even though it is far from convincing. “Is the road good?”. I ask. “Malo” is the answer.
That more or less settles it: we’re not going to Macas and the oriente, and we re-trace our route northwards.
On the edge of
We don’t let it bother us though, and plod on through Riobamaba to catch a side road that skirts through the countryside to the east of the major route and incorporates a visit to Banos, yet another
The run takes us through yet more steep valleys and we begin to follow the course of the Rio Chambo. Soon after midday, we find a good stop next to the river itself and by a bridge crossing. It looks just the ticket: it might even be our nightstop!
And this is how it turns out. After lunch, we have a brief nap (it’s clear that we all have some way to go to get over our illnesses) and I have a wander along the course of the river, seeing nothing in particular. In the later afternoon, MM emerges from her sleep and we chat for some time before she goes off to cook us the dinner she started last night. Evidence if needed that she’s still not herself – but is making slow progress.
As it turned out, it was a goodie – methi chicken no less! Thanks MM!!
Friday 23 February
Penipe to Banos via Tungurahua
At 09.00, we set out over the river bridge and up the short, steep hill where sits the small town of
The road was good but quite a mess. What appeared to be gully works had been half-undertaken: the rubbish – mainly dusty filth – had been shovelled out but then left neatly piled on the road, reducing its width by 20%. No matter though: this road is VERY quiet. However, the road became gradually more lost in a layer of dust, unpleasant stuff that meant MM kept back a very lengthy distance indeed for fear of losing visibility completely/being propelled into an asthma attack.
After what may have been 10kms, the dust was completely obliterating the road surface and we were beginning to clock that there was a problem. There was indeed. We negotiated the first of what were to grow to 5 U-detours over small valleys, the detours being necessary because the bridges across the valleys had simply disappeared. Since none of the valleys housed rivers, even small ones, by driving right and up the valley side, one could then pull sharp left on compacted dust, and then left again to get back on track.
However, ‘back on track’ is perhaps the wrong expression. It was becoming increasingly clear that the old, metalled road was not what we were following. The new route had been hacked out of the new terrain created by some might cataclysm. But what?
After the first couple of valley detours, we then met the first of two major landslips (?). The first was the biggest. The ‘road’ crossed a 400m wide alluvial fan – except that the fan consisted of compacted, and not-so-compacted, dust. This is the second.
In general, traction was ok, but the dust levels under and at the back of the van were amongst the highest we have ever encountered.
It took a couple of hours to get through but it was several more hours before we found out what we had experienced, courtesy of our lunchtime waiter.
The road we were on sits at the base of an active volcano, Mt Tungurahua. In 1999, the town of
When we finally came to the end of the 5 non-existent bridges and 2 dusty fans, there were a couple of confusing signs – one was so grand, it had to signify that under the dust, we were on that metalled road – and we chose to go left rather than to sample yet more of the hellish track.
The road soon tumbled down hill to a bridge over a small, fine gorge, and here we cleaned the back of the van and took tea. We congratulated ourselves on negotiating the awful route without mishap, but as we were leaving, I managed to get myself comprehensively stuck in the dust and had to be towed out by 4x4 MM.
The now-cobbled/dust road climbed for an age, and steeply, out of the valley. At the time we did not know, but this was not the (metalled) route we had been intending to take: it turned out to be a secondary road, and the original route only appeared again later. After we had finally made a very good metalled road – the one which joins the major city of
Banos is not a large town but it is a big resort in Ecuadorian terms. There are lots of hotels, restaurants, melcocha (toffee) shops; indeed a solid tourist infrastructure. It was way after 13.00 when we arrived and we headed for the “excellent food” at Le Petit Restaurant and had a very, very good meal indeed of guacamole, chicken livers, trout, spinach pancake, chocolate mousse and a chocolate pancake. We were the only guests enjoying the feast in the setting of a room in a fine semi-tropical garden. We’d spotted a laundry en route, so that was the next job, and our washing was done by 18.30, so great service.
The afternoon also gave us chance to marvel at the miracles of Our Virgin of Holy Water (these include quelling major urban fires) in the basilica which is built of daunting black lava rock, and the on-street production of that melcocha – young men pull and push the stuff rather like pasta makers, but the mix is hooked on to a rather grubby metal hook attached to an even grubbier door jamb, which hardly impresses.
I get leave of absence to tackle the internet work and I am relieved to crack the ‘can’t send the diary problem’ even if it does take 90 minutes together with other stuff. Meanwhile, MM and Margaret have tackled the collection and sorting of the laundry (much harder work) and when I get back to the van there’s still some way to go.
We have a banana for tea before Margaret completes the bed-making as I get in another messaging session to friends and rellies worldwide. It’s 20.00 (!!!!so late!!!!) before I crack this diary and we turn the lights out. We’re parked in a one-way street on the edge of town, beautifully flat and very quiet. We expect, and get, a good night’s sleep.
Saturday 24 February
Banos to Guaranda via Ambato
Morning is domestic. We shop, small time, at the supermarket and then drive out of Banos, not very far, to the car wash. This is a good move. The dust from yesterday’s crossing of the wastes needs to be removed. Indeed it may be the cause of an electrical problem we have. Our step and toilet fan feed off the same cable from the 12v battery, and the fuse has blown. Two further fuses have blown in the process of trying to right the thing. Could it be that the step has locked because of muck, and that this precipitated the problem?
Our 2 washes take the best part of 90 minutes. The step remains obdurately problematic, and so we disconnect it in favour of a sweeter toileting experience.
From here, we head over the Banos ‘alluvial [dust] fan’ back on to the good tarmac and a stiff and long climb to
That’s clearly enough good luck for one day. Out of town, we pull into a fuel station for diesel. The place appears to be advertising ‘Super Extra Diesel’, and indeed selling only the one fuel. But at the pump, there’s Extra and Diesel. I’m a bit confused, but after a short discussion, it become clear that Extra is petrol and Diesel is diesel. So I order the latter.
After picking up my cash from the van, I return to the attendant, who is filling us with Extra! Not only that, but he has already put in the tank 6.6 American gallons or about 25 litres. This represents almost 20% of tank capacity. Now this is not necessarily fatal: from experience in well below freezing conditions in Iran and Turkey when the diesel thickens without an additive, we know that petrol (an additive) can be added to your tank and that Merc even state that up to 20% is ok. HOWEVER, our experience also tells us that 15% (which was our target maximum) can lead to problems. We simply conked out at the top of a hill in
So we filled up with diesel and left the station with our fingers crossed. (They were none too pleased that we refused to pay the petrol bill). We parked up for lunch very soon after.
For the following hour, during which uphill was again the order of the day, the van performed well, but over the period until we parked up in Guaranda soon after 17.00, we had some hairy moments. By and large – and perversely – power and smooth running were at their best when we were climbing, and worst at the bottom of a hill as a corner was rounded to face the next. We were really struggling on only 2-3 occasions, and the worst of times was when the exhaust spat out alternate black then blue smoke before an explosion and flame!
It seems clear from this and our previous experience – and this also is perverse – that diesel and petrol do not mix, or do not mix well, in our tank.
But what of the ride and the views? After all, this was meant to be a trip around the western side of Volcan Chimborazo, that apparition I saw briefly last Thursday. Chimborazo is certainly
But can we see it? No. Visibility is poor and the cloud is thick and low. We even get a little rain. But soon after 15.00, at over 4,000m (we’ve now climbed 2,300m today to get here!), the cloud thins to the right of the mountain and we have glimpses of perhaps a quarter of the entire peak for the briefest of moments.
This, and the sight of the roadside carrot washers, constitute the high spots of the run.
Guaranda is described as “quaint” in the guidebook. It’s not. It’s small, run down and poor and has nothing to recommend it. We head for the plaza where we think it likely there’ll be flat parking places on broadish thoroughfares, and there are. For the hour or more before sundown, people-watching keeps me occupied. A man and two women tussle with a huge pig which squealingly refuses to go where it is bidden. The technique of beating its already bleeding leg does not work: grabbing its tail and forcing it upwards and forwards does the trick. Three 9-10 year old girls who live on the plaza occupy a small tree in one of the planted beds and are systematically destroying it, with nobody bothered to tell them it’s wrong. A woman sets up a fast food stall at one corner in front of the very big church, and does a brisk trade. A large group of indigenous people almost block the entrance to the church by taking up residence all along the wide top step of the stairway.
Cooking calls and between 18.30 and 19.30 we make our most successful cauli cheese yet in this continent of tasteless cheeses,
Sunday 25 February
Guaranda to Patain, north of Ambato
We decide that we shall re-trace our steps today, but not all the way to
From Guaranda which stands at about 2,800m, there’s a 1,400m climb to the desolate and flattish plateau under the immediate gaze of
When we were here yesterday, the weather was blustery and cool. Today, it’s very windy and cold. There’s lots of cloud around, and has been since Guaranda, but visibility has been good until we turn off on to the round-trip road, signed to
But remarkably, we drove out of the cloud into sunshine and good long-distance views, and soon, we were seeing the southern face of the volcano, and the view was fine if not first class. White cloud was constantly and rapidly swirling over the peak from east to west, and a huge perpendicular curl of cloud sat forward and left (west) of the mountain. Not only did we not expect to see so much, we were unprepared for the lack of snow on this face, and also (curiously) the presence of a major glacier.
We stopped 3-4 times over a relatively short period to soak up the views and took photos as the angle and the cloud conditions changed.
The road now descended rapidly until we reached our core N-S road at around 11.30 and then easily negotiated the edge of
By 12.30 when we arrived, we’d made a very long climb up and entered lousy weather. It was moderately wet but also very cold, 11°C in fact, the same as at 4,400m. It was also filthy weather. Later I went on the roof of the van and found it had a coating of black, and when I was up there, it started ‘raining’ (albeit very lightly) sand!
Mariadiocelina turns out to be a small, unprepossessing and slightly uncomfortable barn of a place serving traditional fare with a strong hand in cuy. There’s a big rotisserie behind glass at the back of the dining room and you can watch lots of bare guinea pigs succumb to the fire.
This is not to every English person’s taste, and Margaret and MM order chicken and chips. I have the cuy with potatoes (lots of them). I’ve had it before but thought that dish poorly cooked. This one is not. Despite that, cuy – ‘the food of the Inca’ – is pretty poor fare. It tastes ok, but not as good as a good piece of chicken (which it resembles) and the meat content is far surpassed by bone. I get two lots of ribs (some meat, equivalent to that on , say, 2 chicken wings) and a head (revolting to look at and almost protein-free).
We all agree that we can’t see why Mariadiocelina gets a recommendation, and as we leave the restaurant car park, a new mechanical problem presents itself. The power steering is in trouble, though later inspection shows it’s only a loose belt. Nonetheless tight manoeuvres are very difficult though open road driving is easy.
It’s still foul outside. We drive on to the next fuel station and top up with c12 American gallons of diesel. This should mean that the petrol content of the tanks has reduced to c12%. Satisfactory: though I have been astonished by how well the motor coped (at high altitudes and on demanding slopes!) with the proportion of the ‘wrong’ fuel it was fed.
Water’s taken on board too, and we’re off. Not far though. We cross the very large city of
We have a shower despite the cold, have a snack for tea, and get under the covers asap thereafter.
Monday 26 February
Patain to Pujili
The night is indeed peaceful. Whether in Guaranda or Patain, folks are not at all worried if you park in
We leave at 09.05 and just up the road at Salcedo (aka San Miguel), we start to hunt for a garage (for the power-assisted steering problem) and the auto-electrician (for MM’s leisure batteries and our step). The one leads to the other. The former is found and a couple of enthusiastic young men identify the problem as loose fixings not a knackered belt. In turn, the loose fixing has occurred because a bolt has simply worked loose and disappeared. So it’s a quick $10 job. The lads then recommend an auto-electrician just 100m up the road.
This visit is much more long-winded largely because papa is not around and he is the battery expert. Our step problem is sorted in very short order: it’s a poor connection in the up/down switch. When papa finally arrives, in late morning, it takes some time to do the necessary tests, but MM’s 12v inverter-dedicated batteries (which she failed to leave on charge during our 5 months in the UK) are pronounced dead – and this workshop cannot supply leisure batteries (as opposed to vehicle batteries) so a visit to Quito will be required. In the course of his inspection, papa made a useful discovery, a broken bolt on a vehicle battery terminal, and repaired it, and the wait for papa gave MM the chance to inspect her shock absorbers and find that one is wildly adrift.
So after the electricians, we return to our original workshop. It’s lunchtime, so whilst the workers graft, we pop next door for their good set-menu almuerzo, tasty (!) corn soup, a simple but pleasing steak cutlet, with rice, fried banana, and more corn, and a fresh tropical fruit juice drink. $5 for the 3 of us.
It takes a long time and $40 to get the shocker done and we don’t leave town until 14.45 or so. But we have some successful repairs under our belt, and MM knows what the electrical issue is in her van. We’re soon in the larger city of Latacunga and by dint of judicious questioning as we go, we identify the (major but totally unsigned) turning that we need to start us on the allegedly-lovely Quilota circuit which should deliver great views, beautiful villages, a volcanic crater and a terrific indigenous market.
Our first port of call is reached within 15 minutes. It is the astonishingly well-signposted , large
However, when we do make the plaza on which it stands, we realise we have come to a little treasure, a place that makes the last two places we stayed look like hovels (which they were). Beautifully presented with recently installed big tile squares set in the pavements, this plaza plays host to a nice church with a lovely multi-coloured roof, and a stunning municipal building. And it soon becomes clear (because his name is EVERYWHERE), that we have to thank for this (and much more) the mayor, one Sr Brook! Well, Arroyo actually, but they mean the same.
We walk around and off the plaza and discover yet more monuments to our namesake who will be mayor until 2009, having first taken office in 1996. He helped fund the very nice crafts’ centre – some good stuff here including ceramics with lively local scenes and paintings on very thin leather – and he’s pedestrianised 2 of the thoroughfares that border the town hall. Not to mention creating new municipal toilets! The crafts’ centre man sings the mayor’s praises, and soon we see more reasons to agree with him.
You can walk through the ‘town hall’ which is typically built around several courtyards. Within these, there are some superb permanent exhibits – a lengthy wall of huge and fine portraits of local and national heroes and dignitaries, and a glazed wall containing the most exquisite lifesize-ish bandsmen carved in wood.
This Brook geezer has drive, organisational ability, and style. A credit to the family!
Margaret and MM now settle down to a lengthy tea break in MM’s van (we’re already committed to staying here, our third plaza stopover in 3 days) but I do a little more wandering. A couple of blocks from the pretty square is the main working square: big and bustling with lots of shops and a number of stalls though it isn’t market day today. I get some produce including a big bunch of the smallest type of bananas for just $0.50 and I also identify an internet point on my way back to the van. I go back soon after. It’s pleasantly small, quiet, and very fast and at (the usual rate of) $1 an hour, is a third of the price in touristy Banos.
We have a snack tea just before 19.00, then MM comes round to share the internet gossip before we two settle down to video and computer scribbling.
By now, our plaza is gloriously floodlit, and, after more of Sr Arroyo’s beneficence (music, broadcast from the town hall) is done, it’s gloriously quiet.
Tuesday 27 February
Pujili to Chugchilan
Earlyish in the morning, I try once again to see inside the church. Rumour – a young boy of Pujili – had suggested that it will be open at 06.30, but the man in the crafts’ centre was definite that it was open yesterday afternoon, and both were/are wrong.
But there’s a real treat afoot. Around 08.30, the sound of drums can be heard and it transpires that this is Independence Day (or perhaps one of several
Watching the march – not to mention being held up by it – keeps us occupied until about 09.30 when we move off. We work our way round the town, encountering the marchers again as they enter their school yard, and then we’re off, on the slowish up, up, uphill road to Zumbahua. The view down over the excellent Pujili shows a decent sized town on the edges of which are three major plastic greenhouse complexes. These are quite common in the sierra, but, for obvious reasons, it’s not clear what they grow.
After we have wound our way upwards (from c2,900m to over 4,000m at one stage), the road reverts to rather less demanding uphill/downhill stuff. On the highest lands, indigenous mixed farming rules the roost – at one point we see a shepherded herd which includes, a cow, a donkey, a dog, many sheep and several llamas.
The thatched buildings (barns, houses, clamps…) are especially interesting, and appear to be a class above those we have seems elsewhere. Neolithic nonetheless.
At a location above any cultivation, we come across a party of 15-20 people collectively excavating a new irrigation channel. And then, at a slightly lower elevation and in more sheltered valleys, the agriculture becomes more arable, and at times great swathes of land are under the plough.
We miss Zumbahua at first pass. Naturally, there’s no sign for our right turn into and through the town, but the junction is also obscured by the sort of daft driving that you commonly encounter here. In this case (but it really is common), a bus overtakes us and then pulls in to let off passengers. In doing so he blocks the road. He then moves when we protest, but in doing so blocks our view of the junction and distracts us from our proper job which is to be alert to where we are and where we are going.
We’re well up the next hill on a road with few turning places when we realise we may have blundered. Finally, we take advice, and we have indeed messed up. The round trip back ends up being 8kms.
We stop for lunch just through Zumbahua and take the road again at 13.45. It’s a short hop to our objective, the crater and
This turns out to be a lovely spot, if not the best crater/lake we’ve ever visited. The crater’s big but not that deep (300m), and the lack of sun means that the emerald green of the water is not evident, other than at the very edges. The ladies who brave the very windy and cool conditions to sell their wares come off best: both MM and Margaret buy stuff which is good but inexpensive. After a cuppa, we’re off again, but the road immediately takes a turn for the worse. We’ve had metal and a few kms of good dirt since Latacunga: now we are on seriously rutted compacted earth and dust. It is high concentration driving with some very slow, seriously bumpy bits. On such tracks, we rock and roll, and it’s not pleasant. The 22kms to Chugchilan takes 1 hour 40 minutes (= 13kph = 8mph). Our guidebook says that “only a few sections of the [entire Quilatoa] loop are cobbled or rough”. Joke. We’re told later that we can expect another 3 hours of this tomorrow!
When we get to Chugchilan at 17.30, we discover a large rock between our wheels and this has to be extracted (by roping it and then ‘towing’ it out), so it’s 18.00 before we park up in the town. But it’s a very good spot: flat and paved, in a cul de sac.
Dinner was going to be fish, but a more relaxed evening is what Margaret and MM want. We end up at the Cloud Forest Hostel, and they put on a good 3 course veggie dinner (the thick veg and cheese soup is especially good) for which they only as $2 per head. Remarkable.
Wednesday 28 February
Chugchilan to Saquisili
Our top spot gives us another excellent night’s sleep, and at 08.00, we’re off. 08.00!!?? A calculated early start based on the info that the road will be bad for several hours, and that, whilst we need to get on, we will also need a couple of breaks.
At the bottom of the hill out of the village, we stop at the entrance to the Black Sheep Hostel. We came down here last night to see if we could get a meal there (“Recommended” in the guidebook) and then discovered that stone in the tyres. Whilst we were preparing to extract it, the young American proprietor of the BS came out to see us. No, we couldn’t eat there, but, Hey, tell me all about your travels!
This morning, 2 young men stand at the same spot and thumb a lift. Unusually, we give them one. They are Toby (German, studying in
In reality, the road is marginally less foul than yesterday. By and large, it’s the same mix – rutted, compacted dust with some especially crappy bits – but it’s wider and so one’s choice of poisonous surface is increased. Until Sigchos (reached at around 11.00?), the road is almost devoid of traffic. After, there are plenty of lorries and buses, and a great stand-off with one of the latter who flew round a corner at us and, in consequence, could not get through whilst I could not advance. I invited him to retire back to the (wider) corner. He declined. I switched off. In the end, he did reverse (YES!) and I was able to get through without entering the dust ditch he wanted me to get stuck in.
The conversation and need to concentrate on the road surface detracted from the enjoyment of the scenery somewhat, but sufficient to say that there were plenty of wonderful vistas over the deeply valley-cut and very steep hills. We had to climb up to the upper 3,000s, and went down to well under 2,500m at one stage at a time when the sun was very hot and the windows were closed to keep out the dreaded polvo [dust].
We took one long and one short stop, and it was nearing 12.30 when we finally made tarmac. It was a false alarm, and so was the second coming. We finally arrived at civilisation (we saw only 1 significant settlement [Sigchos] before 12.30) 15-20 minutes later and found it impenetrable because a bridge was down. A local directed us 5-10 minutes back up the road where vehicles emerging from a dusty gap signalled that there was a way to cross the river (it was a ford) and eventually re-join the metalled road.
We never again saw, nor identified, the ‘civilisation’ we’d almost crossed, and in not time at all, arrived in Toacazo. We’d had enough, and would have had lunch out but for the absence of inviting providers. Instead we announced to our passengers that this was to be a major break and they started to scout for transport down to nearby Latacunga on the main N-S road. This they found rapidly and so bid us farewell.
After a major dust off, outside and in, we had a more than adequate cheese and salad lunch which included a blistering avocado. Just the ticket. And this was followed by a rest and some scribbling on my part.
At 15.00, we left intent on getting to our destination, the Thursday market town of Saquisili. Not too far, we thought, as Latacunga, beyond and on the main road, is only half an hour by bus according to Toby and Nolan.
It took about 20 minutes to get there, and that included a visit to a ‘false Saquisili’, a tiny village whose massive church seemed, from afar, to promise much. But it turned out to have another miraculous Christian personage – Jesus of the Tree (?!) – as a resident, which explained the awkward mismatch in size between settlement and place of worship.
The real Saquisili was down the hill and on the flatlands that house Latacunga and the PanAmericana road. It’s a modest-sized town with a peeling, grubby aspect. But it has a national reputation for the market which occupies 5 different squares. Where the markets are and where best to park now occupies us. I pootle across the main plaza where we park up temporarily. The municipalidad houses the biblioteca, and a library seems a good place to find info. In this place, you’re certainly more likely to find info than books which are not present in abundance. But one of the 3 librarians is most helpful. No, he doesn’t have a map of the town (why did I bother even asking?!) but he is able to give me a very clear hand-gesture picture of 5 squares encircling this plaza mayor, and tells me they all specialise in one range of goods – there are two for (different) animals, a clothes market, one for veg… and it seems the leather goods’ sellers have a niche somewhere too. So where we are is an excellent market-visiting location, except that it really doesn’t appear to be the type of square you’d camp on. Much too busy.
It doesn’t take long to find the right spot. I go for a walk. Just off the plaza is a fuel station with a very good-sized back lot. We take the van in to fuel and water up and ask if we can stay. There’s no hesitation: of course we can. In short order, MM joins us from the temporary parking. This is a good spot though with a dusty surface and no views: the really great news is that the station does not operate during the night, and the level of security should be well above the average street parking spot when we go market-wandering tomorrow.
Watering up takes ages and we then have a lengthy tea session with MM before I get down to some serious cooking for the first time in a long time. My fish risotto has a last minute conversion to being Mediterranean Fish, a dish which was a staple of ours until many moons ago when, for reasons unknown, it fell out of fishion.
If you ask me, it’s very good with bags of oniony/garlicy/tomatoey/herby/lemony flavour – but if you ask Margaret, she will tell you she doesn’t like the taste of the corvina [sea bream]. Oh well. The stewed plums for pud are jointly acknowledged to be terrific.
I’ve saved the big news of the day till the end. Firstly, I have bad sunburn on my bald pate, and it was contracted 2 days ago when we were getting our vans sorted. Standing outside the van with no hat, even when the sun is not shining and there’s even an occasional very light shower, can cause sunburn!
Secondly, I’m 63 today, but clearly – as the sunburn story shows - just as daft as ever.
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