Of Peaks and Parties

After a few days relaxing in Quito it was up to Quilatoa to check out the spectacular crater lake and get acclimatised in preparation for climbing Cotopaxi and Chimborazo.  Much of my time in the region was spent taking in scenery and lungful of dust in the back of pickups and a milk truck (a pickup with a big drum of milk).  The lake was spectacular and the scenery similarly so - cloud scarved peaks framing patchworked countryside and villages with whitewashed walls petitioning politics.  A place where 5 minutes warps into an hour ... or so it seemed waiting for food and pickups.

Climbing the mountains were highlights of my trip.  Where Chimborazo was like a schoolyard scrap, Cotopaxi could be likened to a slow dance with a beautiful woman - that is, if your into bad prose and worse dancing.  I’m scared of both fighting and slow dancing so I really wouldn’t know.  Cotopaxi is a perfect volcano and the walk up there under the starry sky with the trail of other climbers lights ahead was magic.  My guide refused to count driving up mount wellington as mountaineering experience, though none the less decided to start the climb at 2am, an hour after everyone else, and pass them on the way up.  Consequently by the summit I was gasping for breath and expelling my breakfast.  More frustrating was that the clouds closed in as daylight broke and we neared the summit.

Chimborazo, on the other hand was icy and rocky and with no recent snow I soon understood why one guide strongly advised against it as a tourist climb.  Volcanoes close to the equator are about as easy as climbs get, nevertheless, when at halfway up the guide said we had to head back, part of me hoped he wasn’t joking. I had never understood how climbing teams can get within 200m of a summit and still give up, however, began to grasp it as the effect of altitude kicked in: 15 steps, stop, 14 steps, stop, 13 steps ... We got to the top and rested while daylight broke, looked down the valley of volcanoes, threw the frisbee and admired the perfect shadow cast in the morning sky.  As the only other group stopped half way up, my guide and I were alone at 6380m on top of the world - literally it seems; due to the equatorial bulge the peak of Chimborazo is the furthest point from the centre or the earth.  I crossed Everest off my list and stumbled and scraped back down trying to care about the dangers of the softening snow and crevices.

With a week up my sleeve before the festival to celebrate the founding of Quito, I moved on to Cuenca to enjoy the beautiful city and develop my disappointing Spanish.

Perhaps it’s just that my brain has more in common with dear Liza’s bucket than a sponge. But the Spanish still didn’t stick ... regardless, it was more interesting to talk to my 22yo teacher about her 7yo son, life as an illegal immigrant in the States, what it was like going to school with a mass of other immigrants who could not speak enough English to explain why they were spitting/urinating/singing in class, and how the tendency for parents to go to the States for work leads to a false economy and teenage drug taking and pregnancy ... interesting stuff, certainly more interesting than studying a language.  Furthermore, a small group of travelers had formed in the hostel around Helen (a fellow Aussie) and Anita (a Swiss miss).  I was forced to practice my commitment to socialism by socialising.

I headed back to Quito with Anita to catch up with Mel (a US gal that Dad, Rick and I had spent time with in Quito) and join Quito’s party.  Quito had been a surprise - the name is as quaint as the old city streets so it feels odd to be warned that it is renowned for its muggings and petty theft.  The government response is to mix in the military - squads of 6 roaming the streets in full kit.  They are often joined by a couple of SWAT team and the odd policeman.  Consequently you can feel pretty safe if at the bar where they are all standing watching the football or are on one of the couple of streets they bother to patrol.  Other than that, catch a cab.  The influence of security doesn’t remain on the street: choking tear gas floated into one bar as we were having a few beers, at another we watched bemused as a uniformed duo appeared on the bar and turned the salsa club into a strip show much to the delight of the local guys and gals - most of whom left after the show (I’m not sure the uniform or g-string was standard issue).  Regardless, it was Quito’s festival and the cities football teams had won the Ecuadorian Serie A and the Copa Sudamericana , so the place was in the mood for a party.  We joined Mel and her work group on the back of a Chiva (party bus), spent a few nights out on the town, and shelved bovine sympathies to watch the final bullfight of the celebrations (my sensitivity to tradition demanded it ... and the final bull was so strong that, in a Gladiatoresque moment, the crowd waved their hats for its life .. Russell would have crowed ... dammit that's lame, but I'm after a job at the Mercury).

After partying with Quito, it was back to Cuenca for a couple more Spanish lessons, yet again derailed by Anita and Helen and the need to hit the same crappy club three nights in a row.  Anita headed south, Helen stayed put and I went back north trough Quito and Ibarra to Cahuasqui.  Ecuador is suffering a major energy crisis due to low rainfall. Consequently sections of cities run without power for a few hours each day - great for generator salesman, and the occasional candle lit dinner, kind of crap for everything else.  In the cities it’s not so bad as you can head for the blocks with power, however, when I arrived at 9pm in the diminutive town of Cahuasqui the "island in the sky" - there was no power and no one who understood spanglish and again it was kind of crap.  I found a hotel/house, was not surprised to discover I was the only occupant, fell asleep as the candle diminished and explored the town the following day.

My plan was to get to Cartagena for Christmas, so I had to leave Cahuasqui and Ecuador for Colombia.  I had enjoyed Ecuador far more than I expected, and could have happily stayed longer, but it felt good to be travelling through countries again ... irrationally, the feeling of heading somewhere somehow gives touring a sense of purpose.