I awoke during the night at 2 a.m. when Eduardo VI pulled into the little jungle town of Lagunas (GPS: 05 13.006S / 75 40.091W). This is where I got off the boat and arranged for a two-day jungle excursion by canoe into the Reserva Nacional Pacaya-Samiria. Lagunas also represented the furthest point that I traveled downriver from Yurimaguas.
An extremely heavy, unwieldy piece of cargo had to be unloaded. There could be no lifting it. It took 10 men just to tilt the item enough to slip a plank under it, then--counting all together in order to time their efforts--they pushed the cargo, foot by foot, down the plank and onto shore. How it would be moved after that is anybody´s guess, but it wouldn´t be by forklift.
I slept only fitfully after we pulled back out into the river. I returned to my hammock and listened to music on my MP3 player. Just downstream from Lagunas, Rio Huallaga flows into Rio Marañon which, from the point where it joins Rio Ucayali much further downstream near the town of Nauta, is the great Rio Amazonas.
At last there is evidence of dawn. I looked out and the edge of the jungle (selva) was closer than usual, perhaps 100 feet away. Rio Marañon must be braided in this stretch since we´ve usually kept 1,000 feet or more from either riverbank.
There were no clocks displayed on the lancha and I saw no sense in wearing a watch (though I did relent later in order to assign a time to a place on my map). I watched the selva, listening to birds. Thatched dwellings and communities were less frequently sighted here than between Yurimaguas and Lagunas. Several people had disembarked at Lagunas and now only one other passenger shared the upper deck--a late-middle-aged Peruvian woman, a Cruz Rojo (Red Cross) worker returning home to Iquitos.
When I was called to breakfast (desayuno) we were in the vicinity of Santa Teresa. The settlement is only a dot on my excellent Rough Guide map of Peru, the best travel map that I´ve seen--waterproof, extremely durable (we´re on our second trip to Peru together, my map and I), and highly detailed.
The Red Cross worker and I were served a pitcher of fresh-squeezed papaya juice, hot water to prepare coffee or tea, some indifferent bread with butter, and a plate of four roll-ups secured with toothpicks. These can best be described as mini-omelettes, each one about three bites in size.
It was very pleasant this morning--hace buen tiempo--in the covered, open dining area. The fresh air moving by at the boat´s 11 knot speed was cool. Even overnight there had been no problem with bugs other than those attracted to the flourescent lights that illuminated the dining area and deck. This was not exactly what I had expected on a jungle river cruise at approximately 5 degrees south latitude.
Rio Marañon, like Rio Huallaga, was a brownish-red in color. Vegetation floated downstream alongside us, the most commonplace being dinner plate-size flora shaped something like an open artichoke.
Mid-morning, Eduardo VI pulled out of the channel in order to drop off a few supplies at the relatively good-sized settlement of Urarinas (GPS: 04 48.156S / 75 13.038W). There were dozens of kids at the landing. Many women with small children stood or worked near their thatched dwellings. Men could be seen working, some bent over hacking at vegetation, others shaping and loading freshly-cut planks onto an open canoe. If you consider a 2x10x8´piece of lumber to be good-size, and it is, consider planks that I estimated to be 4x20x20´. The canoe appeared to have a half-dozen of these already loaded, with more to come.
We were not stopped at Urarinas for five minutes before pulling back out into the river, having neither taken on nor disembarked any passengers.
A half-hour downstream the lancha stopped at a settlement on the other side of Rio Marañon. I was determined not to let another opportunity to pass without purchasing some regional food from one of the women or children who board the boat if it stops for even five minutes.
I bought two large fruit, larger than a grapefruit, for 1/2 sole ($0.16 USD). I didn´t know what it was at the time--it was tapote--but others onboard were buying the fruit which had an appearance not unlike a smooth-skinned butternut squash. The cook quartered the tapote for me, revealing a fleshy, orange interior. Perhaps sensing my unfamiliarity with the fruit, the Red Cross lady showed how to eat the soft, sort of peachy flesh surrounding a sizeable pit in each quartered segment. It was juicy, sweet, messy, and good.
Tapote (left) and guave
Eduardo VI was pulling into another settlement, Serenezgo, before I had finished my first tapote. The waterfront was, like always, filled with locals when the lancha pulled in. Women and children came aboard selling fruit. Neatly uniformed children milled about. I will pose the question: how do you maintain seemingly spotless uniforms in such a locale? It is conceivable that there would be a generator and washing machine in Serenezgo, perhaps at a mission there, but it´s inconceivable to me that any of the locals would have access to any electric appliances.
My fellow passenger on top bought a couple of bunches of something called guave. Dark green in color, these were about the diameter of a cucumber and two feet in length. You split these lengthwise by hand to reveal their cotton-white interior. Pick out one of the 2-inch segments; the edible white flesh adheres to a shiny, black, date-sized seed. Each guave has about a dozen of the edible segments within it. The flesh is light, sweet, and sticky, not unlike a large damp cotton ball. I´d eat it again, but likely won´t beat a path to Whole Foods to see if they have it in their produce department.
Among the cargo unloaded at Serenezgo was play equipment. Many large bunches of platanas (bananas), each 3-4 feet in length and perhaps 80 pounds in weight, were loaded to go to market in Iquitos. A poised woman with children was seated elegantly on a chair, a parasol shading them from the sun. A child in her school uniform bent over to drink from the river.
Loading and unloading at Serenezgo
At midday we stopped at the refinery town--yes, rifinery town--of San Jose de Saramuro (GPS: 04 43.160S / 74 55.602W). My map shows an extensive pipeline that follows the river to San Jose, then proceeds directly north another 40-50 miles into what must be deep and remote jungle. At San Jose we made a short stop to take on a young woman who was attached to a saline drip. She would ride with us on the top deck, generally prone, to Iquitos where she could receive care in a hospital.
It´s interesting how it is determined whether or not to stop at the smaller settlements. There was no radio that could be used to contact someone ashore at the small settlements; in fact, I don´t believe that there was any radio for use even in such busy ports as Iquitos. As Eduardo VI approaches a settlement, a small launch with an outboard motor is dispatched ahead to determine if any cargo or passengers needed to be loaded. If yes, the lancha would pull in.
Lunch was served that included chicken, potatoes (papas), rice, and a very nice fresh vegetable salad. Regional specialties included a cool drink--refresco de sebatta--and a fruit called taperiba that had only a layer of edible flesh between its skin and a large pit.
At 2:20 in the afternoon we were at the settlement of Esperanza (GPS: 04 34.818S / 74 46.938W). ATCF we were almost exactly halfway between Yurimaguas (127 miles south and west of our position) and Iquitos (123 miles to our north and east).
I had intended to use this day to write a narrative to be blogged which described a recent trip to The Masters with my longtime friend, Tom Boeding. In fact, I got quite a bit done this morning while I set up shop on one end of the dining table. I didn´t accomplish much more towards my goal in the afternoon, though. Rather, I spent it talking with the three other gringos onboard the lancha.
The only gringos on Eduardo VI: (Green to tan) Anna from Germany, Minia and Carlos from Spain, and myself. Joseli joined us for the photo.
Anna came up to the top deck from below with a young Peruvian girl, Joseli Conitios Pua, to return some magazines I had loaned her to read. The two would sit there more than an hour with me. Joseli was short and very slight of build. I would have guessed her age to be nine, or even eight, but she was 12 years old. She had prominent teeth that were constantly exposed by her wide smile.
After a while, I asked to take pictures of the Anna and Joseli. It was funny. Every picture I took resulted in Anna´s eyes being shut, looking like horizontal parentheses, while Joselina´s eyes were wide open above her smile. Finally, I asked Anna to somehow prop her eyes open and for Joseli to shut her´s.
Joseli from Peru with Anna from Germany
I offered to buy them cold bottled drinks from the bodega on the second deck. While going to get them, I ran into Italo, a young Peruvian man traveling with Anna, and invited him to come up and join us. The young couple had been to Ecuador recently, so I elicited some information from them about travel and lodging that might serve me later on my trip. Joseli impishly tried to help herself to any of the items of mine that she could see on the table, eventually ending up with some pink sticky notes and a page of circular gummed notebook reinforcements.
Dinner was particularly good this evening. We were served slices of braised beef cooked with onion and tomato slices, rice, and french fries (papas fritas).
I spent the couple of dark hours between 7 and 9 to make entries in my journal and to take a shower. I was in my hammock by 9 p.m., reviewing and deleting photos. A crewmember drew close enough to see the pictures and spent perhaps a half-hour looking at them with me. And then I surrendered to sleep.
A crew member woke some of the passengers on my deck who would be disembarking when we reached Nauta. It was 1:20 a.m. I got up to look, but the lights of the town still seemed far off.
Our lancha pulled into Nauta at 2 a.m. Nauta was the largest town we encountered on the river after leaving Yurimaguas. A light rain was falling and lightning was visible in the distance. An open-air cantina, not five feet from the gangplank connecting our vessel to shore, was open for business. Numerous pigeon-size bats fed around the lights on the waterfront.
A large number of passengers disembarked here. It is shorter in both time and distance to take the highway connecting Nauta to Iquitos, now just 58-1/2 miles from our position ATCF.
A steady stream of men marched up and down the gangplank. Hundreds of identical bags of some commodity were stacked on pallets on the boat. The bags (perhaps 40-50 pounds in weight) were loaded onto the men, usually four bags high, who carried their load down the gangplank onto shore where the bags were once again stacked pending shipment to their final destination. There was not a pallet-jack or forklift in sight.
When I saw that other cargo--sacks of salt twice the size of the others on the front of the boat--were just beginning to be unloaded, two at a time now, from inside the boat, I returned to my hammock. It was after 5 a.m. when I awoke with a start--we were moving. Had I missed the confluence just downstream of Nauta of Rio Marañon, which we´d been on for 24 hours, and Rio Ucayali? It is at that confluence that Rio Amazonas is formed and flows eastward to the Atlantic.
The map on my hand-held Garmin GPS showed that Eduardo VI was exactly at that point where the great river formed when I popped out onto the deck. It was only just faintly light, but I could not make out Rio Ucalayi flowing in from the right (south).
I remained out on the deck at the front of the boat until what I saw matched what maps portrayed. It was a half-hour, 5:45 a.m., before we were abeam a large river joining forces from the right. It didn´t exactly match my GPS software, but Google Earth or a good map would show if the following coordinates in fact represent the origin of the Amazon: (GPS 04 26.774S / 73 27.409W) ATCF, we were 51 miles from Iquitos.
For some reason I thought it would be a great idea to sit outside listening to Beethoven´s Piano Concerto No. 5 as I traveled the uppermost miles of the Amazon River. A rooster crowed from one deck down. Three cattle were being transported one deck further down. The breeze across me was soft and humid and cool.
Large masses of vegetation were now being carried along by the river. Clouds obscured the horizon, but it was the time of sunrise. I wouldn´t see a manatee, I was sure, but seeing one of the unique fresh-water dolphins that live in these waters was a possibility. I would be watching.
The list of superlatives that describe Rio Amazonas is lengthy. I read that it carries more water than the next eight largest rivers on Earth combined! Another tidbit of information that I find interesting is that, though our present position was more than 2,000 river miles from the sea, the river´s elevation was less than 500 feet above sea level. And so the Amazon does not rush and tumble on its way, but moves steadily and relentlessly.
Today is the second anniversary of one of my great traveling debacles--taking the ferry from Buenos Aires, Argentina, to Colonia del Sacramento, Uruguay, on May 1. Porteños are great for getting away any weekend, but May 1 is Labor Day in South America and in much of the rest of the world. What a disaster I encountered!
I rolled my bag up and down the cobbled streets of Colonia for several hours, fatigued, disgusted and somewhat short with my traveling companion (me!), and just about ready to search out a bus to Montevideo. I finally found a room, not knowing or caring what it cost.
After a night´s sleep, I awoke to a crystal clear morning in an old city on the Rio de la Plata. I made up to my traveling companion and ended up enjoying a great day at this UNESCO World Heritage Site.
With that as background, you will understand if I say that I´m extremely wary now of traveling on the May 1 holiday, expecting that a room will be available. That is not to say that I had done anything about reserving a room in advance, but at least I had sense enough to be concerned about it as Eduardo VI pulled into the docks of Iquitos (GPS: 03 43.080S / 73 14.279W) at 12:30 p.m., just short of 48 hours since departing Yurimaguas.
The shoreline at the boat landing was teeming with people and mototaxis. I expected to be met by an associate of the tout I met at the Plaza de Armas in Yurimaguas. I hung back on the boat as other passengers rushed to disembark, waiting for someone to approach me who knew my name. No one did, but that´s not to say that I wasn´t heavily recruited by aggressive drivers who came aboard with an unshakeable faith that they were not leaving the boat without me or whoever their target might be.
Nudging between two boats, approaching shore in Iquitos
The first to approach me was a somewhat unkempt young man with the unlikely given names of Wilson Sandro. Sandro took great pains to show me his official license as a driver, and pointed out his vehicle parked amongst the scrum on shore. He spoke almost no English, but I tried to explain that I was waiting for someone and, if they didn´t show up, I´d go with him, and only to a hotel of my choice, not one he was commissioned to promote.
Then a neatly outfitted driver insinuated himself into our conversation. He had heard the words ´friend´and ´hotel´and wanted me to believe that he had been sent to pick me up. When he couldn´t tell me my name--information he would have had if he was legitimate--I made my decision to leave with Sandro.
We negotiated the tangle of humanity and vehicles, Sandro leading the way to his mototaxi while carrying my bag overhead. The first 100 feet ashore are where you are most likely to be separated from your money or goods by pickpockets or thieves. It´s here that people actually try to grab your bags, at worst to steal them, at best to secure your business for the ride to a hotel.
Sandro and I proceeded without further incident to Hospedaje la Pascana (Pevas 133; www.pascana.com), a place that was recommeded in Lonely Planet Peru and by at least two independent sources. I was met at the door by an elderly (i.e., older than me) woman. She was neatly groomed. Her dress and carriage suggested someone who may have once had money, but who had subsequently fallen a notch or two down the economic ladder.
The woman insisted on showing me the room before I committed to it. La Pascana´s rooms, like the woman showing them, were ageing noticeably, but they were clean enough, I had my own bathroom with sort of a Pullman shower, and the flowered courtyard was pleasant. And so, for 35 soles ($12 USD), my lodging was secured on this May 1 holiday in Iquitos. And I was ready for a shower and a shave.
Sandro was back to pick me up at the hotel in his mototaxi as we had arranged. I had the bizarre notion to go to the Amazon Golf Club, a place I´d read about. My driver knew nothing of it, but the destination was in nearby Quistococha and he knew that barrio.
I surely didn´t want to golf, but the searching would provide a reason for looking around Iquitos and its environs. And perhaps I could pick up a scorecard listing interesting local regarding encounters with jungle fauna. It told me much about Amazon Golf Club (hereinafter referred to as AGC) that Sandro--whose livelihood depended upon taking tourists to various destinatioins around Iquitos--knew nothing about it.
Quistococha, besides being the purported home of the AGC, is the home of Complejo Turistico Quistococha (CTQ). That´s where we would go first. And, if truly ´complejo´, maybe I would cut short my trip to South America and return home tomorrow.
I´ve mentioned that this day was a holiday and CTQ was the the destination for thousands of locals enjoying the day off. Sandro parked the mototaxi, I paid a few soles for us to enter, and off we went to explore the grounds.
CTQ is, first and foremost, a zoological park. It´s infrastructure appeared to be about 50 years old and in about as good repair as one would expect in a country having limited resources. There were an astonishing variety of monkeys and other mammals of the jungle, including giant river otters and jaguars and ocelots. Reptiles were represented by caimans (think alligator) and anacondas, boa constrictors and giant river turtles. There were birds aplenty: loros and buhus (owls), toucans and hawks, and what I would call macaws.
Sandro was enthusiastic in showing me around, making sounds to attract the animals, pointing out which of the jungle felines in each cage was mas macho (a quality Sandro clearly esteemed above all others in man or beast). After touring the extensive grounds and animal enclosures, we went down to the beach (la playa).
The day was sunny and warm, a perfect late fall day south of the equator. The beach was filled with families, and so was the roped-off swimming area. Vigorous games of beach volleyball were taking place. Vendors and permanent businesses sold food and drink.
I will say that I would never have chosen to go to a zoo and would not repeat the visit. It was, though, a pleasant couple of hours.
Sandro and friend at Complejo Turistico Quitacucha
I asked Sandro if we might now search for the AGC. It was getting to be late afternoon and I wanted to at least make the attempt. We pulled out of CTQ and into a small business on the heavily traveled road to Iquitos. Sandro asked the proprietor for directions to our elusive quarry. We could have been on a snipe hunt for all that I knew.
Turn left in just a few hundred meters, then follow the sandy road about a mile and look for it on the right. We followed those directions and found the sign proclaiming that we´d arrived at the Amazon Golf Club (GPS: 03 49.470S / 73 19.915W).
At my second memorable golf course this April
A nice woman, Margarita, readily granted us permission to come past the gate and up the hill to a newish (but incomplete) structure that serves as a clubhouse and perhaps as living quarters for the course manager. Margarita brought out a large bag of clubs and invited Sandro and me to try them out. We took turns with the putter, attempting to knock balls into the cup on the bumpy #9 green.
Margarita said that I could return tomorrow and play the course for free. Well, the course was clearly unplayable, the fairways being two-feet deep in lush grass.
I asked if there any snakes that might be encountered by players. She didn´t say that there weren´t any, only that there weren´t many.
Margarita´s daughter and husband were out on the course on a motor scooter collecting flagsticks as the sun was about to set. I can´t imagine that anyone had played the course today, but flagsticks apparently were installed and retrieved on a daily basis. I met Margarita´s daughter, a cute little girl of about 9 years with the unlikely name of Tiffany.
Sandro and I left emptyhanded save for the photos we took. I would have paid cash money for some scorecards and, better yet, some golf shirts with the AGC logo.
The road back to Iquitos was busy. Back in the city I saw six vultures picking through ripe garbage at an intersection, scarcely even acknowledging the heavy traffic passing just a few feet of their smorgasbord.
Sandro made arrangements to meet me tomorrow morning and to take me to Belen, the unique barrio of Iquitos where the market and homes are equally unforgettable. He asked for, and I paid, 40 soles ($13 USD) for fairly extensive transportation in his mototaxi as well as 3-1/2 hours service as my guide. Money well spent, I thought.
I had a nice Italian dinner at Antica (Napo 159) located equidistant from the malecon and the Plaza de Armas. It´s decor of brick walls, tiled floors, and wooden tables and benches was warm and inviting. Recommended. I followed dinner with a couple of hours at an Internet site, catching up on mail and my blog.
I left the Internet site after midnight. The route back to my lodging took me directly across the Plaza de Armas. I will tell you that in a mere hundred yards I had to get past three separate pairs of hookers (prostitutas). They were nearly as aggressive as the drivers meeting Eduardo VI earlier today. I wondered if they worked in pairs for their own security or for the promise of exponentially enhanced possibilities.
I was soon, and I mean soon, back at Hospedaje la Pascana and in my bed. Alone.
I took a little walkabout this morning prior to my appointment with my driver, Sandro, who would take me to the unique Iquitos barrio of Belen later. I walked down the malecon, admiring architecture from the turn of the century (the 19th century) rubber boom era. Demand for Amazonian rubber from the jungle disappeared with the planting of Asian plantations. Now, though, the large city of Iquitos (pop. 500,000+) is enjoying another boom based on oil and--to a lesser, but still important, extent--tourism. Remnants of the rubber baron era include some fine old buildings adorned with azulejos, handmade Portuguese tiles.
Another noteworthy site in Iquitos is the Casa de Fierro. Designed by Gustav Eiffel and shipped from Paris to Iquitos, the casa is a silver-painted commercial building constructed of iron modules that were bolted together following their daunting voyage in the late 19th century.
(Left) Turn-of-the-century mansion on the malecon with characteristic azulejos tiles; (right) Gustav Eiffel's all-steel Casa de Fierro
I turned from the malecon towards the Plaza de Armas (GPS: 03 44.938S / 73 14.668S) and ran smack dab into a force of nature, Gerald Mayeaux, who is the proprietor of the Yellow Rose of Texas (Putumayo 180). This is one of the greatest sports bars anywhere, and may be the best University of Texas bar outside the Austin city limits.
Plaza de Armas and Iglesia de San Juan Bautista, Iquitos, Peru
A quintessential Texan, Gerald first went to Peru as a petroleum engineer, I think. He was educated at UT where he played centerfield for the Longhorns. His heritage shows, in a thousand unsubtle ways.
Gerald is a big guy who prowls the front of his great restaurant like a predator, greeting customers, regaleing them with stories on how he happened to be here, talkin´ Texas trash, intimidating his help. He´ll show you articles featuring his establishment from publications great and small, including Sports Illustrated. Is the beer cold? Hell, his beer is kept in a special cooler at something less than 0 degrees centigrade. Shore ´nuff, he had special thermal coolers manufactured from jungle wood to keep the beers ice cold. UT memorabilia large and small decorate YROT and must number in the thousands.
I had no intention of stopping anywhere for breakfast, but I fell into Gerald´s web. After getting a tour of the large, and expanding, facility, I decided to take a look at the menu. I could have fresh juice, real coffee, three pieces of good toast with preserves, and--scrawled on the menu--a free egg, all this for 5 soles (less than $2). I think it was the coffee that got me.
While waiting for my breakfast and recuperating from my encounter with Gerald, I took a look at the 13-page, double-sided menu. Let´s just say that he´s not achieved great success by focusing on any single cuisine niche. There´s Texas food, of course, BBQ and chili, but how about something from the jungle? You can order venison, alligator, and Amazon fish. Rather have a burrito or pizza? No problem. Did I mention that you could select from a long list of soups and salads?
Breakfast items abound on the menu. Gerald´s proud of his pancakes, and proud enough of his SOS to pull no punches on the menu: `shit on a shingle` can be ordered proudly and loudly.
The list of named drinks runs to more than 100. The nearer the end, the more, shall we say, creative their names become: #93--Raize [sic] Your Lizard; #95--Tear Off Your Underware [sic]. And at #101, a drink called the Yellow Rose.
(Left) Admiring some of the understated decor at The Yellow Rose of Texas; (Right) Yessirree, a jen-yew-wine Texas Longhorn cheerleader outfit as worn by staff
I got back to the Hospedaje la Pascana a little after my appointed time to meet Sandro, but he was waiting for me. Off we went in his mototaxi to drop off my laundry and drive the short way to one of the most unique barrios in South America, Belen.
Approaching the Mercado de Belen makes the Lima airport or the coming ashore at Iquitos seem like a Trappist retreat in comparison. A visit to Belen involves two different experiences--the market above and the floating barrio below. Let`s go shopping first...
How many individual stalls were in the marketplace? I guessed that there were 5,000, and if you told me there were more than that, I wouldn`t give it a second thought. The market was a maze, branches sprouting out left and right, the thoroughfares so narrow that it was difficult to walk, but unaccountably there were occasional mototaxis negotiating their ways through. If laid end-to-end these `streets`might extend a mile or more. Mercado Belen must be considered one of the most unforgettable experiences of my travels.
I can only provide a kind of a random review of what I saw:
Live animals. You could buy the cutest monkeys for 15-to-20 soles ($5-$7 USD). The beautiful green parrot-like loros were selling to gringos for 50 soles ($17 USD).
Tiny monkey for sale (the big one already belongs to a nice lady in Kansas)
Dead animal skins. I saw ocelot and jaguar and anaconda skins for sale. Send in Defenders of Wildlife!
Jaguar and anaconda skins
Suri. Two-gallon buckets of marinated grubs the size of your thumb.
(Left) Suri anyone? Or maybe snails (right)
Fresh chickens. Casually choked while you wait by a nice lady running the stand.
Fish. Amazon fish of every description were being cleaned in hundreds of stands. Fish heads seemed to be a particular delicacy.
(Left) Fish and caiman (alligator); (right) Fish large and small
Meat. Every kind of meat imaginable was available: amarillo, turtle, caiman (alligator), beef, pork, organs, intestines.
Women selling fresh meat
Cigarettes. Cigarette makers hand-rolled and sold large and small cigarillos.
Custard? Perhaps a half-dozen women scattered throughout the market steadily whipped a delicious looking concoction made from eggs, sugar and flavoring, plunging a sort of spring-like utensil up and down until the liquid in 8-gallon containers thickened, then served it in containers not unlike the tulip glass you might get an ice cream sundae served in. I would have overcome my reluctance to eat a raw egg product in the open market, but when I watched the glasses being washed in tepid-looking water, I opted not to have any. I`m kind of sorry that I didn`t give it a try.
Vendor selling eggs
Produce. The produce was as overwhelming as everything in its variety and quality. Potatoes, garlic, chiles, avocados, rice ($.67 for 2+ pounds), palm leaves to wrap fish for cooking, stacks of limes and oranges and papayas and probably dozens of other fruits from the jungle. I could not resist trying a slice of sandia (watermelon).
(Left) Woman preparing small salads for sale; (right) Bananas (platanos) by the bunch
Aphrodisiacs, tonics, elixirs. There were many stands selling pint-size bottles of various dark liquids. More than once I was targeted for their special aphrodisiac tonic. (I don`t know why, I just was.) Sandro, my driver and guide who prized the quality of `macho` above all others, was fairly graphic in his demonstration of the drink´s almost instant and certain benefits. The vendors even offered me a small sample to try before committing to purchasing a container. It sounded great, but I couldn't be certain that I wouldn't run rampant through the market, bringing shame to my family and the possible engagement of our diplomatic corps to resolve an unfortunate incident involving an ageing American tourist.
Sandro took me into a meat locker where great fish (3-to-4 feet long without their heads) and slabs of meat hung frozen. Most meat, though, spent its day at room temperature and on display.
I tried to be observant of the vendors´ sensitivities when taking photographs of them or of their wares. Almost all of them made eye contact with me, and I could immediately tell if they were disposed to engage me in some way. Most, by far, were friendly.
I always gestured for permission to photograph people or items except when taking pictures anonymously from afar. After taking photos, I showed them to the subjects. Adults and children alike were delighted to see their images. Many of them actually thanked me for taking their pictures.
I was overwhelmed by what I was seeing and became indiscriminant in my picture-taking, figuring that I could delete and edit later. I can remember only two individuals who indicated that they would not like to be photographed: one, I think, because of personal convictions, and another because she likely woke up nasty this morning, like every morning, and whose disposition spiralled downhill after that.
I would surely have gone to the marketplace in Belen on my own, but having Sandro along with me was a real advantage. He guided me throughout, taking me into places I would never have entered on my own, and provided me a sense of security as well. There might have been other gringos amongst the thousands of people in the market--surely there had been--but I never saw even one.
We spent well over an hour in Mercado Belen before threading our way down to the water`s edge. Sandro arranged for us to be paddled through the floating barrio by a guide with the unlikely name of Wellington. (Remember? Sandro´s first name was actually Wilson.) So we boarded Wellington´s canoe, the Pionera #1, and paddled out from shore.
(Left) Wellington paddling Pionera #1 into the floating barrio of Belen; (right) Enjoying the moment
Some of the homes near shore were built on stilts and maintained a fixed level throughout the year despite the significant changes in the river´s level. Others, the majority, were built on floating log foundations that were fixed in two dimensions, but would rise and lower along with the changing water level of Rio Amazonas.
Closest to shore there were overhead electrical lines. Even well out from land potable water was provided to the homes. Bathrooms (banos) were situated away from the floating homes, shielded by plastic tarps and shared by perhaps four families or more.
(Above, left) Typical homes at fixed level above river near shore; (above, right) Floating bano shared by several households; (above) One of the few painted homes in Belen
Children swam in front of their homes. Many boats--mostly canoe-shaped--plied the waters, some as taxis, some as mobile markets taking their specialties house-to-house.
(Left) Vendor paddling house-to-house selling produce and sundries; (right) Children playing in their 'front yard'
There were churches and schools and bars built on the water. At one school for the poorest of the children in the barrio, operated by a Spanish organization, it was time for what we would call recess. There was no playground, of course, so the kids were swimming under their classroom. They would climb the steps, jump out into the water, swim back, and repeat the process.
(Left) Belen church; (right) Children at recess under their school
Dogs and chickens and ducks, and even pigs, lived in or under the homes.
Then we left the maze of waterways, proceeding eastward away from shore, often paddling through floating vegetation. Sandro knew that I wanted to see the great Victoria amazonas plant that is native to the region. About 1/4-mile farther out from the homes most distant from shore, we encountered acre-size areas of open water, and on them were suspended the circular, lipped leaves of Victoria amazonas, fully five or six feet in diameter. They appeared substantial enough to support a small child.
Victoria amazonas and two young kids from Belen who guided our canoe through watery vegetation for a small tip (propina).
We continued on in the hand-hewn canoe, searching now for birds. Other than broad classifications, I couldn't tell you the name of a single one. It was fun nonetheless.
One memorable sight was of a raptor (an osprey?) launching itself from a tree in front of us and taking its prey in another tree even closer to our boat. We stealthily backpaddled a bit, then slipped through some floating vegetation as we approached the tree that harbored both hunter and prey. We got within 25 feet of the white-and-black bird feeding on its kill, close enough that photos should lead to its identification.
Osprey(?) with kill
Soon after that we paddled back across to Belen and shore. Our guide, Wellington, was paid 10 soles ($3.33 USD) for the one-hour trip in his canoe.
Sandro and I wound our way back through the mercado, stopping often for photos. We found our mototaxi and I was taken back to the Plaza de Armas. It was nearly noon by then. I paid Sandro 40 soles ($13 USD) for transportation, his invaluable services, and his time (almost four hours), and we each probably felt that we got a fair shake.
I arranged to meet Sandro at 4:30 back at Hospedaje la Pascana. He never showed up though I waited 45 minutes before hiring another driver to take me to pick up my laundry, return with it to my lodging, and then drop me off at a photo shop near centro Iquitos. I was able to clear up some space on my camera's storage disk by transferring about 700 photos onto a DVD: cost of the service and disk was 10 soles ($3.33 USD).
I strolled a block or two to The Yellow Rose of Texas (YROT) for an ice-cold cerveza followed by an avocado salad and some Texas-style pork BBQ served up proudly at this unique establishment in a jungle city on the Amazon River.
Heavy rain (lluvia) began before I could finish my dinner and get over to the Internet business across the plaza. Effectively trapped, I ordered another beer, and after that a chuchuhuasi sour. All the while I marveled at this gangbuster business lorded over by the seemingly omnipresent, hands-on, ever-prowling, American owner, Gerald Mayeaux. With time to marvel, I could not help noting the ex-pat's beautiful 30-something Peruvian wife who--like Gerald--paced the sidewalk that separates the outside seating from YROT itself, ensuring that customers received proper service and were not pestered by street urchins.
It was at least an hour before the tropical rain let up enough that I would even consider walking across the plaza to the Internet site. When I did leave, I stopped at the busy corner of Prosper and Putumayo, not yet wishing to leave a sheltered spot for the wet dash ahead.
Two pretty young (20-ish) girls talked to me while we all were standing at the corner. A mototaxi soon pulled up with a man in the back, and one of the girls hopped in. Hmmm. The girl left behind asked if I wanted, well, some company. Well...No, I explained, what I wanted was to cross the plaza and go to the Internet site. Maybe later? she asked. Where was I staying? How about a massage, then? The thought crossed my mind that Barb has been suggesting recently that I get a massage, something she finds quite relaxing, but decide--not for the first time-- not to take my wife's good counsel on this night.
I finally get over to the Internet site for some catching-up, and then hurry back to my lodging for what will be a short night's sleep before departing Iquitos in the morning.
Day 10--Iquitos and Lima, Peru, and on to Quito, Ecuador
I woke early--at 4:30 a.m.--in order to fly out of Iquitos to Lima on LanPeru's 6:20 a.m. flight. It's interesting that flights in and out of Iquitos are scheduled to avoid the most active time of vultures riding the thermals in the vicinity of the airpo rt.I had a four-hour layover in Lima before continuing on to Quito, Ecuador, time I used to catch up a bit on email and my trip narrative.
Quito is situated at about 8,500 feet in elevation. Though it seems immense when viewed from above, and it's Ecuador's capitol city, it is second in population to the port city of Guayaquil.
The currency used in Ecuador is the U.S. dollar. Not based on the U.S. dollar, but the currency itself. The country mints coins similar in size and denomination to ours. At least some, the dollar coin for instance, are embossed with "E Pluribus Unum" and "United States of America" on them. And not only is the currency easily negotiated without need for mental conversion, but so is the current: electric sockets and voltage are the same as our's, so appliances and gadgets can be plugged-in without using converter plugs and/or a transformer.
I landed in Quito in mid-afternoon. I had emailed a hostal, Villa Nancy, from Lima to ask about staying there, noting that they advertised free airport pick-up of guests staying more than one night. I hadn't been able to get back on the Internet to see if they had replied, but someone was at the baggage claim area with a sign for 'Mich Sarrel.' After ensuring that I was indeed the one they'd been sent to meet, I was soon leaving the airport in a taxi.
It turns out that there are two Villa Nancys in Quito and I was dropped-off at the wrong one, but the mistake was realized before the driver got away. When we got to the right one, located on the busy Avenida 6 de Diciembre, I was met at the gate--for security reasons, guests have to be let both in and out of the property--by the considerate and helpful Swiss employee, Rachel.
(Left) Rachel pointing out something (a danger? a nearby bus stop?) on the busy Av. 6 de Diciembre; (right) Inside Villa-Nancy
The day had turned gloomy, Rachel spent a good deal of time warning me about the dangers of getting about in Quito, I had a large and charming room with windows I could throw open to let in the cool air, and I was bone tired. Villa Nancy had Internet access I could use for $1/hour and cold beer in a refrigerator by the front desk. It was raining hard, with frequent and close lightning. And so I stayed inside the remainder of the day, planning instead what I would do the next couple of days in Quito. It was relaxing to say the least.
my room, which cost $18 per night, was large, had nicely finished hardwood floors, was furnished with two double-beds, and had a private bathroom.
free airport pick-up was provided because I was staying at the hostal for more than one night.
great breakfasts were included. You could choose to have cold cereal or have Angel (a young Ecuadoran staffer) prepare eggs perfectly to order. There was a basket of wonderful croissants and, on the table, a dish of morra preserves with a flavor to die for. (Morra is a blackberry-like fruit.) Fresh fruit and juice, brewed coffee, and hot water and tea completed the daily offering.
pitchers of potable water were provided daily in every room, important because prudent travelers would not brush their teeth with--let alone take a drink of--water from the faucet.
If I found myself staying overnight in Quito at some future time (not a sure thing), I'd likely stay at Villa Nancy. There is an Ecovia (one of Quito's three major mass transit lines that each run parallel in a north-south direction) stop right outside the hostal's entry, and the so-called Gringoland--an area of restaurants and lodging favored by travelers--is an easy walk as well.
Clouds and precipitation had reportedly been persistent in the area for days, obscuring one of Quito's charms--its setting in the midst of soaring mountains. I went to bed hoping for better weather tomorrow.
I got up early, used the Internet, and had breakfast. Then I took a taxi from Villa Nancy to a stop on the busy Avenida Occidental where I could catch a bus for 2 to the town of Otavalo, which lies about 30 miles north of Quito ATCF. Though intrigued by my Footprint South American Handbook 2008's description of the town as being "...set in beautiful countryside, with mountains, lakes and small villages nearby," I was going to Otavalo to see its market.
Vendors boarded the bus, rode it a ways, and sold their wares which included such snacks as sealed, push-up, flavored icy treats (10 cents) and papitas (homemade and home-packaged potato chips that were terrific--30 cents). The bus was comfortable, an American movie dubbed in Spanish played on the screen up front, and I kept watch outside as we followed the winding Highway 35 through rugged terrain, gaining and losing elevation on the way to Otavalo.
Day 11 of my trip was a Sunday; the big market days in Otavalo are Saturdays. Nevertheless, the market is active every day, and a visitor on any day can get a sense of why it's considered one of the best (if not the best) markets in all of South America and why it's included in the arbitrarily chosen selections listed in "1,000 Places to See Before You Die."
It was cloudy and cool when I arrived in Otavalo. A light rain was falling. I took a taxi from the bus terminal to the Plaza de Ponchos and soon found myself seeking a snack and shelter in the Shanandoa Pie Shop (right on the plaza at Salinas y Jaramillo). One look at the lemon meringue, apple, strawberry, blueberry, and chocolate pies and I was hooked. (Alas, though the menu included mora pie, that variety--made from the delectable, blackberry-like fruit grown in the region--was not available.) I chose the lemon meringue and sat down, the only customer in the shop.
It wasn't long before some other people came in, including Mike and Bonnie ________. They were gringos of approximately my own age (62). I asked, and when they told me they lived in Ecuador and were just visiting Otavalo today, I assumed that they were American ex-pats who were getting a little more out of their retirement dollars by living in Latin America. I was wrong.
Mike and Bonnie were missionaries who had lived in Ecuador for 30 years. They were both from small towns in the panhandle of Texas who had known each other from their school days. Their children, who loved Ecuador and would have preferred to have been there, were more-or-less on parentally-enforced sabbatical back in the United States. Mike was still working, likely with the great assistance of his wife. I sensed that they would have to make major decisions about their own future relatively soon, such as when and where to retire.
Another gringo in the pie shop heard our English conversation and asked if she could join us. Her name was Shelly and she was from New Zealand. She was around 40 years-old, was traveling alone, and would meet an acquaintance later today in Otavalo. For now, though, she and I and the missionary couple had a pleasant half-hour conversation before going our separate ways.
As I mentioned, Saturday is the day to experience the grand spectacle of Otavalo, a day that features separate livestock, small animal, and produce markets in addition to the everyday artesanias market. Even today, though, the artesanias market filled Plaza de Ponchos and the streets which bound it on four sides. The scene resembled an almost unbroken sea of bright blue plastic tarps, underneath which a vast selection of handmade crafts were displayed.
Artesanias market, Plaza de Ponchos
The indigenous Otavalenos are a handsome people renowned for their textiles and crafts, especially those made from wool. My favorite items were the choles, colorful and silky-smooth wool items that may have been designed as clothing accessories (shawls), but could just as easily be utilized to accent one's household decor. There were wonderful items featuring embroidery on natural linen, from tea towels to tablecloths; my desire to purchase these items vied with my need to conserve space in my already overstuffed luggage.
The Otavalenos were impeccably and beautifullydressed in colorful native dress. Many of the women wore gold necklaces, the stacked strands sometimes reaching three inches in width. Often there was a quiet baby on their back, bundled tightly and securely and almost invisible. The men, rarely much more than five feet in height, typically wore their long, jet-black hair in a single long braid.
Otavaleno women, Plaza de Ponchos
I spent several hours in the market, appraising items offered by first one vendor, then another. I looked at knit woolen hats (bought some), hand-crafted dolls (sure! I have a granddaughter, don't I?), alpaca scarves (nope), and jewelry (hardly takes any room, right?). Local jewelry craftsmen (and -women) work in silver and seem to favor the regional minerals lapis, turquesa, and jaspe rojo in their settings. Bargaining, even protracted bargaining, is expected before settling on a price acceptable to both parties.
(Left) Wooden masks; (right) silver jewelry
I remained on the plaza until early evening. Vendors began to store their wares and prepare to close for the day. Night comes early near the Equator, and I still had to retrace the 1-1/2-hour bus ride back to Quito and the Terminal Terreste. I thought about the warnings I had received regarding the dangers of the streets of Quito in general and the bus terminal in particular.
I decided that I would prolong my visit anyway, maybe find someplace to eat. I ended up at a very nice place called S.I.S.A (don't ask) located at Calderon 409 y Sucre. The restaurant was large, open, nicely decorated, and virtually empty at the early dinner hour of 5 p.m. I ordered a filet mignon for $5.50 that included papas fritas (French fries), arroz (rice), verdudas (vegetables), pan (bread) and was served, as is served with virtually every meal in every restaurant in this part of the world, a bowl of aji, a chile-based sauce that is distinctively different each place you try it. Ruth's Chris needn't fret about losing market share to S.I.S.A.'s filet, but it made for a good meal. And I'll be darned if my waiter didn't present me with a braided gift (regalo) with "S.I.S.A" hand-stitched in it as a memento of my visit to the restaurant.
The buses back to Quito, while frequent, seemed to depart not so much on a schedule, but when they were filled to their capacity. A leather-lunged barker stood outside the bus, loudly repeating "Quito, Quito, Quito" over and over again, never stopping until we pulled out of Otavalo.
Still wary because of the numerous warnings I'd received about the dangers of being out in the city, I got in a taxi as soon as the bus stopped at Quito's Terminal Terrestre. Although it should not have taken more than 20 minutes, it took an hour for the driver to find my lodging, frustrating both of us greatly. Part of the problem was trying to read miniscule maps in the inadequate lighting of the taxi, and part was because my Footprint South American Handbook 2008 guidebook still listed an old address for Villa Nancy. I finally arrived at the hostal at 10 o'clock and wasted little time in getting to bed after a long day exploring a little corner of Ecuador.
The weather looked promising when I got up this morning. I enjoyed Villa Nancy's fine breakfast, gathered those things I thought I would need for a day spent out-and-about, got instructions for taking public transportation to a site called Mitad del Mundo, and headed out onto the streets of Quito.
I was no longer overly concerned about my personal safety and was not reluctant to explore the city on my own. Prudence dictated that one be aware of their environment and that one's things--daypack and camera--not be too available for anyone who might want to relieve you of them. But such precautions would be judicious anywhere.
I walked north on Av. 6 de Diciembre, then west on Av. Colon through a thriving commercial district alive with traffic and pedestrians. It was probably 1-1/2 miles to a stop on the Metrobus line where I would board my first bus.
I mentioned in yesterday's account that there are three main mass-transit routes in Quito, each running north-south and roughly parallel to each other, and each operating at fairly rapid speed in dedicated lanes on major thoroughfares. I passed an Ecovia stop right outside Villa Nancy, then a stop on the Trole line as I walked along Av. Colon, before reaching the Seminario Mayor stop on the Metrobus line. The cost of riding on any of the three lines is 25 cents. There is a fleet of blue buses called Tipos that must number in the many hundreds that can transport passengers virtually anywhere in Quito, operating frequently on routes that supplement the three express lines. The only trick is reading the signs posted in the bus windows and figuring out which of the many to board (there could be four or more at any one corner at any one time, each going the same direction).
Scenes from Quito mass transit: (above, left and right) Tipo bus and Trole station; (below, left and right) Metrobus station and transfer station
I saw many American restaurants doing business in Quito and throughout South America, some of them expected (McDonald's, KFC, Pizza Hut), others not (Dunkin Donuts, Baskin-Robbins, Papa Johns, Tony Roma's). I can report that the most numerous of the franchises, without doubt, was KFC which easily had twice as many locations as Mickey D's, and likely more than that. As I passed a large KFC on Av. Colon I noticed that their playroom for kids was called 'Chicky Party.'
Large KFC on Av. Colon, Quito, Ecuador
The Metrobus that I boarded took me perhaps 5-to-7 miles beyond the Seminario stop, to a transfer station at its north terminus. I boarded another bus at the transfer station that would deliver me to the entrance of Mitad del Mundo, perhaps another 8-to-10 winding miles away, for 35 cents.
Mitad del Mundo (Spanish for 'middle of the world') is an imposing monument built to commemorate an 18th century French expedition that determined the location of the equator. Why the expedition chose this spot in what is now the country of Ecuador rather than, say, somewhere else in South America--or in Africa or southeast Asia for that matter--I cannot say, but their work has stood the test of time: recent GPS measurements are only about 150 meters different than those made by sextant and chronometer. (GPS: 00 00.000S / 78 27.335W)
A long landscaped walkway leads from the entrance to the monument itself. A four-sided stone tower well over 100 feet in height supports a giant globe. An elevator took me up to a platform just below the globe for nice views in every direction of the compass. My descent by stairway took me through exhibits depicting many of the numerous cultures that comprise the nation of Ecuador.
The monument and views from on top, Mitad del Mundo
The weather was perfect for visiting the site but, being a weekday, there were few people at Mitad del Mundo. I visited a few shops and sat on the patio of a restaurant to write a bit and to enjoy a milkshake-like drink called a bebida made from my new favorite fruit, the mora. Interestingly, one of the shops that also serves as a post office would stamp your passport to validate your visit to the equator; I had never had my passport stamped by any agency other than customs upon entry or exit into/from a sovereign nation.
I left without making more than a casual effort to find the Museo Inti-Nan which is located outside, but nearby, Mitad del Mundo. Other gringos told me that it was very interesting and well worth visiting, but time was my enemy if I was to see anything else of Quito on this day. And so I retraced my steps back into the city, this time riding the Metrobus almost to its southern terminus in Quito's colonial Old City.
Many of the buildings in the Old City date from the 1500's. Its cultural significance is recognized by its designation as a UNESCO World Heritage Site. I wanted to get familiar with some of its landmarks so that a visit planned for tomorrow morning could be made without wasting time simply getting oriented. If you are i simplen an open area and can see in all directions, or if you can spot landmarks looking up or down one of the streets, orientation is fairly: the Old City is bounded by prominences at each end--to the north is the large gothic La Basilica; to the south is Cerro Panecillo, a sizeable hill topped by the statue Virgen de Quito.
Views from the Old City: (Left) Cerro Panecillo, and (right) La Basilica
Most of the streets in the Old City are cobblestone, and so are many of the sidewalks. Picturesque stone walls, up to 30 feet in height, are found here and there, some built to accommodate plants growing from them. There may be a dozen churches (iglesias) in the Old City, perhaps half of them being architecturally or culturally significant. Plazas dot the area providing wonderful landscaped oases for rest and refreshment with the added bonus of providing great people-watching opportunities.
I made my way upwards from the Metrobus stop to La Basilica. This church is not colonial in age (it was begun in the early 20th century) or architecture (it is gothic in style). It was interesting, though. I just had time for a quick tour before it closed for the day. Its flying buttresses, immense nave, and stained-glass windows were notable. And how about those gargoyles? Rather than demons or other fantastic figures, this church was decorated with birds and other animals of land and sea that represented Ecuador and the Galapagos Islands.
Some views of the Gothic La Basilica
I topped off my visit to La Basilica, literally, with a drink in the church's Cafeteria Torre Vlass high above the streets. The cafe had an array of windows that provided views of the Old City and of Quito itself in one direction. A thunderstorm could be seen approaching from the south. I saw no reason to do anything other than relax and enjoy something called Capuchino vlass, a hot drink made with amaretto.
I left La Basilica at its 5 o'clock closing hour, taking time outside to photograph some of its unique exterior. I walked to a nearby stop of the Trole line, pushed myself into the packed car, and rode it north to Av. Colon. I found an Internet business where I could catch up on some email and journal entries.
It was dark when I decided to undertake an interesting task before eating dinner. Tom Grimwood, a friend from Kansas as well as my Spanish instructor, had asked me to deliver a note to an acquaintance of his who lives in Quito. Just one problem: Tom didn't have either a telephone number to contact the man, nor even an address, when I left on my trip.
I was not able to find the name in a telephone book but, after I had arrived in Quito, I got an email from Tom: he had been able to find an address but he didn't know in which part of Quito it was located. I got the idea that maybe I could Google the address and come up with something. Sure enough, it worked! Google recognized the address and provided a map showing its location which was not all that far from where I was staying.
And so I hired a taxi, showed the driver the address, determined the cost of the fare ($2), and off we went. We drove directly to the intersection of two streets where the address should have been. Neither the driver nor I could see any house number that seemed even close to the one I had been provided. We drove slowly in one direction, turned around, then crawled past the intersection going in the other direction, always looking for the address.
The driver rolled down his window to ask first one person, then another, if they knew how to find the address. I had him stop to ask employees of several businesses--a pharmacy, a restaurant, a corner market--who I thought would surely know someone who had lived nearby for many years. No one knew the name or the address. My driver did not give up easily. Again we rolled up and down the street, looking.
At last I told him that we should give up the search, that he should take me back to a restaurant close to Av. Colon near where he had picked me up almost an hour ago. As we approached the restaurant, I reached for money to pay my driver. The fare, I knew, was $2 for each direction, but the driver had easily spent an additional 30-to-40 minutes simply helping me to find an address. When he realized that I intended to include a tip (propina) in addition to the $4 total fare, he refused to even consider taking it. I don't know why he would not accept it; perhaps because he knew that I was simply trying to do a favor for a friend?
Why couldn't we find the address? My first guess was that the house-numbering system had been changed by the city sometime in the past (that much is certain); since no one around the intersection knew the man, I also think that he may have moved to another location in Quito some time ago.
I got out at a restaurant called Turtle's Head (La Nina 626 y J.L. Mera) that sounded good in my guidebook. Oh, yeah, it was. Turtle's Head is an English pub kind of place, adorned with flags of the United Kingdom, classic rock playing in the background. Inside there were only gringos, travelers and/or ex-pats living in Quito. The old adage, 'Work is the Curse of the Drinking Class,' adorned one wall. A woodburning fireplace was being tended.
I took a seat at a large table with benches on either side and candles flickering in its center. Several microbrews were available, including: Llama Negra ('as dark as your conscience') and Tortuga Pale Ale ('not that slow!'). A plasma TV was playing a baseball game between the Red Sox and Tigers, what better to go with an ice-cold draft beer? The three innings of the game represented the only television I would watch during the whole trip.
Fish-and-chips seemed like a natural choice in an English pub. My order was preceded by the best bread I had on the whole trip. Then I was brought a plate with three large battered fish fillets, a generous order of very good chips (French fries), and a portion of hideous vegetables that spent too much of their lives inside a tin can. Overall, though, I'd go back in a minute.
It was getting late by the time I left Turtle's Head, perhaps 10 o'clock. When I was let out of the guarded street entrance, I asked directions back to Av. Colon. I was disoriented, walking somewhat aimlessly which is the worst way to walk if personal security is an issue. I pulled out my GPS, clicked on 'Villa Nancy,' and was soon on my way directly back to my lodging and my bed.
I would have to leave later today in order to get to Riobamba, the jumping-off point for a remarkable train trip that departs that city just three times a week. That left only a portion of the day to squeeze in a few last sights in Quito, Ecuador. The day began bright and full of promise and so, after a last breakfast at Villa Nancy, I left the hostal early, caught the Ecovia bus just outside its gate on Av. 6 de Diciembre, and was in the Old City before 8 a.m.
I have mentioned that the Old City is a UNESCO World Heritage Site, so designated because of its cultural (architectural) values dating from the 16th century and its Spanish colonial influence. The UNESCO website's ( whc.unesco.org ) description states that Quito "...has the best-preserved, least altered historic centre in Latin America. The monasteries of San Francisco and Santo Domingo, and the Church and Jesuit College of La Compañía, with their rich interiors, are pure examples of the 'Baroque school of Quito', which is a fusion of Spanish, Italian, Moorish, Flemish and indigenous art."
The Old City streets are cobblestoned for the most part, as are many of the sidewalks, contributing to the site's charm. It was the churches that seemed most remarkable to me, grand in both scale and beauty, and it was on them that I focused what little time I had this morning.
Street scenes, Quito's Old City
My route took me first to the Iglesia de San Agustin (Calle Chile y Guayaquil). This imposing, bright white church, begun in 1580 and completed in 1627, had the advantages of being both open to the public and allowing (non-flash) photography inside. A sparsely-attended mass was being conducted. I entered the church discreetly, admired its ornate main altar as well as some of the side ones, and tried to take some photographs as surreptitiously as possible before continuing on my walk.
Iglesia de San Agustin
It was only a block to the Plaza de la Independencia ( GPS: 00 13.219S / 78 30.721W ), an attractive landscaped park with many benches surrounding the tower and statue that dominate it. Also known as Plaza Grande, it seemed an inviting oasis this morning. Later in the morning, on my walk back, it would present quite a different scene, but now I could admire La Catedral, the 16th century cathedral that faced the plaza.
Plaza de la Independencia and (background) La Catedral
La Catedral (Calle Espejo between G. Moreno and Venezuela) was built between 1545 and 1572. Large and brilliant white like Iglesia de San Agustin just two block away, the cathedral was not open and so I could only admire its exterior.
Walking a block further south, I came to the Jesuit (Society of Jesus) Iglesia de la Compania de Jesus (Calle G. Moreno y Sucre) that was built between 1605 and 1765. Outside, I absorbed the church's architectural features which included an entryway with unique twisted columns and ornate carved facade. Later, on my return, I entered the church and was overwhelmed by the 23-carat gold lamina that covered virtually every square inch of the sizeable interior. Less ostentatious, yet no less memorable, was the inlaid wood floor and the narrow spiral staircase leading from the back of the church to the small choir loft. My notes summed up La Compania in one word: "Resplendent."
Iglesia de la Compania de Jesus
My destination was the Convento y Museo de San Francisco (Calle Cuenca 477). If the other churches of the Old City were notable for one reason or another, the Convento de San Francisco, begun in 1553, could be notable simply due to its monumental scale. It seemed to be a city block in length. Facing Plaza de San Francisco, the complex of buildings that make up Convento de San Francisco is enhanced by its setting across the vast open plaza.
Plaza and Iglesia de San Francisco
It was late enough at the time I was there, about 9 a.m., that I could enter the site and join a guided tour. What an interesting experience that turned out to be. I soon found myself being led, alone, through the museum portion of San Francisco. My guia, Paulina, spoke only Spanish, and so my tour of the great Franciscan art collection became a Spanish tutorial that required my undivided attention.
At the conclusion of the museum tour, Paulina asked if I'd like to see the church, and of course I did. There were extensive renovations being undertaken. We entered the large choir with its perimeter of carved wooden seats and, above them, carved depictions of notable members of the Franciscan order, many of them martyrs. Dual silver-piped organs were installed at the front of the choir. I could easily envision the loft filled with brown-robed friars raising their voices in praise of their Lord. My guide could not take me downstairs and into the main portion of the church, but we could view it--and the renovations that were in progress--from the front of the choir.
Paulina left me in the cloister. With more time I might have remained there longer, enjoying the landscaped and architectural beauty as well as the cloister's peaceful isolation.
Cloister (left) and second level walkway, Convento de San Francisco
I began to retrace my steps back to a mass transit stop. My route took me back past the Plaza de la Independencia. The Palacio de Gobierno is situated on Calle G. Moreno directly across from the plaza, making the park a favored spot for political or labor demonstrations. I encountered armed national police lining the street, separating demonstrators in the park from the government building across the street. The demonstrators' grievances seemed to be with mining pay or practices. Banners and flags were carried by people dressed in ordinary urban clothes; large numbers of indigenous people dressed in colorful native garb moved in a sort of dance line to the sound of music and drums. I never saw any physical conflict nor anything that seemed like it might lead to any such escalation. I stopped, watched, listened, took photos, then continued on my way out of the Old City.
Demonstration, Plaza de la Independencia, Quito, Ecuador
The day was fine, the best since I landed in Quito three days ago. One of the things that you must do when in Quito is to ride the Teleferiqo (www.teleferiqo.com
