|This is it! Longitude 0o Latitude 0o|
|World Heritage City Quito with dormant volcanoes in the background|
At first I didn't walk far from the hostel. Just going up their stairs made me feel weak and caused me to puff and pant, but by taking it easy and resting a lot, I even managed to walk around the block a bit.
|Quito does a nice line in vertical gardens. Good use of small spaces|
The next morning, having had my fill of grand cathedrals, I bravely took public transport to visit Otavalo, a little town about 100 Km away. This was no mean feat as no one outside the hostel spoke a word of English and my Spanish was limited to "Que tal?" (How are you?) Buenas Dias? and "How do I get to the bus stop?" At first I did the gringo thing and caught a taxi to the bus station. When the mini van was full, the driver crossed himself at the large decorated saint on the way out of town (with good reason I was to discover) and we headed off through the mountains. Although famed for its market and its weaving, the destination was less important to me than seeing a bit of the countryside and the way of life. As we wound our way out of town on narrow cobbled streets, I could see that many of the older houses were still made of pise but between them new multi -storey concrete ones were starting to take root. We also stopped often for roadworks as narrow lanes were being dug up and widened.
It was raining when I arrived in Otavalo and most of the market was under wraps but there were still a lot of people around in traditional dress. It seemed somehow rude to photograph them as if they were objects. Most of the costumes were very colourful, similar to those I later saw in Peru, but one group really stood out. These were the patrician - looking men who wore simple white pants, rope sandals and dark blue ponchos. They also wore their hair in pigtails. As with other anomalies like the Argyle socks and tartans in Bhutan, or the bowler hats in Bolivia, it made me wonder how this distinctive style evolved or where it came from.
|Streetlight in Otavalo|
|Dinner at the bus stop|
I was quite pleased with myself although the way back proved a bit more difficult.The bus dropped me off at a different terminal and then I found myself on the wrong Trole and headed the wrong way. It was almost dark now and I was starting to panic because I couldn't find the hostel and I was supposed to be getting ready for my next flight. Eventually I caved in and took a taxi only to find out that I had another hour because my phone was still on Cuban time. In the end I even found someone who was also going to the airport and wanted to share the cost of a cab. I didn't dare try public transport for this one - the airport was a long way out of town. All in all, not a bad little stopover. Too bad I didn't have time for Galapagos as well.