Places I know like the back of my hand: Goodison Park and its surrounding streets (because I watch Everton there), Telegraph Hill (because I live there), Paddington Basin (because I work there), Bogota International Airport (because I was bored there for several hours).
I had the dubious pleasure of spending five hours at the Colombian capital's airport as I waited for a connecting flight to Ecuador. I had travelled down from Santa Marta on a short-hop flight with Aires and had additional baggage to contend with: an eye-stinging level of tiredness not experienced since getting up at a stupid hour to watch an Everton game in Medellin, coupled with a rum-induced hangover.
When you travel alone, and have all your worldly possessions condensed into a backpack, you need to make sure you keep a close eye on that backpack at all times. It sits on my lap on taxi journeys, it joins me in toilet cubicles when nature calls, etc.
So after doing several rounds of the airport shops and cafes (how many coffees can you drink before you start climbing the walls?), I took a seat and started a war with my closing eyelids. They wanted to close, my brain and backpack wanted them open. Closed eyes = abandoned backpack.
A few timely bursts into the chilly air oustide Departures meant the brain and backpack won. Just.
I zombie-marched onto the next flight, a 1970s era Boeing run by a combination of Avianca and Aerolinas Galapagos that was barely half full. That probably had something to do with the thieves charging us almost 200 pounds for a 1.5hr flight. Cheeky f**kers.
We had a meal on board - which I think has been a first for me in South America...
...before landing about an hour late after a delay. The only other thing I recall is that the Ecuadorian stewardess serving me looked like Morticia Addams.
I got a cab through the deserted, wet streets of northern Quito to my hostal, situated in the old colonial part of the city. It's set in an old colonial house and is called the Colonial House hostal. Can you get more colonial than that?
I had two missions to complete during my first day in Quito: see the old town, and buy some trainers. With rain due and a big hole in the side of my green Nikes (I only travel with one pair of shoes), the trainer-buying probably should have been the priority. However, I set off into the old town and was suddenly met with a wall of colour:
I love surprises. It was Quito's carnival parade - versions of which have been happening all over South America this weekend, most famously in Barranquilla (Colombia) and Salvador/Rio (Brazil).
I enjoyed my little carnival experience for three reasons: one, it took me completely by surprise. Two, there were some great costumes, bands and floats. And three, everyone was going nuts with squirty foam. What's not to like?
I bought a couple of canisters and had fun spraying people, as they did the same to me. It went in my eyes, my mouth, my ears, all over my clothes. I'm still finding residue on my stuff almost two days later.
Luckily I had my camera with me:
After that surprise bonus, I took a walk around Quito's oldest plazas and streets. And they surprised me too. Even though it was a grey day, the buildings - many newly restored and painted - stood out against the drab sky:
After that, I took a walk through a plethora* of budget shoe shops, selling some of the worst imitation trainers this side of Bangkok. The final straw was when I saw a pair of black Adidas that had two stripes instead of three, and the word Adipas on the side. Purlease.
Ignoring my Jewish-rooted inclination to go for a cheap alternative to The Real Thing, I decided to head north to the Mariscal area of the new town and hit the malls in search of some genuine trainers with the correct number of stripes, or ticks, on them.
I finally ended up splashing out on a pair of Nikes, this time in blue. My new travelling companions for the next few months. Unless I decide to go trekking in them. In which case, you have my permission to shoot me.
I got back to the hostel, had a quick dip into my guidebook and spotted that a company called The Biking Dutchman (see what they did there?) run mountain bike tours of Quito's surrounding areas. I gave them a ring, discovered that a one-day tour was leaving at 7am in the morning and booked up.
So this morning I got up at the witching hour (also known as 5.40am), showered and managed to fortuitously cadge a lift to the pick-up point with a family staying at my hostel. I didn't really fancy a walk through the quiet city streets in my boxfresh Nikes, a Gap bag under my arm and an iPhone in my pocket. Especially after seeing a man glassed in the face with a bottle outside my hostel yesterday evening:
Our tour was lead by Diego, a gregarious Quitoan who regularly finishes in the top 5 of national biking championships. There were nine of us, a mix of nationalities (as always) - the ubiquitous Americans, a few Dutch, a Taiwanese and a Japanese.
One of the few things I had in mind to visit in Ecuador (a place I admittedly knew very little about before landing here) was the famous Cotopaxi volcano:
Before you start submitting my amazing photographic effort to National Geographic, I have to shatter the illusion and declare that this came from Google Images. What? You couldn't tell?
My effort at photographing Cotopaxi today was slightly less impressive:
Bastard clouds. Grr.
Never mind though. We still had a good day caning it down the side of the volcano on our bikes. I had an extra incentive to get to the bottom quickly as, yet again, I hadn't brought appropriate clothing and equipment on a tour. I'm seeing a pattern developing...
We were driven to the carpark at the top of Cotopaxi, and stepped out into a blizzard of Arctic proportions. That's obviously a lie, and I've never been to the Arctic so couldn't categorically judge its iciness, but believe me that the top of Cotopaxi today was extremity-numblingly cold.
After a final pee (which wasn't the most pleasant experience in the circumstances), and a final masochistic photo...
...we set off.
I'm not the most confident cyclist, having bust my collarbone during a nasty crash in my teens, but I managed the whole day without falling once. Mostly it was spent going downhill, fast. Diego said we were reaching speeds of up to 50kmph.
With the wind and hail biting into my face, my hands turning into finger-shaped ice cubes - do they exist? If not, I reckon they'd sell well - it was a big challenge to stay on track.
We also had to contend with half of Quito's population joining us on the dirt/mud/gravel track that leads up to the top of the volcano. As mentioned before, it's carnival and holiday time out here and the city empties out to the surrounding areas. Big jeeps and other 4x4s were passing us every 30 seconds, making balance and concentration difficult.
On the way down I took a couple of pics of the impressive mountains and plains that neighbour Cotopaxi:
The rest of the day was easier than the initial descent, being on quieter flat tracks (still with their fair share of hazardous rocks, mud etc) and at a slightly gentler pace. We kept having to stop and wait for the Taiwanese guy, who hadn't been on a bike since he was 14. A bit annoying, especially in the freezing cold, but luckily an American girl was on hand to lend me her hoody:
We had a good lunch by the side of a stream before embarking on a long cycle back to the entrance of the park, the dust whipped up from the passing cars making the final stretch a test of endurance and eyesight.
Overall we covered 28 km of track. Not bad going, and despite Cotopaxi (the world's tallest active volcano, fact fans) keeping his cloudy head on, there was enough eye-popping scenery to give me a good taste of Ecuador's 'Avenue of the Volcanoes'.
On the way back, we stopped at the service station and bought a beer. I always find it strange in foreign countries when they sell alcohol at petrol stations, but there you go. Here I am toasting our efforts with a Dutch girl and an American guy:
I got back to the hostel, decided it was time to move on, and booked a flight to Cuenca for tomorrow lunchtime. It cost 31 quid. Bargain.
Cuenca is in the south of the country and will occupy me for a couple of days or so before another move on towards Peru. There is so much more to see and do in Ecuador - more volcanoes, jungle treks, beaches and colonial cities - but I really want to spend a decent chunk of my last 3.5 months in Peru and Bolivia, so I reckon I should keep moving.
Before I go, here are a few more snaps:
*Plethora. Possibly my favourite word. Ever.
I had the dubious pleasure of spending five hours at the Colombian capital's airport as I waited for a connecting flight to Ecuador. I had travelled down from Santa Marta on a short-hop flight with Aires and had additional baggage to contend with: an eye-stinging level of tiredness not experienced since getting up at a stupid hour to watch an Everton game in Medellin, coupled with a rum-induced hangover.
When you travel alone, and have all your worldly possessions condensed into a backpack, you need to make sure you keep a close eye on that backpack at all times. It sits on my lap on taxi journeys, it joins me in toilet cubicles when nature calls, etc.
So after doing several rounds of the airport shops and cafes (how many coffees can you drink before you start climbing the walls?), I took a seat and started a war with my closing eyelids. They wanted to close, my brain and backpack wanted them open. Closed eyes = abandoned backpack.
A few timely bursts into the chilly air oustide Departures meant the brain and backpack won. Just.
I zombie-marched onto the next flight, a 1970s era Boeing run by a combination of Avianca and Aerolinas Galapagos that was barely half full. That probably had something to do with the thieves charging us almost 200 pounds for a 1.5hr flight. Cheeky f**kers.
We had a meal on board - which I think has been a first for me in South America...
...before landing about an hour late after a delay. The only other thing I recall is that the Ecuadorian stewardess serving me looked like Morticia Addams.
I got a cab through the deserted, wet streets of northern Quito to my hostal, situated in the old colonial part of the city. It's set in an old colonial house and is called the Colonial House hostal. Can you get more colonial than that?
I had two missions to complete during my first day in Quito: see the old town, and buy some trainers. With rain due and a big hole in the side of my green Nikes (I only travel with one pair of shoes), the trainer-buying probably should have been the priority. However, I set off into the old town and was suddenly met with a wall of colour:
I love surprises. It was Quito's carnival parade - versions of which have been happening all over South America this weekend, most famously in Barranquilla (Colombia) and Salvador/Rio (Brazil).
I enjoyed my little carnival experience for three reasons: one, it took me completely by surprise. Two, there were some great costumes, bands and floats. And three, everyone was going nuts with squirty foam. What's not to like?
I bought a couple of canisters and had fun spraying people, as they did the same to me. It went in my eyes, my mouth, my ears, all over my clothes. I'm still finding residue on my stuff almost two days later.
Luckily I had my camera with me:
After that surprise bonus, I took a walk around Quito's oldest plazas and streets. And they surprised me too. Even though it was a grey day, the buildings - many newly restored and painted - stood out against the drab sky:
After that, I took a walk through a plethora* of budget shoe shops, selling some of the worst imitation trainers this side of Bangkok. The final straw was when I saw a pair of black Adidas that had two stripes instead of three, and the word Adipas on the side. Purlease.
Ignoring my Jewish-rooted inclination to go for a cheap alternative to The Real Thing, I decided to head north to the Mariscal area of the new town and hit the malls in search of some genuine trainers with the correct number of stripes, or ticks, on them.
I finally ended up splashing out on a pair of Nikes, this time in blue. My new travelling companions for the next few months. Unless I decide to go trekking in them. In which case, you have my permission to shoot me.
I got back to the hostel, had a quick dip into my guidebook and spotted that a company called The Biking Dutchman (see what they did there?) run mountain bike tours of Quito's surrounding areas. I gave them a ring, discovered that a one-day tour was leaving at 7am in the morning and booked up.
So this morning I got up at the witching hour (also known as 5.40am), showered and managed to fortuitously cadge a lift to the pick-up point with a family staying at my hostel. I didn't really fancy a walk through the quiet city streets in my boxfresh Nikes, a Gap bag under my arm and an iPhone in my pocket. Especially after seeing a man glassed in the face with a bottle outside my hostel yesterday evening:
Our tour was lead by Diego, a gregarious Quitoan who regularly finishes in the top 5 of national biking championships. There were nine of us, a mix of nationalities (as always) - the ubiquitous Americans, a few Dutch, a Taiwanese and a Japanese.
One of the few things I had in mind to visit in Ecuador (a place I admittedly knew very little about before landing here) was the famous Cotopaxi volcano:
Before you start submitting my amazing photographic effort to National Geographic, I have to shatter the illusion and declare that this came from Google Images. What? You couldn't tell?
My effort at photographing Cotopaxi today was slightly less impressive:
Bastard clouds. Grr.
Never mind though. We still had a good day caning it down the side of the volcano on our bikes. I had an extra incentive to get to the bottom quickly as, yet again, I hadn't brought appropriate clothing and equipment on a tour. I'm seeing a pattern developing...
We were driven to the carpark at the top of Cotopaxi, and stepped out into a blizzard of Arctic proportions. That's obviously a lie, and I've never been to the Arctic so couldn't categorically judge its iciness, but believe me that the top of Cotopaxi today was extremity-numblingly cold.
After a final pee (which wasn't the most pleasant experience in the circumstances), and a final masochistic photo...
...we set off.
I'm not the most confident cyclist, having bust my collarbone during a nasty crash in my teens, but I managed the whole day without falling once. Mostly it was spent going downhill, fast. Diego said we were reaching speeds of up to 50kmph.
With the wind and hail biting into my face, my hands turning into finger-shaped ice cubes - do they exist? If not, I reckon they'd sell well - it was a big challenge to stay on track.
We also had to contend with half of Quito's population joining us on the dirt/mud/gravel track that leads up to the top of the volcano. As mentioned before, it's carnival and holiday time out here and the city empties out to the surrounding areas. Big jeeps and other 4x4s were passing us every 30 seconds, making balance and concentration difficult.
On the way down I took a couple of pics of the impressive mountains and plains that neighbour Cotopaxi:
The rest of the day was easier than the initial descent, being on quieter flat tracks (still with their fair share of hazardous rocks, mud etc) and at a slightly gentler pace. We kept having to stop and wait for the Taiwanese guy, who hadn't been on a bike since he was 14. A bit annoying, especially in the freezing cold, but luckily an American girl was on hand to lend me her hoody:
We had a good lunch by the side of a stream before embarking on a long cycle back to the entrance of the park, the dust whipped up from the passing cars making the final stretch a test of endurance and eyesight.
Overall we covered 28 km of track. Not bad going, and despite Cotopaxi (the world's tallest active volcano, fact fans) keeping his cloudy head on, there was enough eye-popping scenery to give me a good taste of Ecuador's 'Avenue of the Volcanoes'.
On the way back, we stopped at the service station and bought a beer. I always find it strange in foreign countries when they sell alcohol at petrol stations, but there you go. Here I am toasting our efforts with a Dutch girl and an American guy:
I got back to the hostel, decided it was time to move on, and booked a flight to Cuenca for tomorrow lunchtime. It cost 31 quid. Bargain.
Cuenca is in the south of the country and will occupy me for a couple of days or so before another move on towards Peru. There is so much more to see and do in Ecuador - more volcanoes, jungle treks, beaches and colonial cities - but I really want to spend a decent chunk of my last 3.5 months in Peru and Bolivia, so I reckon I should keep moving.
Before I go, here are a few more snaps:
*Plethora. Possibly my favourite word. Ever.