Ecuador: Cuenca, and Piura (Peru)

I thought I'd give Ecuador a week or two of my precious sabbatical time. In the end I gave it five days.

It wasn't that I hated it, or found it particularly dull, it's just that I have so much ground to cover in a short period of time and something has to give. I could have easily swallowed up a week or two on the Ecuadorian coast, or in a place like Vilcambaba - which I'd heard so many good things about - but when I planned this trip Peru and Bolivia were the countries I was most looking forward to visiting, and I need time to do them justice.

So a quick scoot down from Quito landed me in the town of Cuenca. My only regret so far has been not planning to be somewhere special for the Carnival weekend. It is big news out here. If you're in the right place at the right time, it looks like a party to end all parties. Unfortunately, during the last 24 hours of Carnival, I was in Cuenca.

It's a nice enough town. A couple of standout cathedrals, like this...

...and some attractive colonial-era streets. The problem was it was completely and utterly dead. Deadsville, Alabama.

Everyone was out of town at some Carnival that I wasn't party to, and almost every shop, cafe and tourist attraction was closed. The previous day I had phoned up a hostal that was recommended in my guidebook. Yes, he said, he had a room and will see me at 2pm the following day.

The following day, I got there at 2pm and there was no answer. I went and sat in a cafe round the corner for a couple of hours, killing time watching the hail pound down on the pavement outside and chatting to some Ecuadorian biker gang about Champions League football.

After the umpteenth unanswered phonecall, I gave up on the hostal and picked another from my guidebook. It was just round the corner, so I went there and checked in. $9 for a dorm bed.

I'd heard that Cuenca were playing a football match the following day, so I crossed the river...

...and went to the ground:

A quick Spanglish conversation with the security guard told me that there was no game tomorrow. Quelle surprise. That made my mind up to leave this ghost town as soon as possible.

I have a good track record of somehow getting in to most football grounds I visit (when they're closed), but a complete circle of Cuenca's stadium gave me no in. I suppose it was fitting for a town where everything was cerrado porque Carneval.

The thing I will most remember Cuenca for, apart from its streets being like a scene from a zombie film...

...is that I had a really good night with a bunch of Colombians who were having a drink at my hostal. They couldn't speak English but were really keen for me to join them, chat bad Spanish with them, and have some drinks with them. So I did.

These people mean absolutely nothing to anyone reading this blog except me, but it was a really good night so here's a couple of pics for the benefit of my woeful memory:

I got up at the crack of dawn the next day and decided to get out of Cuenca. I got a cab to the Terminal Terrestre and bought a ticket to Loja, towards the Peruvian border. The next five hours was an interesting introduction to the ways of the Ecuadorian bus system.

When we left Cuenca I'd say the bus was about two-thirds full. After about five minutes we stopped and a couple of people got off, and two or three got on. Ten minutes later we stopped again. Three or four got off, two or three got on. Ten minutes later, at what seemed like a completely random piece of road with no habitation nearby, we stopped.

Two or three got on. Two or three got off.

This may sound like a normal provincial bus service in England, but the difference here was that the bus conductor (who must have been 14 or 15 at most) kept walking through the bus after every stop to collect fares, and almost all the newbies tried to claim they had already been on the bus. For the poor conductor it was like the Ecuadorian Generation Game.

Woman in traditional black hat and slight hunchback? Yes, she got on at Stop No.37:

Man with pencil moustache and bag of chicken legs under his arm? No, he's new. Sell him a ticket.

And so it went on. I must have had at least 15 different people sitting next to me during the journey.

On the subject of women in traditional black hats, that was a big feature of the trip. I couldn't get a close-up pic of one of them, because it felt wrong to thrust a camera in their faces, but I found it fascinating that women of this particular area of southern Ecuador wear these very distinctive clothes and hats:

Google Images, again.

Looking at them closely, often being followed by several kids and a clearly submissive husband/partner, they seemed almost cult-like. The Ecuadorian Wicker Man, maybe.

Aside from people-watching, there was view-watching. And what amazing views. The 5 hours was spent going round continuous bends, and up and down mountains. I put my iPod on and drifted in and out of sleep, each time waking up to more astonishing vistas. South America is really beautiful.

In Loja I picked a hostal from my guidebook, Hostal Londres (of course), and got a cab there. The guidebook described it as 'basic, but clean'. And that's what it was. If 'basic' means 'prison cell'. But it was only $5 - the cheapest room so far on my travels (India included) - so I wasn't really expecting The Ritz.

I knew Loja were playing a football match against Barcelona of Guayguil that evening, and in the cab on the way to my prison I had seen lots of yellow-shirted Barcelona fans queuing up in a plaza just around the corner. I dumped my bag and went and joined the queue.

It was the longest I'd queued for a match ticket since an epic 3 hour wait for a Brazil v Argentina ticket in 2008, in Belo Horizonte. That time I had success, this time not.

After about an hour queuing I got to the front, and was told that this was for pre-paid ticket collection only, and that the match had sold out four days previously. Gah!

Undaunted, I went to the stadium and milled around for a while - looking for touts. I soon spotted a woman with her daughter trying to shift a spare ticket. I paid her $25 for a $10 ticket in the main stand. Not a great piece of business, but this was a sell-out match featuring the Manchester United of Ecuadorian football - Barcelona.

Their fans were everywhere, all over the city, all around the ground. I felt sorry for the home team's fans, outnumbered in their own back yard.

About three hours before kickoff, the main group of Barcelona fans - the ones who had travelled from Guayguil rather than those who lived in Loja - turned up in a police escort. They were loud, colourful and great to watch:

I did take a good video but my SD card is playing up, and it's refusing to play. Damn.

I went into the ground and saw that a 'juvenile' game was taking place between the youth teams of Loja and Barcelona. The stadium was already packed, with the yellow shirts of Barcelona making up about two-thirds of the total. The game finished 3-1 to Loja.

We then had a tedious hour-long wait for the main event, and they were really milking the top billing that the match had been given. Shiny cars were driven round the track bordering the stadium, women in tight trousers and even tighter tops were paraded (for no obvious reason, except to endure endless wolfwhistles) and a couple of the strangest mascots I've ever seen were led around the pitch:

I think they were wolves, or Wombles?

Finally, after being in the ground for an eternity, the teams came out. First Loja - full name Liga de Loja (and known as Liga by the locals) - and a bogroll welcome from their hardcore fans to my right:

And then came Barcelona.

Now I've been to hundreds of football matches, but I can rarely recall such an amazing support for a team than the Barcelona away end on Wednesday night. There's a cliche in football that a game might 'produce fireworks'. This time, the Barcelona fans actually produced fireworks. Real Guy Fawkes night rockets soaring up into the sky, their blasts booming out above the ground, and producing an amazing light display.

They were pogo-ing around, lighting a multitude of flares, sparklers and bellowing out song after song. Brilliant stuff.

The game itself was a good one. A far better standard than the game I'd seen in Colombia. There were tons of chances for both sides, but unfortunately the 'keepers were on top form and the game finished goalless. My one regret was not being able to see the Barcelona fans' celebrations had they scored.

Before the end, I got a quick I Was There snap:

And left the ground at full time, buying a bit of street meat on the way home:

In the morning I got a cab to the bus station for my journey to Peru. I bought a couple of jamon sanduches (ie, spam rolls), and was milling around the various buses stationed on the forecourt. With 10 minutes to departure, and no sign of my Loja International bus, I started to ask people where the bus to Piura was.

As is normal in these situations, most people looked at me strangely - with my pale skin and ropey Spanish - and turned away or shrugged.

Luckily, one guy overheard me and anxiously grabbed me by the arm and ran me over to the Terminal. He told me the bus was leaving from another gate at the other end of the complex. I Usain Bolt-ed my way through the throng of people buying coffee and tickets and made it onto the coach just as it was pulling away. Phew.

The journey was a long one. Five hours to the border, four hours the other side. Again I experienced several different seat companions, including an odd little man who was dumb. As we spoke (well, I spoke and he grunted), I began to realise how difficult it must be for him to lip-read an English bloke trying to speak Spanish using several wrong words and wrong tenses.

We didn't talk much.

The scenery was even better than the day before. Enormous mountains in every direction as we zoomed along the Panamerican Highway. These pictures probably don't do it justice, but it was spectacular:

With my stomach churning, following the 7,653rd bend of the day, we finally reached the border at a town called Macara. I had specifically chosen this route, rather than the coastal route, because the border crossing at Macara is known to be the safest between Peru and Ecuador. On the coast, hijackings and hassle are common, apparently.

The crossing was nice and smooth, as I'd hoped. We had to get out of the coach in Ecuador, where I took a final picture...

...before getting our passports exit-stamped. We then walked across the bridge that forms the border...

...before getting our passports entry-stamped in Peru. And the Peruvians clearly wanted you to know you'd arrived:

As soon as we got across the border and continued heading south, it got noticeably hotter. We were travelling through an arid desert and, with all the windows open, we were being blasted with hot air for the next four hours. Preferable to them being closed (with no air-con) though.

We finally got to Piura after 9 hours. I'd travelled over 550 kms in two days and was feeling a bit jaded, hot and sticky (the temperature in Piura is over 30 degrees). Good for me then that the hotel I chose from the guidebook had a pool. The first thing I did was to jump in. Bliss.

In the evening I had a wander around the small town centre...

Bee keeping. Big news in Piura.

...and had a meal of chicken and rice for 7 soles (about one pound fifty). Bargain.

I was woken in the middle of the night by a text alert on my phone telling me that there had been a massive earthquake in Japan, with a tsunami threat across the Pacific region. Yesterday I had bought a bus ticket to Mancora - three hours away on the coast - for 9am this morning.

The wave, if it reaches Peru, is due at midnight tonight so I've decided to stay put in Piura and see what happens on the coast. Piura is not the most exciting place in the world, but clearly preferable to being washed away by a wave the size of a house.

Here are some more pictures: 

Graffiti in Cuenca

Robocops before Loja v Barcelona

Liga de Loja 0-0 Barcelona

Town on the way to the Ecuador-Peru border

A very British name in Piura, Peru

Hotel room in Piura with its 'Hall of Mirrors' bathroom. Pinhead.

Ecuador: Quito

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.