Ticket Troubles
When I arrived at the Santa Barbara Airlines counter on Tuesday morning (having been unable to check in online or the night before, since the airline only has 22 planes and about 5 places they fly to), I immediately encountered resistance. I was first asked if I had a return ticket, and when I proudly responded that I didn´t, pandemonium (or the airline counter equivalent) broke loose. I was hurriedly ushered to the airline´s back room, where the counter attendant instructed me to purchase a return ticket, on any airline, from anywhere. Frantic as I was not to miss the flight, I instinctively bought a 920 dollar ticket from Buenos Aires for December 20th, replete with a 50 dollar insurance assurance. Calmer, I returned to the main counter, only to find a new man there.
This time, when I presented my return information, he grew distressed, telling me that all I needed was proof that I would leave Ecuador, so as to placate the Ecuadorian immigration officials. When I tried to explain that I would be taking a bus out of Ecuador, and that logically of course I must leave Ecuador to catch my flight out of Buenos Aires, the man grew flustered, ushering be back into the office. I sat blankly at the computer for about 10 minutes, trying to understand what I was supposed to be doing. He returned, informing me that we would have to ´try this another way, since the flight is closing in 2 minutes.´ Next thing I knew, I was being hustled to the security checkpoint with a FAKE ticket, stating that I would return to Miami from Quito on August 20, clutched tightly in my hand. I had been told that this would ´probably work,´ although I caught some mumbled Spanish that sure sounded like 2 people had been deported with just such faulty tickets already that week.
However, upon arrival in Ecuador (I had been practicing my Aug 20 lie on the plane with anyone who would listen, so it would sound natural), the woman at the immigration smiled at me and asked only, ´primera vez en Ecuador?´ and ´tourismo?´ ...not exactly the grilling I was prepared for.
Welcome to Quito (9,200 ft)
Our first few days in Quito have been spectacular. We´re much less terrified of the city than either of us expected; it´s a large metropolis filled with incredibly kind, welcoming people, who smile generously at us and patiently explain our error when we accidentally ask for illicit substances (coca leaves are NOT legal in Ecuador), or when we stand in front of their food counters asking them to point out various new vocabulary words to us (to the fishmonger: ´¿es esta una corvina? ¿no? ...que es?´).
So far, we´ve stayed in two separate hostels about 30 feet away from each other, since the first was too all-inclusive, and was inhabited entirely by boisterous Australians, Brits, and other Americans, replete with a trivia night and live musicians. (If it doesn´t make sense why we would leave such a place, the truth is that you had to pay for internet. And breakfast. And exchanging a book in their bookcase. And breathing.) Our new hostel is 6 USD per night (US dollars are the official currency of Ecuador, although they also have their own coins, which are worth the same as US denominations), and includes free coffee, purified water, internet, rooftop, kitchen, TV room, Nintendo 64 gaming systems, and actually has a DVD copy of Lord of the Rings available for our viewing pleasure...sold.
One other note about life in Quito: there is nowhere to buy food after 11pm. It seems that the general rule is that things start to close down around 10pm (at least in Old Town, where we´re staying), and are completely closed by 11pm. Even convenience stores.
Food, Sights, and Crazy Street People
So far, we´ve been most enamored of the Ecuadorian food. The first day here, we stopped at a restaurant with no name that was literally a hole in the otherwise-smooth wall, and ordered the ´almuerzo´ (fixed lunch) for $1.50 (see left). It began with fresh mango juice, which we probably weren´t supposed to drink, and referred to throughout the meal as ´giardia juice,´ and a delicious soup made with quinoa and c
hunks of carne de res. It was warm, filling, and perhaps the best thing we´ve eaten so far. The main course was fried fish chunks atop a bed of rice, with lettuce, tomato, and fried plantain. They also served us a sauce that tasted somewhat like cool, spicy ceviche. Simple. Filling. And incredibly delicious.
Another meal worthy of acclaim was at the Mercado Central, for which we searched for about an hour, only to find that it was an indoor market, and we´d been circling the building listlessly. We sampled hornados - essentially potato latkes made with some type of bright gold potatoes - and some delicious grilled chicken, then ordered la corvina, which comes as a fried steak of a tuna-like fish, accompanied by potatoes, rice, and a sweet, refreshing shrimp guspacho. This meal, being a bit heartier, cost us each $3.
Our cultured fans will be proud to know that we´ve also been into the Basilica del Voto Nacional, the Monastario de Santa Catalina, climbed halfway up the hill to the gargantuan statue of the Virgin Mary, and visited an exhibit of photographs of the highest mountains in the world, one of which is Cotopaxi, an Ecuadorian volcano we hope to climb in a few days. [Note: Quito is a very high city, and Scott and I find ourselves perpetually out of breath after climbing small hills. This does not bode well for scaling a volcano.]
One other thing about Ecuador is that there don´t seem to be very many rules. Taxis careen through red lights on a regular basis. We paid 2 bucks and were allowed to climb to the top of the shaky basilica on rickety ladders and Scott rang the bells in the steeple at 2:24pm with no apparent consequence. No one tells us where the hiking trails are, so we just strike out across various meadows. At the Basilica, we literally hung, Quasimodo like, from the flying buttresses (see above and left).
Another highlight was yesterday, when, after lunch, we headed to el Monasterio de Santa Catalina. There are 23 Dominican nuns who live in the monastery, and they are never allowed to leave (even when they die, their bodies remain on the premises). They´re only allowed to speak for one hour each day, which is obviously inconceivably tragic to me, but allows them ample time for their intricate bead, needle, and hair work, aka making wigs for sculptures using their own hair. They also brew various remedies and elixirs, which they sell in a farmacia in the monastery, but since you can´t speak with them and aren´t allowed to see them, they conduct all their business through a wooden turnstile.
Also in the monastery, to which a museum was added in 2007, are the wrist bones of ex president of Ecuador, Gabriel Garcia Moreno, who was assassinated. Apparently his body was discovered there many years ago by one of the nuns (mojitas), and his ghost haunts the monastery on a regular basis. We also saw some of the bloodiest depictions of the Cruxifiction, since the Cuencan and Quitoan schools of art have a long standing contest to see who can depict it more gruesomely, and both were amply represented at Santa Catalina. The monastery also has a magical bench, which imbues one with fertility - one woman who sat on it for 2 months became pregnant miraculously. I sat on it, of course.
All of the above information, incidentally, is rather suspect, since it was all gleaned from Scott and my 2 hour long personal tour, which was conducted entirely in Spanish. I understood a lot, but the rest of the details may have come directly from my imagination.
We´ve encountered 2 crazy people, one who tried to put her fingers in Scott´s pockets, the other of whom was named Wilo, and tried to take me out for ice cream, a ride in his taxi, whatever, after catching me doing a handstand on the street. (In all fairness, it wasn´t really a handstand, because I can´t do those.)
TeleferiQo
Today was probably the most exciting of all - we took a city bus to the edge of the city to ride the TeleferiQo, which is a gondola that takes you from the highest children´s amusement park in the world, up a few thousand feet to a mountain, where you can then do some day hikes. We started in the early afternoon (after a breakfast of quimbolito, or what is essentially lembas or elven waybread), and decided to do a short afternoon hike. Our hike began at 4100 meters, or roughly 13,400 feet, which is the highest either of us has ever been. I was wearing tevas, neither of us had anything waterproof, and we chose the lower and less-traveled of two roads starting out. Moral: Always choose the high road.
(For your enhanced reading pleasure, I´ve decided to relate our harrowing journey into the mountains in a streaming narrative.)
We hiked for some time through intermittent sunlight and a light drizzling rain, following the rutted road of some long-forgotten cart. We wandered through one of the most beautiful valleys we´ve ever seen, following a small stream. We saw plants we´d never seen before. We grew short of breath. We paused, admiring the scenery. We walked again. We grew closer to the mountains, moving ever upwards. The sun came out, smiling brightly on our progress. We paused to catch our breath.
We walked on. We heard crackling, vibrating electricity, running through the powerful wires under which we crossed. The road narrowed to a small path. We stopped, breathing hard. We wondered about the effects of altitude. Were we going crazy? We continued. We lost the trail in a muddy sinkhole. I went in up to my ankles. I grew angry, and anxious. We searched for the trail. I couldn´t get the cold, rocky mud off my feet. We thought we found the trail. It wasn´t the trail. We climbed halfway up a ridge. Scott climbed the whole way. Fog rolled in suddenly. We were separated. I scrambled up the ridge, frantically. It was getting dark. We reached the summit of the ridge, and found the main trail. We sighed. It got later. It started raining. It started hailing. It started snowing.
We were at 14,700 feet.
We took a video. Then we practically ran down the mountain. I fell. I got angry again. Scott fell on his bottom, sliding 15 feet. He laughed. I wasn´t angry anymore.
And so ends the tale of the TeleferiQo.
When I arrived at the Santa Barbara Airlines counter on Tuesday morning (having been unable to check in online or the night before, since the airline only has 22 planes and about 5 places they fly to), I immediately encountered resistance. I was first asked if I had a return ticket, and when I proudly responded that I didn´t, pandemonium (or the airline counter equivalent) broke loose. I was hurriedly ushered to the airline´s back room, where the counter attendant instructed me to purchase a return ticket, on any airline, from anywhere. Frantic as I was not to miss the flight, I instinctively bought a 920 dollar ticket from Buenos Aires for December 20th, replete with a 50 dollar insurance assurance. Calmer, I returned to the main counter, only to find a new man there.
This time, when I presented my return information, he grew distressed, telling me that all I needed was proof that I would leave Ecuador, so as to placate the Ecuadorian immigration officials. When I tried to explain that I would be taking a bus out of Ecuador, and that logically of course I must leave Ecuador to catch my flight out of Buenos Aires, the man grew flustered, ushering be back into the office. I sat blankly at the computer for about 10 minutes, trying to understand what I was supposed to be doing. He returned, informing me that we would have to ´try this another way, since the flight is closing in 2 minutes.´ Next thing I knew, I was being hustled to the security checkpoint with a FAKE ticket, stating that I would return to Miami from Quito on August 20, clutched tightly in my hand. I had been told that this would ´probably work,´ although I caught some mumbled Spanish that sure sounded like 2 people had been deported with just such faulty tickets already that week.
However, upon arrival in Ecuador (I had been practicing my Aug 20 lie on the plane with anyone who would listen, so it would sound natural), the woman at the immigration smiled at me and asked only, ´primera vez en Ecuador?´ and ´tourismo?´ ...not exactly the grilling I was prepared for.
Welcome to Quito (9,200 ft)
Our first few days in Quito have been spectacular. We´re much less terrified of the city than either of us expected; it´s a large metropolis filled with incredibly kind, welcoming people, who smile generously at us and patiently explain our error when we accidentally ask for illicit substances (coca leaves are NOT legal in Ecuador), or when we stand in front of their food counters asking them to point out various new vocabulary words to us (to the fishmonger: ´¿es esta una corvina? ¿no? ...que es?´).
So far, we´ve stayed in two separate hostels about 30 feet away from each other, since the first was too all-inclusive, and was inhabited entirely by boisterous Australians, Brits, and other Americans, replete with a trivia night and live musicians. (If it doesn´t make sense why we would leave such a place, the truth is that you had to pay for internet. And breakfast. And exchanging a book in their bookcase. And breathing.) Our new hostel is 6 USD per night (US dollars are the official currency of Ecuador, although they also have their own coins, which are worth the same as US denominations), and includes free coffee, purified water, internet, rooftop, kitchen, TV room, Nintendo 64 gaming systems, and actually has a DVD copy of Lord of the Rings available for our viewing pleasure...sold.
One other note about life in Quito: there is nowhere to buy food after 11pm. It seems that the general rule is that things start to close down around 10pm (at least in Old Town, where we´re staying), and are completely closed by 11pm. Even convenience stores.
Food, Sights, and Crazy Street People
So far, we´ve been most enamored of the Ecuadorian food. The first day here, we stopped at a restaurant with no name that was literally a hole in the otherwise-smooth wall, and ordered the ´almuerzo´ (fixed lunch) for $1.50 (see left). It began with fresh mango juice, which we probably weren´t supposed to drink, and referred to throughout the meal as ´giardia juice,´ and a delicious soup made with quinoa and c
hunks of carne de res. It was warm, filling, and perhaps the best thing we´ve eaten so far. The main course was fried fish chunks atop a bed of rice, with lettuce, tomato, and fried plantain. They also served us a sauce that tasted somewhat like cool, spicy ceviche. Simple. Filling. And incredibly delicious.Another meal worthy of acclaim was at the Mercado Central, for which we searched for about an hour, only to find that it was an indoor market, and we´d been circling the building listlessly. We sampled hornados - essentially potato latkes made with some type of bright gold potatoes - and some delicious grilled chicken, then ordered la corvina, which comes as a fried steak of a tuna-like fish, accompanied by potatoes, rice, and a sweet, refreshing shrimp guspacho. This meal, being a bit heartier, cost us each $3.
Our cultured fans will be proud to know that we´ve also been into the Basilica del Voto Nacional, the Monastario de Santa Catalina, climbed halfway up the hill to the gargantuan statue of the Virgin Mary, and visited an exhibit of photographs of the highest mountains in the world, one of which is Cotopaxi, an Ecuadorian volcano we hope to climb in a few days. [Note: Quito is a very high city, and Scott and I find ourselves perpetually out of breath after climbing small hills. This does not bode well for scaling a volcano.]
One other thing about Ecuador is that there don´t seem to be very many rules. Taxis careen through red lights on a regular basis. We paid 2 bucks and were allowed to climb to the top of the shaky basilica on rickety ladders and Scott rang the bells in the steeple at 2:24pm with no apparent consequence. No one tells us where the hiking trails are, so we just strike out across various meadows. At the Basilica, we literally hung, Quasimodo like, from the flying buttresses (see above and left).
Another highlight was yesterday, when, after lunch, we headed to el Monasterio de Santa Catalina. There are 23 Dominican nuns who live in the monastery, and they are never allowed to leave (even when they die, their bodies remain on the premises). They´re only allowed to speak for one hour each day, which is obviously inconceivably tragic to me, but allows them ample time for their intricate bead, needle, and hair work, aka making wigs for sculptures using their own hair. They also brew various remedies and elixirs, which they sell in a farmacia in the monastery, but since you can´t speak with them and aren´t allowed to see them, they conduct all their business through a wooden turnstile.
Also in the monastery, to which a museum was added in 2007, are the wrist bones of ex president of Ecuador, Gabriel Garcia Moreno, who was assassinated. Apparently his body was discovered there many years ago by one of the nuns (mojitas), and his ghost haunts the monastery on a regular basis. We also saw some of the bloodiest depictions of the Cruxifiction, since the Cuencan and Quitoan schools of art have a long standing contest to see who can depict it more gruesomely, and both were amply represented at Santa Catalina. The monastery also has a magical bench, which imbues one with fertility - one woman who sat on it for 2 months became pregnant miraculously. I sat on it, of course.
All of the above information, incidentally, is rather suspect, since it was all gleaned from Scott and my 2 hour long personal tour, which was conducted entirely in Spanish. I understood a lot, but the rest of the details may have come directly from my imagination.
We´ve encountered 2 crazy people, one who tried to put her fingers in Scott´s pockets, the other of whom was named Wilo, and tried to take me out for ice cream, a ride in his taxi, whatever, after catching me doing a handstand on the street. (In all fairness, it wasn´t really a handstand, because I can´t do those.)
TeleferiQo
Today was probably the most exciting of all - we took a city bus to the edge of the city to ride the TeleferiQo, which is a gondola that takes you from the highest children´s amusement park in the world, up a few thousand feet to a mountain, where you can then do some day hikes. We started in the early afternoon (after a breakfast of quimbolito, or what is essentially lembas or elven waybread), and decided to do a short afternoon hike. Our hike began at 4100 meters, or roughly 13,400 feet, which is the highest either of us has ever been. I was wearing tevas, neither of us had anything waterproof, and we chose the lower and less-traveled of two roads starting out. Moral: Always choose the high road.
(For your enhanced reading pleasure, I´ve decided to relate our harrowing journey into the mountains in a streaming narrative.)
We hiked for some time through intermittent sunlight and a light drizzling rain, following the rutted road of some long-forgotten cart. We wandered through one of the most beautiful valleys we´ve ever seen, following a small stream. We saw plants we´d never seen before. We grew short of breath. We paused, admiring the scenery. We walked again. We grew closer to the mountains, moving ever upwards. The sun came out, smiling brightly on our progress. We paused to catch our breath.
We walked on. We heard crackling, vibrating electricity, running through the powerful wires under which we crossed. The road narrowed to a small path. We stopped, breathing hard. We wondered about the effects of altitude. Were we going crazy? We continued. We lost the trail in a muddy sinkhole. I went in up to my ankles. I grew angry, and anxious. We searched for the trail. I couldn´t get the cold, rocky mud off my feet. We thought we found the trail. It wasn´t the trail. We climbed halfway up a ridge. Scott climbed the whole way. Fog rolled in suddenly. We were separated. I scrambled up the ridge, frantically. It was getting dark. We reached the summit of the ridge, and found the main trail. We sighed. It got later. It started raining. It started hailing. It started snowing.
We were at 14,700 feet.
We took a video. Then we practically ran down the mountain. I fell. I got angry again. Scott fell on his bottom, sliding 15 feet. He laughed. I wasn´t angry anymore.
And so ends the tale of the TeleferiQo.
