November 17, 2002, 9:20 pm, the Texas Ranch, Quito, Ecuador


the town center and surrounded by somewhat shady unlit streets. The walk into town ws not one filled with a complete sense of security; I should have disembarked from the bus when it stopped near the town center. I walked to the inn Hotel Dona Esther, an inn built in a somewhat italian style having three stories with three to five rooms per floor surrounding a central courtyard. When I walked up to the front desk and asked about a room the woman seemed doubtful of my finances and so I paid in cash ($20.90) up front for a single room. A young woman dressed in Otavalleno indian dress was to show me my room, but before doing so I asked if their pizza was baked in the wood fired oven I saw inthe small bar/restaurant. She said yes, so I decided to have dinner there. I went up a took a shower - I had very little to unpack as I had only brought my shoulder bag with toilet kit. As I showered I was thinking that I would like to ask the woman at the desk if there were somewhere I might go to hear from music. I thought this as I heard some idly practicing guitar in the courtyard below. By the time I sat down for dinner there was a six-person indian band playing Andean folklorish music in the courtyard! Exactly what I was looking for...



The band

I woke up at about seven the next morning, had breakfast at the hotel and went to the market in Otavallo. The night before I hd been served by th eyoung woman in the indian dress as I was for breakfast. She brought out popcorn and canelaso, a hot drink made with aguardiente, water, and cinammon. It was delicious; much better than what I had tasted in Riobamba at Paul's bar.

view from the top of the Hotel Dona Esther
which shows how the mountains were cloud-wreathed

At eight o'clock in the morning the last few vendors were setting up their stalls for the market i Poncho Plaza and in almost every side street. I spent almost five hours wandering among the stalls of the market. Besides the typical clothes, food, and trinkets, the Poncho Plaza had mostly indian handicrafts, especially their weavings. Tablecloths, shawls, rugs, small tapestries, sweaters. Most of the weavings were gorgeous, but I didn't find the Scotland derived plaids very interesting. I did do quite a but of shopping: enough to require an additional bag for my Quito to Guayaquil flight. At the market I ran into Nicholas and Sandrinne, a couple I had seen in Riobamba. We chatted quite a bit in french and exchanged cards - they are from Geneva. I bought a rug, a shawl, and scarf from Lola.


Lola, from whom I purchased several items complete with bargaining

Later I bought some table coverings and sweaters from Antonio, who suggested a restaurant for me. He did so by leading me across the market plaza to the restaurant itself. I had some good trout prepared using an Otavalleno recipe. There I chatted with Lisa and Sonia, two women from New Zealand. Again exchanged cards. They work for the New Zealand fisheries department and polic department. Oh, and Nicholas works for the Swiss bank UBS.

That Saturday afternoon I had a fairly uneventful bus ride back to Quito. That evening I had cuy, breaded and cooked guinea pig. It was OK - like quail in that there was very little mean which was difficult to extract from the bones. The whole pig was served in five pieces: head and left and right fore and rear quarters. Perhaps the breaded skin was meant to be consumed too, but it was tought and didn't taste very good. I then wandered about looking for a dance club. I heard some techno music emanating from a parked car so I approached and asked the young man inside where there was a sicso with techno music. Some of his friends came along to and with all of them nattering at me in Spanish I was lost. I finally came to understand the name of a place: Papillon. I stayed out dancing until three in the morning. As in San Francisco almost all of the folks dancing were more than a few years younger than me. They even played a Chumbawumba song "I get knocked down..."

Today, Sunday, I slept late, received advice to try the pastry shop Cyrano, which was good, and mostly rad and wrote postcards at cafés. Oh, and before breakfast I chatted with an english couple at Los Alpes. He also keeps a journal during their trip so we compared notes. We also chatted about travelling in South America.

I got somewhat wet running through the rain to Café Cultura for four o'clock high tea - which was a pretty disappointing single cucumber sandwich. Before tea I had stopped at a sidewalk café an Amazonas avenue. Sitting at the next table was Julia, a Russian woman who works at Café Cultura. We only chatted briefly, but she came across as quite cynical and bitter. This made me think about the fact that it seems all the Russians I have ever met seem cynical and bitter - like Dimitri, the programmer who used to be contracted to IBM.

Since most places are closed today in Quito, I settled on the steak place for a $6 filet mignon. It was good.

November 18, 2002 10:05 pm