As expected, we began our journey from the capital, Quito. We internally prepared for meeting it already on the plane. The center of Quito is considered a dangerous place to live: at any moment you can be robbed or worse. But it is precisely old Quito that is protected by UNESCO as a unique monument of colonial architecture. So we did not hesitate for long - the prospect of waking up in some old hotel and, opening the window, watching the movement of an unfamiliar world seemed too tempting.
We laboriously crawl up a narrow street. The classic stereotype is instantly refuted - now the expression “equatorial heat” makes us only smile. It is not hot in Ecuador! Quito (which in the Quechua Indian language means “city among mountains”) is located at an altitude of 2,800 meters and is the second highest capital city in the world. The sun blazes, but the wind is cold. Internally we wait for them to start killing and robbing us, but we do not voice our fears to each other. Now, having returned home safely, I can only say: to avoid trouble, it is enough simply not to do stupid things. For example, walking the streets at night. In other countries, such a thing simply does not occur to people.
In the inner courtyard of the hotel there is a portico with wooden columns, flowers, and a fountain quietly murmuring. All colonial houses are built on the principle of “fortress outside, Eden inside” - and staying in them is extremely pleasant.
Built in the 16th century by the conquistadors, old Quito dazzles with the whiteness of colonial houses and the refinement of baroque churches. At the same time, it strikes you with the dirt that reigns in the streets. It deafens you with the honking of countless taxis, the cries of children, vendors, and bus drivers beckoning passengers to their routes. It surrounds you with the smells of soup bubbling in cauldrons, maize fried in cracklings, huge chickens cooked on the grill, bananas and pork skins fried in oil. Something is sizzling on every corner. The abundance of offerings makes your eyes blur: if not maize, then potatoes (here affectionately called “papa”), if not that, then mangoes. Not to mention the numerous eateries offering almuerzo: a bowl of soup, rice with meat and lentils, and a glass of fresh juice to go with it. Not exquisite, but filling. Handwritten signs “Today’s almuerzo - $1,20” are everywhere. Here people are always eating, selling, and buying.
Among the city-dressed people, women in bright woolen ponchos and felt bowler hats pulled over their eyes, straight out of 1940s films, dart about. They wear necklaces of gold beads around their necks, and over their shoulders they carry sacks of vegetables and fruits, which they sell.
At exactly 18:30 darkness covers the city and the whole country. Life moves away from the center to where ugly streets teem with bars, salsa clubs, and gringos thirsting for night entertainment. These neighborhoods are a kind of Disneyland, an oasis created for tourists seeking safe exoticism and washing down their spaghetti with rum.
There are few beautiful cities in Ecuador. Everything that is beautiful was built by the conquistadors to their own glory. The ancient cities were destroyed by them for the same reason, so nothing remains of the former greatness of the Incas except the ruins of the city of Ingapirca. New buildings follow the principles of austere functionalism: gray concrete, and laundry drying on the rusty beams of unfinished floors. Floors are added as money comes in or the family grows.
And only in two or three towns is there something to do after seven in the evening. Imagine our joy when in the little town of Baños, located at the foot of an active volcano, we discovered a lively nightlife in the evening! People come to Baños to bathe in hot springs, and at night they “party”. Young men and women drink cocktails in trendy bars, while older folks go to a peña. A peña is a bar where folk musicians perform. The very ones who tour the world in ponchos and with flutes. It was they who introduced Europe to the fashion for all things Indian. It turns out that all these touring musicians are from one single mountain village in Ecuador. To the monotonous melodies of the Andes, peña patrons slowly drink canelazo (a strong hot drink made from sugarcane) and slowly get drunk. Then the musicians order canelazo for themselves, and then someone among the patrons picks up a guitar. A peña is a place where everyone is free to behave as they please (in the good sense of the word).
Ecuador is an agrarian country, and the market is of fundamental importance here. The market in the village of Otavalo dates back to pre-Incan times, when Indians from the jungles came here to exchange their goods. Today Otavalo is the largest bazaar on the entire American continent and is famous mainly for its handicrafts. Numerous tourists come here for homespun blankets, ponchos, and wool sweaters. We, however, headed to the remote mountain village of Saquisilí (2,900 meters above sea level), where every Thursday the country’s most economically significant peasant market takes place. Everything is sold here: from squealing piglets, sad donkeys, and calm llamas to uneven chunks of 100-percent chocolate and slabs of sugarcane; from medicinal herbs to bananas and pineapples. Having struggled with our purchases and gotten catastrophically sunburned, we rewarded ourselves with a thick yahuarlocro - a soup of blood sausage and avocado - the only highlander dish worthy of being included in a cookbook.
In the east are the jungles of the Amazon basin. This is the Oriente region bordering dangerous Colombia. When entering here, the bus is stopped by border guards - a document check. Sleepy passengers, clutching their passports to their hearts, crowd at the post; the air is thick with sticky humidity and insects buzz. Part of the Amazonian forest has long since been cut down - oil is extracted here, so the jungle is not pristine but regrown. Many species of animals, insects, and plants in these places no longer exist. But untouched jungle remains - selva primaria. You can only move here by water in a canoe; on foot you can go no more than a few meters. And using a machete is not allowed - it's a reserve. Selva primaria is giant trees, monkeys scurrying among them, caiman eyes glowing in the dark, hairy tarantulas, piranhas leaping out of the water, many birds, and thousands of sounds.
The west of the country is a zone of plantations. That's where it's really hot. Light reed huts and the friendly faces of barefoot Creoles are so unlike the sad buildings and unsmiling faces of the Andean inhabitants that you seem to find yourself in a completely different country. Here they grow papaya the size of a good Central Asian melon, peanuts, coconuts, and bananas. Plantation cooking is truly cooking, with imagination and a taste for life. It's hard to believe that 2,800 meters higher up the cold wind whistles and, wrapped in ponchos, peasants eat their rice and maize.
The ocean coast is a new contrast. The sky is overcast with gray clouds, and the bathing that was so desirable not long ago no longer appeals. Moreover, huge Pacific waves make entering the water very difficult. The lack of usual beach pleasures can be more than compensated for by unusual ones: from June to September whales come to the shore of the fishing village of Puerto López to make love. To see them, you just need to take a boat. The whales clearly amused themselves by making us sway from side to side with their dives. The water, despite its unfriendly appearance, turned out to be warm, and underwater there were huge neon fish, fish with blue swallow tails, and spotted ones resembling a Louis Vuitton suitcase. In Puerto López we lingered - the garden with hammocks at the hotel was too good. And the place itself had a good selection of establishments where piña colada is made from real coconut milk and pineapple.
Cuenca - the former great Inca city of Tomebamba, a colonial picture-postcard city. Again we felt we were in another country. There is no gray concrete, no dirt. There are red tiled roofs, houses with rich architectural decoration, paved streets. On the street, instead of greasy pork skins, there are appetizing fresh buns. Every church is restored, benches on every square invite you to sit. Cozy cafes - you don't know which to choose. Even coffee here is brewed real - an exceptional phenomenon, because although Ecuador grows coffee for sale, the whole country drinks Nescafe with milk. Around Cuenca there are several neat colonial villages, each famous for some craft. Which one is clear from the first street, along which there are inevitably either hammocks, or woven rugs, or ceramic pots, or gold and silver.
Cuenca was the last point of our journey. We had nothing left but to buy indigo-colored blankets and think for a long time about what caused all these contrasts. Maybe it's worth going to another Latin American country to understand what Ecuador is?