Return to Quito and heading home

Part 5 - the final part of my Ecuador adventure

30/4/24

My final morning in Galápagos is upon me. I am flying around noon and find myself drinking in each moment like a child given a strawberry milkshake.

Every last drop of beauty must be savoured. I look around me and construct ‘nests’ in my mind. Nests made of bright blue sky and warm white sand, in order that fleeting memories may roost and rest there, contented visiting birds fleeing my harshest winters.

I walk past the harbour where the sealions are nursing their young on the rocks. It’s a privilege to watch.

I head to Playa Mann where the beach is enticingly empty. I order a pineapple smoothie and let the dazzle of the ocean and soft roll of the waves beguile me.

As I return to the hostel, I amble small side streets, noticing detail and texture. I see some cut up fruit (limes?) in a yard and en masse, their colour is so striking. Each half, a wheel with spokes

And then, finally, I say goodbye to Galápagos.

When we are young, so often we say ‘til next time, until I return’, but the more mature heart understands tomorrow is not promised. Goodbyes are Chinese burns, twisted painfully into flesh. You bite your lip and wait patiently, hopefully, for the sting to go.

30/4/24 Quito

Quito, has been the surprise bonus of this trip for me. I hadn’t expected to warm to it quite so much as I do, and as such, I’m thrilled to be spending another overnight in this charming city.

My accommodation this time around, is a rural guest house.

Unlike Galápagos, they have Uber in mainland Ecuador. This makes getting to the place a breeze with no hidden surprises when it comes to fares.

I arrive to find a garden bursting with plants and flowers. The Andes are visible in the background and hummingbirds dip and soar. There is a swimming pool and a pond with a lone black duck. It’s like stepping into a real life painting. I am wowed by this absolute gem of a find.

The inside is equally quirky.

It is a family run place with relaxed, homely qualities. The reception area is adorned with murals and richly coloured tapestries and the host, Felipe is attentive and helpful. The family appear to be animal lovers and I soon find myself bonding with their endearing pets.

After check in and a shower, I book another Uber and head out for a last night meal and cocktails in Quito.

My 40 minute journey into the city allows me ample time to practice my Spanish. Unlike Galápagos where they are a little more used to tourists, fewer drivers here speak English.

My driver Keibin is pleased for the interaction. Conversation is relaxed as he tells me he travelled to Ecuador from Venezuela, his homeland because there is more work here. Any gaps in understanding are bridged with smiles.

The restaurant is impressive, both food and service impeccable…..apart from one unfortunate detail. The waiter has a habit of slightly spitting as he speaks. Not a complete monsoon, you understand, just the way old friends sometimes do when they get a tad over excited. I find myself backing slightly away from him each time he approaches the table, hoping his lively descriptions and recommendations won’t involve too many syllables.

A couple see me dining alone and ask me if I’d like to join them. I decline, because they ask me this towards the end of the meal but how nice to even be asked though. I wonder if in England people would extend such hospitality to strangers in a foreign city. Hm….

1/5/24

Morning flexes like a bronzed muscle, proud and strong. I am held in mountain arms, secure and humbled. After a delightful breakfast with a Swiss family who are enroute to the Amazon, I have one final adventure before I head home.

The famous Teleférico and cloud swing!

Felipe has offered to take me instead of a formal taxi and I accept. After all, I like him and am pleased that more of my cash will be ploughed back in to this fantastic family business.

The city in the light of day is breathtaking. Quito is a living work of art. It is everywhere, bold and brazen. Even mundane tunnels become canvases. Oh, what we can learn from other countries in making the best of what we have, of making things a bit less drab and grey.

As we drive, I notice ‘Say Say Say’ by Paul McCartney and Michael Jackson is playing on the radio and it feels so odd to me that a familiar song from my childhood, so synonymous with the MTV culture of the 80s, is my sound track to this completely different world.

As if he hears me, Felipe switches the station and puts something on a little more fitting of the place.

Ah! This is more apt.

As we climb the steeps, each tangerine or pink sugar mouse dwelling is eaten eagerly by my eyes, each tight corner turn butterfly flipping my stomach.

In a comic twist, we reach the top of the hillside only for Felipe to realise he’s taken a wrong turn and it’s the wrong hill. Rather than be mad about this, I embrace it because it means I get to see even more of the engaging street life.

The cable car takes around 20 minutes to ascend to the top. Luckily I have a head for heights and I readily absorb the staggering views that span the city. 

After disembarking, I decide to walk to the cloud swing which is another ten minutes or so.

As I stroll, there are parties of tourists, some of whom are with guides. I start to feel sorry for some of the guides as I eavesdrop on some of the customers they have to deal with.

“Why have we come here?”

A panting beetroot faced man is whining.

You’re at the highest peak in Quito, you can look down over the entire city….. Yeah why would you come HERE……you daft bastard, I want to say.

“To look at the view”

His guide replies tactfully.

“Is it REALLY that much better than down there?”

He grumbles. On he goes, bitching and moaning. I think of how much of a spoiled brat he sounds. Also…..did he not check his itinerary?

People say the air is thin up here, but if so, I like thin air. Who wants ‘fat air’ anyway? Here, it is true mountain air. It caresses, buoys and chases me. It enters my mouth in shrill whistles, whooshing down my throat, arriving in my lungs and then….. it’s like a window being opened in my torso. How I breathe! Consciously. Joyfully. In, out, I  am Spring cleaned!

I eventually reach the swing and really do find myself rocking on what feels like the brink of the world. ‘Top of the world’ by The Carpenters plays in my head as I move back and forth, and I remember fondly the time I sang it on Karaoke. Not sure everyone else would remember it quite so fondly.

But sadly the cloud swing is not quite the solitary moment of peace I’d hoped for. It’s a bit of an Insta fest.

Women who are old enough to know better are instructing their husbands on how to take the best shot of them sat on it.

It is all about the angle, how can they make themselves look higher, edgier. Oh the irony - that the freedom evoked by the image of a lone swing on a mountain is turned into something so contrived and orchestrated.

40 years ago, these people would probably have been carving their names into their wooden school desk with a compass. 30 years ago they may have been defacing walls with their personal graffiti tag. Desperate to document, raise status, give their name to a time - all dogs marking territory with new versions of hot piss. But the difference these days, is the distortion. These photos will be filtered, cropped and blurred until nothing remains of the actual moment they tried to capture. It’s really quite tragic.

I am reminded why on the whole, I try to avoid tourist traps. Travellers and tourists are different beasts. A traveller truly soaks up each experience, present and grateful. A tourist, on the other hand, ticks off. They cannot wait to get the snap on social media, the likes, the validation. Travel, is merely an extension of their own hungry ego.

There is more ‘peopling’ to come when I descend in the return cable car and have the great misfortune of sharing a ride with ‘Annie’ and her male Ecuadorean host. Annie is a sturdy, sandy haired, denim-clad Texan in her mid sixties who can’t stop crowing about….…well, Annie.

I mean, just who gets into a cable car to stare at their phone?

“Email!”

She announces loudly, immediately drowning out the soft piped music that plays in the background.

“It’s from my boss! Says WHATEVER I do I must not - must NOT - under any circumstances reply to this email whilst I’m on vacation. He knows me too well, knows me too well…..”

She chuckles, I cringe.

It’s all a bit David Brent.

“I work for Dell in Austin.”

She continues.

“I mean, hell, I could’ve retired years ago - I have lots of money - but why would I when my boss keeps throwing EVEN MORE money at me? Just had another $20,000 raise this year……..says he couldn’t run the place without me…….”

Her neck and cheeks wobble as she basks in her own self importance.

Ecuadorean guy points down to the lush vegetation, maybe he’s slightly embarrassed for her, but Annie is having none of it.

“Before I came here, I asked the bank to get me a bunch of dollar bills, you know? LOVE to hand them out to the people over here as tips. REALLY makes their day. I love seeing their little faces light up……they go crazy for em!”

It’s as though she is discussing another lowly species and not her fellow human beings. Annie has turned patronising into an art form.

Money. Popular. Who knew?

The rest of the descent is spent listening to this vulgar woman brag about every aspect of her life……...in the most philanthropist way possible, of course.

I get out of the car with great sympathy for the guy with her. Deary me.

You see, when people tell me I should have booked a tour rather than travel alone, all I can think of is how many more of these types I would have had to deal with. I know I would just end up losing my shit and telling them what I thought.

I spy Felipe’s car in the car park and together we head for the airport.

It’s over.

I weep as my plane lifts from the runway, contemplating all I’m moving away from.

The hours are long as I’ve found myself with the grimmest of seats - it’s in the emergency exits near a toilet, inches from a wailing baby.

The final leg from Amsterdam is spent with a pleasant Californian lady. She’s very keen for me to understand that she is most DEFINITELY NOT a Republican. It amuses me greatly because I have no horse in that race whatsoever. People eh? They’re so funny and I decide I both love and hate them.

After a long journey, a train ride and a taxi, I arrive back at my little Yorkshire cottage.

My son is waiting up for me, excited to hear all about my adventure.

I kiss his head and breathe in the familiar scent of his hair and skin.

It’s not mountain air, nor is it tropical blossom.

But it’s wonderful all the same, and I’ve missed it.