Ecuador: Nice 'n Dry

We eventually find the E35 heading out of Quito, aiming for the Peruvian border post at Macara some 752kms and a few days away. We fancy a ride on the ridge that divides Ecuador into wet and dry zones. We’ve ridden the dry coastal Ruta Spondylus and we've explored the northern wet Amazonas. Now it's time to do the bit down the middle. There is No GPS navigation in Ecuador so we are relying on me shouting out left, right, straight instructions to Brausch using the offline app Maps.me whilst clutching the phone. My new biking gloves have thin fingers allowing me to operate phone and camera without de-gloving. We are surrounded by at least six volcanic peaks on both sides as we cruise along the double carriage way, having a chat to a biker couple from Colombia at the traffic lights on the way. Its all very pleasant. Our picnic stop in Ambato, leaning against the park railings at the central Plaza consisted of cheese and jam rolls which we made earlier at the breakfast table at Hotel Margarita and hot coffee from the now slightly dented Argentinian metal flask (crash damage). This is going well. I wander off to re-charge the sim chip and phone the family. We are warned on four separate occasions about thieves and pretty crime as we chat and eat. It's a really busy crossroads and the Transito Police have a hectic time organising the traffic. When there is a nice quiet gap we bump down the pavement, crossing diagonally and start again along the E35. Four volcanoes later we reach Riobamba. What a fabulous route. The sun is shining. A pleasant 22 degrees and after navigating the ancient stone-cut roads around town we find the central Plaza. Again it's a green haven with paths,  benches and sometimes a flowing fountain. There are the usual scruffy layabouts, mum's and pushchairs and old men in classic double-breasted shiny suits with wide lapels. A nice timeless tableau. A scruffy individual approaches us as we stretch and relax on the bench,  never far from the bike and always watching it. He looks at our shoes in horror and withdraws from his little black tog bag a set of bottles,  rags and a tiny wooden platform. “Yes,  Si. Clean our boots”. A half an hour later with lots of scrubbing,  brushing, waxing, polishing and elbow grease we have new boots. We were fleeced of 10 US$, but in a nice way. Exiting Riobamba is another navigational challenge but we find the way out on a very twisty pothole poor condition concreted road which connects to the E35. We've done 209 kms so far today, but it's a bit too early to stop. Destination Cuenca is another 272kms, a bit too far on twisty passes. Never mind,  well find somewhere in between. IOverlander App has taken all the stress out of looking for accommodation so we ride along the ridge relaxed and confident that the room search will be easy. At some point we enter an upside down-Tjunction where we are on the horizontal bit. The sharp turn to the right signs to Guamote, a place I cannot find on our pathetic tourist map and we cannot really be bothered to stop,  hunt out the phone,  switch it on,  go through the rigmarole of typing stuff into Maps.Me.
“Keep straight” I shout. We are lulled by the beautiful scenery,  perfect temperature and general sense of wellbeing. A notice board for the Sangay National Park flashes by. We love National Parks. Green and gold grasses adorn the hills, blue gum trees line the road, the altitude is a steady 2800m to which we are acclimatised. We ride up and over a few hills settling into a steady ride along a valley floor now at 3400 metres. Somethings not quite right, so when we stop for fuel, I get out the phone to check the map. Mmm, we aren't on the E35 anymore,  we are heading south east instead of Just South.
“Turn? Or carry on?” As you probably know by now we aren't very good at making decisions so we ask the petrol attendant. “ Habitation?” and wave our arms in a pointing direction along the road. “Si”. OK, decision made. We carry on. 
Upwards and onwards. No traffic and the temperature drops to 13 degrees. We've been in this situation before so pull up by a thundering waterfall to don rainsuits and test the new rainproof spats-with-soles that we bought at the famous M&P Bike shop in Swansea on our recent sojourn to visit family in UK. As we rise higher the mist sweeps across the mountains,  every now and then offering us a glimpse of that National Park. We pass a huge Volcanic Laguna filled with crystal clear water,  reflecting the mist and mountains. It's beautiful, but no Cabanas here. We overtake a mini -traffic jam of a scooter,  2 heavily laden bicyclists, 2 horse riders leading a cow by a roped nose and a bouncy dog congested in a clump as they struggle up the hill. “Hi and Bye” we wave as we whoosh past. This is such fun. We are warm and dry. It doesn't matter that we have strayed from the chosen route. We are surrounded by greenery and waterfalls and mist and mountains and patchy tarmac and the occasional landslide. Except that it is now 16h30 and it gets dark by 6pm and we have yet to find a place to stay. We pass a Police pick-up who honks out a ‘whoop, whoop’ as we overtake.  A few minutes down the road we do a U-turn and pull up alongside the friendly cop. “Habitation?” we ask and wave our arms in a frontward action. “Un Hora” ( One hour!) we exclaim. It's now 17h30. We ride on as the rain strikes, the light fades and the road deteriorates with washaways and steep hairpin bends, glad in the knowledge that the police truck is a few metres behind. Dusk is a horrible time to ride as it's too light for the lights to be effective, yet too dark to see the inconsistencies in the road surface. With two pairs of eyes and a cop car following, we make it along the seemingly endless mountain pass into Maccas, 157 kms from the shoe shine at Riobamba and 214kms off track from Cuenca. We stop at a cafe for a regrouping coffee break and are immediately joined at the table by two giggling 15 year old girls who want to practice their English. With the help of Google translate we establish names,  ages (they think Brausch is 100!) and career paths. They both want to be professional footballers. And “What would I do if my husband brought another woman into the home?” they ask.  A short sharp “Leave” ended that conversation with lots of laughs. Hotel Splendit  is just down the road where we park,  offload the bathroom kit only,  cover the bike and strip off the wet gear. But we are Nice ‘n Dry.
Maps.me shows a 422kms route to Loja ( pronounced Logghha) via Cuenca or a 381 kms ride along the wet east side of the ridge. We ask Reception which route he would take: High Road or Low?. He says “Low” , at a comfortable 500 metre altitude.  It's raining. It always rains in the Amazon.   But our rainsuits,  waterproof overgloves and overboots are working 100%. We are now on the E45, Troncal Amazonas and the road surface changes between compacted stone,  asphalt and gravel filled potholes quite regularly. The many,  many tumbling waterfalls are powerful and impressive filling the deep roadside gutters ( deep enough to swallow the bike) with brown muddy fast flowing water that crashes into the culverts with a self made fountain before disappearing under the road on its way down to the next waterfall. The rain is torrential We arrive at a old primitavely constructed tunnel and disappear into its cave-like atmosphere, emerging into sunshine 1km later. Luckily there is a traffic jam with trucks and bulldozers competing for the one way system through some roadworks at a very pretty roundabout with a useful looking marble table in the middle. We pull up and unpack the freshly made rolls and coffee. It's great to travel with a simple picnic. We have added a banana to the feast. With the sun still shining we find a hotel with a pool at Qualaguizi and call it a day after 200kms. Loja can wait. By evening the sun has gone and the rain is torrential again. But we are Nice ‘n Dry in our room. Saturday morning and we are back on the road to Loja,  a mere 190 kms away. Most of our riding is reduced to 50-60kms/hr.  There are plenty more stunning waterfalls and a very slippery bridge that Brausch slides over. The hills are bright green as if someone waved a luminous green highlighter pen over them. At one rather run down village we stop to request a cup of hot water as the flask has run dry ( ‘aqua caliente, por favor’) and extract two Lipton tea bags. Sometimes only tea will do. The tiniest donkey called Poncho and the old rider, Jose, trot delicately by, no stirrups, and his feet almost touching the ground. They are on their way to milk the cows and carry very large empty plastic slingover cans for this purpose. I could do with some milk in my tea but settle for black with sugar instead. As we ride we are conscious  of the circling vultures overhead who do a good job of cleaning the road kill. Unfortunately we see a few dog skeletons picked clean. We climb the mountain pass up and over and at the ridge where the E35 and E45 meet, the scenery dramatically changes from green to orange/brown. A great painter had been here with the orange highlighter. The colours of the mountains alter from Orange to Brown to a Dark Indigo Blue as they recede into the vastness. It's now a very hot 26 degrees.  We shed the rainsuits in Catamayo and cool down with an ice cream. The road surface to Catacachi ( not to be confused with Cotocochi) is in good condition and Brausch can diminish his intense concentration a little bit to enjoy the scenery. It's a hostel stop outside Catacachi, with no cooking facilities or shops so we unpack the camping cook pots and boil up the 4 month old Spag Bols we keep for emergencies.  The border post of Macara is in sight and with sunshine,  birds singing and another glorious dry day we take to the road before the heat and before 8am. The green ‘monster men’ trees are now in flower and sprout tufts of white cotton wool balls together with clusters of parasitic staghorn ferns. There are gigantic bougainvillea plants draped over fences, startlingly red hibiscus and cheerful yellow flowers lining the valley road. There are flat top thorn trees reminding us of the South African bushveld, (without the giraffes), and lush rice paddies in the lowest parts where the run-off water flows.
It's been a wonderful 3 days. We never did get to Cuenca. But we did stay Nice ‘n Dry.
And now we are exiting Ecuador after a total of 6 weeks and some great adventures. It's a bit sad to leave this Green and Gold Jewel, but reaching Ushuaia for Brausch 80th birthday celebration is calling.  See you there.

Ecuador: Quito Culture

Quito Culture

Michelle asks us to SPOT THE DIFFERENCE. She points up to the 8 white plaster cherubs adorning the length of the upper ledge of the simple pink painted building opposite the grotesquely ornate Jesuit church. We check out the chubby angels flying along the frieze until we reach number eight. He has a disproportionately large appendage between his legs aimed straight at the chapel door. The legend goes that the masons (builders) and the priests had a falling out and this 500 yearold plaster cast is an everlasting insult. We are walking down the Avenue of the Seven Crosses alongside Plaza Grande in Historic Quito with our lovely guide, Michelle. It's comforting to see that at 2800 metres altitude and with a 40 year age gap, she is also slightly out of breath. Old town Quito nestles in a cluster of hills so there are many steps and steep paths up and down all congregated around the Central Plaza. We are taken into the Bishops House which now houses coffee shops and handicraft ware. We see the Spanish influence in the Andelusian architecture where the central fountain is within an enclosed courtyard for both security and coolness. Our walking tour includes the fable of the missing stone in the San Francescon atrium, thus saving the soul of the stone mason. We hear about the story of the unfinished state of the 500 year old Basilica as completion will result in the End of the World! The imposing statue in comemoration of the winning power of the indigenous people's against the Spanish in 1809 stands tall in the middle of the Plaza. Each year on August 10 th parades and fiesta takes place in memory of the great battle. There are many artisan workshops still flourishing in old town Quito, one of which is the labour intensive 'plomer'. He bends and beats the tin metal into shapes for baking, cookie cutters, urns, churns and milk jugs by hand. We visit a shoe maker where I get my very old comfortable smooth Keen sandals re-soled in a non slip finish. One street of workshops sew made-to-order soccer shorts and shirts and another street craft beautiful wooden ornaments and masks. The brightly coloured headgear sports 12 bobbles in all the colours of the rainbow, plus more, representing the various gods of the indigenous people. The traditional female dress is a long dark skirt accompanied by a white blouse that is decorated with colourful floral embroidery. Finally a shawl is draped over the shoulder; right side for married and left for single. Michelle 's ancestry is mixed with an Ecuadorian father and Peruvian mother. She has exquisite aquiline features and very long straight black hair. Her college degree is in tourism and she speaks Spanish, English, French and Chinese. Three hours later we finish up with a traditional hot chocolate drink, spiced with fresh mango and blackberries. The fruit here is delicious and together with chocolate, coffee and roses, are a major Ecuadorian export . We say goodbye to Michelle and slip a 'voluntary donation' her way.

We've been in Quito for four very busy days, walking as much as possible to acclimatise ourselves and because our hotel room is so conveniently placed we let the motorbike have a rest. Brausch has new lenses fitted to his super light Titanium frames for a shockingly cheap 50$. We find an audiologist who sells him a pre-loved hearing aid for 20$ and we visit the dermatologist who treats a skin lesson for 60$.

All in all our short stopover has been satisfying medically and culturally.

By Thursday we are done with the chores and tours and ride out of Quito TWICE. It's a conglomeration of highways and bypasses and tunnels. We get it right the second time around and 10kms later before riding South on the big challenge to get to Ushaia for Christmas.

It is great to back.

It is great to back. 

Our bike is SAFE. Carmel has done a great job. We found this parking site on iOverlander and can highly recommend it. Although covered in dust, there is one happy bike and two happy owners. We hand over the remaining forty thousand colombian pesos ( 11 euros per month) and unwrap our precious parcel. Concealed underneath the waterproof cover are helmets, bike gear, panniers and petrol can. All as we left it. How marvellous. We change out of our four day old clothes, change into motorcycle gear and after a quick cheese roll and coffee, ride the 2kms south to the Colombian border. We are stamped out, and the bike is stamped out. It is so early in the morning the Venuzeulans havent ýet arrived and it takes a mere hour. The short 500 metres over the bridge brings us to the Ecuador side , where we get stamped in and so does the bike: Our permit is for 67 days in Ecuador and the motorcycle gets photographed front back and sides, including the VIN number: All done and dusted by 11 am.

Its a wonderful feeling to be back on the bike. It is lighter, but we´re not after a 3 month European visit to family and friends. The roads are smooth and wide and the elevation takes us from 2700 down to 1500 and back up again. 

Our Go Pro has packed in but we bought a much less expensive French Sports Camera equivalent which we stick onto the front windscreen. The ride on the sweeping mountain pass from the Border to Ibarra is fantastic. We are comfortable and excited and happy to be on our  Motorcycle Adventure Travel trip again. It is such a beautiful day we look for a campsite, eager to pitch the tent and start the adventures. iOverlander directs us to a campsite run by Hans , the German, who is a keen enthusiast of Namibia and all things South African. His site is on the edge of a Laguna and also next to the one and only Formula 3 International Race Track in Ecuador, with the grand satand overlooking track an lake. We are welcomed by his enthusiastic dogs and a whole bunch of miggies. Glad to dismount after the exhilarating 130kms ride, we stride off to seek out the perfect campsite. The meadows are filled with Jacaranda trees and Amarilla lillies and we spot a tiny bright red bird of which I only have a blurred photograph :(  . We find the perfect location, on flat green lush grass, nestled in between two overlander vans and settle down to chat with Hans over an ice cold beer. And then the miggies attacked again. You know what, we cannot camp here! We really need a good nights sleep in a comfortable bed with crisp clean sheets and a soapy hot shower. Thank you Hans, perhaps next time. A short distance down the main road we stop at a hotel advertising Spa, Sauna, Jacuzzi, Pool and Turks. That´ll do. Budget blown, but who cares! The old fashioned elegance is so charming , with waiters rushing around carrying large trays on their shoulders. Nothing is too much trouble and we feel as if we have stepped back in time on board a luxury passengerliner. We wallow in the Pool, sweat in the Sauna and bubble up in the Spa. It´s too steamy and hot in the Turkish Baths. And that´s when we discover our sarongs are long gone. Not wishing to lament for too long and interfere with the pleasures the luxury bed and shower are supplying we mentally wish them well in their new home. Supper is a budget street treat of ´choclo assado´ (corn on the cob on the fire sprinkled with grated cheese and smeared with salsa) for one dollar at a BBQ trough on the road. Fortunately breakfast is included in the room charge so we hang on till then and eat enough for the day. 

It´s only Sunday, five days since leaving France and we feel as if we never even left Ecuador. The main road travels down the ridge of Ecuador, dividing it into coastal or amazon halves. Along the ridge are plenty of volcanoes and volcanic craters. The craters are filled with water creating wonderful Lagunas for recreation, fishing, boating and camping. We ride West to Cotacochi, and climb the road to the 3000 metre mark where the snowcapped peak overlooks the high altitude lake. An Ecuadorian has his ancient miniature weaving machine all set up with weft and waft and many coloured threads. His feet trundle away and his fingers deftly lift and drop the threads as he shoots the shuttle back and forth spelling our names on bracelet bands just in case we forget who we are. En route back down to the main road we are overtaken by three biker couples, hooting and waving: We hoot and wave back . A few kms down the road they are waiting for us at the Toll, where they have pre-paid the 20 cents for us to pass through and we meet up on the other side of the boom. There´s lots of hugging and chatting and arm waving and bike inspecting before we all kiss and say goodbye again. What a very special sunday, indeed.

153kms later, after another incredible mountain pass on wide sweeping roads with steep banks and drops and just the perfect camber, we arrive on a sleepy Sunday in Quito. The roads are empty, the traffic is minimal and we arrive at Hotel Margarita, ready to park up, a week short of 3 months since we left. It´s great to be back in Quito, Ecuador.

Schedules and Sarongs

Schedules and Sarongs

Like all good schedules , this one went a bit wrong. We have had a month at home in France, busily entertaining ourselves with chores and friends. The timing is perfectly planned to have a good night’s sleep and depart at 9am to catch a train to Paris with a few hours to spare before catching the plane to Bogota: Except we receive an email from KLM reminding us to check in and, shock horror,discover our plane leaves at 7am not 7 pm . Oops. With a bit of a flurry we tidy the kitchen, made some sandwiches, stuff a pillow each and the electronics into a knapsack and switch off electricity and water. We are not planning to be back until christmas. We are taken to the local train station within the hour by our ever helpful neighbours. We manage to change our train tickets which take us to central Paris, not the Airport, and enjoy a wonderful evening stroll around Paris, watching Tango dancers on the steps at LÓpera before catching the bus to Charles De Gaulle Airport.A ghetto blaster and speakers played romantic Latin American music to which passersby danced , showing off their skills at flicks and tricks. Our good night’s sleep takes place on the icy cold marble tiled floor of the French airport Terminal. Not one to leave half empty bottles of wine, brandy and whisky behind we pack those too into the knapsacs, cunningly concealed in plastic water bottles. Laying our sarongs on the floor and warming ourselves with a tot or two, we settle down on the floor, with I might add, a good few other people enduring a long, long night waiting for the boarding gates to open at 5am. Even in our discomfort on the floor, we feel sorry for those passengers with lolling heads balancing on the silly metal upright chairs. In Dubai airport there are sleeping rooms and reclining couches for the overnight passengers We get to Amsterdam by 9am, hang around a bit more then finally board the flight to Bogota for a good 10 hour sleep. The weird thing is , we arrive at Bogota at 2pm the same day, having ´lost´seven hours. We catch a taxi to the bus station and book the 5pm bus to Ipiales, some 900kms away. More than enough time to catch up on sleep and jetlag. Gee Whiz, do we sleep? Like pass out or what!! The sarongs, sandwiches and pillows come in handy again, but the water bottles now contain only water. Seven hours into the journey the drivers swop over, and we all disembark for a ´Banos´break and some coffee with another stop again seven hours later: This goes on and on for twenty seven hours as there are delays when the Police stop and search all the luggage with sniffer dogs and there are roadworks due to landslides. Intermittently, when our eyes are open we see stunning gorges, valleys and mountains, but we dont really care too much. We are anxious to see if our motorbike is where we left it some 3 months ago, in a parking lot under the hopefully watchful eye of Carmel.  When we arrive at Ipiales, on the Colombian/Ecuador border we stumble into a rather tatty hotel at the bus station and collapse. We left France on Wednesday evening and when we wake up it is Saturday morning. 

We awake bright and early as our body clocks are out of tune with Colombian time, stretch, throw back the covers, pack, pay the bill and in our eagerness to get to the bike discover that the sarongs are hidden under the bedclothes. Never to be seen by us again as we only realise this when we are across the border and 300kms away. We mourn the loss of these precious sarongs. They have been with us for more than ten years on all our adventures and have served us faithfully as towels, sheets, headdresses and anti-mosquito shawls. I stamp my feet and move on!

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