King of Kings

DSC_0633 a LOMO effect, originally uploaded by Waxy Dan.

King of Kings indeed… I was running late for some fondue in Banos, a small town in Ecuador, when I spotted this car…. Strange town, though a genuinely lovely one. By day, it’s fairly quiet and still… By night, the traffic pushes through fatty streets swamped with smokers and hawkers and toffee-pullers.

Bus catches you

DSC_0433, originally uploaded by Waxy Dan.

Grass in Quito

DSC_0478, originally uploaded by Waxy Dan.

I just liked the lines.

A richman’s breakfast

(There’s some repetition of this earlier post – I must also apologise for the lack of blog activity of late – things are busy. This blog post was written in late December last year).

I thought now was a good time to resurrect Billy and Me. Poor ole Billy has been neglected of late.
So here, in a food market stall in Quito I’ll bring him back. (I say ‘ bring him back’… I’ve been ravenous since I arrived, so I think the comeback is all his).

And this breakfast is certainly worthy of his unholy appetite. I’d planned a light fruitshake breakfast. I find it interesting that it’s in third world countries that something as simple as blended fruit can be found in abundance. In Ireland we now prize healthy fresh smoothies so much that they are considered a luxury. In slightly poorer countries they’re associated with poverty and US imports like Sunny D win out as the richman’s choice… Okay… *I* find that interesting. That an everyman’s drink in a poor country is frowned upon in wealthier nations and considered a luxurious treat in the richest.

In any case it wasn’t to be. Billy took one look at the foods on offer and seized control. I can’t actually remember the ordering itself clearly, I was like a man possessed, but soon I had this…

… Placed in front of me. A wodge of seabass, fried potatoes, rice, popcorn, lime, ceviche (a soup made from raw fish ‘cooked’ in lemon juice) and some veg to fill out the plate. Delicious. I didn’t eat again til nine that night.

I had the breakfast in the Mercado Central. It was the highlight of my few days in Quito. It’s a common tactic of mine – if I can’t figure out a city, can’t plug into it, I find the local food market. Early in the morning you often find yourself the sole tourist among the local workers filling up on starchy tasty food for a long day ahead. The city comes alive in such places and, if you find yourself in Quito, ill-at-ease and unable to access the town, head down here early one morning. Order a plate sized for Andre the Giant and slowly nibble away and just sit and smile and watch and think about how lucky you are. How privileged you are to be in such a place.

Cuenca to Guayaquil

The bus ride to Guayaquil from Cuenca is suprisingly beautiful. I’m lucky that, even with road works, it comes in at under four hours.
What’s wonderful about it is the changing landscape we travel though. (Also that, unlike the Dolph Lungren omnibus of previous journeys we have Jackie Chan who, even poorly dubbed, is still entertaining).
We travel down through layers of fauna so precisely laid out they could layers of cake.
The high mountains are chill. Great valleys carved out by glaciers leaving rolling hills and trapped lakes. The hills are covered in short tight grass and scraggly trees unwind from boulders. It is so punctuated by low stone walls that it reminds me of the Burren in Ireland. The area is designated as a national park (Parque Cajas) and as the bus dips lower to the next layer, it’s easy to see why.

Around the next corner a cloud dramatically fills the valley, obliterating the road ahead. We pass though this chill moisture for an hour or so. Tiny homes and goats occasionally veer out of the fog.
Dense jungle vegetation appears almost exactly as the cloud clears away. Palm fronds just manage to crawl out from the vines which reach to choke everything like the invading weed in Welles’ text.

It suddenly becomes oppressively hot as the road brings us lower again and closer to the ocean. Crops start to appear. Fields of bananas and what look like very low avocado trees.

The poverty here, suprisingly to me at least is more striking than higher up. The small shacks on stilts remind me of the hovels on the road from the Thai border to Siem Reap. Though here there are tractors, and crops, and there is top soil to grow them in.

Lastly we’re in the run to the city. Everything gives way to scrubland fumes.

Posted by Wordmobi

The Buses of Ecuador

Quito to Banos.

It’s New Year’s Eve and gangs of kids in zombie masks and teenagers in drag roam in gangs across the dusty roads. Squinting into the swirling dust clouds ahead I make out what appear to be shadowy figures prostrate on the kerb, sometimes waving in air. Closer and I see that they are the effigies that cover the country at this time of year. Politicians, bosses, power rangers, Dragon Ball Z is especially popular. Some are adorned with signs about their necks that list the misfortunes of the year that will be incinerated later tonight. There’s a roadblock up ahead. The effigies are roped to the barrier rising as it does.
The kids have built makeshift roadblocks from tree trunks. At the fulcrum a boy dressed as cabaret singer sits in a truck seat. Below him are weights and a ditch he swings into to raise the barrier. There are many many of these blocks along the way.

Banos to Cuenca is less of a story. Dust and cliff edges dominate the first hour. The road has essentially been blown and pushed out of the dirt. The edge crumbles into a ravine as we negotiate a path with another bus. Our conductor leans out from the doorway over the edge “left! Right! Now! Stop! Stop! ” he screams to the driver.

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Ten things I’ve learned about Quito

What have I learnt about Quito
I’m starting this in Coffee and Toffee. Which doesn’t quite have the warm welcoming the LP promised but it does have a terrace off the dusty streets of the Mariscal, and a loud collection of power ballads.

1. People store all sorts of shit inside holes in trees.
2. There are a worrying number of child prostitues openly selling their wares on the dual carraigeway. I might be wrong about this of course and the heavily made up young girls are doing something else as they beckon cars driven by single men from the sidewalk and count the notes in their bumbags.
3. If two guys walk on either side of you, you should grab your stuff and assume a ‘ I will fuck you up like you wouldn’t believe’ manner.
4. If you’re coming, stay near the Old Town (Centro). Mariscal’s smoggy and seedy. The Old Town’s rather lovely.
5. The view from the clocktower’s awesome. Though having only chicken wire for a floor so you can see the drop beneath you… That could be improved
6. All food is starchy
7. The churches here are beguiling. They, and note that this is coming from an Irishman, have a sense of use and commuity which I’ve rarely seen. Their focus on hell and bloody damnation is actually appealling. There’s something very visceral and grounded about it.
8. They all have calves of iron and buns of steel. There’re a lot of steps. Oh yes, there are.
9. Taxi drivers are all half- blind madmen who have no idea where they’re going as they careen down the pitch-black streets.
10. All coffee is bad coffee but all raw fish soup is good.

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Second day in Quito

I’ll be glad to leave Quito tomorrow I think though.
It’s an interesting city. It has a character I’ve not encountered before but I haven’t found it a very pleasant one. To be fair, I’ve found people quick to laugh and smile. There’s a lot of humanity in the streets.

But I got off to a bad start with some fairly minor hassle from a couple of guys on the first night (my ‘ let fucking go of me’ was suprisingly effective – I don’t think they were that committed) which I think soured it a bit.

Also the hostel, while comfortable and clean, isn’t very friendly. The shared space is dominated too much by the owner. A polite but bored ex-pat who plays music, surfs the web and does heavy weights in it. Whether it’s that there isn’t an inviting space or just coincidence, the couple’s here are very much keeping to themselves. So… While I’ve enjoyed this weird blend of Hanoi and Spain I won’t mind leaving.
Hopefully I’ll find Banos a bit friendlier and, even if I don’t, hikes, lingering in thermal baths and beautiful scenery can be enjoyed solo.

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Cafe del Fraile

A satisfying chicken soup to start. Clear and light with good chunks of meat and vegatables. The chunkiness of it suits the rusticated surrounds. Think of the Powerscourt Centre as redecorated by

What’s odd/entertaining about the meal is the people watching and the narration being provided by the three Americans near me. Mainly the man, he’s accompanied by two women. One of whom keeps craning her neck to look at me. Probably because I’m Mr. Nosy.

‘Look at that young couple, I hope they’re married… Look at her – she’s very attractive… Now look! He’s kissing her! She really is very very attractive. But she’s pushing him away!’(to be fair, the kiss lacked subtlety – he blew his besuited cool by attempting to spelunk her throat). And so on. It’s great – I can people watch without ever looking up.

Ah, the segundo has arrived. And with it more ear-wigging. Grilled trout. Trucha a la Plancha. It’s pretty good. A tad greasy but that’s okay.

Now an English couple occupy my earwigging. They’ve taken a great length of time to discuss the price of the wine. Not in terms of it’s cost but in relation to other wines they’ve bought. ‘This glass of wine would be 12 of those glasses of wine’. Now the same with their accommodation. Now the size of their steaks. Now the relative thickness of their sauces. No conversation but to compare things with other things. Like some postmodern loop.

I can hear the kitchen from my corner table. You know the one – rarely used. Really just there to fill an awkward space or to put an awkward single man The staff are good – there’s a recognition that single guy should largely be left alone but for the odd wry smile.

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I miss my monster feet

I miss my monster feet

I found it very difficult to get on the plane yesterday. My baby all warm in bed and 22 hour journey ahead of me. Just to drive home a sympathetic environment, ‘Wild Horses’ played on the taxi’s radio as I headed off. I miss my love.
I’m unsure if private experiences will be as valid to me as those I’ll share with her. But we’ll see. It’ll be a good learning experience. My vision of myself is one who thrives on these experiences. It’ll be interesting so see if that identity is challenged.

I miss my things too. I’m not sure when I started doing that. I’m a great hoarder of things (as my patient mother can attest to) but I’ve always been content to know they were safe at home somewhere. But I’m a reasonably experienced traveller and I’ve never been left wistful for my collection of DVD’s while exploring the caves of Capadoccia. But, maybe it’s age or that my home life has become such a source of lovliness but I miss my sofa at the end of a day. I miss changing into my monster feet slippers. I miss stretching out watching DVD’S.

I miss my monster feet.

Posted by Wordmobi