Stripshow

Jake. Well, he got to strut his stuff alright. Yesterday we did a popular ride, from Banos down to Puyo-- about 60 or 70 Km, mostly downhill, dropping from the Andes into the Amazon. I don´t even know where to begin. There are a bunch of waterfalls that you can hike to (as well as hundreds that you can see from the road) and sometimes swim in, which is why I wanted to do this ride without Jake being fully saddled up.

One of the first trails that I hiked into led to the top of the waterfall, but getting there was half the fun. There are splashes of color everywhere of varieties of flowers that I have never seen. There are great big red drops, and prickly red tubes, and spotted bulbs that look venus fly traps (not that I am sure what those look like, but this is what came to mind), lots of pink and yellow. It is all just amazing. Butterflies are zooming about everywhere and all you can hear is rushing water. I was able to get up close to the waterfall in a few places--my favorite was where there was water gushing from the right down into this lake in a cave to the left. The cave was of course overgrown with moss and all kinds of green stalks, vines and leaves.

It is really popular to rent bikes in Banos (a heavily touristed town) to get to the waterfalls, and so I figured that I would run into some other tourists sooner or later, and maybe tag up with them. At the next waterfall -- quite a hike down rewarded with more spectacular views (to be seen from a very un-sturdy swaying bridge, with a posted limit of 4 people), I ran into a couple of guys from England, a girl from Australia and a guy from San Diego. After the walk back up we had some juice (really popular here, you get fresh squeezed with every meal), and then continued on together. My favorite juice incidently is this weird tomato juice which they sweeten. I can´t say it´s popular with many of my fellow travellers, however.

Most of the ride is on the road, but when there are tunnels (about 5) you can go around them on a dirt path off to the side. Jake, once again, began to get pretty exicted. I think this is his way of telling me that he is ready for the land. I am meant to have two bikes -- road and Jake (cyclo). Pondering, pondering. Anyway, pretty fun. On one of the earlier paths you go under a waterfall, which makes you feel pretty hardcore!

As you drop down, it is amazing how the Amazon is unfolding before your eyes. Everything gets greener, and you can feel the humidy increasing. The mountains begin to fade away, water is cascading from everywhere, it the clouds are looming over the peaks in the distance. I was impressed. I think the guys I was with were more impressed when they found a fried chicken and papas stand across from the passport control at the province border-- they indicated that not only was the ride not as downhill as promised, but that I was halfway nuts for doing this kind of ride on a regular basis ...and I think the chicken lady had never seen any one person order 3 orders (the other guy ordered 2)!

From the Sky

Ahh...revenge of the stomach. Not terrible, but not the best. Half the problem was the stomach and the other half was that I couldn´t keep anything in my stomach, and therefore really couldn´t eat for two days. This did not go over well with me (I know that some of you are probably feeling sorry for whoever was around me!), but more just to the point of I was lacking all energy. I was feeling sorry for myself because Banos is city about halfway down the Andes towards the Amazon with tons of outdoor activities (well not THAT sorry), but enough to rationalize a trip to go hanggliding, which I have really always wanted to do. I figured it was perfect...I only needed to run about 5 steps off the hill, and then just sit there. I didn´t have my own but was with the guy from the shop.

Absolutely wicked. We drove about 50 minutes west (up) to get to this viewpoint. From the air I could see all the farmers working in the fields, in front of me was one of the volcanos with ash pouring out of its crater, kids herding their animals along the road, and the patchwork that makes up the countryside...not to mention an increase in the density of trees to the east and once again the fog and clouds over the moutains. I don´t know how it didn´t manage to block the volcano, but it didn´t. And I think I even managed to appreciate the fog...for those of you have heard me complain about it in SF (probably anybody that knows me) , you can imagine how high on life I was feeling!

Chicans

I don´t know what the word is in Spanish, but Chichan is Japanese for pervert. In Japan, chichans are taken as a given-- I feel that I have had my share of perverts beating off on trains, in passing cars (while following me running), in internet cafes, and even behind a bush. But apparently, the fun continues. I am sitting on the bus yesterday, not really feeling great to begin with, and this guy sits down next to me. Actually, to be more specific, he moved to sit next to me. I should have gotten up and moved at that point when I had a chance, but I was feeling sick and tired, so just stayed where I was. All that extra energy, you know. And I was asleep at the time - just woke up to him next to me. Lesson learned. So first (keep in mind this is a 7 hour trip), he would be ¨sleeping¨ and his hand would come to rest on my leg, like a fist at first, but then his palm, and then he is rubbing my leg. So I remove. This happened a couple times, and at first I was not sure if he was actually sleeping, -- it took a bit to move up to the rubbing. And personal space is much less an issue. For example, on one local bus, an indigenous woman completely fell asleep on me, with her baby.

Anyway, back to the bus at hand. Then I am sleeping (did not even get 10 minutes the night before, hence the tired), and he LIFTS UP my shirt (the side) and proceeds to be touching my stomach and side. For Fucks Sake. Removed. Then I am looking out the window and have my arm above my head, holding the back of my seat --crunched up as far away from him as I can. And he starts making like a bird in slow motion and is trying to fucking rub his forearms on my chest. My arms come down, he is pushed away. Well, at least that fucking gives Mr. Bird a free hand to undo his pants -- unbeknownst to the rest of the bus becuase he blocks the view with this big black case (musical instrument) that has been sitting on his lap. Fucking disgusting. I move. Thank God somebody got off the bus soon. And then, when the bus stops for a rest stop, he pauses by my new seat, acting like nothing has happened, explaining to me why we are at the rest stop, when we are going etc. Really, just an iota of shame, please.

Lazy Day

So I decided after all to stay in Cuenca for the day, where, really, I am not doing too much. The group of girls and I that I talked about did a little coperaia in the courtyard, then wandered around the city some. I am having some minor stomach problems, and hence have become dehydrated the last few days, so am feeling rather energy-less. Cuenca is a beautiful city, all cobblestone streets and a lot of colonial architecture. The buildings, like all over Ecuador, are all different colors to some degree, pastel mostly. There are 16 cathedrals/churches in the downtown area -- the newest one of which rivals those that I have seen in Spain or Italy. There are also several markets -- my favorite is a flower market that surrounds one of the churches. Usually there are women all over the streets selling a variety of fruits, though I am not sure what they all are. Lots of small fruits, as opposed to the big fruits, like dragonfruit, that you see around Southeast Asia. A river runs through Cuenca, and seems to be a pretty active city. I was out walking early this morning and there were a number of joggers on the river pathways, and at least one person running some stairs. Made me wish that I had my running clothes! I think I am going to go rest now (though I hate to do that!), or maybe walk along the river again, and hope that my stomach improves for salsa dancing tonight!

Who would have thought?

"I relax by taking my bicycle apart and putting it back togetheragain." --Michelle Pfeiffer, actress

How blogs work

I don´t understand how they work. When you get comments,are you supposed to comment back? On my own blog, I mean. Or if you get a link to their blog, do people usually comment there? I suppose you just do what you feel like. Hmmm.

Personal Campaign

So, for those of you that know me, you may know that before leaving San Francisco I had initiated a Personal Campaign, if you will, for more girlfriends. You see, I live with two guys, work with mostly guys (if you look my team, which is dwindling fast), and on the weekend I go biking with all guys. As a result, a lot of my going out and drinking also tends to be with guys (that and one of my favorite bars is more the down and dirty beer bars versus a nice place to enjoy a glass of wine or have a cocktail). I even got invited to a Bachelor party. This is not normal. And random dates, are with guys as well. Too many guys. Hence the personal campaign -- which has taken a lot of dedication! This all leads us to Cuenca, however. I have been hanging out with this brilliant german girl, and then a couple nights ago, some italians joined us, and a couple more german girls, and I decided the campaign needs continue (not that this took much work), and that we should all make a big night out. Though, here enter hot Argentinian. It has been a fun group for happy hours, breakfast in the mornings, etc. The problem is now that there is a salsa club tonight that is supposed to be great, and I am having trouble motivating myself to Banos. I may get there eventually. I like to think however, that I can justify my time here in the name of the Campaign. I wish I had my running clothes, however.

Getting No Where Quick

Well, I am still here in Cuenca-- more of an extended stay than I had intended. You see, I have been having a bit of an encounter, if you will, with this Argentian guy and well, yep. --Have´t left yet is how that story goes. The guys at the hostel had all known me as the girl with the bike (you can get famous pretty quick when you role up everywhere on a bike...I haven´t run into anyone yet who has met a girl cycling through alone), but now it has swithed to the girl of indecision. I like to think of it as living for the moment. A celebration of my completion of the mountain stage. You know, ´cause I am going ALMOST the same speed as in the Tour. Except when I feel like I am going backwards, that is.

Cajas

I went to Cajas National Park yesterday -- so many lakes it could give Minnesota a run for its money! Though, I suppose Minnesota has it beat it terms of square kilometers. Miles, whatever. Anyway, I caught a bus there from Cuenca, and hiked around for a few hours. Really nice. Not the most hands-down stunning scenery, but really pleasant. It has some funky trees, kind of similar to Madrone. I think I got more than a few scratches when taking a wrong turn off the trail, however!

It was Sunday, and on the ride back I think I must have seen at least 15 pig roasts. Smells a lot better than the guinea pig, if you ask me! I got back later afternoon, so the rain started up pretty soon, and spent the rest of the night hanging out at the hostel, mostly with this German girl, Sonia, that I really like. Was great. -- Like I said, a very pleasant day.

The Route to Cuenca. Riobamba.

Hard. That is what I have decided, but I did get to see so much. After Riobamba, I made it all the way to Alousi in one day (about 100 Km). This may not seem like a lot, but when your bike is attempting to glue you to the ground becuase it weights so much, you have mountains and feel like you spend all your time going up (time-wise, I am sure you do), and have trouble getting any oxygen, I tell you, it is a lot. I left Riobamba - thank God I didn´t stay there more than one night. As a rememberance of the hostel I stayed at, I am constantly scratching my legs as a result of bedbugs. Disgusting. I have stayed at mostly relatively nice places, but this one was a bit dodgy for sure. Gross. Anyway.

To give you a rundown, Riobamba seems like a Detroit, or something of the like. It does have some redeeming qualities: like every town or pueblo I have been in thus far, it has cobblestone streets (not considered redeeming when travelling by bike, however), and has quite a number of cafes and bars, I think in large part due to it having a University. It also had a cafe that had FANTASTIC, REAL, NOT INSTANT coffee, which you could even get TO GO, about 1 block from my dodgy hostel. Everthing is centered around the train station, which at night had more food stalls then I have seen in any other place thus far in Ecuador. It was really crowded as well, with a lot of people eating and hanging out.

After arriving in Riobamba in the early afternoon (I usually start riding by 6:30), I took a local bus to a nearby village that is famous for its carpets. Not that I planned to strap one on Jake. The village was quaint- small, cobbestone streets nested in the mountains. Like every Ecuadorian town, it had a main plaza and park facing the church. I wandered around some - though even in a village as small as this it is noisier than you would expect with the muffler-less cars and frequently ancient buses, the TVs and radios blaring from all the shops, and the pretty constant honking. In any case, I had a pleasant meander and a good lunch/dinner consisting of rice, chicken and a type of maize. A pretty standard fare around here. I had a hankering to go for a beer when I was back in Riobamba, but alas they were all closed it seemed, because it was Monday. I wandered around the streets for a couple hours (coffee in hand), then went home to give a little love to Jake, and be consumed by bedbugs.

Healing Powers

Spitting. I once found that I underestimated its powers. When living in Japan, I would take Ruck (my bike) to the bikeshop when having problems. This man perhaps had the most unclear Japanese I have ever experienced in my life, consisting only of grunts, and it seemed that he would usually come to the front of the shop in his pajamas. I never could quite figure out the scene. But the shop was reletively close to me, and so I kept on with it. But if I had trouble with my brakes, or if my tire was leaking air, his solution would be to spit on it. And, miracously, it seemed to work, well enough, anyway. When I was in China (or am in Chinatown in SF, for that matter), even though it is probably not true, I attribute all the spitting to health and healing as well. I like to think they are clearing out the mucus and smoke from their lungs because I think Chinese ciggerettes are the worst smelling ciggerettes around.

This takes us to Ecuador. It is bright and early one morning in Canar, a city in the Andes mid-way (more or less) between Alousi and Cuenca. I had noticed the day before, much to my chagrin that my tires were sorely lacking air. In order to prepare for the climb (I was assured there was only one!) I thought it would behoove myself to fill those bad boys up. It is amazing the difference it makes when your bike ways approximately 867 million pounds. No exaggeration. 867 million, if not 868. Then we encountered a BIG problem. My pump was broken. Somehow the peice at the top had come off. I have no idea how or when. I have lots of spare parts, but no spare pump.

So off I go, with low pressure, thinking that at least it is more down than up after the first hour or hour and a half. Well, I didnt´t get very far before I was having a total mind fuck and decicided that this hill was going to eat me alive if I didn´t get some air in my tires. But nothing was open as I was leaving Canar because it was so early. Not to mention the fact that they do not generally have presta valves, so I would not find a pump in a small town, and they do not have 28¨ wheels in Ecuador (even in Quito), so I would not be able to simply replace the tube. But I hoped that in Cuenca there would be a cycling store where I would be able to buy a new pump (even though the blackburn handpump I saw in Quito cost $50!!). But first I have to get there.

I stop and ask a few indigneous women on the side of the road where they think the next bike shop is. They point me down a dirt trail to an indigenous village, indicating that I should ask for Manuelo. I show them my valve, they say ¨no problem, no problem, he can fix it.¨ I knew this wasn´t likely true, but out of sheer hope, and the thought that it would at least be entertaining, off I go. Jake is once again trying to strut his stuff on the rocks, sand and dirt. Trying to entice me to take him to his homeland.

After a million stares and about-faces, I find Manuelo. He cannot put air in the tire. Not a shock. But then he notices that I have dried blood all over my hand and knee. Now, I failed to mention that I had a bit of a mishap earlier this morning and cuased the cuts I had gotten from my previous fall to re-open. So he offers to clean it with soap, I say don´t worry, it´s fine, but then eventually give in.

His wife comes back with a glass of water, or clear liquid in any case, so I figured either water with soap or alchohol in it. I couldn´t quite tell. Manuelo has me hold out my hand, then takes a big swig from the glass, then SPITS all over my hand. I think my jaw must have dropped. And then he does it again. And then proceeds to spit all over my leg after several successive swigs. At this point, I am having trouble not laughing, becuase what else can you do, and think that I suppose the mouth is supposed to be the cleanest place. Isn´t that why cats always lick themselves? And then he asked me if I wanted to drink any of the alchohol, since it probably burned a litle bit. I declined.

The Magic of Books

I love it and hate it when you finish a book you love. I always re-read the last page, then I close it and read the synopsis, then i hold it for a few minutes, with both hands. And of course, I try to keep it in sight for a couple of days - on my dresser or desk, or somewhere of the likes where the characters can´t escape. It seems so unfair to hide it away on the shelf after you have gone through so much with the people. And then it also seems so disrespectful to just start a new book right away, so then you are left in this wasteland. That is the worst.

I often wonder what makes a good book - for me, I think just relating to the characters, I suppose. Though there are many ¨good¨ books that I don´t really care about, and then many probably not quality books that I have loved. I don´t think that symbolism and foreshadowing is the answer. I hung out with this guy , ¨The Magnet Maker,¨a few times earlier this year who is loves to write. I think must have asked approximately 867 million questions regarding his writing (all this questioning was probably good, since we had absolutely nothing in common beyond the fact that we both drank coffee). I think writers come from such a different plane than myself. I would love to be able to write, and think on and off about taking a creative writing course. And then sometimes I think, on the rare occasion that I keep a journal, I should attempt to find my voice within those pages. But so far, I always just find it easier to talk to myself. Life will go on, I suppose.

But maybe one day, when I have my personal library (which will certainly have a ladder that slides along the dark mahogny shelves, an immense open paned window with one large, cushy chair facing it, and a desk off to the right), it will be at that time that I will become a famous writer. Or at least write.

Bathroom Yoga

One of the things that perpetually confuses me in life is the design of some bathrooms. Now, I understand that I am relatively tall (5´10¨). However, I don´t quite consider this to be gargantuan. If I were an architect, per se, and designing a bathroom, I think I would consider the key elements -- let´s say a toilet and a sink. We could nitpick at this point and say that some bathrooms are split and have the toilet and sink in different rooms, but I am going for the sake of ease right now. For this, a toilet and sink are the two essential elements of a bathroom. People sit on a toilet, facing forward, I do believe. So my confusion comes in when the toilet has less than 4¨from the wall in front of it. Please glance at your lap at this point and decide where the 4¨mark would be. Where do you put your legs? Do you lift above? Do you sit to the side? I brought this up today to a guy from Alaska, Colin. He said the toilet he was utilizing today, in fact, would have been too small for anyone over 5´2¨. He decided to straddle. I feel that this could lead to problems -- mayhap similar to the over-the-head solution. So maybe we can conclude that the architect in question had an affair with the maid, ending on bad terms? I have no answers. Only dilemmas. This is right in align, however, with another pet peeve of mine -- low shower heads. Why would you put a shower head at 5´? Clearly, there is no disadvantage for putting it at, say 7´, and by putting it at 5´, many are forced to do an extended squat, if you will, while attempting to cleanse.

Spots of Color

Well, the distance from Cotopaxi to Latacunga was INCREDIBLY short and INCREDIBLY flat! As in, whereas the day before i think in 8 hours i was only in my big ring (i have two) for a maximum of 10 minutes, (i was in granny pretty much the ENTIRE day i think...and then by the end i was so tired, where there actually was flat for a few minutes, i still couldnt manage much more than grandma!), i actually got to put it to good use today! Well, in the short amount of time i was on my bike. But i felt like a million dollars, and for that, thank god! So i pulled into Latucunga early (while listening to jock jams 95, gotta say something for the tootsie roll, ya know?) . Now, from Latucunga i was planning on doign this loop between indigenous villages a bit higher up in the mountains, and so needed to leave Jake in town, since it woudl be some non-bikeable roads and trails. And let me tell you, after driving uphill for 1.75 hours on the only road that WOULD have been considered bikeble, i say thank my lucky stars i left him there to wait for me! i liked to reserve my million dollar feeling.

Wow. The Andes amaze me though. Watching the scenes unfold from the bus window was like watching a movie set back in time. You could see the Illianzas and Mt. Cotopaxi always looming in the background, where in the forefront the hills were all a patchwork of yellows and greens. It was much greener than north of Quito, but still fairly brown. This only highlighted bright clothing, however, of the people working in the fields, doing wash on stones, shephading their animals or simply sitting or walking on the side of the road. The bus I was on also was 98% indigenous people in traditional clothing. The women typically wear several embroidered (solid colors with embroidery of the same color) wraps, knee length skirts, slightly heeled shoes, a plaid scarf around their neck, and their hair back in one a low-ponytail completely encased in an embroidered wrap -- like the kind that is popular to get a few strands of hair in in the carribean. Like the men, they sometimes wore a slighly rimmed, dark green hat with a peacock feather on the side. The men were all in heavy ponchos down to their knees, pants, and often knee-high boots, especially when they were in the fields. There were two other foreigners on the very over-crowded bus other than myself, a belgian and a Spaniard.

There is a huge market on Saturday mornings in Zambuha, for which, apparently, indians come from as far as the coast for. For this reason, I wanted to stay in Zambuha that night, but had enough time for a hike or something of the likes before dark. After getting off the bus in Z, the belgian (Jesse) and I started our way towards Lake Quinotoa, which is amazing. School must have just been letting out, as there were a ton of children on the road, most of who would laugh and discuss amongst themselves when they saw us. -- Though would alwasys share a few words with us after we greeted them with a buenas dias or hola. The houses were quaint, and had roofs varying from brush to tin. Most houses had a couple of gardens and several animals grazing out front. After walking for about an hour, Jesse and I hopped into a passing pickup that offered us a ride. Lake Quinotoa is amazing. It is a crater lake, and though the weather was not fantastic, the low-hanging clouds gave it a mystical feeling. After haivng a cafe in the cafe desinged for tourists, we headed down. It takes about 30 minutes to get down and hour to get back up (about 20-25 % grade, i would say, of which a large part is sand). Whew. But makes you appreciate the view from the top a hell of a lot more! We had arranged for a ride back to Zumbuha (and jesse had already paid for a room back in Latucunga), so headed that way. The sunset over the hills and mountains was pretty spectacular to see from the back of a moving pickup. Accroding to Lonely planet, there was supposed to be all kinds of partying and traditional andean music in Zumbuha the night before the market...but this was no where near the case!! I stayed at Oro Verde, which was nothing special, but I really liked the family that ran it-- and it/they had the only open resturant/bar open in the village! Hence, Javier (the Spaniard from the bus) came in shortly after I sat down for dinner. After dinner we ended up having a couple beers -- though much to my chargrin, he didnt speak any english! I must say though, he is reallly really good at understanding and being patient with bad spanish! Neither of us were sure what exactly our plan was for the next day, other than to see the market. I was planning on going past Quinotoa to Chucachli, a smaller pueblo on the other side of lake and canyon. He hadnt been to the lake yet, so was going to fit that in.

The market was great -- i could hear people coming in for it all night (the entire village consisted of the plaza and the 4 streets around it). All kinds of live animals, grains, meats, clothing, and other goods. After meandering the crowds for 1.5 hours or so and having some patatas and huevos, I ran into Javier. It was still only 7:30 so we had a full day ahead of us. We decided to meet in Quilota around 11 and then hike to Chuchilan. -- This was good for me, as i didnt think the the trails were really well marked and i know i have a perchant for getting lost! I hung around Z long enough for another cafe and to pay the family for my stay, and then started walking to the lake. I just couldnt get enough of the surroundings. --Which was appararent, since i was so busy looking around me, i wasnt looking at the road and fell, ripping my pants and bleeding in a few places. Nice. But such is life, so i continued on, figurignt that even though i knew i wouldnt make it walking in time, that there were plenty of pickups passing by from the market.

Ahh. I am tired of writing now. I think i need to not detail every second of my life. Until next time.

Jake and Meg, sittin´ in a tree

Tough. Really F*** tough. Those are my thoughts surrounding my first day biking in the Andes. Though, at the end, Jake was gettign pretty excited, I think. I stopped at this hostel (not the one I intended I dont think) about 1.5 miles down a dirt, or sand, more accurately, path off the road. The cross tires worked infinately better than the road tires i had on it during the "trial" run. I think it is Jake´s way of telling me that he can handle stone road blocks and sand just fine, and that is what he wants. And that I need to buy a road bike. The hotel where i stayed was pretty remote -- though i couldnt get food when i got there, so i walked back down a different trail to the main road and tried to find some, but to no avail. This led to an EXTREMELY un-energetic meg for the rest of the night. I had skipped breakfast (dumb) in my idea to get an early start. I think this thourgh me off all day. At 10 I stopped at a vendor on the side of the road for some sweet potatoes, and at 1 or so i stopped at Mariachi for lunch, though i couldnt really eat much once it was in front of me! Mariachi is a cute town -- also all cobblestone. The most surprising thing to me was that they had two chinese restraurants! I talked to one of the women selling fruit for awhile, and then a columbian boy (18) who just got here about 6 months ago from Columbia, where his family still is. He lives in Quito but commutes to Machinachi every day to sell artifcial flowers from a cart he pulls on his bike. -- he says he likes being otu of the city which i more than understand. I still found it surprising however that he could fine a job easier in Machiachi than Quito!! d started biking at 6:30 or so, and arrived at the hostel at 3 somethign or other. It started pouring rain at some point, but then lifted pretty quickly. I am not sure how far i went (computer is not working), becuase i did this outside loop from Quito, which was less traffic-y and had better views. I, of course, got lost to some degreee. But all is well that ends well, and the only other place i think that i could have problems is past riobamba, where the PA splits a couple of times. Really really hard though. But i just had to think that tommorrow is another day. With breakfast.

Mechanic in the Making

Well, I ended up spending an extra day in Quito. Essentially, I got up super early yesterday am and was goign to give a complete look over my bike, take it for a test ride, and then take a bus up to Otovalo around 9. --Otovalo is maybe about 80 miles (?) north of Quito, and is home to the biggest indian markets around, surrounded by several lakes.
Well, (and sorry if this bike speak bores some of you!) but realized that my wheel was out of true, so i went about truing it, but it was pretty severe, so then i was thinking maybe i just need to go the shop to start out totally in alignment. And also realized that my hanger did get bent so the shifting was less than desireable on a couple of gears -- and bending a hanger is not a recommended project for a blossoming mechanic. My stem also got knocked over a bit. Alas after much debate i decided i was better off to wander and find a good cafe for breakfast then head over to the shop. Truing wheels are superior in life to my tampering about with only a spoke wrench. Breakfast was great -- I went the centro historico which was full of life at rush hour on a monday morning and found my desperately needed coffee.
Meandering back through the cobblestone streets, I picked up my bike at the hostel and headed to the shop. Well, dumb me didn´t realize that my brakes were also knocked a bit, and hence sitting too high on the rim, and in the 1.5 miles to the bike shop i totally demolished my sidewall. nice. so now i had to use my spare tire, and they don´t sell my size tire in ecuador (though the shop has tons of nice parts -- shimano, mavic, campignola, etc). Well, this turned into an adventure as Oswaldo didnt have a patch big enough for me, so his friend, Diego took me to a couple shops in an attempt to locate one, but to no avail! I rode back to the hostel, and figured out the route that I would need to take to leave town, whenever that would be. -- I got a little lost, but not too bad considering! BUT, and I only went partway, the descent when leaving Quito will be an adventure as the road is of course narrow and windy, all cobblestone with stacks of major potholes. I am hoping for the best tommorrow when I leave -- I plan on leavign around 6 am, so hopefully traffic will be light.
Anway, Oswaldo and I had decided to meet for a beer, so after ducking out of the intense afternoon rain in the hostel, I headed back downtown. We met his friend, Miguel, an Nicaraguan who works for the American Embassy, and went to a pretty modern place for a drink-- similar to any TGIFridays or soemthign of the like. This was not the original plan, but traffic was atrocious so it seemed to make the most sense. I had had plans to meet a dutch girl that is living here, Ana Maria, in the Mariscal (downtown, foreigner area) at 8. So we headed over there and contined our drinking. Though, of course, I remembered my lessons of drinking a lot at altitude and kept it pretty easy. As it turns out, Diego offered to take me on a motorcycle ride up to Otovalo the next day, so I thought that would be a good plan. I agreed to call him at 7 am -- and i must say the payphones here work a heck of a lot easier than many countries i have been in!
Now first, i had to go to te pharmacia because i had run out of drops for my pink eye, and am SO sick of wearing my stupid glasses! So i am chatting with the pharmacist, who learns that I am plannign to cycle through ecuador, and that I live in SF. Well, next thing i know he is dialing his son on the phone for me to talk to. Right. So he hands me the phone, and Pedro, his son, is clearly confused as to why he is talking to me (though he studied in Calif. and speaks english fluently so this helped my case!). Cool guy -- as it turns out they are doign an adventure race in early november and need a girl for their team -- sounds awesome, though i told him i dont have much experience in most of the things. And the biking bit is mountain biking, where clearly my skills leave a lot to be desired. but i said maybe, but dont hold the spot for me.

Otovalo was fantastic -- though definately has been turned into a tourist city, albeit a very pleasant one. The motorcyle ride took us about 1.5 hours, with a stop at a lake and hat shop. The countryside was pretty dry, but majestic nonetheless. Otovalo is a small town, with a number of craft shops and a permanent market set up in the main square. I would have loved to buy some of the ceramic bowls, either for myself or a gift! They of course had lots of woven bags, in addition to tapestries and some wooden carvings. I really liked some granite bookends, but the thought of lugging them around just wasnt going to happen! We had mexican for lunch (ecuadorian - mexican if you will) and headed home with a few stops in some pueblos along the way. Diego wanted to take me to the offical equator line, but i needed to do a couple errands in the city (a killed belgium cyclist two months ago convinced me that pepper spray was at least a good idea to carry). Some emailing`, erranding, packign and then off to bed.

Of Dutchmen and bikeshops

I love the biking dutchman. So, for those of you that don´t know, I arrived in Quito last night. Now, I had a bit of a worry (understatement) when I went to retrieve Jake (my bike) from luggage at the airport. The side was bashed in, with a HUGE hole at the top and dents and holes where the derailleur resides. Thank God I took it off at the last minute. -- the derailleur, that is. Friday, the day before departure, got to be very heated in 1505 (my apartment). There was grease. There was sweat. There was lots of sweet talking and cajoling, as well as some rather short conversations with Jake. But we made it through.

Now, I stayed calm (mostly becuase I was tired, I think), and I knew that there was a biking dutchman in Quito, so maybe he would be able to direct me to a bikeshop, or help me fix it, if indeed there was a problem that I couldn´t take care of. Meg the Mechanic is still a project in the works (reference the need for sweet talking). Thankfully, I don´t think anything is to bent, though I haven´t shifted through all the gears (the room does not have much room in it), but things seem to be at least somewhat in order. But I did still seek out the Dutchman to get a feel for road conditions, recomendations, etc.

He was GREAT!! We talked about a bunch of the major passes, which roads are passable, the best way to get out of Quito, and DAMN all I wanted to do when I got out of that shop was hop on Jake and take to the mountains. --Unfortunately, I still am getting lightheaded pretty easily from all the alititude! Details, details. Full on hop, skip and jump in my step. From there I went to a bike shop where I needed to get some screws that I must have left at home (I thought I had left them in my fork, but appranetly not). I ended up talking with the bike guy, Osvaldo, for another 30 minutes (though this was in Spanish, so in reality a lot of it was probably dead air as I formed my sentences!). And I know now how to say Phillips screwdriver in spanish, for my next stop, the hardware store.

Quito is really picturesque city. It sits amidst the mountains, and this morinng was about 80 degrees and incredibly sunny. The streets are relatively clean, and especially in the new town seems incredibly modern. Since you can read everything (even though you may not understand it), it does not seem that foreign. Likewise, the food is not necessarily that different -- lots of pollo, arroz, hamburgesas and fast food, sandwiches, jugos, naranjas. There are several big parks in the city -- similar to city parks in Spain, I feel like. The old town is pretty fantastic. Looming above the Basilica is Mt. Cotapaxi, and at the time the fog was rolling in over it. Colored houses --yellow, pìnk, blue, green, orange -- line cobblestone streets. I wandered though a market with the typical stalls carrying everything from backpacks to sewing machines to burnt cds. There are multitudes of street vendors, selling mostly snack food. My favorite are the girls selling helado. They are holding these huge Thanksgiving platters full of what looks like whipped creme with severeal sugared ice cream cones sticking out. In a lot of ways, the old town reminds me of Lisbon, Portugal. Though they sell t-shirts likening it to San Francisco, and maybe given the fog, hills and colored houses I can see it.

From what I have seen wondering the old town, new town, the areas in between and the outskirts, Quito is a lot wealthier than I expected. There were incredibly few beggers when compared to anywhere in SE Asia that I visited. Thankfully, there were even fewer disfigured or handicapped beggers, which I can only contibute to the lack of landmines littering the countryside. People also take cabs a fair amount, and there is nothing like Tuk-tuks, songtheows, or even moto-taxis.

Alright, thats all I´ve got for now. Tommorrow I hope to go hiking on Cotopaxi, since I am still trying to adjust to the altitude (go AWAY headache!) and therefore holding off on the bike just a bit. Until next time.

Confused.

I have decided that blogs are a lot of pressure. Do you write it like an email? An email to your friend? Your Grandma? A stranger? Or is it like a journal? A conversation? An interview? I am still trying to figure this out. I had thought that I wanted to work on my writing -- but then you can´t work on it whilst having it as a showcase! At least I can´t. One of my goals in life is to take a creative writing class, but I don´t think I am there yet. I think it will just have to be whatever comes out. That seems to be my style in life anyway. Email style, if you will.