All Quiet in Quito

So back to Quito after a couple of weeks, to make it one of the few places I have been to twice on this trip. I flew in from Medellin on a delayed Avianca flight in a cold, dark night with a hard rain beating noisily against the roof of the taxi that took me back to the Hotel Majestic. Quito was quoted as the second highest capital in the world at 2850m in the inflight magazine, but I found this to be a particularly unsatisfactory statistic (as most are upon closer inspection). It is definitely higher than Paro, Bhutan at 2280m and the surprisingly lowly Khatmandu at 1,300m. However, until the 1950's invasion by China, Lhasa was easily the highest at more than 4,500m and arguably still is depending on your relative opinion of the Dalai Llama and the Middle Kingdom's claims over Tibet.

Furthermore, that statistic, which I have seen quoted everywhere here, from the Lonely Planet to various other travel books, also implies that La Paz is then treated as the highest, at just more than 3,600m. In fact, Sucre is still recorded as the official capital of Bolivia and so this can't qualify. More interesting and surprising is that Maseru, capital of Lesotho is at just over 2,200m and the small mountain kingdom has the highest low altitude point of any country in the world, with no point below 1,400m. As you can see, I have had plenty of time on my hands here to browse the internet! Nonetheless, I check back in to the Hotel Majestic (it still isn't) and get off to sleep quickly, tired from the delays and a rather large Scotch served on the last leg from Bogota.

I am up early the next day, keen to get to the BMW workshop of Alvarez Barba, as the DHL tracking website tells me that the package containing my parts was delivered that day. However, when I get there and speak with William the Parts and Repairs Manager, he seems even more nervous than normal. Between his broken English and mi mal castellano, he tells me that the parts haven't arrived but should be there the next day. I go to the workshop and check my bike, which is a sad and forlorn sight as it has been left outside, albeit covered, and has started to rust up already, even the exposed gears inside the broken gearbox, due the the constant La Nina rains in Quito.That night a gaping chasm opened up in the Trebol area of the city, apparently due to the inundation a hundred feet deep and fifty feet across, destroying a major interchange in the process and causing traffic chaos the whole time I remained in town. I ask if I can move it inside and then leave frustrated in the soaking rain, expecting to see an Ark floating down Avenida Agosta Diez, but instead get an ordinary yellow taxi .

I decide to get out and walk around the city, despite the rain and am surprised that I am beginning to enjoy Quito more and more, despite the circumstances of my sojourn here. Heading out with my motorbike jacket liner on as protection from the elements, the intriguing Instituto Nacional de Patrimonio y Cultura on Luis Cordero, one block down from the Hotel Majestic, is an example of the hidden mystery of this city. It was fascinating to me to imagine the purpose of this institution, and whoever I asked couldn't explain it to me. It clearly was once a grand villa of some wealthy person on what then would have been the northern outskirts of Quito. Now the railed garden park at the front, facing the main arterial Avenida Agosta 10th, is scattered with lifesized, ceramic and mosaic horses in naturalistic poses in the shade of the mature trees. That morning waking up early, I had glimpsed out of my window a man herding a dozen or so ostriches out of the same garden park into the back of the property. Were they bred for food or kept for security purposes, as this area of the New Town was notorious for street crime and burglaries? Walking around the back, I saw that a series of shacks had been buit into the lee of the perimter wall, both on the inside and the outside, with families clearly living inside - very strange.

The weather was clearing, with great views of the surrounding mountains, so I continued into the Old Town. The churches were quieter this time and I noticed how they are full of gilding, marble and statues of saints in various disturbing poses of agony and torture, the apotheosis of the Andean style of religious art that I had seen so far. It was deliberately gruesome as it was used to evangelise to the largely illiterate indigenos by the Spanish Christians that closely followed the conquistadors. I also visited the Centro Cultura, enjoying their art exhibition and their free internet connection in their extensive library. Seeing as though I didn't have much money in my pocket anyway, I avoided the notorious muggers and pickpockets of this area and climbed up the hill to Monte Panecillo to get a good view of the city, with its cathedral below me and the gothic Basilica opposite me, from the base of el Vergen Grande. The good thing about all the wind and rain in Quito, is that when you get the brief clear moments, the air quality is so good and the equatorial sun is so strong that you can clearly see for miles. Especially looking south away from the smog of the city, I got another stunning views of Cotopaxi, the world's highest active volcano at 5897m according to my map, albeit with a reassuring snowcap at present.

That evening I returned to the Turtle's Head, owned by the phlegmatic - charismatic, KTM riding Scotsman, Albert. He was always good company and he sympathised with my position and commiserated with Neil having to go home early, as together we put more of a dent in his stocks of Fransiskaner. His place was to become my regular haunt each night as I looked for refreshment from the day's frustrations. I also found a great Vietnamese restaurant, Uncle Ho's, as well as a great Indian restaurant, memorably called The Great Indian Restaurant, both on Calle Jose Calama, which kept my tastebuds excited, even if my trip had come to an enforced halt.

I also noticed this time how there are muchos musicians in this town. In the evening and weekends especially, every second person seems to have a guitar over their shoulder and I caught some good jazz one evening at the Big Sur Cafe Bar. I think I must have got infected by the bug and bought a 5 dollar harmonica from one of the plethora of music shops in Quito - perhaps I really am having a mid-life crisis as Albert insists, pointing out that only fat, balding middle - aged men ride BMWs in a vain attempt to recapture their youth, which he must be an expert on as he meets all the criteria despite "raeding a KTM very, very fast" as he loves to brag. Anyway, I don't have Neil around anymore to annoy with it and it doesn't take up much space. At least Quito is proving a cheap place to hang out, which makes my frustration slightly less. For instance, my hotel with private single room, secure parking, en suite with hot water and a TV, albeit in a down at heel place in the wrong part of town, is just less than 20 dollars a day and a two course meal with drink at Uncle Ho's is less than 10 dollars.

More bad news the next day, as my parts still hadn't arrived, so I go to the DHL office and discover that the package has been delayed in transit from their hub in Guayaqil, due to the heavy La Nina rains, the roads are impassable. I am worried that this situation can only get worse as the rainy season spreads north through Central America during April and May and bad road conditions could plague me the whole way up. I busy myself with selling Neil's excess camping stuff to the gently dispositioned and innappropriately named Rommel at the Los Alpes camping shop. I showed him the stuff that Neil had left behind as we had gone two up into Colombia, expecting to be back to pick it up later and that I couldn't carry on my own. Rommel waited patiently as I showed him the stuff and then said that he didn't like bargaining, and would offer me 100USD for the lot as he thought this was a fair price. No arguing, no pointing out how dirty and used the stuff was, no arguing that business was slow (tourism was down due to the recent crisis with Colombia) and his family were suffering as a result. I agreed that it was a fair price, as my main motivation was to avoid just throwing it away, which I would have hated.

Pleased by my success with the camping gear, I also sorted out some excess books to further reduce the dramatically increased load that my bike would have to carry in its broken and bashed panniers that had been salvaged from both our crashes. I found an English language bookshop and met the incredibly busy Marisol, who I recognised from her evening job as a waitress at Uncle Ho's. As she agreed to pay 10USD for the books, which I said would pay for my meal in Uncle Ho's that night, I also discovered that in the few hours between finishing at the bookshop and starting at Uncle Ho's, she also gave one to one English language lessons to Ecuadorians and Spanish lessons to extrajaneros. Even though Sunday was her only day off in the week, she invited me to join her and her family for a trip to Cotopaxi, which after her insistence, I accepted on the condition that I confirm later in the week, in case I had left by then.
I was interested to see this mountain up close and it was becoming clear I would be here for some time, waiting for my bike to be ready.

The next day I was encouraged to see that the DHL internet tracking site was again showing that the package was in Quito and would be delivered later that morning. I went expectantly to the BMW workshop, only to be disappointed by William again, saying that the delivery man had told him the package was lost and may come on another delivery. I was angry that such a wolly answer was acceptable to William and went again to the DHL office. I threw an uptight Gringo fit, insisting that they let me look through their warehouse and after a couple of hours I found my boxes underneath a pile of undelivered documents.

I returned in triumph to the workshop and putting my faith in Jesus (one of the mechanics who were going to work on my bike) I assumed that the work would start immediately and left for Albert's to watch Liverpool v Arsenal in the Champions League after an abortive visit to the "British pub", La Reina Victoria on the Avenida of the same name. I asked if I could watch the football on their TV only to be told by the American barman that a Baseball game was about to start. Looking around, all of the other customers were Americans too and the only beer available was the pretty poor Ecuadorian stuff and even worse American alternatives. Already having decided to leave, I announced to all and sundry, "isn't it ironic", which is always a prelude for Brits to fox their atlantic cousins, "that America's favourite sport is one of our biggest kid's and women's sports, and our biggest men's sport, indeed the most popular game in the world, is one of your biggest kid's and women's sports?" and promptly left for the Turtle's Head.

Drinking far too much of his devilishly good beer that night, I was happy get up late and to wander around town the following day, returning at lunchtime on Friday, with my helmet expecting to ride back to the hotel, only to see they had done nothng for 2 days since the parts arrived!!! Again I threw a wobbly and acted like the petulant Gringo I was increasingly finding I had to become to get anything done and Jesus and Carlitos started to putting it all back together again with my help. Then we discovered that the main connecting bolt that holds the swing arm and shock to the back of the gearbox was bent as was the connection on my rear shock and so we had to go to another workshop to try to get the large bolt bent back into shape. I had a brainwave later that it could present the ideal opportunity to try the Ohlins rear shock that Neil had lugged around so far, as at least it wasn't bent and if the bolt coould be straightened then could work out just fine and save me more weight and space to boot. I resolved to bring it with me first thing on Monday to try out. By then it was 4.30pm and I asked whether they would get it finished tomorrow, only to be informed that they don´t work on Saturdays, despite being told the opposite earlier in the week.

Saturday started with a call from Lena, which was the highlight of the day, particularly as we made plans for her to come and meet me in Houston at the beginning of July and so we could complete the journey together, swinging east through Texas to visit the NASA museum, Graceland, Nashville and New Orleans, before heading north through Washington, Philadelphia and finishing in New York City. These were all parts of the States we had never visited before and the idea of finishing the trip riding with Lena onto Manhattan was perfection itself. I would stay on to sort out the shipping of my bike back to Blighty before leaving on a flight myself to meet up with Nat and Neil and fulfil a longstanding commitment to go to the WOMAD festival with Clive and Phil on the last weekend of July.

This has potentially put me under some time pressure to get up to Alaska and back down to Houston in time considering that my bike still wasn't roadworthy and I hadn't made arrangements for the potentially complicated crossing of the Darien Gap. I'm not worried, because I can always cut the potentially less interesting final North American stages of the trip short to make the rendez - vous with Lena in time. Although I banked on travelling faster alone and having already done at least half the total mileage already, there was still so much out there to see and do - Bogota, Cartagena, Cuidad Perdida, Costa Rica, Nicaragua, not to mention diving in Honduras and Belize, the ruined Mayan cities of Tikal and Palenque, enjoying the supposedy superlative Mexican cuisine of Oaxaca and Chiapas, riding the Baja California, West Coast North America and then Prudhoe Bay before zipping down through the Yukon (through "towns" like Deadhorse and Yellowknife) and on down the east of the Rockies and then across the Texas Panhandle to meet up with Lena in Houston. The other minor administrative detail that was preying on my mind was that my Carnet de Passage expired at the beginning of June, less than 2 months away. Whilst it wasn't strictly necessary in the Americas, I didn't want to rely on my Arabic title documents, especially in North America and ideally wanted to be in the USA by then to renew it at the AAA.

At first it seemed daunting, to say the least, and I did realise that some things would have to fall by the wayside. The rest of the afternoon was spent watching Premiership Football at Albert's and his dismissive attitude was great for my morale, philosophically reminding me that, "fuck it yae Welsh bastard, thae Saunders twats did the whole fucking Panamericana in thirty something daes, and they were two - up on a shitty Boxhaed tank like yorn, so stop whingeing and have another pint for fuck's sake". QED. Buoyed up by this indisputable fact, much later staggered to Uncle Ho's and had some more delicious Vietnamese food and confirmed plans with Marisol for the following day.

Marisol, her husband Juan and her 3 boys picked me up in their pick-up and I insisted that I ride in the back with the boys and pay for filling up their tank, which they thought was very expensive, but was relatively cheap to me as Ecuador is a significant oil producer. We had a great day out as the weather was clear early on, and we got a great view of Vulcan Tungurahua to the south from one Mirador, which was active again, with great rushing plumes of volcanic dust being thrust up into the startlingly clear equatorial midday sky. There was a distinct wiff of sulphur in the air and the volcano looked like an angry giant, waking from a fitful night's sleep with a bad case of wind. I hoped to have enough time on my journey through Central America to see some more volcanoes up close, particularly those active ones in Costa Rica and Nicaragua. We stopped for a lunch of humitas and aji remoladas, washed down by a wholly acceptable bottle of Ecuadorian red. The journey back was not so great as the rain lashed down, so me and the boys squeezed into the cab and Juan proved to be a "buen cabron", macho - man, careering down the mountainside, on what I had previously noticed were 4 bald tyres, whilst knocking back shots from a bottle of aguardiente. all the while he seemed oblivious to the mortal danger he was putting his family in, as indeed were they. He offered it to me and I gladly accepted for Dutch courage. After dropping me off at Albert's and saying goodbye and thanking them for the trip, exchanging emails.

I really want to get moving again now and am resolved to do everything in my power to be heading north by Tuesday at the latest. Apart from the worsening weather, the news reports indicate that things are still not progressing well between Ecuador and Colombia after the diplomatic crisis of the month before. In March, Colombian forces crossed 8km over the Ecuadorian border to bomb a FARC camp, killing their de facto leader Raul Reyes and 20 others, including one Ecuadorian national and 2 Mexican students. Despite claiming to have informed the Ecuadorian government of its plans beforehand, the action caused a threat of war from the FARC - allied Venezuela, which in turn forced Ecuador's President, Rafael Correa, into a similarly robust, nationalistic response. The crisis was eventually defused by a public apology from President Uribe of Colombia at an emergency meeting of the Organisation of American States in the Dominican Republic.

However, things were still not completely resolved between Ecuador and Colombia. Some of the several interweaving strands to their ongoing war of words include an Ecuadorian military helicopter crossing into Colombia earlier this week and being forced to leave by two Colombian Black Hawks on threat of being attacked. Also, Rafael Correa has proposed that part of the election campaign for later this year should be about whether to remove the American military base from Manta on the Pacific coast when it's ten - year lease runs out. This is part of his noticeably growing popular nationalism and his increasingly close ties to Hugo Chavez of Venezuela, the self - styled Bolivarian Revolutionary.

For sure, the Libertador himself, (who briefly created the state of Gran Colombia, which consisted of all 3 of Colombia, Ecuador and Venezuela, reflected in their similar banderas nacional of a red, blue and yellow lateral tricolor), would be spinning in his grave. In addition, Ecuador has taken a case to the International Court of Justice in the Hague, and just won, against Colombia's US - backed policy of crop spraying suspected areas of coca production with herbicides. They won the case because of the flights into their territory are a contravention of internal law and the environmental damage caused by the powerful chemicals with their damaging long - term effects for agricultural production and the Amazonian wildlife, which is downstream from the mountainous areas where coca is produced.

From the other side, this is a key part of Presidente Uribe's Plan Colombia, on which he was elected to return the country exclusively to the rule of law (imagine that!), defeating the various military and revolutionary groups, along with the narco - mafia, who are increasingly one and the same. However, accepting US assistance in this aim, alienates him from his neighbours. Two pieces of anti - Colombian graffiti I saw today, of which there is lots, proclaimed "Uribe - Assasino" and "Uribe - George Bush es su Patron". It is easy to understand the frustration here at the draconian measures to limit the supply of raw drugs from this region, largely to the US and Europe. Particularly when relatively little seems to being done to the sons and daughters of those executing such policies, who collectively constitute the largely ignored demand - side of the equation, where after all, the vast majority of the profits are made in the drug industry.

At the same time, France and the US are putting more pressure on Colombia to secure the release of the increasingly sick Edith Bettancourt, ex - presidential candidate who holds joint French Nationality and has been a FARC hostage for 6 years. France have sent a humanitarian mission, jointly with Spain and Switzerland to try to fly medical and food supplies into the jungle, demonstrating their support for Ms Bettancourt and the estimated 800 other hostages held principally by FARC and others. The increasingly beleagered revolutionary force however, is reluctanct to release any hostages and refusing passage of the humanitarian flight into there territory in the south of the country, using them as its only bargaining chip to gain the release of its own 500 "political prisoners" held by the Colombian government. There are rumours here that FARC activity is increasing as gaining more hostages is the only way they can see to strengthen their bargaining position in what seems to be their participation in an increasingly likely, if reluctant on their part, general peace deal. It is a complicated situation that could get much worse very quickly, hastening my desire to cross back into Colombia as soon as possible.....