Hippy Birthday - Time to quit Quito? - 14 June 2003
Bithday blues
Birthday Bliss
Quito quest for culture, failed
Biker bliss
We were met at reception by Jeff, an American who had been described by Fi as having had a sense of humour bypass. He seemed to be living up to his reputation as he showed us to our room and bemoaned having been left by his wife, only making 10,000 a year instead of the 6 figure salary that he would have working with his Dad in the States, etc, etc. Our hearts bled and we were almost glad to be ensconced in our room. We would have been delirious in fact if the ìspecial roomî that Iíd booked for Hippyís birthday did not reek of damp. This in a room that we were paying more for than any other we had stayed in since arriving in South America.
We were faced with a bit of a dilemma as Iíd arranged for parts to be sent to this address and for folks to be able to ring here for Hipís birthday. In normal circumstances we would have moved on at the drop of a hat.
I was also torn, I knew that Pat had tried to organise something special and didnít want to upset him, but I could sense that we were also being ripped off. Note to webmaster - this time we were paying 4 times the normal rate for something lesser. Pat was unwilling to tell me what it cost knowing that it was overpriced. In the end, we decided to stay and try to ignore the cost and just enjoy ourselves and then move out after my birthday.
Bad news on the spare parts front, apparently the British mail service has let us down and the package went astray before it left Britainís shores. They have sent on a second package free of charge, but this means that we could be stuck in Quito for longer than we had planned.
There were plenty of sociable people at the hostel to distract us. A cockney West Ham fan, called Mark, who Pat was surprisingly gentle with in the micky taking stakes and a Cornish welder called Chris to name but two. The hostel had a comprehensive set of videos to while away a few hours and all was pleasant.
Until, that is we decided to use the communal kitchen, which was as grimy as male student accommodation. Again I felt it necessary to clean before use. I know, I know it will end up the same way in nanoseconds. We decided to give the bike gear a much needed wash, only to discover that there was tar in the washing area which we didnít realise until I had finished washing my smalls. Needless to say now our limited clothing has specks of tacky tar on them. There was green dust appearing on my clothes on the shelves in the roomÖmould from the underside of the shelf above. At least we know where the damp smell is pervading from. I set to cleaning shelves. This is getting silly. We are definitely moving once the parts arrive!
While I was on domestic duties Pat was on a sort out and the room head everything laid out, from Scrabble set to torque wrench. Ricardo, popped round amidst the mayhem, with our room looking much like some strange white elephant stall. He invited us to dinner on Saturday, we explained that it was my birthday and we had already made arrangements, to meet Marcela and Luca, but we was welcome to join us, after advising us on a good but economical place to eat, we said our goodbyes.
Lying in bed on the morning of my birthday I heard a noise like the shower in the bathroom had switched on spontaneously, I went to investigate. The corner of the ceiling had fallen in and water from the shower above was pouring tap like fashion down the wall.
This was too much! We had tolerated the overpriced damp room, with mould on the furniture and the tar on our clothes from the washing area. Within seconds we had the nearest employee into the room to witness the downpour, were packing up our stuff which still in a white elephant arrangement and demanding that they contact the manager.
I began throwing in the fact that I had had to clean off mould from the furniture to prevent it getting on my clothes, whilst Pat was explaining that this was meant to be a special treat for my birthday. I felt sorry for the poor lady on reception who was obviously embarrassed, but also knew that she may get it in the neck if we did as we were threatening and rode out without paying.
I spat the dummy a bit and the poor girl on reception had to put up with my ranting. I told her that we were going and not going to pay - perhaps she ought to get Jeff out of bed to deal with this situation. A little while later she bowled over to the room to tell us that she had Jeff on the phone. I had expected that he would be aware of the situation and be full of apologies, but instead there was silence at the end of the phone. I even had to ask if he was still there a couple of times. Given the total lack of response (in retrospect I understand that he'd probably just woken up following a huge bender - not an excuse but a fact, nonetheless) I spat the dummy again and told him, too, that we would not be paying.
I was now regretting cleaning the mould off the furniture as I was lacking evidence to back up my claims, but had a flash of inspiration and realised that the underside of the bottom shelf of the bookcase was never cleaned and proceeded to turn the thing upside down. When the lady saw the evidence she was more than apologetic she was horrified.
We moved our stuff to a nearby hostel which was half the price and mould free. We now had the awkward situation, that after creating a storm in the hostel we would have to hang around all day in case anyone phoned with birthday greetings. Rather sheepishly we found a corner to read our books. Thanks to all those who tried and the couple that managed to get through it was lovely to hear familiar voices.
In the end we decided that it would be fair to pay the rate for a dorm room and in the circumstances the receptionist was pleased to receive anything to keep the owner off her back.
That night was a lovely little get together; Marcella and Luca with a gorgeous pair of orchids for me set off rather nicely in a large water bottle and a new t-shirt (much needed after we butchered a threadbare jumper to make a bag for the tripod). Ricardo arrived with his daughter who I judged to be about 15, but I later discovered to be 12. She was very quiet, this may be that most of the conversation was in English although she was attending an Australian school in Quito. I have to admit that I have never heard of an Australian school before. English, American, German, French and International, yes. I had visions of lessons on sheep farming, beer swilling and surfing with subsidiary barby making. I think more likely she was just being your average moody teenager, who was staying with Dad for the weekend and had not expected to be dragged out to talk with a bunch of foreigners.
Ricardo regaled us with tales of his own kidnapping in Colombia and those of some of his relatives. It soon became clear that we had a member of the Ecuadorian moneyed class in our midst. His tales of the dangers of travelling in Colombia did not inspire us with confidence, when we are meant to be travelling through in a week or so. In our favour he said that most of the kidnapping are of local rich businessmen and those from neighbouring countries, tourists do not have the kind of money to warrant multi-million dollar ransoms. I'm getting ready with the required vocabulary to say "We're just penniless travellers raising money for charity. Honest guv" Which reminds us - how many of you lot are coughing up these days?
Even the Hot Rockers had decided to go through by bus on the basis that the truck was too conspicuous. Just a bit! But we have also had emails from other bikers saying it was wonderful, and the lack of tourists at the moment means that the locals are especially welcoming. What do you do with so diverse pieces of advice? Go and see for yourself I suppose. At least we are prepared with what must be perhaps the most obvious but essential advice available. Thanks, Ricardo for explaining to us what should have been obvious but came as a revelation to us. It seems that all of the kidnappings and so forth are from blockades on the road. The principle goes like this. The route we are taking is the PanAmerican and there is loads of traffic heading each way. If there is a break in the vehicles coming towards you, stop and wait to see if it is a long break owing to roadblocks in which case turn back and wait for news. The chances of coming round a corner and being the first vehicle to be stopped are pretty low, surely?
During the evening a slightly dodgy looking pale guy came in and tried to engage Ricardo in conversation. All a little odd, and then he left.
The hours and the carafes of wine fell away, and a lovely evening was had chatting laughing. It had been a terrible start to my birthday but now none of it seems to matter. It was a perfect end to a less than perfect day. Ricardo insisted that he still wanted to treat us to dinner and suggested Monday.
As we left the same dodgy bloke was waiting outside with two of his mates. He scuttled over and tried to engage us in conversation and was offering us drugs. We took Ricardoís approach and ignored him. I was thankful that our hotel was just across the street in spitting distance and there was no chance of this threesome overpowering us.
Quito quest for culture, failed
We arranged to meet L and M in the old town, to see what real Quito had to offer, on Sunday. Maybe it was because it was Sunday and the shops were shut and cold and the streets were strewn with litter from a fun run through town, but old Quito did not inspire. The towns to the South of Ecuador were far prettier. But a day with L and M is always enjoyable, and we talked of everything from Sicilian politics, to the possible demise of the welfare state in the UK, the difficulties for people coming out into a heterosexual world and of course food, which I now know is an Italian obsession. And there is nothing wrong with that. I was sad to say goodbye to them when we left in the evening, as they are now heading south and we go north. We hope to take them up on their offer of a genuine Sicilian meal as we traverse Europe. So watch out Marcella and Luca for Bertha coming around the corner - you don't get rid of us that easily.
Days pass very easily when youíre stuck in a capital city with little jobs to do. Along with the washing of our gear, there were bits and pieces that needed doing to Bertha and once the parts were with us, I set about getting greasy while Hippy repaired clothes and bits of bike luggage that were getting worn out.
I came in one day from the internet to find the doorman/cleaner/manager sitting at the front desk bawling his eyes out. It turned out that some Colombian clients had taken it on their toes with the computer and printer on his shift and that he was likely to get them blame. This is a bit unfair as his shift is from 00:00 to 24:00, seven days a week. Another bit of bad news involving Colombians.
A couple in our hostel, Nick and Kate, had been waiting for a new camera to be sent from England as theirs had been stolen in Peru. Makes a change from Chile. They were off for a month of voluntary work on the Galapagos Islands, but their package failed to arrive before they left. I sympathised with them having been in the non arriving package situation myself. Still, we all went out and had a fantastic English style curry. Absolutely fantastic. Funnily I had stopped missing curries and this has now got me all craving like.
When I nipped out to get the suspension fixed up I was greeted by a hopeless gringo when I got back. ìIíve lost all my money and my passport. Can you help me?î All said in a perfect American accent. He didnít realise that I recognised him as the same strange youth who had been hanging around at the meal the other night. The doorman/cleaner/manager of the hostel didnít tell him to bugger off but acknowledged, when I asked him, that he is the local junky who in fact used to have his job before being sacked for drug related offences.
Our only respite from the bore of sorting stuff out was a night out with a set of local bikers headed by Ricardo. In the next door hostel to us there was an Argentine guy, Enrique, staying who is riding his Harley up to the States. We didnít get to see his steed as he had already put it on a plane to Panama. Sensible chap ñ missing out Colombia. Is someone trying to tell us something? The others turned up on their extremely shiny bikes. Iíd expected them all to be rough and ready overlander types as Ricardo had always arrived on a workaday Kawasaki when weíd met him. No, here was the complete range of new BMWs. Really, it was like a mobile showroom. There was the off road one, the custom one and a sporty one to complete the line up. As we departed our hostel, there was a bit of a tail back in the street and someone trying to avoid it reversed into the nice shiny, red sporty one. Not a good start to the evening.
Weíd been promised a typical Ecuadorian meal and were somewhat surprised by the venue for this feast. There were several smartly attired chappies milling around the door who greeted us very civilly (imagine that happening for a bunch of bikers, even nice clean ones, at a nice restaurant in England) and pointed us towards the carpark.
Strangely they found a large private room for us to dine in. Not sure whether this was a nice surprise laid on for us or whether we were being ushered away from the sensibilities of the other diners. We chatted with our hosts who turned out to include the managing director of what I think is a decorating company, Juan, and Fabian, a heart surgeon, no less. Only one of them, Daniel, other than Ricardo professed to have a great urge to travel the world on his bike. It was clear that he had a more rugged stead than others. The others were simply the ultimate in hospitality. Their collective plan is to set up a committee to welcome overlanders to Quito and sort out problems if need be. How nice is that? I must make a point of being more proactive in the bike hosting vein if we ever get back to Blighty seeing as how we live within 30minutes of the Triumph factory and Mallory Park and Donnington Park race tracks. Dinner was absolutely delicious ñ Thank you Ricardo.
Thanks again Ricardo. In the morning he picked me up and guided me over to a very nice man who could have a look at my badly corroded in spokes (long story). At the bike shop was our friend the doctor who was having his bike looked at as there was a rattle in the rear light. Oh the joys of having a new bike. You wouldnít hear any rattles on Bertha! They reckoned that they could sort things by 3 ëo clock and I started to do a few mental calculations based on hourly rates, exchange rates and what have you and began to worry that the fixing of the wheel might get a bit excessive. I neednít have worried. Thanks to the generosity of the local bikers, not only did I have a lift home but Fabian insisted on paying for the work. It was hard to accept his offer as Hippy and I donít like to take anything off anyone but I knew that the bike shop would be charging him a fair price and his work must pay him considerably more than we have earned for the last couple of years. We are quite touched, another thank you.
The petals from my birthday flowers are falling; this is a sign that it is time to move on. And we have been stuck in Quito for too long, we need to hit the road.