01.28.2013 - 01.28.2013
Ecuador is not much different from Colombia, as far as we can tell so far. Maybe a stronger indigenous presence and culture. Men with hair in a long braid, traditional dress.
I can't keep awake on the buses anymore. In moments of lucidity I glimpse a dramatic gorge slipping by, and then my pupils roll up, and my eyelids close. Thus I pass through the fabled Andean highlands. I once remarked to Chris that the hills of Colombia are like a patchwork quilt created by an insane homesteader. Over the smoothly undulating terrain a square of cabbage adjacent to a square of banana trees and so forth. The effect is humorous and not unpleasant (if you can set aside for a moment your concerns about the environmental sustainability of the operation). In Ecuador the "quilt" is more drab, converts to something that rather looks like a disease, the disease of humanity and its tedious struggle for life. The sky is low here, gray and heavy. The closer we get to the equator, the colder it seems to get.
We are in Otavalo tonight. We feel like the only tourists here.