PA12: Out of the Amazon and down to Peru

It was election time again. Voting stations sprung up all over the country in schools and other public buildings. Everyone is registered to vote in person at a specific polling station. Apparently it is almost impossible to change that location when you move to a new town. The result? Half of the country had to travel back to their hometown to vote. While I was in Limón, Xavier had told me that he needed to go up to Cuenca, while one of his friends complained about needing to drive all the way to Loja. Raquel told me that she needed to go to the south of Quito, crossing the entire city, needing a whole day to travel out and back.

You have to pay a fine in Ecuador if you don’t vote, so millions of otherwise apathetic voters grudgingly hauled themselves out of bed on the weekend and got to the task. 

I expected the roads to be crazy, so I decided to take the whole weekend off in Zamora and let everyone get on with it. Another unique law here is ‘Ley seco’ (dry law), where alcohol cannot be sold during voting. As a result the town was pretty peaceful. I walked around a bit, ate as much as I was physically capable, and wrote up my first blog entry. PA11: Goodbye Quito!

Come Monday and President Novoa had been reelected. Prior to the elections he had promised to extend the Easter weekend from a 3 to a 4 day holiday, in a classic ‘bread and games’ move. Ecuadorians for the most part seem pretty desensitised after hearing all kinds of promises from politicians, while continuing to see the country deteriorate. However, if the government gives you an extra day to go to the beach and drink, that’s something tangible. This is a card that the current administration has played a couple of times, for example, during the latest incidence of power cuts in late 2024. Novoa announced the extension of one of the national vacations by an extra day, and thus kept the majority happy.

For my part I had been planning to see Raquel the following weekend in Cuenca. Now we had 4 long days to see each other, instead of 3. 

But first I needed to haul myself back up into the Andes. My OSMand app told me I could expect a touch over 3000 meters of climbing. This had been lurking in the back of my mind for most of my ride through the Amazon. I remembered my desultory performance in the mountains during my first two days of riding. Hopefully I would be able to perform this time.

I raided one of the many panaderias (bakeries), filling my panniers with a big bag of sweet pastries for the climb ahead, and got stuck in.

The first day I managed 2000m, my biggest climb of the trip so far. Whoever built the road had been very considerate to keep it at a relatively gentle gradient, and I never felt like I was pinned against my last gear; I could keep a steady spin all the way.

The second day I completed the remainder. I found myself putting layers on for the first time in weeks. I had left the Amazon behind; back to the Sierras.

The scenery opened up on the other side of the pass, and I could clearly see Loja spread out below, amongst rolling green hills.

I enjoyed a stunning descent, and rolled into Loja.

I made a beeline to the historic centre, and found myself a hostel.

The next morning I did a bit of casual sightseeing. My inbox was overflowing with messages from my Ecuadorian friends recommending things to eat in the city; apparently Loja is well known for having a rather unique cuisine compared to the rest of the country, so I received a long list of suggestions. The coffee is supposed to be the finest in the country, and I couldn’t go more than a few paces without stumbling upon a cafe.

I did my best to eat and drink my way through as many of the recommendations as possible, before catching a bus to Cuenca, and Raquel.

Raquel caught an overnight bus from Quito to Cuenca, just to come and see her crazy cyclist gringo boyfriend.

Unfortunately the days passed by, and on Sunday Raquel had to catch her bus back to Quito.

I figured that Cuenca was my best chance for finding a good bike mechanic to get everything squared away with the bike before Peru, so I took Monday off in the city to get a decent service. Resupplied various consumables, then caught the bus back to Loja on Tuesday.

Unfortunately Pope Francis had passed away during the weekend, which must have hit the catholic majority of the country pretty hard.

More bad news, a British national had been lynched in the Amazon, just a little bit further north from where I had come down from Quito. He had been arrested as a potential suspect in a shooting. The locals didn’t wait for due process to determine his guilt or innocence, but instead formed a mob and descended upon the police station in which he was kept. 

The police opened his cell and handed him over to the mob, who doused him in fuel and burned him to death.

After a year and a bit of casual conversations with various people in Quito I have found that there is a common belief that foreigners (mostly Venezuelans) are disproportionately responsible for crimes committed in Ecuador. 

I had to call the police for the first time a few months ago. I heard a man shouting ‘ladrón’ (thief) next to Parque Carolina in Quito. I saw another guy running away. His pursuer was struggling to keep up on foot, so I pedalled after the supposed thief, shouting ‘ladrón myself, to hopefully alert passers by and any police that might be around.

The suspect presumably figured out that he wasn’t going to shake me on my bike, and whirled around and started trying to bargain with me. I pulled away to keep my distance, not wanting to discover if he had a weapon or not, and he resumed running. His original pursuer caught up and tackled him.

I didn’t get physically involved, but I called the police on the instruction of the aggrieved party. 

In the meantime I got a crash course in vigilante justice. All the bystanders knew that this guy would likely only get a slap on the wrist and be released with a small fine, so a crowd rapidly gathered around and started beating and kicking the alleged perpetrator. There were people of all ages, even a little 12 year old came up, got off his bike, and had a go. 

What do you think was the first thing that they asked him? 

Where are you from?

He responded, between kicks, that he was from Quito.

Could you imagine what they would have done to him if he had been an immigrant?

The police eventually showed up, and interviewed the aggrieved party, while everybody else faded into the background. 

The next day I told some of my colleagues in the teacher’s room about the incident, and they assured me that the suspect would already be back out on the streets again.

There is absolutely no faith in the justice system here. What I witnessed is a very typical episode. People are frustrated with the lack of consequences, and so they take matters into their own hands.

I wonder if we will ever know whether my unfortunate countryman actually carried out the shooting or not? The region in which he was murdered is on the border with Colombia. It’s a dodgy part of the country, where the cartels bring the white powder into Ecuador, before transporting it to the ports for export.

I reckon that it is likely that he was involved in something that he shouldn’t have been.

On the other hand, the place in which he was locked up is right next to one of the most famous nature reserves in the Ecuadorian Amazon. It could be that he was simply doing a spot of eco-tourism and wound up becoming a suspect due to being in the wrong place at the wrong time. 

I’m not very keen to dig much deeper into this morbid story myself, but if any of my readers know about any more recent developments, please feel free to drop a comment on this article to get everyone up to date.

Despite all of my efforts in learning Spanish, it is impossible for me to be anonymous. For one thing, the average Ecuadorian man only comes up to about chest height on me, so I tend to stick out like a sore thumb.

Wherever I walk, sit down, or ride past, I feel eyes on me. If I go to a restaurant I inevitably see everyone nudging their companions to take a look at the gringo. I do my best to behave properly, saying ‘Bon provecho’ (have a nice meal) etc. while walking in, smiling at other diners and clearly making myself open to a friendly chat if anyone fancies it.

If I’m in a full room and I glance up, I usually see heads quickly turn away by reflex to avoid meeting my gaze. Sometimes this happens with every single person in the room at the same moment, which is pretty entertaining. 

Sometimes my understanding of Spanish can be a curse, as I pick up on unflattering comments made about me by neighbours, who assume that I don’t understand.

I get stared down all the time while riding. I think it’s vitally important to keep trying the cheerful ‘Buenos dias’ etc. with a smile, which does work sometimes. Other times they just continue to stare at me in silence, or click their tongue as I roll past. 

The culture difference is really noticeable out in the countryside; on the fringes of every single rural town there is a  ‘nightclub’. These aren’t places to unleash your dance moves, but rather to see young ladies without clothes dancing on poles.

When I do manage to strike up conversation with other men over a beer or two, I invariably get invited to go to one of these places. From their perspective they probably see it as treating a visitor to the best that they have to offer. Telling them that I have a lovely girlfriend doesn’t seem to carry any weight whatsoever. Mate I already said no thankyou five times, let it go. 

I’m afraid that it must be very frustrating being an Ecuadorian lady trying to find a man out here who can actually be faithful. 

While the countryside is generally supposed to be more secure than the cities, these nightclubs are ideal meeting places for shadier types, and I wonder if luring the clueless gringo in with promises of girls could be a prelude to drugging, robbing, or even the outside chance of a bit of organ harvesting? 

Over my time here in Ecuador I have gone through several distinct mindsets, from a rose tinted traveler’s wanderlust, to extreme overcaution (at the advice of my colleagues), to a complete lack of caution and just getting on with it, to finally my current state of being ready to have a good time, but constantly being aware of my company and my surroundings, watching oncoming passers by, re-assessing the situation and listening to my gut. It’s not a relaxing way to be, but I feel safer for it.

I’m all alone out here, and anyone who is capable of running can easily catch me on my bike.

So, with all of this stuff swirling around in my head, I resumed my ride South from Loja.

I arrived at the ‘Gringoville’ of Villacabamba. It is one of the planet’s ‘blue zones’ where people traditionally lived the longest in the world. These days it’s seen a huge influx of foreign expats, and it seems like every other face is a white one.

I only stayed for the night and pushed on the next day. I really wanted to just keep moving and get over the border and into Peru.

PERU!