To the Base of the Loop!

September 8th, I think. The year is definitely 2008.

Quito to Latacunga: 5.8 R ** (I). This single-pitch route is such because it takes a mere two and a half hours. I gave it a 5.8 R rating because 5.8 is not that difficult to get there. However, I gave it an R for runout because occasionally you must make sure that you are safe because if you do not check your stuff, it can get taken! (An X rating would mean death and further injury could result if a mistake was made, whereas R could mean up to injury at worst.) I gave this route two stars (**) because it’s not a must-do trip in and of itself, but it is however worth taking in order to go from Quito to get to the Quilotoa Loop, which has more stars, still! FYI: from now on, short routes (single-pitch; I) will not be noted as such. Simply, the ‘I’ will be omitted.

I wake up to a private shower. We breakfast on the roof of the Chicago Hostel. Alisa does a post-breakfast dance. Then we update our blogs in the hostel’s common room before leaving to take a bus to the bus terminal where we hike down three flights of open stairs facing different directions. We buy a double-ticket for the bus to Latacunga.

Before we board, and just as Alisa’s large bag is being put underneath the bus, we are warned several times to watch our bags. Getting on the bus, we take seats next to each other. Some dude shoves my bag under my feet and I watch him twist it so that the bag is going vertically underneath my seat, rather than horizontally so that I can see it all but it’s in the way of my feet. I take note in my mind soon hereafter that the only slit-pocket in my bag is facing the people in the seats behind me and not the other way around. Also in my mind is that this pocket only contains batteries, deodorant, and my leatherman. The person in the seat next to me is young and more friendly than most his age in these parts, asking where we’re from and of course, if we’re together-together. I can’t get the thought out of my head that the people behind me might be going through that slit-pocket and I keep glancing behind my seat to see if I see their heads. One man passes by and says very seriously – almost angrily to the person directly behind me, “Que paso?” and after those words, I didn’t understand what he said, especially considering the rate at which the words left his mouth. I tell Alisa what is on my mind. Namely, that the pocket is facing them and that this guy might have just been yelling at them for trying to get into my stuff. Keep in mind that the main pocket is locked. As the bus halts for the next stop on the way to Latacunga, the two behind us get up to leave. I swivel my bag horizontally and note that the zipper is slightly open. I open it and stick my hand in. No deodorant. No leatherman. I tell Alisa and see that either non-Spanish-speaking and nearly enraged but shocked me must go get them, without being able to explain to anyone else what is going on. Or, Alisa can tell everyone and perhaps stop them from leaving. I watch the bags in the seat now, as she goes to get them. A woman in front of us overhears us and starts yelling out the window to stop the dudes. I inspect my bag further, quickly, and find that they used the knife to cut into the main compartment from this slit-pocket, the backing of which is not nearly as durable or thick as the outside material. It appears that they didn’t get anything from within, which is mostly in another container still (e.g. Sea to Summit waterproof bag), or not worth taking (e.g. very thin towel). The bus driver is already aware of the situation and the bus is stopped for a good few minutes. I see the people involved walk then run down this natural alley, forested on either side. They were all in on it. Luckily, though, as enraged and further paranoid as I was for the remainder of the bus ride, they didn’t get much.

In Latacunga, we find a hostel and get a room. We walk the market and get a lunch with weird meats in the meals. Feeling unsettled, we consider the things we want to get done. I want to repair or have repaired the cut pocket so that there is another layer of tougher fabric there. Alisa wants Internet. After trying a tailor who can’t fit my backpack under the sewing machine, we are directed to a shoe repairman. He says he doesn’t do bags. He does, however, do suggestions. We come upon his suggestion in a repair-all shop on a sidestreet and find out that not only can they repair my bag, but they will charge a mere one dollar. We go back to the hostel room and I empty the contents of my bag, and off we go, to drop it off for a 30-minute repair. During the break we try internet places and none of them work. Either they don’t know their one wireless password, or the Ethernet cord for some reason would not work on Alisa’s laptop. We give up that grail and wander until our return to the shop, a few minutes early. We hang out just outside and talk and play with a mother and her baby who has huge, dark eyes that just stare at me! Finally smiles come out! Genuine friendliness is very much distinct from that which I experienced on the bus.

Alisa and I thank the repairman and head out way, geared for war! Well, almost: First Alisa purchases two meters of chain and a lock for her big Osprey Exposure 50 bag. What else can you do to lock this bag? Content with the day and ready to find out just how worth it this Quilotoa Loop is, we get ready for the adventures ahead, and chalk the last few incidents up as preparedness. And a little grief!

But, onwards and upwards!

After I wrote this, we went out for dinner. After a nice really long walk as the sky darkens, we decide upon something very close to the hostel, even though we walked and examined places all over the town.

Dinner was not that fun in Latacunga, either. People laughed obviously, spoke quietly, and our soups – unlike the soups of those around us – had large chicken feet in them. We laugh on the short walk back to the hostel.

Also, from now on I’m going to give different routes (to and from cities) ratings very similar to those from climbing. I will also give each city visited a grade. At first I will explain the grades and ratings given, but later I hope it will be understood what I mean when I say 5.9 X IV ***. Aren’t you excited to learn how climbing grades apply to cities and the routes taken to get there? Now you will understand the rating at the top of each blog route. Also, FYI, in thinking about why I decided to do this, I think it I came up with this idea because I was dreaming about climbing and realized that I haven’t climbed in a while and miss it. So I’m going to connect my reality to climbing. Oh no. I’m going through withdrawals. What is rehab for rock climbing addiction? Haha.

“Venga, manaña! Come on, themorrow!” says your landescaper, n8.