Part II-Ecuador to Peru: Luggage and Baggage

I met an old man in the bus station when I first arrived in Ecuador; he had been travelling for over a year with nothing but a stuffed, scruffy briefcase and a walking stick. He was one of those wise bearded types, and seemed really comfortable amongst the hoards of backpackers who were waddling round the station with sweaty backs and packs nearly as big as their bodies. We got to talking about how he managed to travel around with so little stuff, and he said he had just never been the kind of person who needed much. I started thinking about what you could tell about a person by the things they carry, and how interesting it would be to see what people choose to pack; what special things they always take with them and what they leave behind.

I always try to carry a little but end up with a lot..having made the decision at the beginning of my trip to buy an accordion which I now haul round in a big black case. I also have a lot of seemingly impractical trinkits and momentos from home, and always too many books as I dont like to leave them behind in the book exchanges!

As we sit in the gray squares of the Quito bus station surrounded by stale smoke, I look over at Janes bag and spot a tupperware tub of wheat-germ and a copy of Richard Branson´s autobiography sticking out the top..read into this what you will :)

Half way through our wait two enormous suitcases are wheeled through the door by a perspiring taxi driver. A string of three small children follow being chased by the commanding tone of their mother who soon appears, cursing the Ecuadorians and her kids simultaneously with a Marlboro red hanging out of her mouth. It becomes clear immediately that this lady has a lot of baggage in every sense of the word, and before we know what has hit us she commences to tell us all about the particulars of her suitcase, and the burden of her children. A she does so one of the kids is coughing bronchially with his hands stuffed down his trousers, one is already wrapped around Jane´s legs, and the other is on the chair next to me pulling weird faces. It turns out that the two massive suitcases contain all their belongings, and they have left Canada to travel around South America in search of a new home. In the ensuing monologue I gather that she is carrying 2 large hunting knives in there (which she believes every sensible traveller should do), the remaining possessions of her dead father, and a computer (amongst other things). As we pile onto the bus, I wonder what she will pass onto her kids; what they will take with them and what they will leave behind as they grow older.

The bus is already crowded with long haul passengers from Veneuzala. A procrarious mountain of suitcases and duffle bags is stacked on the backseat behind us: exectutive black suitcases, checkered laundry bags, a roll or carpet and a stack of taped up cardboard boxes amongst them. I imagine the lives and secrets that are tucked away inside, the stories behind the trasit of the stranger items. If you emptied out all the bags, would you be able to match the people with their luggage just by comparing them?

After several hours we cross the border into Peru. The landscape changes into a sparse wilderness of sand banks and rocky mountains; the oily sun setting over a still, pale coast. Civilization is marked only by small corrugated-iron shacks which appear between the arrid peaks that line the road. We pass one such cell of existance with childrens washing hung out on a wire line. A rusted bike cart is parked at the front, its lone tyre track winding down the valley like a palm line. I imagine a whole family is living here, and that under that make-shift roof they have everything they need to survive.

ECUADOR TO CHILE - a curious soup of a journey. PART I - Quito time plays its tricks

Seven days, 3 countries and 110 hours on the coach is facing us if we want to make it from Ecuador to Chile in time for christmas. The journey starts in the crowded night streets of Quito on the 6th of December; a date that we had forgotten was a public holiday in the city. As we arrive from out first 9 hour coach journey from the coast we are husteled and bustled around the streets, tired eyed and vaguely confused. The first stint of our journey will be a daunting 36 hours from Quito to Peru´s capital, Lima. We go to the Transamerica office to buy our tickets and a man with a deep waxen scar like a sign across his forehead advises us that the bus will be leaving at 10pm that evening.
We head back into town with a few hours to kill, and find ourselves in the thick cheer of bottle swinging crowds, their laughing faces melting and twisting like wax in the bulb-lit night. A uniformed police band march past us, their spotless brass instruments held like curious weapons at their sides. Time seems to have slowed down and conjealed like the people and the traffic; nobody is hurrying anywhere. The night is on a continuous loop of red latin music that licks the buzzing pavements into a firework sheen and echos its deep laugh into the mouths and pint glasses of the people. We indulge in food and beer and saying goodbyes to this rich Colada Morada of a country, and the time melts into it all like slow syrup as the bus journey gets further and further away from our thoughts.
Suddenly we are pulled from the festivities like bubbles spitting out of the pot. We have 20 minutes to catch our bus and the streets are of course mainly closed due to the huge parades
that will act as the climax to the city holiday. We run through the rain varnished streets in search of a taxi, dodging stilt walkers with white painted faces and dancing school girls in pom-pommed plastic boots. We dodge small children chewing on greasy Pintox and whisky breathed men in thick coats and pork-pie hats. Everywhere are hot crowds in syrup slow motion and we are awkwardly trying to swim through, getting Áye aye ayes!!´from disaproving old ladies as we tumble past.
As we reach Amazonas we are greeted by a vast perade of dance, light and extravagant mayhem; a milkfloat decked with candy LED´s acting as a chintzy chariot for the Quito beauty queens who gaze into the crowd and wave submissivly like immaculate puppets.We push our way to the front of the mesmorised crowd with only 10 minutes to go until the bus leaves. This whole scene is like some kind of surreal carnival dream, and I feel like the omniprescent dreamer; whitnessing it all without actually being there.
We realise we have no choice but to cross the perade and also realise that this will be a sacriligious action causing anti-gringo feeling the crowd over. ´Just try to blend in´I say to Jane, forgetting that my pale skinned, stripey panted Englishness is unblendable at the best of times. Suddently there is a break in the crowd as a large man in a leather jacket attempts the mean feat of crossing. ´Follow him!´ screams Jane, and we charge across the perfect pattern of traditional dancers in cultural dress, exuding all responsibility for the ensuing cufuffle by hiding behind the rather tall man.
Finally in a taxi, two minutes to go, haggling with the taxi driver about the price, almost there....and the bus is nowhere to be seen. ´Have we missed it???´we question the security guard in exasperated Spanish. The man regards our panic with confused amusement and casually states that the bus will probably arrive at about midnight. I suppose we should have got used to the Quito time by now; it is always slowing down, speeding up, and then slowing back down again as it pleases. Oh well, at least we will be leaving the place in traditional style!