On the Puyo bus

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About 4 hours into the inding journey around the Andes we suddenly go though a very dark and narrow tunnel. When we come out hte other side I wonder why we are driving so dangerously close to the side of the mountain. I look out of the window on the other side of the bus, and there is a sheer drop of about 1,000ft down the Andes about 3ft away.

I know a couple of people that would hate this. My sister, for one, would be crapping herself at this height. My only fear, however, is that I am going to wet myself, as my bladder has been giving me pain since about 30 minutes into the journey. Culpa mea for trying to prevent getting dehydrated, but at least it provides a constant distraction from other dangers.

Adios

I will probably not be able to post anything for a while, what with moving to the Amazonian rainforest tommorow and all.

Have left my passport and bank details with Daniela at Jatun Sacha, if anyone needs them. That should mean that in the next few weeks I have a fully registered visa and a flight booked to San Cristobal, or it might mean that soon there will be another Amazed travelling around the world and spending my overdraft for me. Time will only tell...

Anyway. I´m off to the ballet, my dears. Now, should I wear my boots, or my wellies?


Please keep in touch. I miss people already.

The excitment

Isn´t my life just so exciting?

Today I have been to the bank. Woo.

Yesterday I went to register my visa at the Direccion de Extranjeria.

I got a taxi from my hotel as soon as I had dropped my bags off. It seemed like a dodgy area, but who can tell since I didn´t know exactly where I was, and most of the buildings in Quito are patchy and dusty and poorly signed and bordered my huge roads filled with non-stop traffic. There are a few purposeful pedestrians, and then a couple of people hanging out here and there, looking at the foreign girl. What made me think that this was a particularly bad area was that the taxi driver, bless him, got out of the car with me, made sure I held my bag properly, and gave me a look which said ´be careful´.

Well, that put the shits up me, for a start. So when i got to the building that had old white paint saying that it was the right place, and was told by the man with the gun (and uniform, thankfully) that it had moved to a different address, I was confused. It took a while for me to understand what he was saying, and my Lonely Planet had said this was the address, and there was a sign. Argh.

So I quickly hailed another taxi (this is definately a taxi city, especially when carrying important documents, minimal spanish and crap map), making sure that the man in the uniform (with the gun) was still in sight, and headed for the second address.

This was the right place. Even more people hanging around on the street outside. They seemed friendly, but now I am totally paranoid that I have ´rich foreigner without a clue´scrawled across my forehead, and just want to get stuff sorted and get away. Nobody speaks English (why should they, I don´t speak Spanish?), but they tell me that I need to open a bank account (and deposit $10) before I can register my visa.

Where´s the bank? Just round the corner. What, that corner there? Over that big road? And all the people hanging around? All right then.

I walk to the big road, and look at the street I think I am supposed to go down... And hail a taxi back to the hotel.

Please bear in mind that I had been travelling for 17 hours and had all my money, documents, copies of documents, and camera on me. I wasn´t feeling too brave.

This morning I get a taxi to the Banco Internacional at 8am, and am told (in Spanish) that I can´t have a bank account as I am not registered. I need to go to the Direccion Extranjeria first. Argh.

No, I don´t understand. I need a bank account to register my visa. They wont let me register without a bank account. We go round in circles for a while, and eventually the bank man (Jorge, I find out later) says ´Vamanos´(lets go).

As we walk round the corner (it is, literally, a three minute walk) to the visa office, Jorge explains that he has a brother in London, and would hope that someone would help him too if he needed it. Jorge speaks about three words in English (´my brother´and ´london´), but we get by with only small confusion. We go in to the visa office, and Jorge speaks to the guy with the uniform (and gun), and then we leave.

He says that it would take until at least tomororow to open a bank account, because he would need to authorise it with his superiors first. But I am travelling first thing tomorrow. I will have to delay my travel. No. He says that my visa is already valid, that it doesn´t need registering. It is ´sufficiento´. I still don´t understand, and am not sure I believe him. I get a bit teary (how embarrasing), because I am sacred that I am doing something very wrong. He says there is no need for melancholico, I don´t need a bank account, and my visa will be fine, and eventually it gets through. He gives me his number in case I need any help, and we shake hands and part.

Thank you, Jorge Bonius. Somehow we managed to communicate, and you reassured me when I was close to panic.

I´m still not sure if I believe him, but what´s the worst that could happen? I can´t be incarcerated for too long for having an invalid visa, before the British Embassy rescue me, can I? Surely they´ll be able to see that I am just an incompetent traveller, and not a diplomatic risk?

Anyway, I have my orientation with Jatun Sacha this afternoon, so the story may change yet...
____________________________________________________

But these petty worries just don´t compare to the story I heard last night.

I met a man in the hotel bar after dinner who told me that a couple of days ago he any his party of thirteen were held up at gun point, tied up and robbed at a retreat just a couple of hours north of Quito.

He´ll be dining out on this story for years to come, but right now they are all really shaken. A counsellor was even flown out by their tour company to talk to them (he was on my plane, funnily enough). Nobody was seriously hurt - there were some cuts to the wrists from being tied up, and the tour guide was hit with the flat side of a machete a few times, but the aim of the raid was to rob, not hurt, thankfully.

Apparently these things are incredibly uncommon. Bandit raids are just not something that happens anymore. Robberies are more individual nowadays. The party are continuing on their travels, and I hope that the rest of their journey improves their memory of Ecuador.

I am trying not to think about he fact that the last reserve I am working on is just a couple of hours north of Quito.

Puts a stressful trip to the visa office into perspectiva, don´t it?

Getting here

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The couple that had been sat next to me since Amsterdam got off in Guyaquil, so I shifted along to the window seat.

It felt like we were flying directly towards the sun, as I could feel the hot rays touch my cheek through the thick glass and air conditioning, and we flew over miles of green and brown peaks.

Then suddenly there were snow capped mountains, in the middle of all this heat and verdure. Giant peaks, iced and steaming.























































This is a truly beautiful country, but how a city like Quito, bustling and smoky, has grown amongst these mountains is amazing to me.



















Quito frightens me a little. I am finding it hard to find my feet here, and feel shaken as soon as I get out of a taxi onto one of the city streets.

I need to register my visa, but in order to do this I have to open a bank account. Today, after 17 hours travelling, I just didn´t feel comfortable wandering the streets looking for a bank whilst carrying all of my most important documentation.

I have between 8am and 1pm tomorrow to get a bank account and register my visa, and then I have my orientation with Jatun Sacha at 3pm.

It will be a busy day.

I am seriously looking forward to being out of the city, and working on this incredible land.

!Adelante!

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Manchester Airport don't provide mules, do they?

!Hasta luego!

xx

There will be changes

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Some things just will not be the same again.

Some views will not exist anymore in September, because the city will have grown, and the village will be 'developed'.

This view of The Palace, from Sackville Street over the old car park, will disappear.

Like this, other parts of my old home, my old life, will become unrecognisable with time.

People will move on, forget and be forgotten. Babies will be born, and lives will change in all sorts of unpredictable ways.

But when I come back to Manchester, I know that I will be able to say hello to Alan. His nails might be painted a different colour then, but he will be there, in the shadow of new buildings.

There are some things in my life, some people, that have always been constant, even when I have not been.

I cannot find the right words to say how much I love you, and will miss being able to call on a whim. To know that you were there has always been a constant reassurance to me, and I just can't wait until our next random chat.

Take care of Manchester for me, will you please?

My life in boxes

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Ok, so I haven't packed the furniture up, but it's surprising into how small a corner all my worldly possessions can be packed.

I imagine that on my return I will not have missed quite a lot of these things, and the car boot sale/ charity shop will beckon, but there are a couple of things that I will really miss. These include pretty dresses and shoes (although I have managed to smuggle one light weight dress and a pair of heels into my hand luggage!), my special bag, a suitcase full of photographs, and my reference books (including the brilliant Virgin Film Guide Vol 8, of which I have never grown tired).

There are also a few things that I have assigned to people, should I not return for whatever reason. This is not comprehensive, or favouritist, but just a few things that I know should belong to certain people if they do not belong to me. It does not mean that I don't love anyone not on the list (Helen S, for example), but rather that there just happened to be a few items of 'stuff' that had a natural match.

In no particular order:

• The Handbag (those who know me know which one) fits Julia. It just does.
• The goat table is Stuart's.
• The orange sheep skin rug would look very styish at Maxine L's.
• The stripy dancing dress looks best on Becca, and the Nutcracker on vinyl goes with it.
• My sister Helen can help herself to any of my shoes and clothes, and all the rest can be divided between those who want them and Oxfam.
• Lawrence might like some of my books.
• Rachel will provide a good home for Claude (the Cheshire Cat).
• My jam and button collection can live at the Culshaw's!

It's not much, is it? But they are my nice things, and I want to make sure they end up in the right place. If anyone has any requests, let me know, but just wait until I don't come back before making your claim, will you?

I am planning on coming back, just so you know.

Today's mood - philosophically practical.