Crossing the Line

Arriving in Quito was reminiscent of an arrival at a water abundant town after a spell in the desert. The nightbus journey from hell had been just that and my decision not to take a jumper or any valium on the bus was almost instantly regretted. Every moment of every minute on the 8 hour journey was duly experienced and arriving at 5am in a dark and deserted Quito was tough. However, after finding a room in a splurgesque hotel called the Magic Bean we crashed immediately. We awoke to discover the delights of our hostel and the surrounding area, reacting like delighted children: the room we had was more of an apartment with a sofa, furnished private kitchen, fast wireless internet and massive comfy bed; the surrounding area a myridic mix of trendy bars and restaurants in a variety of colours, shapes and sizes. We ventured out to buy some dvds, food and wine, and holed ourselves in our luxurious pad for the rest of the day.

The next day was not quite so wonderful when we went to check for possible revised dates that Emily could change her flights to, to discover that one flight was to be discontinued a week after she was scheduled to fly to Italy. This potentially meant that there was a possibilty that Emily would have to leave in four days to catch her flight, and that we would have to spend three months apart. Both in a state of shock at this possibility spent an evening looking timid and nervous. Fortunately, the next day we were told that there must have been some problem on the website and that she could change them. Utter relief. Emily and I would therefore be able to travel Central America together before both returning to Blighty for Christmas. We spent the remainder of day exploring the old colonial capital of Quito, which was not as enjoyable as hoped due to the altitute sickness that had set in.

On our final day in Quito, we caught a local bus to the monument on the Equator, clad with cameras, tripods and enthusiasm for some silly photos of us jumping from the Southern to Northern hemisphere. We returned to find half of Quito powerless, so popped off for a candlelit dinner before bumping into an old friend from Montañita and Canoa. Obviously this had to be celebrated by getting blind drunk, which, I can tell you, is extremely advisable before catching a long distance bus the next morning. Unsurprisingly a painful 7 hour journey to the Columbian border followed, which, complemented by a terrible night in a truly shitty hostel, left us desperate to get over the border to Columbia and adventures anew.