Climbing The Equator

by Neville Shulman

  There are actually two cathedrals, and Lola also shows me the very old one (Catedral Vieja). It was intended to be the largest in South America but there was a miscalculation by the architect, Juan Stylis, about the weight the building could hold, so the towers that were meant to be put on top of the cathedral had to be placed alongside. These towers are believed to have been used by Charles-Marie La Condamine in his original meridian measuring to confirm the ‘bulge’ at the Equator. I much prefer this cathedral, although it smells somewhat musty, so I don’t spend too long inside.

  The city of Cuenca has an expanding colony of artists and every two years it holds the Bienal Internacional de Pintura Festibal, in which artists from all over the world participate. Lola seems to know many of the local artists and each one we meet tries to insist we celebrate, although I’m not sure what we are celebrating. It quickly turns into a series of intense artistic and philosophical discussions where my Spanish seems to improve rapidly, although I’m not sure if anyone understands what I am saying, despite the vigorous nodding on all sides. Cuenca has always had a close association with the United States and many of its citizens emigrate to live there, so there’s a love of all things American. I am able to talk about my work in Hollywood with film directors, which goes down a treat, and we toast each one. In my honour a number start wearing their cowboy hats and insist on showing me their cowboy boots and other American clothing. The city motto is ‘Primero Dios, Despues Vos’ (First God, Then You) and this is the toast made several times during our ambling from one casa to another. I discover that Cuencas is also a city where I can drink the local tap water with impunity. In South America that can’t be a bad thing, and is an additional recommendation of the virtues of this great city.

  Cuenca unfortunately suffers from a commercial and image injustice, which seems to be impossible to correct. In collaboration with the manufacturers from the city of Montecristi it markets the straw hat which is universally admired but is known internationally under the name ‘Panama’. It seems as though this came about because, many years back, the manufacturers sold their straw hats to the construction workers on the Panama Canal and somehow the name ‘Panama Straw Hat’ stuck. Cuenca Straw Hat or Montecristi Straw Hat just doesn’t have the same ring to it. The hat makers have since rather belatedly put a label inside each hat they manufacture, reading, ‘Made In Ecuador’ but it is likely the damage has been done, as ‘Panama Straw Hat’ has a certain cachet about it and is likely to remain the accepted name. Even a factory producing the hats is locally referred to as the ‘Panama Hat Factory’. I suggest to my new friends they need to create another catchphrase and put forward two possibilities, ‘If you want to get ahead, get a hat,’ or ‘Which ever straw you pick, with our hats you always pick a winner.’ They are very impressed by that, although it might be the vino talking, and I am ceremoniously presented with my own straw hat and more toasts follow. We are in no fit state to make our way safely to Fernando’s on our own so are given a raucous escort through the city. Late the next morning, Fernando very reluctantly lets me leave.

  Guayaquil is the capital city of the southern Guayas Province and is the most important port city of Ecuador. I like ports and this one has great vibes so I enjoy my strolls amongst the loading docks, which are bustling with itinerant traders from all over South America. The city has suffered somewhat from having lost many of its historic buildings compared to many other major cities and therefore tremendous efforts are being made to restore many of its original features, particularly from an architectural point of view. It is trying to become known as ‘the Pacific Pearl’ and a few years back created the very impressive riverside development known as Malecon 2000. This is a two-anda-half-kilometre waterfront walk, and feeling the need for some exercise to burn off the effects of too many paellas, I run the whole length and most of the way back. It’s flanked by all kinds of interesting buildings, shopping parades, markets, entertainment complexes, as well as gardens and trees, and is the largest architectural development in the last century of Guayaquil’s history.

  This is the most populated of all the Ecuadorian cities, with roughly double the number of citizens of Quito, and therefore has almost double the number of city problems to deal with, many that can unfortunately be described as rough and tough. Crime previously soared to enormous and uncontrollable levels but stringent measures seem to have got it mostly under control. However, as in every city, you have to watch your back and should never backpocket your wallet. It is definitely a pulsing city, full of commercial activity and the trading and nightlife continue hand in hand all round the clock. I manage to keep going until the early hours before needing to rest for a few hours, and it looks as if Guayaquil is another city that never sleeps.

  It is of course a river port and there is a constant flow of river cargo boats coming down the Daule and Babahoyo Rivers, joining to the Guayas River, that bring produce from all parts to be loaded onto the large container ships and sent all over the world. I find it fascinating to watch the boats being unloaded, and there’s a constant activity of container trucks and lorries dropping off and picking up. I see some things being loaded onto trucks that don’t seem to be part of the normal commercial activity, but perhaps it is just my suspicious mind. The police, however, are definitely looking the other way.

  The city is named after the Huancavilcan indigenous chief Guayas and his wife Quil, who both chose to die rather than be captured by the invading Spaniards. The adventurer and explorer, Francisco de Orellana, founded the present city as Santiago de Guayaquil in July 1535. The first steam boat ever, the Guayas, was constructed in its shipyards and the first trials of any submarine, which was known as the Hippopotamus, also took place here. There is plenty of steam here, as the city swelters in its exposed coastal position just north of Peru, whose government has made several unsuccessful attempts to move the border. I myself am sweltering in the heat and need to use my new ‘Panama–Ecuador’ straw hat both as a shield and a fan. Although it’s quite a challenge, I cannot resist the temptation to walk (not run this time) the length of the bridge, the Puente de Unidad Nacioanal, which is the largest in Ecuador and indeed of the whole Pacific Coast of South America. It’s a distance of three kilometres but I confess to making my return journey in a cruising taxi.

  Guayaquil, like Cuenca, has a blue-domed cathedral in Calle Diez de Agosto and its main altar is built of marble actually produced in Cuenca. I don’t have a Lola to take me around but everyone in the cathedral seems anxious to talk to me, try out their English and find out what I think of their city, as well as recommend where I should go next. Most suggest the Clock Tower in Avenida Diez de Agosto y Malecon so I decide to clock a quick visit. It’s designed in a Moorish style and is 23 metres in height. The tradition is that every day someone has to climb the steep stairs to wind the clock. It seems to be closed but, after I’ve been banging on the heavy wooden door for some time, the keeper of the Clock Tower finally appears and tells me it’s closed. But Juan’s another friendly soul and we talk for a while, exchanging stories. When he hears I’m in Ecuador climbing mountains, he relents and agrees to treat me as a special visitor, allowing me to climb on my own to the top. The view is spectacular but I don’t know how to wind the clock and hope that it’s already been done for the day. Juan proudly tells me the clock was originally bought in England and was inaugurated in October 1842 in remembrance of the victims of a yellow fever epidemic that had occurred a few years earlier.

  Juan’s recommendation is La Rotonda. This is considered a very important part of South American as well as Ecuadorian history, and was built by the Spanish sculptor José Antonio Homs. It was the site of the famous meeting in July 1822 between the two acknowledged liberators of South America, the Venezuelan General Simon Bolivar and the Argentine General José de San Martin. There they agreed that Guayaquil would be annexed to Gran Colombia rather than to Peru, which meant that, when Ecuador subsequently left the Gran Colombia, it was able to take Guayaquil with it,
thus circumventing further conflict between the two countries. If someone whispers on one side of the monument the words can be heard on the other side, and lovers go there to whisper their secrets to each other. I try a whisper and then a shout but no one is there to respond to my call. Still I can dream.

  A ‘must see’, for me at least, is a visit to the Guayaquil Municipal Museum to view the shrunken heads exhibited there. This is the only museum in Ecuador to house such an exhibition, and after hearing about the shrunken heads before setting out on my journey, I have been waiting for an opportunity to visit the museum. They were created by the Jivaro Indians many years ago, and still scientists are baffled as to how the severed heads could have been reduced so dramatically in size, to not much bigger than a fist, without losing the original features of the person. They certainly appear to be perfectly normal in shape, but on a much smaller scale; they make an extraordinary sight. The indigenous name for these shrunken heads is Tzantzas and as I stare at them in utter amazement, they seem to stare back. I can only conjecture what it must have been like for captives of the Jivaros. The horror experienced by their victims who would undoubtedly have seen what was in store for them must have been overwhelming.

  One used to be able to take an incredible 450 kilometres (280 miles) railway journey between Guayaquil and Quito that enabled the hardy (or foolhardy) traveller to arrive at either city after only 12 hours, as opposed to the 12 days that this journey would previously have taken by road. Sadly the El Niño of 1982/1983 destroyed most of the railway, but some 100 kilometres of track have been restored and it must be the most exciting ride in the whole of South America. I can’t resist the opportunity to take the ride but my stomach wishes I had, as I have to hang on for all I am worth once the train starts its ascent of ‘Nariz del Diablo’ or ‘Devil’s Nose’. The exceptionally steep gradients reach 45 degrees, 1:18 at times, zigzag switchbacks are hewn into the rock of the mountain and at the Urbina Pass the train rises to nearly 3,700 metres (12,000 feet) above sea level.

  The route takes me from the old trading city of Riobamba (known as the Sultan of the Andes because of its closeness to Chimborazo), through Capabamba and the Colta lagoons and the Guamote village, finally reaching Alausi. Along the way I experience nearly every kind of habitat: jungle, forest, plantation, volcano, mountain and river. On the way down the train actually goes backwards. I’m allowed, and very hesitantly agree, to climb onto the roof for the last section. Slightly wary due to the continuous screams from those who’ve travelled like that all the way I only dare climb up because I can use my mountain gloves for a firmer grip and can tie myself on with a very tight rope connection. It’s like hitting one’s head against a brick wall; it feels so great when it’s over. At the end I stagger off with the other white-faced railroaders and have to sit by the roadside for some minutes before sufficient blood flows in the right direction to enable me to stand. Hopefully one day the whole Guayaquil to Quito route will re-open and I’d like to volunteer to be on the inaugural journey, though I certainly wouldn’t eat anything for many hours before commencing and probably couldn’t for some time afterwards.

  Quito, set at a height of 2,850 metres (over 9,000 feet) is the second highest city in Latin America (after La Paz in Bolivia), and is the third highest in the world (the highest being Lhasa in Tibet). There is just a three hour drive north along the Pan American Highway to reach the border with Colombia. It is 22 kilometres (14 miles) south from the Equator and was built over Incan and even older Indian tribal ruins. Its full name is San Francisco de Quito and it was founded by General Sebastian Benalcazar on 6 December 1534. Simon Bolivar the Liberator wasn’t initially very enamoured with the city and dismissed it somewhat derisorily as ‘a Monastery’, but eventually he also grew to admire its beauty and very considerable charms. As it is the capital city, distances to most places in Ecuador are usually calculated as being so many kilometres (or miles) from Quito. The quite spectacular backdrop to Quito is the volcanic mountain of Pichincha, 4,794 metres (15,729 feet) high, and the two have always been inextricably linked. The city has started to spread upwards towards its lower slopes, but unfortunately sometimes the volcano also spreads downward towards the city. Wherever I am in Quito, I always see or sense Pichincha and feel it is waiting for me and expecting my return.

  Quito is a wonderful city to wander around, with its wealth of decorative churches and ecclesiastical buildings, many dating from the sixteenth, seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. The fact it went through a severe economic decline in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries has actually worked in favour of the city from an architectural point of view. Unlike many other major South American cities such as Lima and Caracas, it was too impoverished to be able to demolish its old buildings and replace them with new constructions. Quito has fortunately since realised the intrinsic value of retaining its ancient architecture and is now trying to preserve it for future generations, as part of its colonial history. Many of the churches and buildings are impressively decorative in their gold leaf glories and the city’s wealth of colonial architecture fortunately impressed UNESCO sufficiently for it to declare it a World Heritage Site in 1978, the first city to receive that honour.

  There are many contenders but in my opinion I think the most glorious church in Quito (some have described it as the best in the whole of South America) is La Compania de Jesus. The church façade is sculpted in a kind of finely etched, lace lattice of stonework and it feels great just to run my fingers along it. Some of its columns are copies of those built in the Vatican by Bernini, one of the greatest Italian sculptors. There’s a vaulted interior ceiling and the interior walls are covered with extremely decorative Moorish style designs. The altar however, is the absolute masterpiece, with etchings of birds, fruits and plants all covered in exquisite gold leaf. There are also many gorgeous paintings by important Spanish and Ecuadorian artists as well as several wonderful sculptures by the famous Bernardo de Legarda, who also has his sculptures in many other churches and religious organisations in Quito.

  I walk through the main Plaza Indepencia, also known as the Plaza Grande, and stop to admire the Palaces of the President and the Archbishop which compete with one another in grandeur (although they would never admit to it). If you are lucky, you might even get to see one of the men appearing, dressed in all his finery, prepared to wave benevolently at us lesser mortals. For my money though, once you’ve seen one archbishop you’ve seen them all and as presidents change so fast in Ecuador you might even be standing next to one of the previous ones in the street without knowing it. This reminds me of the eccentric British Government minister, George Brown, whom I knew well, a very loveable character, although he had an eye for the ladies, liked his liquor too much and in the evenings was usually the worst for wear. Surprisingly he was appointed Foreign Secretary and was attending some diplomatic reception when he spied what he thought was a vision of loveliness dressed in a flamboyant scarlet gown. As the orchestra was playing, he impulsively went over and asked for a dance. The affronted reply was, ‘Certainly not sir, in fact on three accounts; first you are drunk, secondly they are playing our national anthem and thirdly I am the Archbishop of Montevideo.’ George seemed to specialise in creating international incidents.

  I am particularly impressed by the imposing Metropolitan Cathedral (La Catedral), which is also in this Plaza and has several architectural styles, mostly baroque and Moorish. Inside I look around for a priest to guide me round, and someone with double the girth of Friar Tuck offers his services. He initially takes me to the small altar where the remains of Antonio José de Sucre, the general who liberated Quito from the Spanish royalists, are buried and then relishes telling me about the deaths and murders that have taken place within these hallowed walls. He has been eating onions or garlic, or both, in such great quantities that I am quickly forced to make my excuses and escape outside or it’s likely that another corpse will soon be added to the list.

  In the smaller Plaza San Francisco I
naturally find the exquisite church of San Francisco and leave a little part of my heart there. It’s said that Friar Jodoco Rique sowed the first grain of wheat in Ecuador here. It is the oldest religious building in South America (1535) and rather surprisingly set within the highly decorative Moorish ceiling are several Incan sun god symbols. Whenever I come across a pagan symbol in a religious building, I wonder whether it was simply put there in error or whether it was a way of covering all possibilities, just in case. Perhaps there’s an opportunity for another Da Vinci Code-type mystery to be written on the meanings of the pagan carvings in these churches. Although Catholicism is dominant in this country, the indigenous and Incan influences are surprisingly still very much in evidence everywhere.

  At the Plaza Santo Domingo I pensively position myself beneath the statue of the revered warrior, José de Sucre, pointing directly to the slopes of the Pichincha Mountain, near to where he defeated the Spanish army. Sucre seems to be actually encouraging me towards the mountain and suddenly I feel compelled to attempt it. Marcos unfortunately is not available so I make contact with Luis and ask him if he’s free to take me there to climb the next morning. He’s surprised at my request and tries to persuade me to go a few days later, but eventually agrees to pick me up the next morning at 6 a.m. Luis advises me to get some rest in the meantime but I feel too keyed up to relax, and there’s a lot still to see and explore in the city and its surrounding area.

  I make another long visit to Libri Mundi (Books of the World), the bookshop I would recommend to anyone coming to Quito who wants extensive information on any aspect of Ecuador. The manager, as before, is very welcoming and, after helping me find the books I need, introduces me to Axel, a climber from Germany, whose name intrigues me and who is looking for another mountaineer to climb Chimborazo with. At first I am wary of teaming up with anyone I don’t know, but over coffee we find we have shared similar climbing situations in many parts of the world, so it seems a good idea to combine forces at some stage.