Otovalo, Cotacachi, indigenous people, crisp mountain air from the Andes. Three days of heaven in our little Posada del Quinde (Inn of the hummingbirds). We arranged a ride back to Quito on a private transport in an attempt to avoid the uncomfortable bus seats and long (3.5 hours) journey that we’d experienced coming up the mountain.
We bade farewell to Lourdes, Susie and the rest of the staff as we waited for our ride to arrive from Ibarra.
Posada del Quinde girls
We assumed it would be a van of some sort with 4 to 6 passengers.
Our jaws dropped when we saw a small taxi about the size of a Prius pull up with the driver and 2 passengers already aboard. The driver and the staff helped up put our 2 small but heavy bags in the tiny hatchback and I climbed in the back seat (middle row!) between two disgruntled looking men. I wasn’t going to let John take the back, so he got the front seat.
Off we went, down the mountain for about 100 kilometers (65 miles, mas or menos). We followed lumbering trucks, buses, and other taxis most of the way down the two-lane highway to Quito. About half way through the ride, the curves became quite intense, and my main concern was to keep from letting the driver hurl me against one or the other of my “sidekicks”. When the driver stopped for gas, I made John get me some ibuprofen and I got my sunglasses out, thinking I could drug my way out of this situation. No sleep for the wicked!
As we careened down the mountain, my backseat companions remained silent, although I had tried to make a pleasantry to one, that the car was “muy pequeneo”. The driver was quite cautious, not passing on the curves, which I think, drove him batty. He barreled down the road when he could, like there was, 1) a hit man after him, or 2) he was the hit man after someone else.
We finally came into the outskirts of Quito and the road became four lanes, with the traffic picking up significantly. We were quite obviously no longer in the rural areas of Otovalo. Now instead of dodging drivers coming at us, our driver began scooting between buses, cars and other vehicles moving in our direction. I was so amazed to see no fender benders, or cars bearing witness to such. I commented to John that this seemed no easier than the bus. His reply was, “Oh, this is much better”. “For you!”, came my retort.
As we became part of the red taillight, breaking, cacophony, I happened to glance up and, in the second floor of a triangular intersection, was an apartment with a large glass window. Looking down on all of our chaos was a singular, observant cat. Somehow, between that moment and our drop-off at the Hostal de la Rabida, I was able to embrace a moment of continuity in our sometimes-chaotic universe.
Teresa Van Haalen Ventures 