Ecuadorian Overview

Ecuadorians seem to have an insatiable thirst for mayonnaise. Its like nothing I´ve ever seen before but works out splendid for my palate. I can´t speak much to the in-home cuisine, but every corner restaurant and street vendor boasts a long list of deep fried specialties, generally served with bits of fried pork and mayonnaise. Like much of Latin America, its a corn loving culture as well. Street corners are clogged by countless vendadoras selling steamed cobs for mere cents and are sure to roll it in a vat of mayo before handing it over to you. In Quito, I actually saw a man eat a plate of plain white rice smothered in mayonnaise.

Of the three days spent exploring Quito, one of the more miraculous aspects was a five meal streak of eating accompanied by a some random Ecuadorian man who simply invited himself into my presence. Its certainly seems to be a culture that is struggling with the concept of independent womanhood. Every time, the intent has been seemingly good-natured and is a welcomed opportunity to practice my Spanish but, I must admit, I´m looking forward to branching beyond the conversation about why I´m traveling alone and where my boyfriend is. One of my meal accompaniments was a 16 year old boy who was absolutely beside himself with humiliation as his father unabashedly was attempting to set us up by pulling out a chair at my table and insisting his son join me. The meal took an embarrassing nosedive for both of them upon realizing that I was 25.

From Quito I headed south and traversed the infamous Quilotoa Loop, a rural highland pass that dangerously skirts gorgeously carved canyons cut through the Andeas and kisses Ecuador´s most picturesque crater lake, Laguna Quitlotoa. The bus rides were starkly memorable both in the fact that they were absolutely horrify in an exhilarating "this sure would be a great way to go" sort of way and in the sheer quantity of people they managed to fit inside. I certainly have a profound attraction to countries sporting bus lines that always have room for one more. One journey was spent sitting on the floor of the asile-way, cradled in the shins of a woman that had her shirt pushed up to her neck exposing both of her breasts to her infant daughter, while a frail, elderly, one-eyed man practically sat in my lap.