I searched for a bakery in this village of 20 or 30 houses lying between the road and the mountainside. Joana was near the stream at the village entrance, preparing a picnic in the company of two curious children. One woman left her group and approached me on the road.
"Where are you going?", she asked.
"There, to the church," I answered, gesturing towards the hilltop chapel surrounded by houses, which seemed to represent the center of the village.
"You're from London?"
"From Portugal, but I lived in London."
"You know Torres?"
"Torres? Of course!", I exclaimed, surprised.
"Hey, it's him, it's him," she cried out to the group of people with the pig.
"We've been waiting for you. Come in!"
About 18 months prior, in the bar of The Caprice restaurant in London, my co-worker, after many glasses of farewell champagne, drew me a map of Ecuador and detailed the Pan Americana between Alausí and Cuenca. "You must visit my family in Ecuador. You'll be well received." This map travelled in the burra's panniers until today. "When you get to La Moya, ask for the Torres family."
But the family found me first.
"Chancho" (oven-baked pig), served with "mote" (steamed white corn) and bread baked in the wood-fired oven, were some of the main dishes that Anita Gullien was preparing for New Year's Eve. Family members from Quito were visiting and anticipating a great party. The entire population of La Moya (which doesn't appear on my map) was coming over too.
And around here, a party's not a party without some evidence of Spanish heritage, in this case a running of bulls, mixed with local influences, such as the consumption of enormous amounts of "canela", a mix of aguardiente of sugarcane, lime juice and hot water.
This afternoon in the village bullfighting ring, some lean cows were provided for the many "matadors" who were getting braver as more "canela" flowed.
In the ring, on a stage enveloped in the intense fog settling into the valley, a live band of trumpets and guitars entertained the masses with the (repetitive) sound of Ecuadorian traditional music.
After our inhospitable Christmas night, when we had to camp at the roadside after a frustrating ride in arduous mountains near the villages of Punin and Tselaron in search of the idyllic Lake Colta, and when a tipsy local aboriginal accused us of being thieves and threatened to set our tent on fire, this running of the bulls was not like in Pamplona... it was better!
It was a "different" Christmas. As consolation, we had an excellent bottle of Chilean wine and the comfort of knowing that in this damp fog, the old drunk would not only be unable to burn our tent, he wouldn't even be able to find it! Later, on the other side of the enormous valley and behind the mountains, the full moon rose, illuminating the valley and clearing the fog.
Christmas is not about gifts and luxuries. As someone once told me, "the important thing is to remember others." The full moon was something we could share with the entire world. The next morning we continued our trip, finishing the day in Palmira, a small village 20km north of Alausí.
The village priest's helper offered us an empty room in the convent of St. John the Evangelist, where we brought the bikes inside and slept on the floor. We shared the unused building with an extensive ecuadorian family that recived us in the true christmas spirit. It was our christmas gift.
The bullfight finishes and we return to the house. On the way we could see some modern houses in cement that contrasted strongly with the simple wooden houses with Iberian roofing tile. "they belong to emigrants in London", told us Júlio. Ecuador thus Mexico, El Salvador and many other countries of Latin America, is a country of strong migratory traditions. The majority of them to the United States and Spain, but in La Moya they all seem to have gone to London. Júlio has 3 brothers there and its sister Anita, 5 children.
Enrique (that we would met a few days later) told us the story beyond that trend. Luis Torres was the first person of La Moya to make it to London, after a lot of hardship and country hoping. Later it was the bothers turn, and nephews and friends. Nowadays, there is not a resident of La Moya, who does not have family member or a neighbor living in London. The Torres family is a history of success. But not all had the same luck.
While I cycle up and down the Andes, or you in front of the computer somewhere in the "global village", there is not a week that goes by without the news of a tragic history of a full boat of clandestine emigrants been shipwrecked in the pacific sea or some coyotero`s ( human trafficker) truck full of people travelling in inhuman conditions been caught somewhere near the Mexican border...
Many were in their final phase of the arduous and long trip across the American continent in search of "land of freedom". In the list: always one or two Ecuadorians. Histories that have followed me along my journey on the Pan American highway.
It is news year eve and the pig that spent the previous night soaked in spices came out of the oven and is ready to be consumed.
In this simple and healthful atmosphere of the Ecuadorian countryside, a tourist from north Europe could be having a strong experience, even a cultural shock. For me and Joana was like a trip to our infancy. Everything was very familiar. The baked pig, the firewood oven at one corner and the fireplace to another, clad-oven baked hot bread with butter, and a warm family where the costumes and habits are preserved as they always been.
We danced on the road in front of the house. All participated. The blasting sound of Andean typical music attracted some neighbors that joined in the party.
Anita kept the spirits high with copious amounts of "canela", served from a plastic jar into a single cup that circulated between everyone. The countdown to midnight was announced by me through the bicycle computer .
At midnight the music stops, hugs and kisses are exchanged and the "testament" left by the "año Viejo" is read out loud. The old year was the straw puppet that I saw on my arrival in front of the house and that would be burnt next, symbol of all the events of the year that finishes. Its testament, a parody concerning the life of each member of the family, who did not exclude the visiting cyclists. The puppet is burnt in the middle of the road obstructing the evening traffic. One of the many thousands burnt that night on the country`s roads.
The following morning, slightly hangover, we say farewell to the Torres and Gullien families and continued our journey.
We had a very ambitious plan to make a "normal" day of cycling, but there was more surprises on the road. We had made only 4,5 km when we pass by the small hamlet of Zunar. A young girl comes closer to the road and says: " La patrona los esta invitando a parar ". I exchange looks with Joana. To be invited to stop and to enter in someones house is some relatively common in ciclo-tourism in Latin America, but we had made only 4,5 km and we wanted to continue. " gracias, but we have to continue".
Moments later a middle age lady runs along side our bikes and trying to keep her breath, cries out:"Pare, soy hermana de Torres" Sister of Torres,I thought, how many family members does he have along this valley?
We stop for a little chat and a beer. It was only midday. We did not leave.
I just finished making the shortest day of the entire trip. At this pace when will I arrive in Patagonia? Christmas 2008?
Enrique shows us the place where we would have to keep the bicycles, in the hen house. But it was not any hen house, as we would come to know later. More than 20 race cocks in separate compartments, protested the intrusion of our bicycles, some with marks of recent fights. Later Enrique showed us, with proud his collection of trophies won in fights of this cruel sport that still common in Ecuador. One more time we were well treated by the Torres family.
In the following morning we leave finally decided to make some cycling. It was still 5 more days to cover the 160 km until Cuenca, due to strong rain and foggy weather.
We stop in Cañar, a city with an unusual number of lawyer`s offices, where we visit some Incas ruins situated at Ingapirca 15 km East of town..
We finally arrive in Cuenca, one of the biggest urban centers in the south of Ecuador and part of UNESCO patrimony, just on time to attend the celebrations of the "day of the innocents". Street parades with loads of music and color. Some sort of hybrid festival between Carnival and American Halloween .
Cuenca represents a vast human mosaic where one can witness the alchemy of the mestization, and is (for a good reason) also a touristic city. Some of them come to visit and stay for ever. A consequence of this resident foreign community is the many restaurants of international gastronomy. It is a good place to linger around and forget the realities of the Ecuadorian countryside and to let oneself be soaked in certain occidental comforts.
We lodge ourselves in a neighborhood with some presence of the foreign community, where we got to know some of them. Amount them Guilermo. A Frenchman of Normandy doing voluntary work. Guilermo is voluntary in one project of the Orden de Malta, a french institution that helps, among others things, the integration of special children in the platform of the education.
Guilermo invites me to visit the center where he shows me his work: To make supports for prótesis for special children. One articulated prótesis bought to a foreign company costs about 2.500 dollars. Guilermo makes it by a mere 20 or 30 dollars, the cost of the material. Dr Francisco Ochoa, responsible for project, is very pleased to have him there, he told me, as he showed the installations of the dispensary and with who I change impressions, leaving some information of the APPC-Leiria.
One week in Cuenca and already was to start to feel itchy feet. Although it is an interesting city, I was missing the road and the saddle of my bike. Joana bank cards (lost in Quito) never arrived (the reason of our prolonged stay in the city), so we decided to opt for the "plan B". I would continue by bike through the Orient via Mendes and Zamora, taking advantage to know a little more of that little visited part of the country. Joana would join me by bus in Loja in 4 or 5 days.
We though it would be simple.
What I still didn't know was that in front of me , was the hardest stretches of roads since I set foot on south American soil.
Nuno Brilhante Pedrosa
In Loja, Ecuador
