I’m in Quito now, staying in the endlessly entertaining Mariscal district. It's an ugly place in many ways, with cafes that “make foreigners feel at home” with brightly painted walls, Bob Marley remixes and overpriced pizzas and Pilsners. You want Thai, Mexican, a hit off a hooka between bites of falafel or a glass of fine Spanish wine? Or maybe you crave organic, shade-grown, fair trade coffee and dusty granola?
Somehow, I can't tear myself away.
Tonight I sat street side watching. Ecuadorian children whined at gringos for money, So many young couples wearing hiking boots and active wear held hands and gripped shopping bags. On the other hand, young, sleek Quitenos meet for post-work cocktails and kiss each other on the cheeks. The swirling abyss of faux international fusion feels forced and yet unlike four years ago, the hood seems to have taken on its own life. Were the touristas just an initial fire starter?
Tomorrow, I begin an entirely new trip in the sweltering Oriente.
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