The driver crossed himself before we headed out. Gawd, I thought, is the drive going to be that bad. We wound north up and down though the Sierran Andes from Cuenca midway in the mauve area of the map to Riobamba midway in the reddish area.
This is totally Quechua indigenous territory. In town after town people were dressed like those below. They walk on the roadsides sometimes with straw on their backs and don't seem to drive cars -- at least in this area.
I asked our driver if they live more or less well. "They live well," he said. "Families cultivate plots of land and the government compensates them for their harvest. Families live close together and help each other. They have small houses, enough food to eat and they don't have cell phones. I wish our native people lived happily like this I thought.
Mountainous slopes on either side of the highway.
The Quechuas of Ecuador speak Kichwa–Kichwas or Quichuas.
Last night I asked Bob how far it was to the border with Peru. "Why do you want to know?" he asked, with a look that said to me, 'Don't even think about going there.' Today the driver said, "It's four hours to the border from Cuenca but the border area is ugly and full of thugs." I thought of Tijuana, Mexico.
Indiginous home that has seen better days.
The folks in this truck are eating ice cream of all things. The Andes are very brown and dry now, unusual for this time of the year.
This is a typiclal small town restaurant with little food we'd be comfortable eating. I ordered coffee with milk. The server brought hot milk with a jar of Nestles. "The milk is straight from the cow's udder," the driver said with a pleased look. I didn't feel pleased and don't feel well now. More later when I recover.
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