8th - 16th January (Entry 15)

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Road miles to date: 22,903

After arriving in Quito we realised we had crossed the Equator without stopping for necessary photographic evidence that we can one day regale tales of to the youth of tomorrow. So the next morning we jumped aboard the Aga and ventured back, camera in hand, to Mitad del Mundo (Middle of the World). With dust blowing dramatically off the surrounding mountains, near blinding us as we rode, the scene was set for quite an intrepid affair. However, on arrival it was clear that the Ecuadorians have long been a subscriber to the tourist trap manual and had created a mini theme park out of the site with a planetarium, an insectarium, a mini model of Quito, a museum, statues galore, shops and restaurants. We took our photos, randomly met a couple from Clapham, stopped to pet a few stray llamas then took our leave. On our return we found out the actual Equatorial line has recently been discovered to lie some two-hundred meters north of where we had just been. We might have to omit that minor detail in the regaled tales.

An exploration of Quito's old colonial town took us on a climb up to the very tip of the Basilica del Voto Nacional spire - not an everyday opportunity so we seized it and stood high on a perch above the entire city, slightly quaking in our boots as vertigo began to set in. After a very careful climb down we strolled about, spotting a variety of impressively uniformed police before stumbling on a political rally in the main square. We were treated to the whole South American works, including a politician standing on a soap-box demanding change through an old school loud speaker as excited men waved fists in agreement and cameramen stood on the back of trucks straining to get footage.

On our way back to the hostel we discovered an area of the city dedicated to the extensive sale of electronic goods and parts. The intercom system on the bike has long been malfunctioning which had resulted in Byron hearing Isabel talking but Isabel unable to hear Byron but was now just streaming static to both of us. A perfect set up in the eyes of one of us but gradually grating for the other. We decided this might be our only opportunity to get parts to fix the system so decided to stay another day. Unfortunately there were no spare rooms for another night in the hostel but the staff offered for us to camp on their roof. At a fraction of the price we had been paying, the tent was soon set up and we savoured the heat of the day before spending a night buried under a pile of blankets on the roof.

With the intercom system semi-fixed (Byron is still left mute but music can now drown Isabel out), we loaded up the bike and prepared to cross the Andes once more, riding southeast towards the edge of the Amazon Jungle. The journey out of Quito took us through Scottish Highland-esque, dry, craggy mountains, then higher up to over 13,000 feet where the highlands turned to green, lush Alps with fast running rivers before the route took us head on into thick clouds where the temperature dropped dramatically. As we sat shivering cold and wet praying against a break down, the bike soldiered through the thin oxygen desperately lacking power but chugging along resiliently while visibility stayed at less than ten feet for a couple of hours.

The slow descent back into a warmer climate brought an end to the rain and cloud cover and the bike enjoyed a return back to full power. The Scottish Highlands and the Alps transformed to tangled, green jungle and we began to shed layers as the humidity increased. The whole journey was a surreal mix up of time and seasons and to top off the weird day, we arrived at Misahualli to find monkeys running riot across the village square .

That evening the monkeys disappeared for the night to a nearby beach and all the locals filled the local shops and cafes to watch a football match on TV. We met a friend of Antonio Valencia who is apparently from the area and was proud to tell us that he hasn't forgotten his roots and has invested a lot in the local communities. On our way back to get an early night we stopped to buy some fruit from a couple of toddlers manning their Mum's fruit stall. After some intense bargaining during which one of them began imitating the local monkeys by swinging from the rafters, we were about to walk off for fear of ripping off the young ones when their Mum returned and asked for the exact amount her little girl had been quoting us. You clearly have to learn early to survive in the jungle.

We woke up the next morning to the sound of monkeys scrambling about on the corrugated roof above us. After grabbing breakfast and watching the said monkeys raid the fruit shop from the night before, we set off on a trek into the jungle. Kitted out in rubber boots (essential gear, we later found out) and accompanied by two other tourists and three guides we were dropped off somewhere along a road out of town and clambered through the hedgerow straight into the Amazon Jungle. The eight hour trek through virgin jungle was incredibly sweaty but an awesome experience. The guides had grown up as kids in the jungle before the surrounding network of roads and villages had been developed and had impressive knowledge of the area and also of the resident tribes, one of which has resisted Western ways and still kills intruders of their territory. Sadly we didn't see a single animal during the walk, partly due to the incessant talking of the two guys trekking with us but mostly due to the fact that nearby locals had eaten them all. The monkeys in town were protected otherwise they would have been served up on local BBQs long ago.

Once we clambered and slipped down the final ridge of the trek to the Napo River, our walk was over and one of the guides was taking us back to town while the noisy boys were heading off to meet the local communities. We pulled up to a long, narrow canoe carved out of a tree related to one that the guides had pointed out to us earlier and our guide grabbed his machete and started hacking away a pieces of wood. It turned out he was carving out the paddles to take us back. Watched on by a bunch of local kids who took delight in a freshly-wild-from-the-jungle-Byron roaring at them, our vessel was soon ready and we waved goodbye to the others as we set off on our first Amazon Jungle river journey. Apart from three different sets of people dredging for gold (we were told there is loads of it down there) and two possibly rabid, wild dogs eager to rip us apart we didn't see a single soul on the river and spent an hour and a half just watching in awe as we passed silently through the wilderness.

A bus journey and a hitched ride in the back of a pickup truck later we were back in the village square and Byron made friends with one of the monkeys, before it proceeded to bite him. Someone always takes fun and games too far. The next morning after a traditional Ecuadorian breakfast of chicken, rice, yuka and scrambled eggs we set off for Banos, the Ecuadorian place to be for adventure activities.

After a look about this beautiful little town, nestled in a valley and not far from an active volcano, we discovered Puenting - sort of like bungee jumping but with a pendulum swing instead of a bounce back up. After watching a couple of people dive off a very high bridge, we were soon claiming that nothing would have us doing such a thing. Within about ten minutes we were coaxing each other on and twenty minutes later we'd paid and committed to do it the next day, following a horse ride up to the nearby active volcano.

The next morning we were trotting through the town, up mountain dirt paths and across rivers on the mother and son of a horse family to get to the base of the active volcano that had been erupting for three days solid before Christmas. Sadly all we could see was the destruction left in it's wake as Tungurahua, the volcano itself was firmly hidden away behind clouds.

Next up on this far from usual Sunday was the bridge jump. With Isabel's nerves slowly getting the better of her she insisted on going first. After watching a few people go before us we were pretty sure we could handle the pressure and even talked ourselves into probably enjoying it. However, with a harness strapped on and a guide telling her to embrace the fear and that it was good for the soul, Isabel's legs just wouldn't let her jump. Ten long minutes of standing on the platform looking at the river a long, long way below with a head that just wouldn't let her do it, she asked the guide to push her. He insisted he wouldn't but something had her falling like a brick off the platform accompanied by a blood curdling scream. Next up was Byron who made a much better effort of not looking down and diving straight off. Although the swinging part was fun, we both confessed that we wouldn't be in a hurry to do the jump again.

The next morning we were on the road again to Cuenca through more mountains, up into more high altitudes, with more changeable temperatures and more low visibility cloud cover. We stayed in a beautifully finished hostel that sat behind a totally unassuming door on the street and opened up into a huge, high ceiling atrium where we parked the bike. Bizarrely the hostel remained totally deserted of guests and staff the whole night and we began to wonder if the rest of the town knew something we didn't. In the morning the owner appeared and set us up some breakfast, insisting about ten times that we leave reviews on trip advisor and lonely planet. Considering it was such a lovely place, we do actually recommend that Casa Naranja is worth a visit in Cuenca, especially if you have a bike to park.

Memories of our last border crossing had us packed and ready to go extremely early that morning as we had a good three hour ride before arriving in Peru. We began to run low on petrol along the way and visibility was so low we wouldn't have seen a station even if we had passed one. Eventually we stopped in a little town to ask where the next petrol stop was, only to be told it was at least fifty kilometres away. Looking a bit desperate, the guys we had asked took pity on us and told us about a house about half a mile back up the road. We turned up and the lady came out and turned on the tap to fill a bucket from one of about ten barrels stored under a canopy in the yard. With a funnel in the tank, she soon had us filled up with two gallons of her stock and even let us take a couple of photos.

We stopped to get some lunch about ten minutes from the border before enduring the crossing. We had read that it was a stifling hot, chaotic and fairly dodgy place to cross and a man we'd just been talking to during lunch had given us the whole 'it's dangerous over there and be careful of your belongings' speech. So, sufficiently psyched up and refuelled we approached the Huaquillas border. It was the most organised, well laid out, signposted, free of fixers and money changers, almost deserted border we'd come across yet and to top it off, it was pretty cloudy so the heat wasn't even a problem. An hour and a half later we were stamped out of Ecuador and into Peru, bike and all. It would have been quicker if a bus hadn't pulled in just before we joined the queue. In shock we decided to have another lunch to celebrate, but really to use up the rest of our dollars.

That evening after an afternoon of riding along the southern Pacific desert coast, we arrived at the beach resort of Mancora and parked the bike in deep sand for a day beside the sea before we embark on crossing the Sechura Desert and heading deeper into Peru.



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