Quito

At night, Quito looks like a Christmas tree tipped over stormy mountain waves. Thousands of lights glitter over valleys and mountains. The houses cling to slopes that the TÜV would refuse to approve as water slides. The journey from the airport, at an altitude of almost 3,000 metres, to the city centre by bus and taxi takes more than an hour and a half through a huge 20 km traffic jam.

My hostel is small and beautiful and is located right between the old town and the new centre. El Cafecito serves the best home-grown highland coffee. I am the only guest for four days. The fire crackles in the fireplace. Old jazz sounds catapult me quickly into bed after 23 hours of travelling.

I love travelling west. With intercontinental flights, this always results in a perfect day length of around 30 hours. At six o’clock in the morning, I walk straight to the Centro Historico, four kilometres to the south, with its colonial architecture. Ecudorianos love sport, and everywhere they go they are already up early in the morning, running around the numerous open-air gyms. If you register online, Quito also offers free bikes everywhere. But nobody uses them. An average road gradient of around 30° is probably just too sporty even for Ecuadorians. Even walking at 2,900 metres is difficult. I always seem to hold my breath when taking photos. I notice it here for the first time. for 30 seconds after every picture.

In the early morning, the cloud cover breaks and Quito shines under an endless blue imperial sky. you can recognise an idiot 20 km south of the equator by the fact that he leaves his sun cream at home because of the morning clouds. After just an hour, I have the sunburn of my life. On the Plaza Central in front of the presidential palace, two quiteños give me the honourable title of “El Colorado”, grinning broadly.

In front of the palace, some Indians are demonstrating loudly against the president. Posters ask about the whereabouts of numerous activists who have disappeared. The Ecuadorians love their president. Or they hate him. There’s practically nothing in between. The Merkel effect is probably a worldwide fad. The police, present everywhere in huge numbers, constantly roll around the square on Segways and shoo flying traders with whistles in front of them. In other places, they hold surveys that are overloaded with meaning: “De donde estas?”. – “Alemaña.”. That’s it. Passport number doesn’t matter, but signature is incredibly important.

I climb 200 metres up the Mirador Panecillo. Halfway up, my lungs are already screaming for a taxi. The air is thin and – as soon as one of the steamer-like buses passes by – damn thick at the same time. Even from up here, you can’t get a full view of the city, which supposedly has just 4 million inhabitants. Tsunamis of high-rise buildings, colonial architecture and poor neighbourhoods stretch out to the infinite horizon.

On the way back, I visit a few colonial churches. There are loads of them here. The Spaniards had little problem exploiting the Indians in their mines to the point of death. Converting them to the “right” faith was also a must. But going to the same church with them and worshipping a god who “ordered” the destruction of all other life – that was probably a bit too much to ask of the otherwise less gentle conquistadores. The result? Flatten the Indio temple, put a church on it, and that’s it.

After four hours in the Centro Historico, I’m pretty exhausted. But there are also numerous free tours. I decide in favour of the right one. The imported Ecuadorian with a degree in tourism is extremely interested in a wide range of subjects and really does blow us away with an unprecedented four-hour mega tour. History, culture, ethnology, cuisine, geology, religion, architecture, politics. The Banco Central de Ecuador was built around 1880 by one of the richest and probably most corrupt families in Quito. Our guide knows the security guard and we are in the private art deco parlour on the upper floor. It is here that he fires a full broadside against the president, corruption and imperialism in a half-hour economic lecture. The best place for it – and my absolute highlight. The tour is available via the Community Hostel.

Quito is once again one of those cities that you are warned about in so many unbelievable ways that the reality is nothing other than “disappointing”. Ok, at least on the city centre bus you really should always carry your rucksack at the front. I’ve seen a few slashers and even ruined the tour for one. But otherwise? No taxi driver has ever tried to rip me off. I was rarely begged, never robbed and only a few times was I made fun of when I asked for directions. I never felt unsafe anywhere, not even in dark alleyways off the beaten track. Keeping your eyes open and believing in the good things in life is much less likely to spoil your trip than constant fear. Gracias, Quito!