The Hotel
Plaza Sucre manifests that entirely overused descriptive: charming. It's
bright, quiet, clean, and filled with boldly colored paintings and sculpture.
The best rooms are probably 201, 303--pretty much any room that looks over the
interior library area--mainly because latecomers (there are plenty of those due
to the late flights into town) have to ring the loud buzzer to get in. Walls
are a bit thin, but these are really quibbles in an overall pleasant stay. The
location in old town is right in the middle of everything.
The top-floor restaurant
where breakfast is served looks
out over the rooftops toward the winged Madonna that guards the city. The Madonna,
which is visible from most parts of Quito was commissioned in 1976 by a
religious order; Spanish artist Agustín de la Herrán Matorras built a 150-foot-tall
(45 metres) monument made of seven thousand pieces of aluminum. The Madonna may be the only one in the
world with wings: it was inspired by the famous "Virgen de Quito"
(Quito's Madonna) also known as "the dancer" sculpted
in 1734, which now decorates the main altar at the nearby Church of St. Francis.
 |
| Ceiling detail from Inglesia de San Francisco, another of Quito's many churches |
As
deserted as the streets were at 11:30PM last night, today they are teeming with
people, mostly locals. I stand out like a salt shaker in the middle of a plate
filled with ground chili pepper--I'm that much taller. Also, next time I'll
bring a skirt that covers my knees--I keep getting the "puta look"
from women, the somewhat sour face that's the visual equivalent of "American
tart". Here in old town, each building's street floor holds a dozen tiny
businesses, selling everything from fruit to toys, pinatas to clothing.
There
are many hawkers wandering the streets--I take these to be country people from
their style of dress and method of carrying goods, sometimes wrapped in shawls,
or in buckets or plastic bags.
Finding
one's way around requires an infallible sense of direction and sturdy shoes--I
only have one of those two requirements, and spent considerable time walking in
circles.
I
couldn't find the restaurant I was looking for on Av. Junin, but with the aid
of an army officer (there are quite a few of them about, as well as policia--the
entire area is highly militarized), I found the Inglesia de Compania,
recommended to me by friends in Cuenca, a town two hours by plane to the south.
The exterior is ornately carved volcanic stone, but it hardly prepares you for
the inside. I've always associated the Catholic Jesuits with a certain level of
modesty, a theory blown to hell by this structure built between 1605 and 1745.
Let's start with the obvious--there are roughly 114 pounds (50-52 kilos)
of gold leaf covering nearly every vertical surface, all carved into a mass of
phantasmagorical fruits, flowers, figures and curvaceous columns. Unwilling to
stop with the walls, the artists covered the football-sized curved ceiling with
yet more carvings and gold. You get the feeling that if you sat long enough
inside, you'd absorb some of that richness. The sides of the church are lined
with ornate altars dedicated to various saints including the local gal, St.
Mariana. Overhead, a series of small round dome windows let in light; above the
nave, in front of the impressively carved altar, a single large dome painted
with saints floating in a heavenly blue background lights the front section of
the church. This church is both impressive and inspiring; St. Peter's has
nothing on this as a paean to the dedicated strength of faith of the many hands
that created this magnificent structure.
Later this evening, I went out for a walk to parts
I hadn't been to, and my unerring travelwriter instincts led me to what could
only be described as a favela--a real shantytown with dirt streets. It didn't
look like a good place for little old sweet me (read "target") to hang
around, and I didn't think I needed any cd's or computer equipment--which the
street businesses were selling at greatly reduced prices--so I turned around
and walked back on the "street of schmatas", shops filled with ornate
formal wear and other items of South American fashion.
The congregation,
made up of families in economic transition, could relate to St. Benedict, a
sort of “all-purpose” saint, patron to poison victims, agricultural workers,
civil engineers, the dying, those afflicted with fever, those with gall stones,
those with inflammatory diseases, those with kidney disease, members of
religious orders, monks, schoolchildren, and spelunkers (cave explorers).
