Quito

Breakfast is prepared quickly in the little kitchen corner beside the table, and it is delicious. The hospitality washes over us in waves.

We sort out tomorrow’s transport arrangements and head out to see the city. In the pharmacy there’s an impressive range of goods, from potato chips to mosquito repellent. Our working hypothesis is that mosquitoes are best fought with a local repellent.

The old town is made up of pleasantly low buildings and, refreshingly, is not covered with advertising signs. The streets run either uphill or downhill. Vendors call out, offering all sorts of goods. One dollar, one dollar. In shop windows you see irons and frying pans, suggesting that the point has not yet been reached where nothing is sold for the locals. On the central square people watch passers-by and pigeons, different from ours. Scarves—three dollars apiece. The trick, we’re told, is not to look at annoying people; if you don’t see them, they won’t see you either. A police officer comes over, hands us a city map, and reads out a warning into his phone for the translation app: keep an eye on your belongings. The place swarms with police officers, security guards, and soldiers carrying automatic rifles. It feels safe. Or perhaps not. Where there are the most people, there are also the most pickpockets, which means an especially dense presence of security personnel. A kind of trophic cascade. The police ride around on peculiar three-wheeled scooters, and tourists take photos with them.

Around the corner we find a café under some trees and order our second coffees. In the distance a cathedral rises above the rooftops. Double-tandem buses and tandem trolleybuses swing around the corner and descend along a street that drops away into the depths. A man drives past in an armored vehicle. A tiny black insect with orange hairs on its back joins us. It reminds us that among Kalle’s books there was a phrasebook from the last century, and one of the few sentences in it that seemed truly useful was: hay insectos en nuestra habitación.

We peek into a couple of churches, the inner courtyard of a library, and the coin exhibition at the national bank. To Kalle’s great disappointment, there is no sign of Inca gold. Dark clouds begin to gather. In the evening a light rain falls.