At last, time to
sleep in.
The sun is shining
outside. Now we have to hurry, because it will surely start raining later.
Towering above the old town is the Basílica del Voto Nacional, the largest neo-Gothic cathedral in the Americas. Construction only began in the late 19th century, and it was consecrated by Pope John Paul II in 1985. It’s a crisp, austere kind of Gothic, with colorful stained glass. The gargoyles depict local fauna, monkeys and caimans among others. Legend has it that if the cathedral is ever truly finished, the world will end. You can climb the tower: part of the way by lift, then along a passage beneath the roof, and finally up to a viewing platform from which a narrow metal ladder leads even higher. My stomach already feels hollow as it is. You can also enter the bell towers, after passing through a souvenir shop with an Estonian flag above the door. The view opens over the city spread across the hills and the clouds gathering over the mountains. Right next to the basilica, children are playing volleyball.
Next we head toward the La Compañía de Jesús, but get sidetracked into a colonial-style café. We sell our colonial architecture too, just without calling it that. The café is certainly grand, though the music could be quieter. We come up with a new plan: one church per day.
Instead of visiting another church, we go to the Guayasamín House Museum. It’s on the edge of the city, so we need a taxi. The first Uber crawls along at about 100 meters per minute and eventually disappears altogether. The second one arrives. In total we wait about half an hour, watching yellow taxis pass by, the ones we’ve been advised not to hail from the street. Today there seem to be an unusually large number of sharply dressed military types around.
The drive is slow at first, until we escape the bustle of the center. Then we reach an area of high-rises. One building is tall and thin like a biscuit. Post-colonial architecture tends toward featureless cubes with oversized windows or glass façades ill-suited to the climate.
Oswaldo Guayasamín was Ecuador’s most famous artist, of Indigenous descent. He is best known for his socially critical work, though that didn’t stop him from befriending dictators such as Mao Zedong and the Castro brothers. His paintings can be seen, among other places, at Madrid Airport and at UNESCO headquarters in Paris.
At the gate stands a guard in a hat and suit, announcing the arrival of two English-speaking visitors over his radio. First we are directed to the La Capilla del Hombre, a building with a tower reminiscent of an Inca temple. Inside are vast murals on the walls, an eternal flame at the center, and human figures beneath the ceiling reaching toward the light of freedom. Just as we are nearly done, word comes that an English-language tour is starting at the house museum. A small group gathers and is briskly shepherded through rooms packed with Guayasamín’s work, alongside pre-Columbian and modern art. The house was designed by his architect brother according to Oswaldo’s instructions. Guayasamín lived there until his death in 1999 and is buried in the garden. After the art, we have coffee on the terrace, eat an “interesting” pie reheated in the microwave in cling film (ugh), and watch black vultures perched on the tower of the chapel.
For dinner, our hostess directs us to a particularly elegant restaurant by the main square. After waiting on a sofa, we are shown to a window table with a view of the monuments and dogs barking in the park. A saxophonist strolls between the tables.
Towering above the old town is the Basílica del Voto Nacional, the largest neo-Gothic cathedral in the Americas. Construction only began in the late 19th century, and it was consecrated by Pope John Paul II in 1985. It’s a crisp, austere kind of Gothic, with colorful stained glass. The gargoyles depict local fauna, monkeys and caimans among others. Legend has it that if the cathedral is ever truly finished, the world will end. You can climb the tower: part of the way by lift, then along a passage beneath the roof, and finally up to a viewing platform from which a narrow metal ladder leads even higher. My stomach already feels hollow as it is. You can also enter the bell towers, after passing through a souvenir shop with an Estonian flag above the door. The view opens over the city spread across the hills and the clouds gathering over the mountains. Right next to the basilica, children are playing volleyball.
Next we head toward the La Compañía de Jesús, but get sidetracked into a colonial-style café. We sell our colonial architecture too, just without calling it that. The café is certainly grand, though the music could be quieter. We come up with a new plan: one church per day.
Instead of visiting another church, we go to the Guayasamín House Museum. It’s on the edge of the city, so we need a taxi. The first Uber crawls along at about 100 meters per minute and eventually disappears altogether. The second one arrives. In total we wait about half an hour, watching yellow taxis pass by, the ones we’ve been advised not to hail from the street. Today there seem to be an unusually large number of sharply dressed military types around.
The drive is slow at first, until we escape the bustle of the center. Then we reach an area of high-rises. One building is tall and thin like a biscuit. Post-colonial architecture tends toward featureless cubes with oversized windows or glass façades ill-suited to the climate.
Oswaldo Guayasamín was Ecuador’s most famous artist, of Indigenous descent. He is best known for his socially critical work, though that didn’t stop him from befriending dictators such as Mao Zedong and the Castro brothers. His paintings can be seen, among other places, at Madrid Airport and at UNESCO headquarters in Paris.
At the gate stands a guard in a hat and suit, announcing the arrival of two English-speaking visitors over his radio. First we are directed to the La Capilla del Hombre, a building with a tower reminiscent of an Inca temple. Inside are vast murals on the walls, an eternal flame at the center, and human figures beneath the ceiling reaching toward the light of freedom. Just as we are nearly done, word comes that an English-language tour is starting at the house museum. A small group gathers and is briskly shepherded through rooms packed with Guayasamín’s work, alongside pre-Columbian and modern art. The house was designed by his architect brother according to Oswaldo’s instructions. Guayasamín lived there until his death in 1999 and is buried in the garden. After the art, we have coffee on the terrace, eat an “interesting” pie reheated in the microwave in cling film (ugh), and watch black vultures perched on the tower of the chapel.
For dinner, our hostess directs us to a particularly elegant restaurant by the main square. After waiting on a sofa, we are shown to a window table with a view of the monuments and dogs barking in the park. A saxophonist strolls between the tables.
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