Quito: botanical garden and churches

Some roads are closed to cars, perhaps it’s a car-free Sunday. The cyclists cruise along at an easy pace, some stopping now and then for ice cream. A few rollerbladers and runners weave through as well.
We call a taxi to the botanical garden. At intersections, clowns are at work. One juggles clubs in front of the cars at a red light, balancing on a unicycle, then goes from driver to driver asking for money. After all, people need some entertainment while waiting for the light to change. The tunnel walls are painted with galloping horses and other animals, a simple way to make a dreary space more pleasant.
At the entrance to the botanical garden, an exuberant young man greets visitors and enthusiastically explains what’s where. Judging by his style, he probably usually works in a daycare.
First there are the palms, then the bromeliads. Each local habitat type is represented, along with cacti and a rose garden. Orchids, carnivorous plants, and tropical species each have their own greenhouses. Kalle, naturally, immediately wants coffee. For that purpose, there are no fewer than two cafés on the grounds, and unlike in Berlin’s botanical garden, you can pay by card. In fact, card payments are accepted in far more places here than the internet would have you believe. The orchids and cacti are genuinely impressive, and we also recognise cauliflower, broccoli, potatoes, and mugwort. We look at everything, including a Japanese garden with manipulated trees.
The botanical garden occupies only a small part of the 1.5-kilometre-long La Carolina Park. Outside the garden, there’s a full-blown spectacle, crowds everywhere. Demasiado ruido.

We head back to the old town. Two churches still remain on our list.
La Compañía, a baroque church built by the Jesuits, is entirely gilded inside. So that’s where the Inca gold ended up. Construction took 160 years. For an extra fee it’s possible to go up onto the roof and beneath the dome. From the roof we observe a dark purple storm cloud approaching, striking against the pale buildings. For another fee, you can also go down into the crypt to look at bits of dead people. We skip that. They certainly know how to ask money here.
Since the San Francisco Basilica is right next door, we visit that as well. It is Quito’s oldest religious building. Before building the church, the site was occupied by an Inca royal palace. Inside, it is dim and quiet, scented with incense. A mass is beginning. We sit for a while, then slip out quietly.
Street vendors hurriedly pack up their goods and stalls. The sky grows darker and darker. We manage to reach the hotel just before the rain starts.
We ask Mario about the history of the house. His daughter and son-in-law bought it in 2011, when it was in terrible condition. Renovation took two years; the first guests arrived in 2014. Old windows have been turned into cabinet doors, a section of gutter into a table leg, and half-rotten ceiling beams into the base of a household altar. Our bedhead is an old door. In the floor of the lounge, beneath glass, there’s a collection of beer cans and strong liquor bottles; in a large chest, obsolete sucre coins. Everything has been cleverly repurposed, and clearly required a great deal of work. 
We take a look at the seating area on the roof, where we hadn’t yet been. Lightning flashes and thunder rolls. In the distance, a white cloud lies draped over a mountain like a sheet.