Up and Down and Out of Breath in Quito

In Quito, Ecuador's capital, it's all about the hills. And the mountains. And the ravines.

In 1534, the Spanish founders of the city--following colonial custom--decided on a Cartesian grid plan. Sadly, they laid this grid down in the center of a hilly valley scored with steep ravines. Four mountains contain the valley which runs roughly north-south for about ten miles. At the center of the valley, at its narrowest point, the Spaniards found the smoking ruins of the Incan city of Quito, the northern capital of the empire. Ruminahui (right), the last of the great Incan generals, burned the city to the ground--and slaughtered its inhabitants--rather than allowing it to fall to the advancing conquistadors. Despite the carnage, the Spaniards realized that what was a propitious site for an Incan city would serve equally well for a Spanish one. The valley was fertile and the four mountains provided an excellent defense. The snow-covered volcanoes in the distance must have reminded the conquerors of the Sierra Nevada back home.

It all makes for some breathtaking scenery, but for visitors arriving from sea-level to negotiate the streets and steps in the thin air of this city 9200 feet up the Andes, the word breathtaking quickly takes on another meaning.

While the city long ago outgrew its colonial era grid, it hasn't escaped its confining geography. Contemporary Quito, with two million inhabitants, now completely fills the valley. In several places it has spilled over the ridges, swallowing suburbs on the far sides of the mountains. Those mountains, which once provided protection from attack, today trap the exhaust from the city's cars and busses. The already heavy traffic is made worse by the narrowness of the valley, wide enough for only three arteries in the center of town. So, all north-south traffic in the heart of the city is forced onto these three roads. Underground transit has never been seriously considered. Too many earthquakes and landslides. So, the wealthy and middle classes drive while the poorer folk crowd into smoke-belching busses and everyone--regardless of class--sits fuming in choking rush-hour traffic.

Even in the midst of the soothing perpendiculars and wide plazas of Quito's splendid colonial center, the punishing topography is evident. The streets rise and fall like a roller-coster. Many are so steep that steps serve as sidewalks (see right). In an attempt to make the city more conducive to the grid the Spanish filled in many of the ravines, but this turned out to be a short-sighted solution. Water still runs through the ravines and, from time to time, the fill shifts and another red-tiled colonial beauty is lost in a heap of dust and debris. Fortunately, this is rare. Unless there is an earthquake. The other day I went to see a building that had fallen in recently. By some miracle, the facade remained undamaged but the building's original innards were gone. In their place was a handsome open-air performance space and a chic outdoor cafe. Not a bad re-use of the space, but a far cry from the original of my imagination; in my mind's eye I see a serene courtyard edged with fruit trees--a fountain gurgling quietly in the center--and surrounded by a two storied covered arcade to protect against the fierce equatorial sun.

I'm staying in a neighborhood called Guapulo, about four miles from the old town. It is one of those former suburbs on the far side of the mountains that the growing metropolis has devoured. From downtown, Quito's valley rises gradually towards the eastern ridge. But, on the far side of the ridge--where Guapulo is--the land drops precipitously (see left). Here, the houses seem to cascade down the impossibly steep hillside. The one narrow street connecting Guapulo with Quito proper copes with the steep grade by switching back and forth, again and again, in its ascent of the ridge. My apartment building is on the outside edge of this street, perched over a ravine. To reach my door from the street I have to descend four flights of stairs. Going down is fine but going up each step is a burden in the high mountain air. By the time I reach street level my head is pounding and my chest burns. And I still have to climb the ridge.

Cars, their engines straining, speed past, spewing exhaust and kicking up a fine layer of dust as I trudge up the cobblestone street. At the second switchback (left) I take a pedestrian shortcut. This shortcut--if you can call it that--is a dizzying zigzag of steps ascending the hill face. How many steps? 254. Yes, 254 steps. I've counted them. Twice. Just to be sure.

After step 254 the stairs rejoin the road for a final few meters up to the top of the ridge. From there, one can get a fabulous view of Quito spread out below, filling the valley and climbing the mountain on the western side. I could see it, too, if I were not staring at my feet, doubled over in pain, trying to catch my breath and still my swimming head, my eyes watery from the soot.

I'm sure in a few days I will become aclimatized to the altitude and somewhat desensitized to the pollution. Then I'll start enjoying the view.