Driving out through the south of the city the buildings become smaller, less well kept and spread further apart. One can almost image this landscape as once being agricultural fields or pasture. Now succumbing to conversion, it’s the dispersion-infill process of urbanization at work. In another 10-15 years, this area of the city (known for housing lower income classes) will most likely look much like its northern sections – solid stretches of buildings housing everything from offices, homes to small stores.
..........
That’s one thing I love about this city. Whatever I need, it’s within walking distance. A short stroll down Ave. Mariana de Jésus from the FONAG office towards the center of the city – I stop by a small grocer and pick up my bread and fruit for the next day. Signs for Porta telephone cabins dot the building roofs – a call to home is only a quick step away. Quick hot lunches from small cookeries advertising everything from arroz con fritada to ceviche (all fresh) – and I’m set for my next meal. No need to worry about stocking up on food for the next week. If I need something, I just step outside the door and I can find it within a couple of blocks.
..........
The roads become bumpier, wearing away from pavement to cobbled stone to simple packed-down dirt. Once we’re free from the grip of city traffic, we pick up speed heading south, jolting over every bump along the way (forget about seatbelts in the back seat...not only do Ecuadorians not use them, they don’t exist – well, they do...but they’re tucked so far down beneath the seat cushions, it’s futile exercise to attempt to extract them). Pastures and agricultural fields begin to dominate the landscape and soon I forget that only 20 minutes ago we had merged from the second largest city in the country.
We’re headed toward the microcuenca of Río Pita (to the SE of the city). Its waters are born in the folds of Volcán Cotopaxi. To get there, we head down on the west side of Pasochoa, around to the south of it and on toward the entrance of the Parque Nacional.
With me are Galito, Don Julito y Veronica (a fifth-year university student studying to determine and model the hydrologic process in this region).Further south, the clouds begin to envelope us. Julito pulls out his barometer and asks us how high up we think we are. I venture a guess – 3800m. Almost, almost. At 3750m, Gallito wins the contests.
We’re in the Estepa vegetative region where everything is a short shrub covered in water droplets from the low-hanging clouds. The wind has picked up as well. Except for the isolated pinus radiata stands that dot the landscape / we turn back for the view of what we had just traversed – I can’t see any hint of a city. The pinus radiata are certainly not native to this region. And as Don Julito explains (a local forestry expert with a great sense of humor), they were planted without great foresight / for their profit-making capacity – quick-growers, a harvest in 30 years would bring good money. But they are not managed wisely, if they are managed at all. Stocked too densely, the pines use up much more water than native vegetation – a precious resource that not everyone here has adequate access to (potable that is).
We move up on into the páramo where the estepa dominates along with isolated cattle ranches (in a National Park?) The sun is till obscured by the clouds and it becomes harder for me to move my fingers as I fiddle with my GPS unit, camera and notebook.
Only the lower portion of snow-covered Cotopaxi is visible as the clouds ebb in and out.
We investigate an area of the páramo managed by FONAG dedicated to native species reforestation/restoration. Individuals are planted within a large expanse of pajonal – to protect them from the fierce winds (especially in July and August) when they are seedlings. This are reminds me of the grasslands in CA, the pajonal resembling bunchgrass.We snack on wild blueberries. This is the coldest portion of our trip. “Tienes frío niña Brenna?” asks don Julito. “Sí,” I reply. “Pero, no para llorar?” “No, no” – not that much. I should have brought an extra sweater with me, but I can still bear the cold and wind for a little while.
We search out the area where Río Pita is born – a small ditch
of slowly moving water among a field of rolling estepa and rocks.Wild horses in Cotopaxi.
En route back to Quito, we turn to my needs for the trip – to search for a suitable small town to begin interviews regarding changes in land cover, community composition and urbanization in general.
We follow the only dirt road back North.
“We’ll stop in Loreto, and you can talk with some people there” suggests Don Julito.
We continue driving through pastures and agricultural fields with casitas interspersed without – laundry out drying on clotheslines in the backyards.
We stop to ask a local passing on a motorcycle – face worn and wrinkled, gathering warmth from a jacket and heavy poncho – where the village of Loreto is. He points to where we’ve just come from. “Really?” questions Don Julito. Six to seven dispersed casitas we passed – that was it. We move on, looking for a more settled area.
We gain entrance into a watershed protection area managed by EMAAP-Q.
Down a cobbled road, we pick up tow hitchhikers. The woman is dressed traditionally in a white blouse and a long dark-blue, heavy wrap-around skirt – an indigenous couple looking to get to Selva Alegra, much further north.
We pass a white-washed hacienda, through overhanging native forest cover, to where three little girls dressed in several layers are running along the cobbled road pushing a bicycle that is too big for any of them to ride.
They step to the side as we pass and I wave to each of them from the inside of the truck’s cab. They grin – though I’m not sure whether it’s at me or the though of continuing to run along with their bicycle. I look back through the rear window and watch them running clumsily after the truck for a few tens of meters.
El pueblo “La Moca,” to the NE of Pasochoa – we’ve made almost a complete circle around it to get here.
This pueblito is composed of handful of houses situated closer together than those in Loreto, made of cement brick with the characteristic drying laundry out back.I get out to grab a quick GPS point and a picture. Meanwhile a local gentleman in a cowboy hat stops to chat with the others in the truck.
“Ingeniera linda?” he asked when I return to the vehicle. “No, estudiante sencillamente,” I tell him. He shakes my hand with both of his, “bienvenida y te deseo buen salud.” “Gracias,” I thank him.
We chat for a bit longer about the area, the conversation lulls, but I pick up attention again when Don Julito asks “Y por qué se casa?” “Para dormir bien caliente” the gentleman responds with a smirk and laugh.
It certainly wouldn’t hurt at these cold heights, I think to myself.
***************
Picture 1: Galito, Veronica and I standing in the area of PN Cotopaxi where Río Pita is born. Freeeezing!
Picture 2: The Pajonal - reminds me of the bunchgrass in southern California. The sun played hide-and-seek with the clouds the entire afternoon...what a difference it makes temperature-wise!
Picture 3: Wild horses in PN Cotopaxi.
Picture 4: View of the surrounding countryside from pueblito "La Moca."
No comments:
Post a Comment