Quito: the world’s second highest Capitol City (after La Paz, where I opted not to run), at 2800m above sea level. A few places I had been to in Colombia were at pretty high altitudes, Bogota is over 2600m. However by pretending they weren’t and not listening when people talked about how high they are, I had managed fine with my running. Now in Quito, I decided to take the same ‘ignorance is bliss’ approach. And in this ignorant bliss I enjoyed 2 days in Quito and the surrounding areas; climbing the many stairs and rickety ladders of the Basílica del Voto Nacional, to stunning views of the city; visiting a fantastic artisan market in Otavalo; having a general wander and getting my first taste of Ecuador. Going for a run: ne bother.

This morning I set my alarm for seven (after a criminally early night for a traveller), and was pounding the pavements by half past. Luckily I was even earlier than most of the city’s commuters, and the streets were fairly quiet. I headed for a nearby park which I had checked out the previous two evenings. Both times I had been there before, there had been dramatic games of volleyball going on, amongst men who looked like they had just finished work. These games were obviously a big deal to the guys involved and had drawn crowds of a couple of hundred or so men to spectate. There was not a single woman in the crowd, and I felt like I was breaking some unwritten rule by being there. Clearly I love breaking rules which exclude women from societal activities so I stayed and watched for a while.

This morning there was no volleyball happening, however the people of Quito were still loving their active pursuits a la mañana. A group were doing a martial art, complete with big sticks and vocal sound effects. There were a few runners, and many cyclists opting for the 2 wheel commute. And of course my old fave: the urban gym. I was impressed and surprised by the popularity and diversity of this gym. Men and women of all ages crowded the bright gym equipment, enthusiastically repping up a sweat before the 9 to 5. I tried to get some sly pictures from afar without looking like an urban gym pervert again, I only wish I’d bitten it and gone and got stuck in there myself. I did however rack up 2 laps of the park (mostly for those extra urb-gym glimpses), before heading back to the hostel as the roads and pavements began to clog.

And so my ignorant bliss, I was bound to fall from it at some point. After a hearty breakfast which I felt like I deserved, I headed out to check out some local museum and gallery culture. Heading down the street, I felt light headed and dizzy, and was struggling to utter a few words at more than a whisper. Struck down by altitude yet again, I clearly haven’t acclimatised to (a runner’s) life in the mountains. I traded in the culture for a morning in bed listening to British radio, which was actually a satisfying culture fix in itself.