Volcanoes were erupting when I arrived in Quito, the Ecuadorean capital which stretches along a narrow Andean valley near the equator, sandwiched between mountains decorated with constantly changing clouds. But by the time I left, three months' later, it was the eruption of violent political protest which was threatening an ominous fallout. Strikes and roadblocks had brought Ecuador to a standstill, culminating in a coup by indigenous groups with some military support - five days before my flight back to Europe. Trapped in paradise, on the Pacific coast, 12 hours from the capital, I started to wish I was safely back in grey, rainy Ireland.
Revolution seemed unreal in Puerto Lopez, a dusty town clinging to a horseshoe bay, backed by tropical forest. The indigenous in the mountains might have been fighting for a better future, but on the coast, it was life as normal. The town mule pulled the rickety rubbish cart around the streets, old men dozed in hammocks, girls strutted along the malecon (promenade) in tiny T-shirts and tight shorts, fishermen brought in their catch of tuna, prawns and bass, and gringos lazed in beachfront restaurants drinking fresh pineapple juice with aguadiente (sugarcane spirit).
If it weren't for the sounds of merengue and salsa in the streets being replaced by the clamour of (predominantly white) politicians explaining why they shouldn't resign - despite inflation of 65 per cent, a currency which had spiralled out of control, wages typically under $1 a day and frozen bank accounts - we wouldn't have known the country was collapsing.
The costenos (coastal people who are mainly mestizo, of mixed race) seemed to view the civil unrest as a soap opera, reminding me of a character in Isabel Allende's Eva Luna who argues that people who live in a land of plenty have no desire for revolution.
The lushness of the land - where flowers and tropical fruit grow in profusion, and vibrantly-coloured birds take your breath away - makes travelling along the coast feel like wandering through the garden of Eden. Although families are suffering, fishing and fruit-growing provide many with food and an income, and unlike in some Andean towns, foreign tourists are rarely the victims of robbery.
Although Ecuador, squashed between Colombia and Peru, is small, it seems like three countries in one. The indigenous people in the Amazon basin fighting multinational petrol companies and trying to protect their culture and environment have little in common with the costenos who spend their days fishing or growing bananas and who tend to dismiss the militant indigenous in the snow-capped Andes ("they're always complaining").
Despite the desperate poverty, Ecuador does not feel like a third-world country - hotels are comfortable, the food is wonderful (lots of tropical fruit and seafood), restaurants have toilet paper, Internet cafes abound, and tourism, especially adventure tourism, is well-developed. Spectacular natural resources are used to sell the country as a playground for gringos (mainly Americans, Germans and Swiss), and big bucks (relatively speaking) are charged for a night in an Amazon Indian's house or a horse-ride to an indigenous Andean village.
On arrival in Ecuador, I was daunted by the number of activities on offer (from bird-watching, to white-water rafting, diving, trekking and bungee jumping), so I took the sedentary option - Spanish classes. Many travellers kick off their South American trips with a full-time language course in Ecuador, the cheapest country in Latin America, and demand was so high in the northern Andean market town of Otavalo that I could only find evening classes. The conversation classes provided a good grounding in Ecuadorean history, politics and economics - essential for talking to locals who, naturally, were somewhat obsessed with la crisis economica.
Dwarfed by extinct volcanoes, Otavalo's huge market square, Plaza de Ponchos, is a mass of colour, as hundreds of street-sellers hang up their hand-woven woollen rugs and wall-hangings (from £10), chunky sweaters (from £4), handmade bags, jewellery, pottery, hammocks and Panama hats (which are from Ecuador, not Panama).
"Adventure tourism" was difficult to avoid, however. The language school organised a trip to climb one of the local extinct volcanoes, Imbabura. "It's easy," a teacher assured me. "Just bring warm clothes, plenty of water and food." What she had forgotten to mention was that we would be going from about 2,500 metres above sea level to more than 4,600 metres (the equivalent of climbing Carrauntoohil twice) in four hours.
It was a big mistake for someone who usually takes the lift instead of the stairs. The Swiss students scampered up the steep misty track like goats, and even the couple from the West Indies (not famous for its mountains) were able to walk, talk and smoke at the same time - but my sudden death seemed imminent. It was advanced aerobics without oxygen, only worse - because I was wearing winter clothes and carrying food, a camera and a litre of water. My face turned red, then purple; each step was a major achievement and the sound of silence was drowned out by my laboured breathing - only the embarrassment of failure kept me going. After 30 minutes of sweaty struggling, I started to feel dizzy. "Altitude sickness," said the Ecuadoreans. "It can happen to anyone."
What a relief. As the others disappeared upwards, and I was re-learning how to breathe, three scrawny children with runny noses peered at me from a safe distance. Scared, but clearly hungry, the girl, about five years old, crept up to take the cheese sandwich from my hand. She ran back to her half-dressed brothers and divided it up, giving them the biggest share. On my way down the foggy slope, more children asked for food, and some took the biscuits and chocolate back to little brick huts to share with the rest of the family.
In Puerto Lopez three months' later - just prior to the coup - the faces of these children came flooding back to me as I watched television images of thousands of indigenous people protesting in Quito and read warnings from foreign governments about what they would do if the indigenous took over.
With only five days before my flight home, I was also selfishly worrying (panicking) about how I was going to make the 12-hour journey to Quito for my plane. Two days' later, the coup had failed, the vice-president had taken over, the buses were running again, and the banks were open. I was free, and with four days to go.
But I wasn't out yet. There was one more fear: the volcano. While I was waiting for an internal flight before Christmas, it had erupted, turning Quito into an enormous ashtray - and the airport had been closed for a week, while 600 people with brushes swept the volcanic ash from the runway. But, while still rumbling, the volcano stayed calm and I managed to leave.
Although immediate thoughts of Ecuador are overshadowed by the drama of the coup, my enduring memories will be of the beauty of the landscape and the friendliness, pride and hospitality of the people, despite their hardships.
smarriott@irish-times.ie
Information
The South American Explorers Club, which has a clubhouse in Quito, is a rich source of information. It also provides up-to-date advice on the safety of travelling in South America. Contact: www.samexplo.org
Recommended guidebook: Footprint Ecuador and Galapagos Handbook.
Travel advice from the British Foreign Office: www.fco.gov.uk/travel