I realize at last that it is no longer jet-lag, or linguistic isolation. My bearings are simply shot: my internal compass points to the nearest pole, which is the one in Antarctica. (Not surprising, considering the recent evens on this Web site.) Quito is, after all, a southern city -- not as in "south of the border," but south of the equator.

Admittedly, not by much. The geographic band that separates northern from southern hemisphere is just a few kilometers away -- to the north, of course. But come now, the belt of the blue ball passes through many other countries, among them Colombia and Brazil in South America as well. Why does Ecuador lay claim to the title in its christening? It was a surprise to me, I don't mind admitting, that it's not just puffery, but privilege. For it was in Ecuador, in 1736, that the Academie des Sciences arrived from France with an international team of "natural philosophers" to measure the middle of the Earth, and arrive at the true latitude of zero. From their measures, the Equator was scientifically verified, the metric system developed, and the very axis of the planet set at last in its proper place. (Incidentally, they also proved Newton right, that the Earth bulges at its center and is flattened at its poles. This means, theoretically, that Chimborazo at 20,823 feet is farther from the center of the Earth than Everest, at 29,028. Believe it if you will, or can.)

Where their measurements were reached is now memorialized as El Mitad del Mundo, the Middle of the World, a shrine 22 kilometers outside of Quito. Here a 30-meter high obelisk is capped by a 4-meter globe, its circumference straddled by a brass belt. Arriving a little after eight in the morning, Rocco and I searched the area for what I have always thought to be an imaginary line. But after a moment we discover that I have been wrong all these years -- the Equator is clearly visible, a strip of red paint that runs from the center of the monument across the promenade, down several flights of stairs, into a distant park administration building, and from there, certainly, around the diameter of the planet. Surely that line can be found anywhere on Earth -- I had just never noticed it before.

Operating against the threat of advancing hoards of tourists, we set up a tripod with a special camera mount, and fire off two sequences of QTVR shots, encompassing the monument, mountains, clouds, park buildings, and a Japanese tourist taking our picture. Strangely exhilarated, when we're finished we congratulate each other warmly, flush with our first true accomplishment. It's not just a Kodak moment -- it's a TerraQuest one, too. (See the result; it's a long download, dial-up users please be patient.)

But it's the first of the day, not the last. After driving back toward the smoggy skyline of New Quito, we turn west, then north (these directions are easier for me now), heading for the famous weaving community of Otavalo. The skill of the Otavalenos with the traditional backstrap loom -- a technology found from Mexico to Peru -- has made them among the wealthiest native peoples in the New World. There are said to be Otavalenos who travel the world, own condos, and drive gold Mercedes. On the other hand, there are also tiny aged crones who go begging bread from door to door of the plaza's several cafes. Still, even their dignity is intact; perhaps it is strongest in the poorest, who wear no shoes so that they may be always in touch with Pachamama, the goddess of the Earth.

We lunch in one of these cafes, as Rocco calls a local anthropologist who may provide a story for one of the 24 Hours in Cyberspace assignments. Finally Linda D'Amico arrives, and she leads us outside of town to a new brick building where Ecuadorian batik fabrics are made for the Winter Sun line of clothes. Ange Miller, the artist who owns Winter Sun, shows off her factory, a tour which ends with a pile of scraps from the manufacturing process. It is these scraps that created the unusual endeavor Linda and Ange started: the Patchwork Project.

Over dinner one night, the two women hit upon the idea of sewing the scraps into quilts, and creating a new industry for the women of the area who need cash to maintain their traditional life styles and values. The agrarian community of Pujil, south of Otavalo, became the focus of this endeavor, and it was to Pujil -- down the Pan-American Highway, up a cobbled road, over a rutted muddy one, and finally onto a sodden path -- that Linda took us.

Two women lived here, Luz Maria and Maria Carmen, with three of their four children. The husband they shared was off in Quito, or perhaps Ibarra, organizing a food project for the indigenous Quechua. "Quechua" is technically a language group, but its members fan across the Andean highlands from Columbia down into Peru -- roughly contiguous with the pre-Hispanic Incan empire. Though they used to be broken up into more distinct groups, now they are called primarily Quechua of a certain village; Luz Maria, and Maria Carmen, and their husband and children, were Pujil Quechua. Their dress was simple, colorful, hand-stitched, beautiful and muddy; they had been working in the fields all day, but their surprise and enthusiasm at our arrival was sincere.

Linda came bearing an armload of stitching material, and the request that Rocco and I be allowed to photograph the women and the material as internet publicity for their project. The women graciously agreed -- after a brief conversation about the available computer resources in Quito -- and as they chatted, and fingered their new batik, and showed their children how to embroider their white cotton blouses, Rocco and I circled them with two Nikons, a Canon, and a Kodak DC-50.

It was an exciting and thoroughly positive experience. Though cautious, and a bit shy, the family had little fear of our technology or enthusiasm, and patiently shared both their labors and innate beauty with us. In the soft slanted light of the rainy afternoon, in the corncrib attic of their simple home, I had the sense that we were connecting not just with another internet assignment -- how e-mail and on-line networking bring together social responsibility with economic justice -- but with a deeper strata of humanity. With mud on their skirts and their coppery skin, their hand-painted jewelry and hand-made clothes, the family lived a simple life, but it lacked for nothing.

Outside, as the rain clouds at last were drained and the sky began to brighten, we said our good-byes, wished each other well, and took our leave. I ducked away for a moment to take one last look across the maize fields, down into the green valley, and across to the foggy volcano. Surely this, this was El Mitad del Mundo, the middle of the world, as much so as any other place where such people live.

-- Christian Kallen

 

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