The 6 hour bus ride from Ibarra to San Domingo began on the Pan American Highway, a winding road through the mountains to Quito. The mountains were patch worked with farming plots and pastureland and there were villages in the valleys and there were the blues and greens and yellows and browns that made me remember Cezanne. Any of these mountains seemed as good to me as Saint Victoire and I wondered what Cezanne would have done with them. It was all in his color palette and it was good country, Cezanne country, I thought. Maybe one day when my knees were better I would ride it.
After the sprawling mess that is the city of Quito the road turned west and ascended up into the clouds and it was very green and wet and humid. Then the road wound down from the mountains, descending in elevation towards a river and then we were down along the river bed and following it into the beat-up, traffic congested city of Santo Domingo.
I got off at the small bus station in town and took a taxi through the busy streets, filled with shops and street vendors, to a hotel I had an address for. I booked a room for two nights. The hotel was near an outdoor market and I went out and bought some fresh tomatoes, onion, green and red pepper and a can of tuna fish and made pasta in my room.
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