New Neighbours

The hourly bus pulls into Malchingui, a musical carriage complete with blue lights, red tassled curtains and a sackful of chickens in the boot. A couple of gringas clamber down at Cuatras Izquinas, and amble over to the line of locals waiting by white trucks. The drivers need not ask where they are going, as they toss bags in the back and head off across the plains. Past young boys herding cows, they are chased by stray dogs towards the distant casa in the clouds.

Isolated in an internationals' haven, days pass without word or sign of any neighbour. Until the donkey feels wanderlust in the wind, and charges off towards a braying friend. With handfuls of corn people follow; apologetic smiles greeted with good humour in the neighbours' paddock - fellow farmers forever amused by the group of gringas, trying to coax their wayward animal home.

As days become weeks, a routine of dog walking, donkey fetching and egg collecting emerges; and whilst the former strains relations with a barrage of barks, the latter brings nothing but delight.

Down the dusty road they go, across a yard full of hens clucking at their feet, and tap on the open door of the little breezeblock house. The unexpected visitors are greeted more warmly than the prodigal son, insisted upon to sit while dutiful daughters run off to count eggs. Conversation flows, with gentle chatter from farm life to Ecuadorian journeys and the distant United States. The pair leave with armfuls of eggs, but will remember so much more the old man's crinkled face, smiling in the doorway. They walk home across the barren landscape, but surrounded now by familiar faces, far from the anonymous path of the tourist map.