ECUADOR, Quito (written from Guayaquil - see below for Jungle parties and arrival in Quito) Monday 18th November.

"Roses man. I'm telling you, that's where the money is. F**king roses! When I get out that's what I'm gonna do, sell roses."
In a stark contrast to, well, just about everything, I found myself sitting cramped up with 5 other backpackers in the prison cell of Marty, a 35 year old Canadian drug trafficker, listening to his highly strung torrent of opinions on just about everything and harrowing stories of life inside and Ecuadorian prison. Not your average tourist occupation but a shocking and rather heartbreaking insight into a world far less sunny than the one most of us know.

Morbid curiosity, and a cynical sense of novalty, lead me to tag along to Visitor's Day with some of my fellow Secret Garden dwellers. One girl had been to the women's prison the day before and had enjoyed(?!) it so much that she was keen to see the men's too. So, laden with toilet paper, batteries and chocolate, the name of an inmate to visit scribbled on a piece of paper, we joined the rather festive throng of families all gathered outside to see their daddies/husbands/brothers/friends.
I was feeling a bit intrusive and a little like I was going to a zoo as we were thoroughly searched and ushered through the clunking metal doors into the prison were Ecuadorian men begged us for money and eyed the girls amongst us keenly. We were introduced to Fred a 58 year old Londoner who looked some 20 years older than he was, a result of the harsh battering that life has dealt him, I would imagine. He is serving 8 years for drug trafficking as seemed to be so for all the Western prisoners.
One chilling case was put to us by a young London guy about my age. His story is that he was set up by his hostel. He was backpacking, like us, when the hostel stole all his belongings, planted a substantial amount of coke on him and turned him over to the police. One year on and he still hasn't been sentenced. We asked him if there was anything we could get him and he just mournfully said "I only want my freedom." He could not bare to spend long with us, we were too reminiscent of a life not long snatched from him. If his story is true (and these things do happen) then I can't really imagine how awful it must be for him and his family.
Marty then bounded up and took us all in hand, seating us in his cell and chatting to us about his life and survival in the prison. They have to buy their own cells, money being made above or below board (Fred makes pies, Marty would not disclose such information). Guns and knives are everywhere and people are often shot. Fred is due into hospital to have the infect bullet hole in his stomach treated. They swapped stories of gang warfare and prison strikes in return for news of the outside world. "So guys, what's the plan tonight then? Tell me where ´we´ are going out?" Joked Marty. They were mostly open to questions but, every so often, they would say we were prying too much and could not tell us. Marty did not want more visitors, saying that it drew too much attention and made him vulnerable but Fred said he'd be happy to receive more so we took his full name to give to the backpackers who were visiting the following day.
Visitors are allowed in over the weekend and every 2 weeks they can stay over. Fred and Marty invited us to do so but my adventurous nature only goes so far. I was feeling pretty out of my depth as it was and, despite the warm hospitality of Fred and Marty, was a little uncomfortable. It was all a bit too much and I was relieved to step out through the barred doors and walk free.
We were all rather affected by the experience I think and talked of little else for the rest of the day. "It is nothing like the womens' prison." Remarked the girl as we left "They were a lot more sorry." It is true, Fred and Marty's only regrets were being caught, they both spoke sadly of the money they would have made if they had got through to Europe...

Time is running out for me at quite a rate now so I had to take my leave of Quito and, after 2 hours sleep (last Saturday in South America and all) I took the 9 hour bus back to Guayaquil in time for my flight back to Lima which is in just a few hours...