What's the worst thing you can be close to on a plane? A snoring woman? A crying baby? An opinionated Englishman? No. A badly behaved child. And the flight to Quito would provide a young man who could give The Omen's Damien a run for his money. I first saw him in the airport; clambering everywhere he shouldn't, demanding, complaining. Trying not to judge, I thought through the possible causes of such behaviour and managed to find a more benevolent viewpoint towards the little chap. As long as he wasn't near me on the plane I'd be OK. I should have known better.
As they usually do, this tyrant began slowly; pressing the call buttons, kicking the chair in front, turning round to gape at me with his tubby face. My forgiving attitude soon evapoprated when the reason for this behaviour became clear. Lack of effective parenting. Jo Frost would have had plenty to get her teeth into but we were stuck with this brat and no Supernanny in sight. For a while, the most effective technique to silence him was a finger to the lips from the three of us in the row behind but he soon saw through that. Every one of his shouts, thrown peanuts and punches on the headrest in front was rewarded with cuddles from his mother. Finally, the child began pressing the call button so frequently that a hostess appeared and gave the little tyke a firm yet gentle telling-off. Not difficult, pretty obvious really. Thank you hostess, I love you.
We arrived in Quito after eleven on that Friday night, tired and ready for bed. However, the nightlife in La Mariscal district clearly had something to offer and we headed to 'Cats' bar for a nightcap. On entering we were greeted by the owner and offered a cosy table to sit at. Several beers, mojitos and good old G&Ts later we were still in the bar loving the music and lively atmosphere. We all agreed to move to Quito instantly. It's hard to recall a better welcome to a city.
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