ECUADOR 229 
On reaching Quito I found that Delys had kept the menagerie 
in fine fettle in spite of the fact that many of the birds were dif- 
ficult to cater for. Her main worry had been warding off would- 
be suitors, who pursued her with customary Latin ardor. A pretty 
blonde always attracts attention in countries where the women are 
predominantly brunette, and I think some of her proposals— 
made within a few minutes of her being introduced to someone— 
were merely expressions of admiration. Ecuadorian politeness, in 
any case, can quite easily lead one “up the garden”; for instance, 
if on entering a house one expresses admiration for an ornament, 
picture, or even the grand piano, the courteous reply is “It’s 
yours”! 
Our stay in Quito coincided with the annual water féte. This 
is grand fun if you are not one of the uninitiated. Having business 
to do that day, I left the hotel and gaily strutted down one of the 
main thoroughfares in the crisp and sunny morning air, but was 
brought sharply to my senses by receiving a large jug of water 
showered on me from above. Most of the buildings have verandas 
on the first floor jutting over the pavements, and these are the 
danger spots on féte day. Later on things warmed up, or cooled 
off, according to whether one remained wet or dry, and every 
veranda and window was occupied with tittering people waiting 
to hurl water at passers-by. Street vendors sold paper bags of water, 
which were bought readily by youths, who slung them at pedes- 
trians on the opposite side of the street. The residents either stayed 
indoors and indulged in water-heaving, or donned old clothes and 
ventured forth to take what was coming. 
To escape the battle I took a taxi through the storm-center, but 
this did not save me. Ardent bag-throwers dashed at the taxi and 
heaved water-bombs through the window and in the driver’s 
face. 
Another harmless form of sport was on the occasion of the 
Presidential elections, which seemed to take the place of football 
or rugby in other lands as an outlet for people’s feelings. I saw 
mounted police charging down back streets firing revolvers in all 
directions. When I inquired the following day from the hotel 
proprietor how many people had been killed, he looked at me in a 
