A Meal In Quito

September 9, 2025

The historical center of Quito is a UNESCO World Heritage site, and the architectural beauty of the place is really quite spectacular. As you walk around the cobbled streets lined with cathedrals and domed buildings, you'll start to feel excited and maybe even a little emotional. It's gorgeous, and when you combine it with the international atmosphere, the experience can really get to you. I find myself becoming quite benevolent and outgoing in this environment. I will stare, head slowly shaking side to side in wonder at some seemingly impossible architectural feat, then look around at others nearby, hoping to catch their gaze for a second so we can both nod and silently say, “Wow, right?” No common language needed. We’re all feeling the same thing, and the smiles shared in those few seconds of mutual admiration gives me a pretty fun high.

It's worth remembering though, the historical center of Quito is still a functioning city and the local culture will colour your visit in a few different ways.

Professional tour guides and many foreigners will tell you Quito is dangerous and insist that you don’t stray from the main tourist areas. I feel those warnings are a little exaggerated. Statistically, Quito is far less dangerous than Guayaquil, my soon-to-be home, and I feel totally comfortable wandering the “bad” neighborhoods there. I think Quito feels safe, and I thoroughly enjoy exploring places far from the throngs of tourists, even with my big cameras on display.

Everyone has a different level of what they feel is acceptable when it comes to safety, so only do what you’re comfortable with. However, there’s more to it than that. When you’re exploring the historical old town in Quito, you’re not going to be in a bubble. Quito, like the other big cities in Ecuador, is full of people who live just one street over from all those amazing buildings, so you don’t have to go far to see the real communities of Quito and how many of the locals live. Unfortunately, what you’ll see is often pretty grim. This means, of course, they also come to the tourist areas to run their businesses and try to eke out a living with food carts, shoe-shining stations, and traditional clothing stalls. This kind of economic activity in the streets is obviously very attractive for tourists and makes for some amazing photographic opportunities. It’s wonderful to see, but the mixing of these two very different worlds can often surprise you in ways you might not be ready for.

It caught me totally off guard on one occasion.

I had chosen an outdoor table at a café just one block from the main tourist area. This street was pedestrianized and lined with shops, some touristy, some just everyday small businesses. There were shade trees, lots of people, and even a security presence of Policía.

Normally when eating at a place like this, I try to avoid sitting at the tables closest to the street, as they’re definitely a risk in terms of snatch-and-grab theft. But the only free table was there, so that’s where I sat. I was just getting organized when the woman at the table next to mine kindly suggested that I don’t put my camera on the table while I eat. I thanked her and popped my camera into my backpack, which was already on the ground with one strap around my leg.

I ordered a couple of empanadas and a strawberry juice, which came out in a very impressive fish-bowl glass. The empanadas were much bigger than I expected, and I had only really wanted a snack and a bit of a sit-down, as I planned to have lunch in a couple of hours. They were also mostly full of rice, so I ate the best parts and left the majority of the shell and the rice. That was enough, and so I started to think about where I would go next as I sipped my massive bowl of strawberry juice. A few minutes later I mentally prepared myself for the Spanish exchange I was about to have, and I stood up to go inside and pay.

I had taken two steps when I heard a man behind me asking, “Señor, ¿ha terminado?” - “Are you finished?” I turned around to see a man standing at my table, gesturing toward my half-eaten empanadas. He was a big guy, maybe about my age, and he was struggling visibly as he stood unevenly. His clothes were filthy and I noticed his skin had some major untreated problems as I could see big open sores on his face. I told him yes, I was finished, and of course he could have it. But as I was saying this, a server rushed over to grab my leftovers and take them away from him. The scene that followed will stay with me forever. It’s been almost two months, and I’m still thinking about it.

The man cried out in alarm as the employee picked up my plate. He immediately started pleading and begging with the woman to give it to him. He was pointing at me and explaining that I had told him he could have it, which made everyone else in the café look at me. I was still looking at him, and the look of distress on his face shocked me. I found myself wanting to get involved, to ask the server to let him have it, but I hesitated. Their exchange was fast and heated, and she was clearly frustrated, while his panic increased along with the volume of his voice. He was still pleading with her, yelling but respectful, and addressing her in formal Spanish. I too felt the beginnings of panic but then she suddenly gave up and changed her mind. She thrust my plate at him and he took it, immediately scooping the food into his mouth in one rapid motion, with zero hesitation and seemingly no thought as to what it might be.

The way he consumed my cold leftovers displayed total abandonment. It was obvious this man had not eaten in very a long time. It took him about five seconds to get as much into his mouth as he could, then he grabbed what was left into his fist and politely gave my plate back to the server, who was avoiding eye contact by looking at other tables as if planning what to do next.

The man hurriedly left without a glance at either of us, and everyone looked at me again as I turned to go pay. The cash register was just inside the door, and the woman behind the counter looked at me with an expression that made it clear she’d seen what happened and was not comfortable with it. I was also extremely uncomfortable for many reasons. I was shaken by the sheer anguish the man had been suffering, and now I was faced with the possibility that I had done something wrong by telling him he could have my food and causing a scene in her busy café.

Cautiously, I told the woman (who had an air of authority, maybe the owner) that I enjoyed my meal and I thanked her. She sighed and told me how much I owed. Her body language increased my awkwardness, and now I was sure she was unhappy with me, but I wasn’t about to say anything more. I thanked her, pocketed my change, and walked out through the full tables. A woman and a little boy were already sitting at my table. They hadn’t seen the incident, but everyone else had, and I could feel their eyes on me again as I walked out. The man was nowhere to be seen.

I walked back toward the center of the historic town. I was trying to think about photography but was unable to stop thinking of the man’s expression. On top of that, I was struggling with the cultural faux pas I had apparently committed. Still, if it happened again, I wouldn’t hesitate. I’d give him the food.