The cobbled street evens out to something approaching level. Negotiating the hills of old Quito has left my lungs burning at the impossibly thin air of 2800 meters (almost 9,700 feet) above sea level. I’ve come to the very heart of Quito, La Plaza de la Independencia, known by locals as the Plaza Grande, in the hope of peering into the very soul of Ecuador.

I’ve passed the magnificence of La Plaza de Santo Domingo and its colossal cupolas. I’ve wheezed past the monastery of San Francisco, with its 104 stunning Doric columns. Both are feasts for the eyes. But now here is La Plaza Grande, where ancient Spanish Colonialism melded a new world.

La Plaza de la Independencia is located at the heart of the historic quarter of Quito. Here, founded on the ruins of the northern capital of the Empire of the Incas, the conquering Spaniards planned in 1535 for this square to be the heart of the new city. The massive plaza is dominated by the Palacio de Gobierno (Government Palace), the Catedral (Cathedral), the Municipalidad (Town Hall), the Palacio Arzobispal (Archbishop’s Palace) and the Casa del Alcalde (Mayor’s Home).

It is Sunday and the Plaza hums with life as Quiteños bustle about and enjoy the day, though the sun plays at peeking around threatening black clouds. In front of the Palacio Arzobispal is a long line of shoe shines, men young and old standing and gossiping of the politics of the day. Occasionally they stop to shine someone’s shoes for thirty cents. Other days they might be calling to passers-by to drum up business, but today is Sunday and there are better things to do.

I enter the great building to find that the one-time headquarters of Ecuadorian Catholicism is now a warren of touristy shops and chic coffee nooks. Courtyards tumble into each other. At any moment a new turn will open out into art displays and stages for folk dancers or indigent singers. I walk into a store selling woodcarvings. These are fanciful, hand-carved creations of massive Galapagos Tortoises and Sperm Whales and beautiful women in impossible poses. I buy a chocolate drink from a tiny stand which is hot and rich from the real chocolate used in this Andean country.

Outside the sun has retreated behind a particularly angry cloud. The old colonial city darkens into gloom, and the rain begins to fall, cold and hard. The crowds scurry to cover under the ample eaves of the buildings, or to look for refuge under a passage of columns and cement arches. Yet even with the rain the people gossip and laugh, unconcerned about this gloomy delay. In a few minutes the cloud moves on, the rain stops, the sun again brightens the plaza. Children move out into the open, gleefully splashing in the new puddles.

I wander out into the main part of the plaza where heroic statuary reach towards the sky. This square is a vital hub of the city. Demonstrations, marches and general protests against the government always converge here. Three times in the past ten years crowds forced presidents to step down from their lofty office. Thousands of Ecuadorians and tourists alike pass through this square every day. I can see that with the broad walkways, colorful vendors and comfortable benches this is the hub of the old city center. It is the finest place to sit and people-watch.

I stand briefly before the Monument to Freedom, with its marble base and its bronze figures. Nearby is a towering, winged angel reaching to the sky, as if she is parting the darkest sky herself to bring through the welcome sun.

In front of La Catedral a crowd gathers by the main steps. Laughter erupts over and over again. Street performers are at work. They cavort and grab willing members of their audience. They pull them to the center of the crowd, place ridiculous hats on their heads and sit them into chairs while the performers rattle off a parade of jokes and pratfalls. It is all far beyond anything my rude Spanish abilities can understand, but it does not matter. Whatever is said is powerful. It brings tears of mirth to the eyes of one young man, his hands gripping his sides at the force of his laughter. The general glee surrounding me takes hold and I laugh merrily along with the crowd.

The Cathedral is more than 400 years old and it is said that it is the most beautiful church in Latin America. The grand vaulted arches were built from the finest Andean stone, built with the sweat and blood of thousands of indigent slaves, and the whole gilded with many kilos of Inca gold. Near the entrance is the tomb of García Moreno. In 1875 then President Moreno was murdered by machete-wielding farmers. He is interned where he fell. Farther in is another tomb. In 1877 the Bishop of Quito was poisoned during a Good Friday Mass. Here is stark evidence of the political maelstrom that is often Ecuador.

But as I leave I again hear laughter. I think about the magnificent buildings in La Plaza de la Independencia, witness to heroic actions and bloody murder. I ponder about smiling, laughing people, braving the threatening clouds while they dance and cavort in the shadow of La Catedral.

I buy a sweet from a nearby vendor and stand aside, listening to the performers and enjoying the laughter of the crowd. I watch a young couple stroll contentedly, arm-in-arm.

Yes, the soul of Ecuador is to be found on the Plaza Grande.