With two kids that hardly stack up to the kitchen counter, its not often that Matt and Di get to go out together. When I showed up, I presented the opportunity for a few extra date nights without having to break bank on a babysitter (but they do bring me leftovers!) Last Friday however I was let out of the house.
Carolina is Duncan’s teacher and is wonderful. She also is going to watch the kids tonight while the adults go out. We are meeting a Canadian couple, Cheryl and Richard, who moved to Cuenca about nine months ago with their 20 year-old son, Denton.
There is a hostel called La Cigale that serves great food and becomes a fun bar at night. It’s a hot spot for both travelers and Cuencanos so it is a good place to see all sorts of people.
Matt, Di and I arrived around 7:30. La Cigale is a popular place for dinner so we found Richard and Cheryl waiting at a two top because there were no other tables available. We pulled a couple chairs over and made do until another, larger one, opened up. Two friends from school showed up, Jordana and Anne Marie (Americans), as we were finishing dinner.
The girls hadn’t met anyone but they are social and had no problem fitting in. One of Richard and Cheryl’s friends showed up, Fabiola. We got to talking. She is Cuencano and speaks both English and Spanish so it was a nice opportunity to speak Spanish. She works at a school and there may be an opportunity for tutoring English opening up. We’ll work out the details later because tonight is about having fun.
Fabiola left with a friend and Richard and I got to talk. From professional football, to running companies, to writing a book, Richard was at the very least entertaining, but we spoke and joked about many things.
In the middle of an interesting conversation, stumbled in Charlie. Charlie moved here two years ago and hasn’t stopped talking since. He is a nice guy and means well but the conversation is like quicksand. It’s easy to fall into and then you need real help getting out. I wasn’t going to let Charlie kill my buzz any longer (Richard told him to “shut the fuck up” earlier and it worked but I didn’t have the balls nor the social standing at 22) so I poured half a vodka limón down my throat and headed for the bar. This is actually called Play 2. Play 1 is going to the bathroom. Play 3 is going outside for a smoke. Though Play 3 is risky if you don’t know whether or not the person smokes, cause when it backfires, it really backfires.
Play 3 isn’t just for smokers. If you don’t smoke, it presents a wonderful opportunity to take five minutes to see what’s going on at the bars around you and get some fresh air. Obviously if Play 3 is a pump-fake then you have to know the person doesn’t smoke. Bold but works.
As La Cigale starts to close we find out where we can find some music. We’re in Ecuador after all – Let’s Salsa! We find out about a place with good music and it turns out that’s where the bartenders are going (always a good sign). We all have had a few at this point. Dancing seemed like a great idea. Not impossible, but its hard to drink and dance at the same time so not only is it fun, good for you, and makes first contact with girls less awkward – it saves your head in the morning.
So we get to this bar, Verde De something or other. There is a cover but we hear the music is very good so we head on in. Jordana had to leave but Anne Marie decided to stick around so I had a dance partner.
The bar had a big dance floor in the middle. The stage was to the left where a five-piece salsa band was in the middle of their groove. The bar was in the back but we headed upstairs where the 2nd floor wrapped around the dance floor. Great for people watching. There was no one up there so we set up camp and ordered drinks. We decided not to wait and hit the dance floor. I have taken one salsa lesson so Enrique Iglesias better watch out.
Teddy’s Salsa strategy:
Hips go east and west while feet go north and south and move your hands like you’re shaking macarenas. Smile and bob your head a little bit. Sounds sexy.
The first time around Anne Marie didn’t know any different. She’s from Kansas (not where Salsa dancing was invented). After a few songs we head back up to our drinks. From there I was given a small clue that I didn’t know what I was doing.
In the States, supposedly women equate dancing to sex. Partly because it creates male-female contact, usually after a few drinks, and also because my generation more often than not actually assumes a sexual position on the dance floor.
American women can say what they want about it, but they haven’t seen sexy dancing unless they have been to Latin America. These people were killing it. The music was great. It looked like everyone in the room was going to go home and have the most amazing sex ever. Probably to salsa music. I felt bad for white people everywhere.
Convinced (Thanks Vodka!) my strategy above would get me to look just like that, I was ready to go when Di asked me to dance. I was doing great until I actually started to dance. I don’t think the first verse was over before I had stepped on a toe, hit someone’s head and set dancing back a generation. Bless Di’s heart, she wasn’t too embarrassed to take me back upstairs to give me a lesson.
We worked on it for a bit but then Di had had enough of my incompetence on the dance floor, she grabbed Matt for some real dancing. These two really could dance together. I remember thinking, nine years ago from yesterday, when they shared their first dance together as a married couple (Happy Anniversary!!!) that they could dance then and they had only gotten better.
So with an hour of failed salsa lessons and six hours of drinking, Richard sold me that going down to ask a cute Cuencano girl to dance was a good idea. I ran down those stairs. I was General Custer I was so confident. I only had to figure out what to do after she said yes.
Fortunately I didn’t have to worry about that. Unfortunately it was because she shot me down. She said she had a boyfriend (later proven). I felt like such an idiot cause I couldn’t say, “have a nice night” in drunken Spanish. Next week in Spanish class – learn how to flirt.
I came back with my head held high though and to a crowd of proud gringos. After all, even had I gone all Rico Suave on her, she still had a boyfriend. The lights went on shortly there after and we filed out of the bar and into a cab. Despite a few failed attempts at fitting into the social scene, I had a lot of fun (I’ve got the bill to prove it).
Matt, Di and I are looking into some dance lessons. The next morning was a little rough but we slept in and had nowhere to be. Getting to know Cheryl and Richard was fun. They know a place to play pick up basketball where I’ll head this week. Dancing was a complete fail so until I get some professional help on the dance floor I think I’ll keep the salsa on my chips.
Monday, July 25, 2011
Tuesday, July 19, 2011
Gettin' Outta Dodge...
With the first week of school in the books it was time to hit the trail. Matt and Di had the idea to go to the little town of Principal, Ecuador. It was only about an hour and a half South East. I was usually up for tripping but I hadn’t gotten much stuff done in the last few days, this blog included, so I figured an empty house would be a good time to clean, write, read and study.It took a little longer for Matt and Di to get going because of some logistical issues and by that time I had finally cleaned my room, unpacked, actually moved in and started some laundry. Feeling slightly accomplished, I figured I was now in better shape to get out of town so I packed my backpack and hopped on the wagon. I’ve got a change of clothes, shorts for hiking, a jacket, another layer and some water so I am good for a few days. I’ve also got my bathing suit in case of any hot springs. Though we are going to a volcano so hopefully it won’t go Dante’s Peak on us.
We set out from the apartment and rustle through the busy bus station. Cuenca sells more sugar per block than Disneyland. Every vender has bright colored candy of every variety and if that doesn’t make your mother (or your dentist) angry, the most popular dish here is Salchipapas. It’s a plate of fries doused in ketchup and mayonnaise topped with a deep fried hot dog! Its not for skinny arteries but it is very good in an I-hope-no-one-is-looking kind of way. Friday they did come to my aide when the previous night’s buzz turned into that morning’s headache.
The busses in Ecuador are obnoxious. They BLAST dumb Stone Cold Steve Austin movies the entire time. And they don’t bother to bleep a thing. Being in college and working in a bar my ears didn’t notice much but we are traveling with a seven and a five year old. This movie was actually in Spanish (usually English) so little ear muffs were necessary but it is pretty ridiculous. Somehow with Steve Austin killing people up front, my music at full blast and the driver nearing the record for most consecutive potholes hit, I still managed to sleep.
We arrived in Sig Sig in mid-afternoon. It is a small town at the end of a valley. Duncan and Piper had done such a good job counting red cars on the way there we decided to stop for ice cream. For two or three dollars we all grabbed some ice cream and went to check out the town square. Just when we were about done with out ice cream an old drunk approached us armed with a distinct smell, something between a stumble and a waddle, and a very bloody nose he probably got from losing a fight with a staircase. He first asked if Matt was a doctor but that was about the last word we were able to make out for about five minutes. He wouldn’t leave so we ended up spending less time in Sig Sig than we had planned to.
We wanted to take a bus on to Principal but none of the busses ended up going that way so we had to improvise a little. Lots of people live on the roads that go up the side of this valley so there are lots of cabs driving around relative to the size of the city. We hopped in a cab (truck) and it took us over a mountain pass and back down the other side, which was the best view I had had yet.
After passing another small town, something like Guelo, we arrived in Principal. It was getting dark and the only thing going on was a game of soccer between the locals. In Ecuador there is a game called Equa-Voli Its like volleyball but with a soccer ball and a very high net. There is no spiking because the net is so high and the Ecuadorians are shorter than I am. It gets really intense and draws big crowds for a game that is not very hard. Any American volleyball player would be pretty bored and would probably rarely lose a point. However, interestingly enough, in Principal, the boys were all playing Ecua-Voli and the girls were all playing soccer.
For dinner we ate in this one-room concrete “restaurant.” The entire place was about the size of the paint on a basketball court. They were cooking pollo and rice. The kids, of course, got salchipapas. We sat at a plastic table with three chairs about four feet from the grill. Another plastic table had plates and utensils. The people from the square filtered in and out as we enjoyed out meal.
After eating we hung out and watched more soccer then we headed up to our hostel. It was a woman’s house and the three bedrooms upstairs had bunk beds and board games. The kids were in heaven. They made the beds and we played scrabble. It was a travel scrabble set, which folds up and the pieces stick into the board and onto a little clip to keep your own letters. My performance was kind of Wilt Chamberlain circa 1962 (He averaged 50 points per game). I was dominant. I won by 60 or so and had over 200 points before we called the game with a few rounds remaining, but it was kind of unfair. You can’t help the way the letters fall. You can only do the best with what you’ve got. But I really did get all the good letters (like how Wilt had six inches on everyone) and if I didn’t get them, they got teed up for me. Scrabble is a wonderful example of how it is sometimes better to be lucky than good.
After my transcendent run of scrabble artistry, it was time for bed. We were in the mountains where it is quite I bit colder than Cuenca. I couldn’t see my breath but had the lights been on I’m sure it would have been visible. Good news is the hostel keeper is aware of the climate and we had plenty of blankets to keep warm.
Morning comes always early with these kids and especially in a creaky old house. The iPod can only go so loud but I fell asleep at a decent hour and coffee wasn’t far away. We played Chinese Checkers downstairs. I had never played before. Fun game. Not Scrabble..
Breakfast was across the street in a family’s house. It had rained the night before and the steep muddy walkway was not to be taken lightly. Not in my pretty new jacket (Thanks Ben!). The woman claimed to have only made them with salt, but the breakfast gods must have blessed her skillet because these eggs were amazing. It was served with some tomato juice that I got a double helping of because the kids didn’t like it. I am absolutely the benefactor of their picky taste buds. The house had a miniature balcony but grand views spanning the valley and the volcano. We got out of there with five full stomachs for $10.
After breakfast we decided to wander. The night’s rain had made longer hikes an issue. Plus the kids’ short legs are usually limiting as well. We hiked for about an hour toward the volcano but as the kids’ legs waned, we headed back for town. We got close enough to the volcano that a camera superior to that on my phone would have gotten some pretty good photos. It was really only about an hour and a half more to the volcano and might be worth going back with just adults.
Back in Principal we caught a bus to Chordeleg and grabbed lunch at the market. After passing pigs’ heads and different kinds of genitals, we decided to stop for some chicken and rice. The soup had some meat in it that was attached to a bone larger than any I had seen in a bowl of soup before. It was not easy it eat with a spoon.
Two more busses and then back in Cuenca. The first one was nice and spacious. The bus station in between had one vender selling meat-on-a-stick and another selling doughnut holes so I was in good shape. Bathrooms were ten cents and kinda gross. We got on the next bus for Cuenca and it was packed. Standing room only for an hour. For a second I thought my space near the front was a good spot but then I realized I was in the middle of the coming and going for all the stops in between Chordeleg and Cuenca. I was next to all kinds of people. People who smelled bad. People who smelled worse and then something from one kid’s backpack was dripping on my shoe. I was not so long removed from an hour of hiking uphill in the mud so call me “pot” but I was uncomfortable.
I finally got to the back and Matt said “Oh yeah, I forgot to tell you, whatever you do, don’t leave your bag near the front unattended.” My eyes drifted back towards the front of the bus in self-defeat. My North Face bag was sitting in the overhead storage right by the door. The straps were even hanging off. Just dumb gringo written all over it. I bet there is 80 dollars for Spanish classes in the front pocket too. I kept my eye on and made my way to the front and got a hold of it as we were pulling up to the station. A couple local busses later we were back home (5 total!) My room was clean for the first time since I arrived in Ecuador. Good thing I laid down with all my muddy clothes on.
Saturday, July 9, 2011
Monday Blues
I’m now signed up for school and I have about four or five days to hang out before the real routine kicks in. Good time to wander, find a hike, find a museum (there’s too many to get to), find a bar (but I can try). My wallet I mentioned last post is still huge. When I am wearing pants that are too small for me, or I’m too fat for them, it can actually start to hurt my leg. And I wear normal person pants. I didn’t join an emo band and raid Piper’s closet. It’s not a normal problem.
So I’ve got some cash, my bus pass, and my ID in my back pocket. It actually has a button on the back so pick-pocketers don’t stand a chance. Or is that what they want me to think? Anyway I am in search of a wallet today. I wanted a money clip but as good ole Abe Lincoln used to say, "Better to remain silent and be thought a fool than to speak out and remove all doubt." That quote is probably only about 12% relevant but I’m going with it. So lets not trade in something big and bulky for something small and flashy. I’m going for boring and inconspicuous. But before I’m going for that, I am going for lunch.
Ecuadorian food consists of potatoes, seafood (better on the coast than in Cuenca obviously), fish, exotic fruit and spiced meats. The fruit, I have had. Some of it anyway. The Sweet granadilla is like a passion fruit. It looks like an orange and you cut it open and it’s full of seeds and this transparent jelly. The seeds are kind of hard but edible. You just grab a spoon and get after it.
Some traditional stuff I have yet to try. Cuy is a popular dish here. It’s a guinea pig on a stick. And when they serve it to you it looks a lot like a guinea pig on a stick. I want to try it though. I guess some places are better than others for cuy. A friend recommended a restaurant, around the corner, so Matt and I are going to head there soon. There are some local dishes I will probably pass on, notably tronquito – bull’s penis soup.
When the Ecuadorians are not putting genitals in their soup, it is actually quite good and served before most meals. Almuerzo (lunch) is the most popular meal here. Many businesses will close so people can go home and eat and it is a very busy meal for restaurants. It usually consists of soup, bread with jelly or butter, some kind of main course, which will include meat, and a desert or a pastry of some sort. And that’s all for about $1. When Matt and Di take the kids they usually just split two. Feed a family of four for $2. You can feed a family of four in Ecuador before you can feed a meter in Manhattan.
They really just have two beers in town – Pilsner, a Budweisery beer, and Club, which tastes like a Heineken Light. They are actually both better than those comps but there are no dark beers. You can also buy Corona and a real Heineken but they are expensive (and I don’t like either of them).
In the long list of the all-time cop-outs, this isn’t near the top. But it’s on it. For lunch I went to Monday Blue. It was on a corner in El Centro and had one of the few neon signs in town. It felt kind of Cheeseburger In Paradise meets Chili’s but much smaller and with some charm. In all seriousness, I wasn’t going to stay. I just wanted to see what was up, but no one spoke English and the menu was entirely in Spanish so naturally I convinced myself it was Ecuadorian. Not only did I eat at Monday Blue, I ordered a burrito.. Burritos are not Ecuadorian. Not only are they not Ecuadorian but it was on the page aptly labeled “Mexican.”
Little did I know, Thursday at Monday Blue was Margarita Day! Free margarita with every burrito. The waiter had a muddled accent and I could hardly pick up a word so I ordered my burrito ranchero and a Pilsner (grande). When he came with both the beer and a margarita he laughed and so did I. But a margarita and a large beer do not scare me. The margarita was good and the burrito wasn’t small. I was in good shape.
Let me take this moment to define the term “snowball effect.” Snowball effect is a figurative term for a process that starts from an initial state of small significance and builds upon itself, becoming larger (graver, more serious), and perhaps potentially dangerous or disastrous (a vicious circle, a "spiral of decline"), though it might be beneficial instead (a virtuous circle). Thank you.
So I needed coffee after looking around for a place to find a wallet. Or one I wanted at least. I stopped by a coffee shop, again American looking. I suck at traveling. All I really want is something quick. I don’t feel like carrying anything at the moment. On the menu there is Espress, and below Espress is Espress con Amaretto. In Ecuador, “Amaretto,” is the word they use to mean Amaretto in America. Una cervesa grande and a marg in, I figure the Espress con Amaretto makes more sense.
Working at a college bar for a year will drive up your tolerance but 8,300 ft will bring you back down. So my first Ecuadorian buzz is at 2pm, alone, in El Centro searching for a wallet. Classy.
I walk around for about an hour exploring parts of El Centro I hadn’t seen before. In front of almost every church is a plaza. I walk to the famous cathedral San Blas. It’s old and beautiful and I look in the window. There’s not a lot of seating but it has a grand feeling. It looks in good shape for being built when Jesse James was still robbing banks.
Dinner is coming up. Diana’s Spanish teacher and Duncan’s Spanish teacher are coming over so I had to get moving. I time the walk from my school to home and subtract a minute or two because the sweet smell of a bakery was too much to resist. Thirty cents later I had myself a delightful little pastry. Twenty-three minutes to get back. I figure I should give myself, with the pastry and allowing for potential doughnuts or possibly crepes, we’ll call it 25 minutes. No luck with the wallet. A few places had ones that were nice but I didn’t feel like spending $15 on a wallet when I could buy 50 pastries and a new waist size for that.
I am heading into my first weekend in Cuenca. The kids are finishing their school year and I begin mine (well a month or two) on Monday. Although exploring is fun and I have plenty left to do, I am excited to get into a routine and start making some leaps with the Spanish and meeting people my own age. I studied for 4 semesters in school and did well so hopefully a little practice and all these blogs will be in Spanish. We will be getting into the mountains soon for some more fun stories and I am finally going to get some pictures up here. But right now its time to watch The Lion King with the kids…
So I’ve got some cash, my bus pass, and my ID in my back pocket. It actually has a button on the back so pick-pocketers don’t stand a chance. Or is that what they want me to think? Anyway I am in search of a wallet today. I wanted a money clip but as good ole Abe Lincoln used to say, "Better to remain silent and be thought a fool than to speak out and remove all doubt." That quote is probably only about 12% relevant but I’m going with it. So lets not trade in something big and bulky for something small and flashy. I’m going for boring and inconspicuous. But before I’m going for that, I am going for lunch.
Ecuadorian food consists of potatoes, seafood (better on the coast than in Cuenca obviously), fish, exotic fruit and spiced meats. The fruit, I have had. Some of it anyway. The Sweet granadilla is like a passion fruit. It looks like an orange and you cut it open and it’s full of seeds and this transparent jelly. The seeds are kind of hard but edible. You just grab a spoon and get after it.
Some traditional stuff I have yet to try. Cuy is a popular dish here. It’s a guinea pig on a stick. And when they serve it to you it looks a lot like a guinea pig on a stick. I want to try it though. I guess some places are better than others for cuy. A friend recommended a restaurant, around the corner, so Matt and I are going to head there soon. There are some local dishes I will probably pass on, notably tronquito – bull’s penis soup.
When the Ecuadorians are not putting genitals in their soup, it is actually quite good and served before most meals. Almuerzo (lunch) is the most popular meal here. Many businesses will close so people can go home and eat and it is a very busy meal for restaurants. It usually consists of soup, bread with jelly or butter, some kind of main course, which will include meat, and a desert or a pastry of some sort. And that’s all for about $1. When Matt and Di take the kids they usually just split two. Feed a family of four for $2. You can feed a family of four in Ecuador before you can feed a meter in Manhattan.
They really just have two beers in town – Pilsner, a Budweisery beer, and Club, which tastes like a Heineken Light. They are actually both better than those comps but there are no dark beers. You can also buy Corona and a real Heineken but they are expensive (and I don’t like either of them).
In the long list of the all-time cop-outs, this isn’t near the top. But it’s on it. For lunch I went to Monday Blue. It was on a corner in El Centro and had one of the few neon signs in town. It felt kind of Cheeseburger In Paradise meets Chili’s but much smaller and with some charm. In all seriousness, I wasn’t going to stay. I just wanted to see what was up, but no one spoke English and the menu was entirely in Spanish so naturally I convinced myself it was Ecuadorian. Not only did I eat at Monday Blue, I ordered a burrito.. Burritos are not Ecuadorian. Not only are they not Ecuadorian but it was on the page aptly labeled “Mexican.”
Little did I know, Thursday at Monday Blue was Margarita Day! Free margarita with every burrito. The waiter had a muddled accent and I could hardly pick up a word so I ordered my burrito ranchero and a Pilsner (grande). When he came with both the beer and a margarita he laughed and so did I. But a margarita and a large beer do not scare me. The margarita was good and the burrito wasn’t small. I was in good shape.
Let me take this moment to define the term “snowball effect.” Snowball effect is a figurative term for a process that starts from an initial state of small significance and builds upon itself, becoming larger (graver, more serious), and perhaps potentially dangerous or disastrous (a vicious circle, a "spiral of decline"), though it might be beneficial instead (a virtuous circle). Thank you.
So I needed coffee after looking around for a place to find a wallet. Or one I wanted at least. I stopped by a coffee shop, again American looking. I suck at traveling. All I really want is something quick. I don’t feel like carrying anything at the moment. On the menu there is Espress, and below Espress is Espress con Amaretto. In Ecuador, “Amaretto,” is the word they use to mean Amaretto in America. Una cervesa grande and a marg in, I figure the Espress con Amaretto makes more sense.
Working at a college bar for a year will drive up your tolerance but 8,300 ft will bring you back down. So my first Ecuadorian buzz is at 2pm, alone, in El Centro searching for a wallet. Classy.
I walk around for about an hour exploring parts of El Centro I hadn’t seen before. In front of almost every church is a plaza. I walk to the famous cathedral San Blas. It’s old and beautiful and I look in the window. There’s not a lot of seating but it has a grand feeling. It looks in good shape for being built when Jesse James was still robbing banks.
Dinner is coming up. Diana’s Spanish teacher and Duncan’s Spanish teacher are coming over so I had to get moving. I time the walk from my school to home and subtract a minute or two because the sweet smell of a bakery was too much to resist. Thirty cents later I had myself a delightful little pastry. Twenty-three minutes to get back. I figure I should give myself, with the pastry and allowing for potential doughnuts or possibly crepes, we’ll call it 25 minutes. No luck with the wallet. A few places had ones that were nice but I didn’t feel like spending $15 on a wallet when I could buy 50 pastries and a new waist size for that.
I am heading into my first weekend in Cuenca. The kids are finishing their school year and I begin mine (well a month or two) on Monday. Although exploring is fun and I have plenty left to do, I am excited to get into a routine and start making some leaps with the Spanish and meeting people my own age. I studied for 4 semesters in school and did well so hopefully a little practice and all these blogs will be in Spanish. We will be getting into the mountains soon for some more fun stories and I am finally going to get some pictures up here. But right now its time to watch The Lion King with the kids…
Thursday, July 7, 2011
Nothing Like Your First Day
So my first day in Cuenca was interesting. I’m still a white boy running around with a touch phone, touch iPod, and a bulging wallet full of little cash but a deck’s worth cards that I don’t use that are only even relevant in a country I don’t live in at the moment. Not that any Cuencano would know that until long after he had mugged me. Sucker.
My first morning, I woke up early. I am trying to break some old habits from working in a bar. Getting up just in time for sunset is one of them. I told them 8:30. I think I emerged at 9:30. Whoops! But hey, I am new that this! If Matt and Di minded, they were good at hiding it.
We hopped on the bus, which costs a quarter per voyage. It’s easy to put money on a card so you can just swipe and grab a seat. You do have to grab something because the bus drivers must be good friends with the cab drivers because they drive like maniacs too. You can try to play the game where you stand and don’t hold on to anything, proving to yourself how good your balance is, but the bus drivers’ record is better than ’96 Bulls'.
This is my first time in El Centro. El Centro (you guessed it) is in the center of the city and is a UNESCO World Heritage Trust site. There are many buildings from the fifteen and sixteen hundreds. The New Cathedral was built in 1880. It was settled by the Spanish to give you a clue about the architecture. The cobblestone streets are narrow and busy with cars and walkers. The population of Cuenca is over 400,000 but it feels smaller – almost the whole city is walkable.
Matt, Di and I walk to the main plaza of the city, which is between the Old Cathedral (1557) and the new one. We stop for breakfast in a restaurant next to the New Cathedral. For $3 dollars I got some kind of pineapple juice, bread with butter and jam, two eggs, coffee and it was all very good. I could buy the better part of a gallon of gas for that. We picked up a map and bus route booklet on the way to breakfast and I studied where we were and where the schools I should look into are.
I wasn’t sure I was completely ready but it was time for me to go exploring on my own. I hadn’t figured out how small Cuenca really was yet and my four words of Spanish I had spoken previously today were pretty pathetic. But now I was a gringo on the loose with little dots on the map I had to get to. The first one was only three blocks away. Done. I walked through the park and took a left. “OK, this is my block. Simon Bolivar? Simon Bolivar? Simon Bolivar? Simon Boli-where-the-hell-are-you? The Cuencano tourist-helper-lady put your dot right here!” I was already lost. I think I had shaken Matt’s hand 30 seconds earlier. The Eagles couldn’t even get through the intro to Hotel California before I got lost. Good thing to rely on: the clerks at hostels usually speak English. Luckily there was a hostel right on the damn dot.
I was only a block away. I had walked right by it, actually. Signs in Ecuador aren’t like those in the U.S. They don’t light up, sing, or stick out and with the narrow roads you can only see a sign or two in front of you. You have to know where you are going or be content wandering. I was neither. I walked to Simon Bolivar and spoke with a lady who was in charge of something. She spoke English and was very nice. Unfortunately this school only had 2 hours open during the week (all private lessons). Swung and missed but it was good to talk to someone. I had a clue of what I was looking for now.
On to Cedei – another school recommended by Matt and Di and dotted by the unimpressive dot lady. Four blocks south and two to the East y estoy alli. “Cedei? Cedei? Cedei? Seriously?” I looked at the dots when she put them there. They didn’t move. The dot lady’s job was to help people find where they wanted to go and she just tells people the wrong place. Could you imagine if the Customer Service person at the mall just told people the wrong directions for the bathroom or for the Gap all the time? Do you think restaurant owners are mad because none of the gringos that want to spend money and tip can get proper directions?
I see a sign that says "Abogados." These are lawyers and some of the few people sporting suits in Cuenca so I imagine amongst all their education they had taken a few English classes. I was wrong. Fortunately, the man uses his hands and a good circular, around-the-corner, gesture is all I need.
I arrive at Cedei to be directed from a woman who speaks English to one who doesn’t. Curiously dumb move for someone working at a school. By now I am starting to hear the Spanish a little better. Between her tone, use of negative words, and el octavo de agosto (something like that), it is obvious they do not have any spots for over a month. Thank you. Next.
Amauta. Kind of an annoying name but I am not looking to go back to ask dumb dot lady for more directions so I am hoping this works out. Three blocks west and two blocks north. This one was actually the funniest because the block that she had put the dot on wasn’t just not where the school was, but it was the side of a museum that takes up the entire block and doesn’t even have a door on it, much less a school. However, this was her closest guess. After a quick chuckle, I decided to find the place and needed only to turn around. It was on the other side of the street.
Many of the doors to schools or nicer places around town require you to be buzzed in. I called and our conversation went like this:
The speaker:“Hola! Puedo ayudarte?”
The gringo: “Uhhhh….”
BUZZ!
It’s a school for LEARNING Spanish, I’m not supposed to know it yet, right? I could not have been the first. After our insightful conversation at the door, I could tell she was excited to meet me. She spoke English and I told her I was looking to study Spanish and the school was highly recommended. She gave me the tour and said I could study between 10 and 20 hours a week at $8/hour. There are extra actividades that are free (I am going to learn to salsa and bake cookies). I signed up for 15 hours per week. Lilly and I parted ways. After walking around town in search of those dots, I had a feel for the town and made my way back home. I start school on Monday. Hopefully I’ll have something better to say when they buzz me in.
My first morning, I woke up early. I am trying to break some old habits from working in a bar. Getting up just in time for sunset is one of them. I told them 8:30. I think I emerged at 9:30. Whoops! But hey, I am new that this! If Matt and Di minded, they were good at hiding it.
We hopped on the bus, which costs a quarter per voyage. It’s easy to put money on a card so you can just swipe and grab a seat. You do have to grab something because the bus drivers must be good friends with the cab drivers because they drive like maniacs too. You can try to play the game where you stand and don’t hold on to anything, proving to yourself how good your balance is, but the bus drivers’ record is better than ’96 Bulls'.
This is my first time in El Centro. El Centro (you guessed it) is in the center of the city and is a UNESCO World Heritage Trust site. There are many buildings from the fifteen and sixteen hundreds. The New Cathedral was built in 1880. It was settled by the Spanish to give you a clue about the architecture. The cobblestone streets are narrow and busy with cars and walkers. The population of Cuenca is over 400,000 but it feels smaller – almost the whole city is walkable.
Matt, Di and I walk to the main plaza of the city, which is between the Old Cathedral (1557) and the new one. We stop for breakfast in a restaurant next to the New Cathedral. For $3 dollars I got some kind of pineapple juice, bread with butter and jam, two eggs, coffee and it was all very good. I could buy the better part of a gallon of gas for that. We picked up a map and bus route booklet on the way to breakfast and I studied where we were and where the schools I should look into are.
I wasn’t sure I was completely ready but it was time for me to go exploring on my own. I hadn’t figured out how small Cuenca really was yet and my four words of Spanish I had spoken previously today were pretty pathetic. But now I was a gringo on the loose with little dots on the map I had to get to. The first one was only three blocks away. Done. I walked through the park and took a left. “OK, this is my block. Simon Bolivar? Simon Bolivar? Simon Bolivar? Simon Boli-where-the-hell-are-you? The Cuencano tourist-helper-lady put your dot right here!” I was already lost. I think I had shaken Matt’s hand 30 seconds earlier. The Eagles couldn’t even get through the intro to Hotel California before I got lost. Good thing to rely on: the clerks at hostels usually speak English. Luckily there was a hostel right on the damn dot.
I was only a block away. I had walked right by it, actually. Signs in Ecuador aren’t like those in the U.S. They don’t light up, sing, or stick out and with the narrow roads you can only see a sign or two in front of you. You have to know where you are going or be content wandering. I was neither. I walked to Simon Bolivar and spoke with a lady who was in charge of something. She spoke English and was very nice. Unfortunately this school only had 2 hours open during the week (all private lessons). Swung and missed but it was good to talk to someone. I had a clue of what I was looking for now.
On to Cedei – another school recommended by Matt and Di and dotted by the unimpressive dot lady. Four blocks south and two to the East y estoy alli. “Cedei? Cedei? Cedei? Seriously?” I looked at the dots when she put them there. They didn’t move. The dot lady’s job was to help people find where they wanted to go and she just tells people the wrong place. Could you imagine if the Customer Service person at the mall just told people the wrong directions for the bathroom or for the Gap all the time? Do you think restaurant owners are mad because none of the gringos that want to spend money and tip can get proper directions?
I see a sign that says "Abogados." These are lawyers and some of the few people sporting suits in Cuenca so I imagine amongst all their education they had taken a few English classes. I was wrong. Fortunately, the man uses his hands and a good circular, around-the-corner, gesture is all I need.
I arrive at Cedei to be directed from a woman who speaks English to one who doesn’t. Curiously dumb move for someone working at a school. By now I am starting to hear the Spanish a little better. Between her tone, use of negative words, and el octavo de agosto (something like that), it is obvious they do not have any spots for over a month. Thank you. Next.
Amauta. Kind of an annoying name but I am not looking to go back to ask dumb dot lady for more directions so I am hoping this works out. Three blocks west and two blocks north. This one was actually the funniest because the block that she had put the dot on wasn’t just not where the school was, but it was the side of a museum that takes up the entire block and doesn’t even have a door on it, much less a school. However, this was her closest guess. After a quick chuckle, I decided to find the place and needed only to turn around. It was on the other side of the street.
Many of the doors to schools or nicer places around town require you to be buzzed in. I called and our conversation went like this:
The speaker:“Hola! Puedo ayudarte?”
The gringo: “Uhhhh….”
BUZZ!
It’s a school for LEARNING Spanish, I’m not supposed to know it yet, right? I could not have been the first. After our insightful conversation at the door, I could tell she was excited to meet me. She spoke English and I told her I was looking to study Spanish and the school was highly recommended. She gave me the tour and said I could study between 10 and 20 hours a week at $8/hour. There are extra actividades that are free (I am going to learn to salsa and bake cookies). I signed up for 15 hours per week. Lilly and I parted ways. After walking around town in search of those dots, I had a feel for the town and made my way back home. I start school on Monday. Hopefully I’ll have something better to say when they buzz me in.
Wednesday, July 6, 2011
It takes how long to get to Cuenca? - Part II
I was there for an hour after the flight left before I was able to speak to anyone about what my options were. I was surrounded by people speaking a language I don’t speak and I hadn't even left America yet. Native Spanish speakers always speak fast, but they speak really fast when they are mad. I made out maybe 2% of the words. Hopefully no one gets mad at me in Ecuador. I am confident will not understand them.
We get walked to the help desk and I got a ticket and a seat assignment for the late flight for the next day and learn I will get a check (not a voucher) for $285. Getting cash out of an airline to spend an extra day in Miami with my cousin and our new Spanish friends isn't the worst thing that could happen. I was told to go to the future-ticketing desk at D25, which didn’t really make sense, but they know better than I. D25. No agent. No check. No nothing. Future ticketing is out with the rest of the ticketing counters and an exit is near D25. Makes more sense.
I get my money and Peter picks me up from the airport again and we pick up those same wonderful burgers form Taurus and hang out again for a night. I feel better knowing 21C has my name on it. C's are always isles so I am in good shape. D's can trick you. Few worse things than finding out your plane only has five seats in a row and D is the fourth letter in the alphabet. I'm 5'9'' but I need to stretch out.
My last night in Miami was quiet but we ended up staying up late. Its not often one wakes up and only has an hour before he has to leave for his 6:20pm flight. Boarding the flight was easy. I was able to break the big bills the airline gave me into smaller ones. Ecuador uses U.S. currency but they don't have much in the way of change nor do things cost very much. Anything over a $20 bill isn't very useful.
Obviously my gate was at the end of the terminal. I think I had legitimately walked 3 miles throughout that airport by the time I left. 21C. Thankfully Peter let me borrow a shirt. I still didn't have my toiletries and I didn't want to sit next to me. I felt bad for the guy who did have to until he took over half of my seat with his huge arms and his own more pungent fragrance. It wasn't Sex Panther but it was close.
Arriving in Guayaquil wasn't bad. The line for customs went quickly. As long as you check “No” on fruits and vegetables I think you are fine. The bags came and went. Mine weren't there. Though depressing it was also expected. They made it on the flight I was bumped from. So glad to see my bags for the first time in 3 days I went directly to the bathroom and changed and put on deodorant. Matt was smart enough to give me directions in Spanish to the hostel. The computer at Peter's house decided to stop having Internet right when I was looking for a map to print for directions. Figures.
I talk to the cab coordinator and I could barely speak English I was so tired and worn out. Forget Spanish. I looked as ignorantly gringoey as possible. Good news is that he had heard of Hostel Guayaquil and directed me to a conductor de taxi that was nice and spoke a little English. Matt said the cab ride should only be five minutes or so. The cabbie thought ten. Hmmm. Well maybe Matt hasn't stayed there and didn't know. "This doesn't seem like what I saw on the map," I thought to myself. But I couldn’t have had my bearings - it's nighttime in a city that's in a country I have never been in before. The cabbie is happy and proud when we arrive at the Grand Hotel Guayaquil... But that's not where I am supposed to go. "Yes, tis." he says. "No it's not." His confidence and my trusting nature led to me not getting out the directions right when I got in the cab.
Now I hand them to him and he figures out that he is wrong and we start to drive back near the airport. I text my friend his name. His credentials are on the back of the seat. I figure if something happens maybe this way they can find my body. He follows the directions, which lead to a sketchy looking street and a building with no name. Convinced this isn’t it, I start to wonder if I am actually going to find this place or wonder the streets of Guayaquil until my van leaves in the morning. If that’s the case I hope he kicks me out on a different street because this one did not look friendly to gringos with 90lbs. of luggage. Fortunately the cabbie went to the door and rang a buzzer and the person that answered spoke English and knew my name. This was it. $8 later, I said goodbye to the cab driver. For $25 I had Internet, TV, air conditioning, a comfortable bed and full bathroom. I’m starting to like Ecuador.
In the morning I got up and ate some of the trail mix I grabbed in Miami and open my other bottle of water. I finally get to talk to Matt on the phone. Short trip to the van company. Easy peasy. The cab driver doesn’t speak much English but my broken Spanish was fine and he knew where we were going. When we arrived I saw the sign for the transportation company with which I had a reservation. This where I am supposed to be and I didn’t get lost on the way. Progress! I was ushered near a van full of people.
“Blah blah blah?”
“No. Cuenca!”
“AHH! Cuenca! Cuenca! Sigueme!”
I followed him and hopped in the back of van. $12 dollars, just as Matt had said. A three-hour ride through the mountains in the back of a van actually sounded pretty nice. I was at sea level going to 8,300 ft. This should be interesting. As in most countries, the cab drivers are insane. Speeding, swerving, stopping abruptly, narrowly missing objects large and less large. Once out of the city we quickly get into the mountains. It is beautiful. Very green.
Racing up this winding road was something I would love to do in a Porsche. In the back of a van, a lesser stomach would have had an issue. I was fine and enjoyed it. Driving up into the clouds is always interesting as you see them coming and then you are engulfed in white. I could see some oncoming headlights but the road and the cliff to my right had disappeared. I didn’t find the seatbelt until after the trip. It would have been more useful in the city than on the cliff’s edge but a false sense of security is sometimes better than no sense of security.
After the three-hour beautiful drive, I was finally in Cuenca. I was minutes from seeing and hugging Di, who was waiting for me at my “van station.” We arrived and I walked in lobby to see no blond godmother or even a white person. This gringo was a little bit suspect because we were already late. It was 1:30 and we were supposed to be there at 1:00. My back pocket had the important papers I printed off with cab directions and important numbers. One paper had all the info and the other had Matt and Di’s numbers. I had all the info but no numbers. Awesome.
I searched through my bag and though a force, which I don’t think science can explain (No, it cannot just be gravity), the paper ended up at the bottom of a very full bag. I called Di and she was waiting for me at the bus stop. The right bus stop. I was at the wrong one. Apparently there are two van companies on the same corner in Guayaquil and one has a habit of poaching the other’s clients. Fortunately Di was only down the block and was there in no time. We were both so happy we were finally together. In a perfect world I would have been here a month ago. With perfect weather I would have been here four days ago. We hopped in a cab – they are everywhere in Cuenca – and went to the apartment, only a few blocks from El Centro (downtown/UNESCO historical site).
The kids were waiting for me at the top of the elevator and gave me big hugs. They were as happy to see me, as I was to see them. I walked into third floor apartment, from which you can see most of the historical city. The clouds gliding across the Andes were reminiscent of my trip to Peru.
Matt was also waiting with open arms. As my main Ecuadorian correspondent, he was happy to see I was still in one piece. The hugs and kisses and the signs and balloons on my bedroom door made for the best welcome I’ve had in a while. After 4 days, 4,000 miles, 3 trips to the airport, 4 missed flights, 2 sprawled out neighbors, 1 wrong hotel, 1 wrong van, I got to the right city and am ready to start my journey.
We get walked to the help desk and I got a ticket and a seat assignment for the late flight for the next day and learn I will get a check (not a voucher) for $285. Getting cash out of an airline to spend an extra day in Miami with my cousin and our new Spanish friends isn't the worst thing that could happen. I was told to go to the future-ticketing desk at D25, which didn’t really make sense, but they know better than I. D25. No agent. No check. No nothing. Future ticketing is out with the rest of the ticketing counters and an exit is near D25. Makes more sense.
I get my money and Peter picks me up from the airport again and we pick up those same wonderful burgers form Taurus and hang out again for a night. I feel better knowing 21C has my name on it. C's are always isles so I am in good shape. D's can trick you. Few worse things than finding out your plane only has five seats in a row and D is the fourth letter in the alphabet. I'm 5'9'' but I need to stretch out.
My last night in Miami was quiet but we ended up staying up late. Its not often one wakes up and only has an hour before he has to leave for his 6:20pm flight. Boarding the flight was easy. I was able to break the big bills the airline gave me into smaller ones. Ecuador uses U.S. currency but they don't have much in the way of change nor do things cost very much. Anything over a $20 bill isn't very useful.
Obviously my gate was at the end of the terminal. I think I had legitimately walked 3 miles throughout that airport by the time I left. 21C. Thankfully Peter let me borrow a shirt. I still didn't have my toiletries and I didn't want to sit next to me. I felt bad for the guy who did have to until he took over half of my seat with his huge arms and his own more pungent fragrance. It wasn't Sex Panther but it was close.
Arriving in Guayaquil wasn't bad. The line for customs went quickly. As long as you check “No” on fruits and vegetables I think you are fine. The bags came and went. Mine weren't there. Though depressing it was also expected. They made it on the flight I was bumped from. So glad to see my bags for the first time in 3 days I went directly to the bathroom and changed and put on deodorant. Matt was smart enough to give me directions in Spanish to the hostel. The computer at Peter's house decided to stop having Internet right when I was looking for a map to print for directions. Figures.
I talk to the cab coordinator and I could barely speak English I was so tired and worn out. Forget Spanish. I looked as ignorantly gringoey as possible. Good news is that he had heard of Hostel Guayaquil and directed me to a conductor de taxi that was nice and spoke a little English. Matt said the cab ride should only be five minutes or so. The cabbie thought ten. Hmmm. Well maybe Matt hasn't stayed there and didn't know. "This doesn't seem like what I saw on the map," I thought to myself. But I couldn’t have had my bearings - it's nighttime in a city that's in a country I have never been in before. The cabbie is happy and proud when we arrive at the Grand Hotel Guayaquil... But that's not where I am supposed to go. "Yes, tis." he says. "No it's not." His confidence and my trusting nature led to me not getting out the directions right when I got in the cab.
Now I hand them to him and he figures out that he is wrong and we start to drive back near the airport. I text my friend his name. His credentials are on the back of the seat. I figure if something happens maybe this way they can find my body. He follows the directions, which lead to a sketchy looking street and a building with no name. Convinced this isn’t it, I start to wonder if I am actually going to find this place or wonder the streets of Guayaquil until my van leaves in the morning. If that’s the case I hope he kicks me out on a different street because this one did not look friendly to gringos with 90lbs. of luggage. Fortunately the cabbie went to the door and rang a buzzer and the person that answered spoke English and knew my name. This was it. $8 later, I said goodbye to the cab driver. For $25 I had Internet, TV, air conditioning, a comfortable bed and full bathroom. I’m starting to like Ecuador.
In the morning I got up and ate some of the trail mix I grabbed in Miami and open my other bottle of water. I finally get to talk to Matt on the phone. Short trip to the van company. Easy peasy. The cab driver doesn’t speak much English but my broken Spanish was fine and he knew where we were going. When we arrived I saw the sign for the transportation company with which I had a reservation. This where I am supposed to be and I didn’t get lost on the way. Progress! I was ushered near a van full of people.
“Blah blah blah?”
“No. Cuenca!”
“AHH! Cuenca! Cuenca! Sigueme!”
I followed him and hopped in the back of van. $12 dollars, just as Matt had said. A three-hour ride through the mountains in the back of a van actually sounded pretty nice. I was at sea level going to 8,300 ft. This should be interesting. As in most countries, the cab drivers are insane. Speeding, swerving, stopping abruptly, narrowly missing objects large and less large. Once out of the city we quickly get into the mountains. It is beautiful. Very green.
Racing up this winding road was something I would love to do in a Porsche. In the back of a van, a lesser stomach would have had an issue. I was fine and enjoyed it. Driving up into the clouds is always interesting as you see them coming and then you are engulfed in white. I could see some oncoming headlights but the road and the cliff to my right had disappeared. I didn’t find the seatbelt until after the trip. It would have been more useful in the city than on the cliff’s edge but a false sense of security is sometimes better than no sense of security.
After the three-hour beautiful drive, I was finally in Cuenca. I was minutes from seeing and hugging Di, who was waiting for me at my “van station.” We arrived and I walked in lobby to see no blond godmother or even a white person. This gringo was a little bit suspect because we were already late. It was 1:30 and we were supposed to be there at 1:00. My back pocket had the important papers I printed off with cab directions and important numbers. One paper had all the info and the other had Matt and Di’s numbers. I had all the info but no numbers. Awesome.
I searched through my bag and though a force, which I don’t think science can explain (No, it cannot just be gravity), the paper ended up at the bottom of a very full bag. I called Di and she was waiting for me at the bus stop. The right bus stop. I was at the wrong one. Apparently there are two van companies on the same corner in Guayaquil and one has a habit of poaching the other’s clients. Fortunately Di was only down the block and was there in no time. We were both so happy we were finally together. In a perfect world I would have been here a month ago. With perfect weather I would have been here four days ago. We hopped in a cab – they are everywhere in Cuenca – and went to the apartment, only a few blocks from El Centro (downtown/UNESCO historical site).
The kids were waiting for me at the top of the elevator and gave me big hugs. They were as happy to see me, as I was to see them. I walked into third floor apartment, from which you can see most of the historical city. The clouds gliding across the Andes were reminiscent of my trip to Peru.
Matt was also waiting with open arms. As my main Ecuadorian correspondent, he was happy to see I was still in one piece. The hugs and kisses and the signs and balloons on my bedroom door made for the best welcome I’ve had in a while. After 4 days, 4,000 miles, 3 trips to the airport, 4 missed flights, 2 sprawled out neighbors, 1 wrong hotel, 1 wrong van, I got to the right city and am ready to start my journey.
It takes how long to get to Cuenca? - Part 1
It took two months, two days, 13 hours, and 47 minutes to get a plane ticket. The stress and uncertainty leading up to my trip was of my own doing. The time had come to finally get out of dodge and start an experience that will hopefully be inspiring and path-altering (or path-mending or path-rerouting or throwing my old path out the window for a new Spanish speaking one). I am going to Cuenca, Ecuador to stay with my godmother and close family friend, Diana and her wonderful family. She and her husband Matt have taken their kids, Piper and Duncan, to Ecuador for two years as expats.
After leaving Bozeman, MT, where I had spent the last three school years, I stopped in Phoenix to say goodbye to the my family, spend too much money, and not play golf (it was 110 degrees and I thought I had broken my foot).
All my bags were packed and I was ready to go. My dad, the cab, was outside the door. I hated waking up, but it was time to say goodbye to the states and head south where the English is scarce, clouds are in abundance, and people (men anyway) piss on sidewalks and apparently handrails.
For all my complaining, 8am flights aren't so bad. I am one of the lucky ones. I can sleep on any plane. I was flying through Miami. Phoenix through the sunshine state and on to the equator. I figure we'll be early. My flight to Miami was fine. I slept for three of the four hours and was distracted by my iPod for the other hour. Obviously I only needed to study Spanish for the second leg of flight to Ecuador before being in immersed for six months. I mean I grew up in Arizona, studied in Montana, and I love Taco Bell - I'll be fine.
The plane had arrived in Miami twenty minutes early. Given my 50-minute layover, I was pretty happy about this. Only before the plane landed, it started circling. Thunderstorm. "Shouldn't be a problem we have enough gas that we can circle until we get an opening instead of having to be diverted," the pilot reassured the cabin. After a half hour of circling, we get the news we are headed to Fort Meyers to refuel and wait for the weather to clear. All that gas earned us was a seat at the back of the line.
I am a very easygoing traveler. There isn't a lot that gets to me and I don't worry about the things I can't control. I can't control the weather or how many gates are open and I can't tell the control tower to go screw itself and land the plane anyway. I can control the volume on my iPod and generally whether or not I am sleeping. However, the man sitting next to me (I had an exit row window, thank God) took up more space than a 5'6", 140lb person ever should. I hate when the person-next-to-you’s elbow extends past the arm rest and is touching you but especially WHEN YOU"RE LEANING AGAINST THE WINDOW. I couldn't get away and my volume was already all the way up. Ugh. After three hours on the tarmac the weather was gone, unfortunately along with it, all the flights to Guayaquil.
Good news is my aunt and uncle live in Miami. They are out of town but thankfully Peter, my cousin of about the same age, happened to be passing through town. The rebooking line was a mile long with two agents and I had a luxurious Coconut Grove abode waiting for me so I got out of there as quickly as possible. It was good to see Peter. We see each other rarely - once, maybe twice, every few years. He is tall like I want to be and athletic like I used to be. He is a Sophomore at UC – Boulder and going to Barcelona in the Fall.
Starving we head to the main drag in Coconut Grove. Taurus, a small, dimly lit bar with charismatic bartenders and an impressive burger is our first stop. Almost done with our meal, a whiskey rep sat down next to us an offered us some Moonshine, a sweet non-barreled whiskey. We made friends and found out Moonshine goes well with orange juice, lemonade, wheat beer, water and is even tolerable on the rocks.
Walking out of Taurus, feeling like a million bucks (or was it that I had a million bucks? - probably both) we head down to the younger side of town and decide to go to the loudest bar we can find. Anytime you can mix two different kinds of alcoholic Slushies and Jell-O shots and then throw an extra shot in for a dollar, you have to do it. Saddled with two Jell-O shots (they were a dollar!) and a Slushie, we found a table in what was otherwise a very busy bar. Looking around we noticed we were the only white people there so we decided to get out quickly. Getting out of a bar quickly when you're holding four shots always works out well. We moved on to the next bar, which was more our crowd, and ironically met two Spanish girls. We hung out for a bit then they gave us a ride home and we exchanged numbers. My wonderful downstairs bed was waiting with open arms. Goodnight.
After waking up I figured out that I could get out the next evening, which was a major improvement over the 4th of July. Peter and I stayed in and hung out all day. It was cloudy, not the beach weather you would hope for while stuck in Miami. In the interest of our wallets we stayed in. The Spanish girls came over later and we hung out. We talked about the differences in cultures and Peter and I tried speaking a little Spanish here and there. They each spoke four languages. Peter and I each speak about 1.2. The night ended sooner and cheaper than the first. The next morning I was ready to go to Ecuador. I got in the car sporting same shirt I had been wearing two days before and nervous about getting to my hostel.
"This is not a ticket but you will definitely get a seat." ... Really? After getting through security and down what must be the longest terminal in the world, I asked the American Airlines agent for a seat assignment and she said she would call my name in a bit. Listening to my iPod but clearly able to hear the PA system, I was waiting for them to call my name. Conscious of what they were saying I hear, not my name, but that "GROUP ONE!" was invited to board and I stood up and turned around to see a long line of angry people at the agent's desk. I hopped in line and was able to overhear that there was a weight problem and they were still "calling people's names."
As the groups went by I started to feel my chances of boarding were pretty grim. Thank God there was a flight later that evening. The doors closed and I was still in line. I finally got up to the front after a nice conversation with a UC Santa Cruz professor who was supposed to do research in the Galapagos. There were five spots on the next flight for 10 people. Luckily the professor was one of them. I was not.
After leaving Bozeman, MT, where I had spent the last three school years, I stopped in Phoenix to say goodbye to the my family, spend too much money, and not play golf (it was 110 degrees and I thought I had broken my foot).
All my bags were packed and I was ready to go. My dad, the cab, was outside the door. I hated waking up, but it was time to say goodbye to the states and head south where the English is scarce, clouds are in abundance, and people (men anyway) piss on sidewalks and apparently handrails.
For all my complaining, 8am flights aren't so bad. I am one of the lucky ones. I can sleep on any plane. I was flying through Miami. Phoenix through the sunshine state and on to the equator. I figure we'll be early. My flight to Miami was fine. I slept for three of the four hours and was distracted by my iPod for the other hour. Obviously I only needed to study Spanish for the second leg of flight to Ecuador before being in immersed for six months. I mean I grew up in Arizona, studied in Montana, and I love Taco Bell - I'll be fine.
The plane had arrived in Miami twenty minutes early. Given my 50-minute layover, I was pretty happy about this. Only before the plane landed, it started circling. Thunderstorm. "Shouldn't be a problem we have enough gas that we can circle until we get an opening instead of having to be diverted," the pilot reassured the cabin. After a half hour of circling, we get the news we are headed to Fort Meyers to refuel and wait for the weather to clear. All that gas earned us was a seat at the back of the line.
I am a very easygoing traveler. There isn't a lot that gets to me and I don't worry about the things I can't control. I can't control the weather or how many gates are open and I can't tell the control tower to go screw itself and land the plane anyway. I can control the volume on my iPod and generally whether or not I am sleeping. However, the man sitting next to me (I had an exit row window, thank God) took up more space than a 5'6", 140lb person ever should. I hate when the person-next-to-you’s elbow extends past the arm rest and is touching you but especially WHEN YOU"RE LEANING AGAINST THE WINDOW. I couldn't get away and my volume was already all the way up. Ugh. After three hours on the tarmac the weather was gone, unfortunately along with it, all the flights to Guayaquil.
Good news is my aunt and uncle live in Miami. They are out of town but thankfully Peter, my cousin of about the same age, happened to be passing through town. The rebooking line was a mile long with two agents and I had a luxurious Coconut Grove abode waiting for me so I got out of there as quickly as possible. It was good to see Peter. We see each other rarely - once, maybe twice, every few years. He is tall like I want to be and athletic like I used to be. He is a Sophomore at UC – Boulder and going to Barcelona in the Fall.
Starving we head to the main drag in Coconut Grove. Taurus, a small, dimly lit bar with charismatic bartenders and an impressive burger is our first stop. Almost done with our meal, a whiskey rep sat down next to us an offered us some Moonshine, a sweet non-barreled whiskey. We made friends and found out Moonshine goes well with orange juice, lemonade, wheat beer, water and is even tolerable on the rocks.
Walking out of Taurus, feeling like a million bucks (or was it that I had a million bucks? - probably both) we head down to the younger side of town and decide to go to the loudest bar we can find. Anytime you can mix two different kinds of alcoholic Slushies and Jell-O shots and then throw an extra shot in for a dollar, you have to do it. Saddled with two Jell-O shots (they were a dollar!) and a Slushie, we found a table in what was otherwise a very busy bar. Looking around we noticed we were the only white people there so we decided to get out quickly. Getting out of a bar quickly when you're holding four shots always works out well. We moved on to the next bar, which was more our crowd, and ironically met two Spanish girls. We hung out for a bit then they gave us a ride home and we exchanged numbers. My wonderful downstairs bed was waiting with open arms. Goodnight.
After waking up I figured out that I could get out the next evening, which was a major improvement over the 4th of July. Peter and I stayed in and hung out all day. It was cloudy, not the beach weather you would hope for while stuck in Miami. In the interest of our wallets we stayed in. The Spanish girls came over later and we hung out. We talked about the differences in cultures and Peter and I tried speaking a little Spanish here and there. They each spoke four languages. Peter and I each speak about 1.2. The night ended sooner and cheaper than the first. The next morning I was ready to go to Ecuador. I got in the car sporting same shirt I had been wearing two days before and nervous about getting to my hostel.
"This is not a ticket but you will definitely get a seat." ... Really? After getting through security and down what must be the longest terminal in the world, I asked the American Airlines agent for a seat assignment and she said she would call my name in a bit. Listening to my iPod but clearly able to hear the PA system, I was waiting for them to call my name. Conscious of what they were saying I hear, not my name, but that "GROUP ONE!" was invited to board and I stood up and turned around to see a long line of angry people at the agent's desk. I hopped in line and was able to overhear that there was a weight problem and they were still "calling people's names."
As the groups went by I started to feel my chances of boarding were pretty grim. Thank God there was a flight later that evening. The doors closed and I was still in line. I finally got up to the front after a nice conversation with a UC Santa Cruz professor who was supposed to do research in the Galapagos. There were five spots on the next flight for 10 people. Luckily the professor was one of them. I was not.
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