T-B.'s Escapades in Ecuador

[TBoneTX 45,284]

Note: This description of my Sept. 18-27 trip to Ecuador, like All Gaul, is divided into 3 parts. Read at leisure, in whole or in part. Adults & children only, please, si man.

INSTALLMENT #1 (writ from Gualaquiza on Sept. 21)

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Flew Houston-Panama-Guayaquil, overnighted, flew to Cuenca, ready for drive to the boonies. All is more well so far in comparison with last time -- all suitcases made it from home to Continental to Copa Airlines to Ecuador (weights were 50.5, 50.5, & 49.5 lbs. -- I couldn't have guessed any more accurately!), & I, even after another interesting jaunt down wonderful Ecuadorian mountain highways, am in as few pieces as possible. Mrs. T-B. had arrived ahead, in August, & awaited in her small hometown.

On Sunday, Mrs. T-B.'s pal who's our preferred chauffeur, Gato (so-called because green-eyed Ecuadorians are called "cat"), took me down the shorter route (4.5 hours), & some road improvements had actually been done, except for the last 1.5 hours of the way. The closer we got to Mrs. T-B.'s hometown, the foliage became increasingly tropical at a dramatic rate -- first large ferns, & then the plants became greener, lusher, & broadleafier. There had been a terrible storm the night before, which decimated a surprising number of trees & knocked out the power to Mrs. T-B.'s entire town. Even yesterday, there was a 2.5-hour power outage (naturally, via Murphy's Law) only on the side of the block where Mrs. T-B. & I are lodging.

We brought many gringo goodies to Mrs. T-B.'s family. We're staying on the second floor of a very newly remodeled apartment/office area that's owned by Mrs. T-B.'s #2 sister. Fortunately, we have a very loud fan in the room, so I'm not as inclined as I was to want to shoot a billion roosters (which needed to happen last trip, but didn't, no man).

Mrs. T-B.'s parents' house is completely chaotic when all of the googies (2 girls, 3 boys, ages 1.5 to 7) are all present, which is most of the time. I keep asking Mrs. T-B. (currently heavy with child) "Are you ready for that?" She looks panicked. We will have no choice.

T-B., si man

INSTALLMENT #2 (writ from Cuenca on Sept. 25)

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Whereas the trip south to Gualaquiza (Mrs. T-B.'s home burg) was 75% uphill, our (Mrs. T-B., her mom, her #5 sister, I, & Gato the chauffeur's) trip back to Cuenca was at least 100% uphill, at an incline of exactly 47.3 degrees, except when it was steeper or less steep than that. The term "unimproved road" is charitable -- a bone to throw to helpless gringos. After the 1.5-hour first part of the drive that took 2 hours, the pavement improved to the stage where actual diamond-shaped road signs (hard right turn, 150-degree left turn, serpentine squiggle) were generously placed. The most frequently observed sign showed a mountainside blowing chunks of rock atop a vehicle. This, of course, is the internationally known indication of an availunch... er, of an evelonch... er, of an uvulanch... er, of a mountainside blowing chunks. We encountered no such active wildlife, but the detritus of same was apparent on at least both sides of the road and in the middle, except when it was in all 3 places simultaneously.

The unimproved road offered one boon: Frequently, one could almost (with a boardinghouse reach) grab a handful of tropical foliage directly from the car window. One would not know until too late whether said foliage contained tropical beesties that would displease U.S. Customs upon arrival in the Estados Unidos.

Ecuadorian vehicles all have manual transmissions with approximately 12 gears, at least 5 of which are below First Gear. Our chauffeur shifted into Second Gear twice, chiefly to show off.

We are, for a few more hours assuming that the Cuenca-to-Guayaquil flight runs, in Cuenca, Ecuador's third-largest city (pop. approx. 65,000 natives +/- various gringos). The city is in the mountains and is therefore quite chilly, unless it's warmer than chilly. The weather is quite pleasant, unless it sucks. Periods of sunshine are a definite celestial indication that "in 2 minutes, it will rain torrentially and everyone will catch colds."

In Cuenca, the city buses are technically blue in color, but they resemble deep bruises because of stains from their unfiltered diesel emissions. The taxi drivers are apparently instructed, at risk of job loss, to keep all of their windows rolled completely down no matter what the weather, and no matter how many city buses said drivers are tailgating. Therefore, personal grooming is unnecessary, because all gringos (and also natives) are promptly covered with exhaust-slime. Walking is even more pleasant, because said sliming can occur at Ecuador's national leisure.

Mrs. T-B. carefully arranged, with full instructions to the hotel & for the taxi driver, for a company taxi to pick me up at the hotel and take me to her aunt's house where she would be. However, the hotel clerk ignored instructions & hailed a cab on the street. At every red light, the driver jumped out to ask one of his nearby colleagues for directions, and he stopped 3 more times to inquire same of passersby. Naturally, he spoke zero English and had no cell phone. We even ended up stopping at a pay-phone where I had to pay 20 cents to call Mrs. T-B. At the hourlong (should've been 12-min) trip's end, he demanded a $5 fare. After negotiation from a diplomatic Mrs. T-B. and increasing nonverbal fury from a fed-up gringo passenger, he left after receiving a generous $2. I belatedly learned the appropriate appellation for such a person in such a circumstance -- cojulo -- which roughly translates to "the aperture of one's hindquarters."

In Cuenca, and indeed in all of Ecu, passenger vehicles are of familiar make (Chevrolet, Daihatsu, Renault, Volkswagen, and Toyota) but of models that we in presumed civilization have not heard; said models translate, apparently, to "sub-micro-mini-nano-compact," of sizes approximately equal to half the length and 1.46 times the width of a slightly malnourished disposable razor. Most have no legroom, trunk, or hood. This is (of COURSE, you culturally ignorant gringo) so that 6 vehicles can vie for adjacency along (charitably speaking) 2-lane-wide city streets with trucks parked on both sides. The natives use their turn-signals liberally & also honk their horns, particularly at the car that's first in line, one second before the light turns green. The local puercos (police) show little interest in traffic-control or indeed in most other aspects of their jobs, with the distinct exception of shaking people down for $20 bribes in exchange for the nonfiling of phantasmal charges.

The temperature-control panel, prominent in all Ecuatoriano vehicles, is presumably permanently disabled as a firm pre-sale condition between buyer & seller, or at least the relevant pages in the instruction manual first need to be carefully and completely torn out. The routine way of defogging one's windshield is to grab a dirty rag and smear the inner glass further than already is the case.

Restrooms in restaurants, office buildings, & elsewhere lack one or more of the following: soap, paper towels, toilet paper, toilet seats, and running water. Upon being questioned, Mrs. T-B. helpfully explained that "this is because people steal them." This in turn explains the routine sight of Ecuatorianos furtively & hurriedly leaving bathrooms with pockets filled with toilet seats & previously running water.

Our hotel room, in one of the nicest hotels in town, has a bed that squeaks like a tortured mouse. The water pressure in the shower, should anyone be using or have used at any time during the day a cup or thereabouts of water, reduces itself to a stream of the approximate strength of the bladder-eliminatory pressure of a dead firefly. This, of course, is the grand plan of Ecu civilization to eliminate the need for grooming (see above in regard to vehicular emissions).

Two nights ago, T-B., Mrs. T-B., and Mrs. T-B.'s large Cuencado family (aunts, uncles, & cousins by the dozens) went to a local mall, where the food court stays open after the stores close. After lengthy deliberation, we selected KFC (Kentucky Pollo Frito) as our dining emporium of choice. After ordering, we were matter-of-factly informed that there was no pollo anywhere in the restaurant, but that the employees would (roughly translated) "go out and catch some chickens, si man." We were firmly promised our pollo-burgers in 8 minutes. Thirty-two minutes later...

This afternoon (Saturday), we fly to Guayaquil on the coast, where the high temperature and humidity are exceeded only by the mosquito population. The mosquitos hunger to dine on Gringo, and when one smells T-B. from half a block away, it shouts to its buddies (in rough translation) "All-day buffet!" and they proceed to lunch on Gringo. This is eagerly awaited, although by whom is debatable.

It is almost time to await Mrs. T-B.'s advent from her nonstop relativistic socializing (at her other aunt's house), so this installment will end. It is hoped that all will continue to be nondisastrous.

T-B., si man

INSTALLMENT #3 (writ after return home)

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On this, only my sixth trip to Ecuador, I finally remembered to pay attention to an important detail of life: Yes, water DOES circulate clockwise there when the toilet is flushed.

On Saturday, AeroGal (short for "Aerolineas Galapagos," Ecuador's #2 airline that not only flies but lies, because it flies to & from places other than the Galapagos) charged us only $13.68 for overweight baggage, but the clerk insisted on exact change. Our stuff made it through the half-hour flight from Cuenca to Guayaquil (on a prop-jet, no less -- a Dornier 328) with no damage other than luggage-tags that were completely vulcanized onto each entire suitcase-handle. The airline ground personnel unceremoniously ripped these off (the tags, not the suitcases, although either result is possible), as is routine in Ecu.

We caught a taxi to our nearby hotel, where the only available room was on the third of 3 floors & the poor bellboy had to lug six 8,379-lb. suitcases upstairs for us. We tipped him $1, which equaled or surpassed his entire 2010 salary to that point & vaulted him into upper-middle-class status. The hotel has air conditioning (!!!?!), which I promptly cranked down to 16 C. (64 F.), the lowest setting. Mrs. T-B. promptly raised it to 74 F., & this struggle continued until my height advantage & her superior administration of wedgies exhausted us both.

We went to see Mrs. T-B.'s best friend Isabel in Isabel's un-A/C'd house, which naturally was crammed with distant relatives who were cooking crabs. As I, the heavily perspiring gringo, was the object of much interest, I was taken pity upon & they aimed a table-fan at me. This enabled me to catch crabs (or the odor thereof) much more efficiently than otherwise.

We left so that Mrs. T-B. could meet her hyskool girlfriends at the nearby HUGE mall, which seriously would do any U.S. city proud in size, selection, & grandeur. I was instructed to stay away, eat by myself, & shop until the stores closed at 8 p.m. Eager to comply, I went to the large food court, where they have many restaurants of all ilks, including one called "Texas Chicken" (with "Pollo Tejano" in small letters underneath to educate the monolingual natives, & with a logo of a chicken who's wearing a 10-gallon hat). I did not eat at Texas Chicken & instead beelined myself to Taco Bell, where the monolingual clerkette informed a monolingual gringo that they were out of tacos & had only pizza. I therefore moved two emporia downward to that safe old standby, Kentucky Pollo Frito, where I managed to convey to the monolingual clerk (after some time & with considerable difficulty) that I wanted 3 of their very largest pollo sandwiches WITHOUT LETTUCE, but only 1 Pepsi. Only one of the sandwiches contained lettuce, which constituted a victory, so I gorged on the truly huge creations, drank my 2 Pepsis, & went to shop.

I found the chocolate-brown tie that I'd searched two countries for, exhausting my remaining Spanish vocabulary with: "Corbata solo cafe, y [motion to indicate length to mid-belt-buckle as opposed to above-navel height]." I also bought a yellow tie purely to irk Mrs. T-B. later, because she hates yellow ties & continuously plots to rid ourselves of the one that I bought on Ecuador trip #4.

At the appointed time, I met Mrs. T-B. & was dragged to a table around which 9 of her hyskool girlfriends were scattered. All eyed me with great curiosity & introduced themselves with friendly, rapid Spanish conversation, which consisted of (exact quote) "Abbadabbadabbadabbadabbadabba." I exhausted my last remaining vocabulary by responding "Si, man." All of them seemed pleased with my linguistic ability.

It was decided to carpool to an outdoor restaurant a couple of miles away. Mrs. T-B. & I were to ride with one of her girlfriends, whose husband showed up as chauffeur with their well-behaved little boy, age approx. 8 years. After some searching through the mall's underground parking-garage, we found their vehicle -- a 1980 Hyundai sedan. It was black outside with an off-center yellow racing-stripe over the hood, top, & trunk, & it was completely yellow inside. The passenger seat had no armrest; the seatbelt consisted of a shoulder-strap that connected to nothing; the vehicle had no rear bumper, & (from the sounds) probably no muffler; the passenger window could be cranked only by 3 male bodybuilders; & the passenger door could be opened only from the outside. Otherwise, this limousine was completely in conformance with all other jalopies in Ecu, meaning that there was no temperature-control & no legroom.

The transportation experience was distinctly akin to riding in the bowels of a ghastly bumblebee. As the road-fumes of Ecu's largest city gently wafted through my hair & clothing, I enjoyed it immensely & couldn't stop grinning, because, as it struck my brain, "This IS authentic Ecuador!" At ride's end, I pumped the husband's hand & excitedly told him in Spanish "I love your vehicle!" He looked concerned & pointed me toward the nearest restroom.

Mrs. T-B.'s hyskool girlfriends were already ensconced around the outdoor table, drinking Pilsener beers. Mrs. T-B. naturally dominated the discussion, which I presumed centered around me because I was proficiently able to pick the term "Abbadabbadabbadabbadabbadabba" out of the otherwise-incomprehensible babble. Her amigas continuously glanced at me with big eyes, uttering "O, dios mio" ("oh, my God") at what I presume were Mrs. T-B.'s descriptions of the housework & cooking that she didn't have to do in the Estados Unidos. I managed to contribute conversation about Life in America by saying "Donde esta mi comida?" ("where is my dinner?") & "Silencio -- mi novela!" ("shaddap -- my soap opera!"). This (either the situation or my grammar) drew laughs, si man. All of them now want to join the introduction program whereby Mrs. T-B. & I met. After 4 hours, during which time I drank approximately 3,702.4 Inca Kolas, we returned to our hotel, I smelling like the back of several buses.

On Sunday around noon, we returned to Isabel's un-A/C'd house, where last night's pile of crabs were still where they were, whether now eaten or uneaten. We (Isabel, her mom, her sister, her son, Mrs. T-B., & I) almost immediately piled into Isabel's micro-mini-nano-subcompact Volkswagen sedan & drove to the tourist market, where zillions of not-too-overpriced gringo purchases could be made. We bought enough to satisfy the folks back home, then ate at a chicken restaurant, which actually had chicken. The others brought their packages inside; upon my questioning, Mrs. T-B. matter-of-factly said, "In Guayaquil, if they see a bag, they'll break into your car in broad daylight to steal it." Fortunately, when we returned to the limousine, my bags were still there.

After a nap, Mrs. T-B. & I returned to the mall area & visited the casino that's attached to the large Sheraton across from the mall. I found the $1 poker machine & managed net winnings of $110 in 75 minutes, which impressed Mrs. T-B. enough that she wanted her "percentage." We then returned to the mall. I bought some genuine Ecuadorian underwear, remembering to go for the labeled size larger than usual because Ecu sizes are one size smaller than what we think they are & also remembering to ask the sales chica, "Esta bien para calzoncillo chino?" which approximately translates to "Are these good for wedgies?" She laughed either at the joke or at me, presuming any difference. We managed to spend all of our Ecu coins during this time, keeping only the U.S. ones (although Ecu quarters work in many U.S. newspaper machines & gas-station air or vacuum-cleaner apparati).

U.S. $1 bills are recognized & accepted but are not often used in Ecu. The natives use our dollar coins, chiefly the 10-year-old ones with the Indian babe on them that flopped here. I had taken several rolls of the shiny new 2010 Franklin Pierce presidential dollars to spread around Ecu. Whereas new or strange money is viewed with suspicion by many & is often refused (because, Mrs. T-B. says, there's a lot of phony money down there & people are scared), the new dollars were accepted either without comment or with much interest. Also, when our $2 bills are recognized, they're considered good luck by the natives -- more just below.

After the mall closed, Mrs. T-B. looked up with her puppy-dog eyes & said wistfully "I want crabs." Resisting the urge to refer her to any Ecuatoriano, I gave in to her appeal (as always) & agreed to help her get crabs. We hailed a taxi, whose driver took us to a semi-indoor place called Ochipinti, where the natives were greasy from head to toe with crabs in various stages of devourment. As gracefully as anyone could, Mrs. T-B. voraciously downed 3 adult crabs, while I dined on rice, fried plantain, & Inca Kola. Inca Kola (available in the International aisles of larger U.S. supermarkets) looks like pale Mello Yello but has a faint taste of banana, & is pretty good, burp man. The entire bill (3 crabs, 4 bowls of rice, 2 bowls of plantain, 1 bag of plantain chips, & several Inca Kolas) came to a whopping $12. I paid with a $10 bill & a $2 bill. The waiter grinned at the $2 bill & gave the payment to the manager, who also grinned at it. The manager looked at me & lifted the bill with a hopeful look. I had one left, which I sold to him for 2 crab-greased dollar coins from his pocket, & he was thrilled.

The taxi that Mrs. T-B. hailed to return us to our hotel turned out to be the same driver who'd brought us to the crab place. I paid him with my very last dollar coins, we packed our stuff, & we had 4 hours of sleep before arising at 3 a.m. to get ready to go to the airport.

We made it to the Guayaquil airport (mobbed with outgoing international travelers) 2 hours before flight time, which was propitious, because Mrs. T-B. HAD NO RESERVATION from Guayaquil to Panama! It turned out that when Continental cancelled her outbound Houston-Panama flight in August for mechanical reasons & rebooked her on the next day's flight, Copa Airlines decided that Mrs. T-B. wasn't flying at all & unilaterally CANCELLED HER RETURN FLIGHT, without any notification to us. The Copa check-in agent disclaimed responsibility & blamed Continental. Mrs. T-B. had a few minutes left on her cell phone & called Continental. After a tense half-hour in which I explained Cont'l.'s true goofs & oversights in August, the Cont'l. agent said to tell the Copa agent to redisplay Mrs. T-B.'s reservation, because "I bought her a ticket on this flight." This allowed just enough time to pay the Gringo Exit Taxes, get our emigration stamps, pass Security, & reach our gate. We didn't have seats together from Guayaquil to Panama, but I got to sit next to a beautiful young blonde who, sadly or fortunately, didn't speak a word of English.

However, Mrs. T-B. was paged at the gate: she was picked for "random" luggage-inspection. She was taken to parts unknown by a gate agent. I questioned another agent as to whether I should board the plane without Mrs. T-B.; he said, "It's safe; it'll be fine. This is very routine & happens all the time. She'll make it on." She indeed did, & later said that she was in the bowels of the airport amongst the Security goons & the sniff-drugging dogs. She said that the goons opened one of her suitcases & one of mine, but didn't paw anything much. The sniff-drugging dogs hit on other people's suitcases, though. I suspect that Mrs. T-B. was flagged intentionally because "her ticket was bought at the gate." This can never be proved, however, no man.

We & our luggage made it home without incident except for our having to spend a full hour in the Customs line (mobbed) & almost that long waiting for the shuttle to the remote airport parking. Mrs. T-B.'s jalopy started right up, & Mrs. T-B. snored loudly during the trip home. We discovered that Mama T-B. (the cat-sitter) had LOCKED US OUT OF THE HOUSE, despite intense & repeated pre-trip notification that I was NOT taking my house-keys to be possibly lost or stolen in Ecu, & to therefore leave the garage-to-house door UNLOCKED. Mrs. T-B. had to drive to pick up Mama T-B.'s key while I unglued the vulcanized Copa luggage-tags from the suitcases.

So, this trip to Ecu wasn't as disastrous as the last, & Mrs. T-B. got to show off her pregnant belly to her relatives, si man.

T-B., si man