Today I woke up with A for the last time we would see each other for a month. We packed up, cuddled for a bit, then we had to part ways as my summoned Uber was waiting outside, three stories down. I was on my way to Quito, Ecuador via Panama and she was off to Miami via São Paulo. She had a cousin there and was going to live with him for a bit while she worked and made some money.
When I arrived at the airport, apparently there was a new rule where Ecuador required anyone entering the country to be vaccinated for Yellow Fever. It was really good I had stopped at the clinic in London before I started my South American adventure. I whipped out my vaccine passport and was allowed to check-in.
I had a good flight to Panama where I watched War Dogs, MIB International, and Toy Story 4 and even had two meals. The teenage girl next to me and her mother were doing weird hand signals the whole time, which may have been a type of sign language that I had never seen before. Aside from her sneezing on me for 6 hours, it was still OK.
I arrived in Panama, but unfortunately, the airport had no internet, which really sucked. So I took my time and walked around for a few hours while I waited for my flight to Quito. Finally, we started boarding and it seemed like a really quick flight compared to my last one.
I made it to Quito, cleared customs, hooked up to the internet to check on A, then found my ride. Since I did not know the Uber situation and it was very cheap, I decided to use the hostel-provided transport. I saw a woman holding a sign with my name on it and introduced myself. She hugged me which I thought was a very nice welcome to the country.
As we started driving, they asked me about what I was going to do in Ecuador. I asked them for some recommendations. After a little while longer, they asked me how I was going to pay for the ride, which struck me as very odd. When I contacted the hostel, they said I could pay with a credit card. Apparently, the driver did not get that memo. I asked how much it would be and they said that they knew it was expensive, but I needed to come up with $15. I said that would be OK. I requested to go to an ATM which they immediately obliged, pulling into a bank’s parking lot. I got to the ATM, withdrew $15 USD, the currency that Ecuador used which I found very interesting, then we continued on our journey.
After about 45 minutes, they dropped me off in front of my hostel and I went inside. After checking in, I was shown my private room. It was small with a twin bed and a writing desk, but having been in incredibly close proximity to people for the past year while being naturally a very private person, this was utter heaven. It was late, so I decided to shower and go to bed.
I didn’t really sleep that well. Maybe from going to sea level back up in altitude had something to do with it. Anyway, I woke up, had some brekkie, then went right back to bed. I could not fall asleep, so I decided to book my hostel for the night when I arrived back in Miami in a month. All this while trying to decide what to do in this part of the world for my remaining time.
I signed up for a walking tour later in the day to see the city, talked with a few clients, and decided to get lunch in a Chinese restaurant very close to my hostel, hoping it will give me some energy for the rest of the day.
I guess it was the altitude, so after a bout of some intestinal distress, I headed on my walking tour. As I was walking over, through the hills and valleys of Quito, I noticed on a placard in English some restaurant was serving crawfish étouffée; a rather intricate dish from New Orleans. I made sure to keep a mental note of where the restaurant was located.
The tour group met at a local hostel right across from the central market of Quito. Our guide, Raul, was a 24-year-old Ecuadorian that spoke English very well and showed us every nook and cranny of the city. We started in the central market at a fruit stand as he introduced the other gringos to the tropical fruits of this area.
One of the more interesting facts he shared was he told us all about Ecuador’s dollarization. In the ’90s, the Ecuadorian government hyper-inflated their currency, the Sucre. This led to a Weimar or Zimbabwe-type inflations situation where goods were preposterously overpriced, so they petitioned the US government to allow them to use their currency. After the disastrous attempt at getting rid of paper dollars in lieu of coins, the American government saw an opportunity to dump them in a third-world country that felt lucky to have them. Besides the Sacajawea, there were coins that I had never seen before, including different US presidents. Apparently, there is about $80 million in daily circulation in Ecuador. For the privilege of using a stable currency, Ecuador pays 10% of that circulation yearly in a tax, surprisingly NOT in dollars (note the sarcasm,) but rather in gold and oil.
After getting a lot of recon on places to visit on my own after the tour, I walked home and picked up a few things for dinner on the street from older women selling perishables. When I got ready to cook, there was no gas. So I walked to the proprietress and told her. She came and looked. Now, one of the interesting things about South American kitchens is that they use propane tanks on their stoves inside as it is much easier than having gas pumped in. She looked and saw the tank was empty. She then asked if she showed me where the reserve tanks wer,e if I could lift a tank and bring it into the kitchen. She said she could not do it herself due to two broken ribs. I said of course. So I did that and she hooked it up while I removed the old tank.
As I prepared my meal of Santiago Special with plantains and incredibly fragile Ecuadorian eggs, I noticed something interesting. I guess due to this part of the world or just careless travelers, the only sharp cutting knife was chained to the wall; precariously far from the sink. I do not think it had ever been cleaned. I made a mental note not to buy anything that needed cutting. 
After dinner, I walked around a little to let my food settle and get my bearings again. It was chilly and a little overcast, but Quito was a pretty city at night. I talked to A who was safe at her cousin’s and looking for work. We said our goodnights and I settled into bed.
I did not sleep well, but I did a little better than the night before. After brekkie, I stayed in bed and did some work while I booked the rest of the facets of my trip.
I got up and then headed to have lunch at the central market. They had a food court on the ground level and I made my way to the most appetizing thing they had, goat stew with extra intestines. It was not that bad.
I then decided to head to Quito’s Basilica and Convent of San Francisco. The building was easy to find given it is one of the largest buildings that take up the skyline of Old Town. Being the oldest Christian religious site in Ecuador, the grounds were beautifully resplendent and if one were dropped off in front of it without any indication, they would be forgiven for thinking they were in Europe. It is considered the El Escorial of the New World (El Escorial being the holy site outside of Madrid, Spain where the Spanish kings were buried,) given it is the largest architectural complex in all the Old Towns of South America. And just like many other Spanish holy sites in the New World, it was built over sites of the indigenous people, these being Incan.
I walked in and paid my entry fee then looked around. Every time I walk into one of these churches, the temperature difference is always noticeable. Maybe it is the cavernous rooms or the stone floors and walls, but it is always refreshing. And the echoes that bounce off everywhere are quietly cacophonous. I took in the art that lined the alcoves as well as the altars. I then sat in a pew for some quiet reflection.
Afterward, I made my way to a bar across the street and sat at a table having a beer looking up at the neo-Gothic splendor. I was tired from the walking or the lower oxygen levels, so I headed back to the hostel.
I relaxed some and finished the series of The Man in the High Castle. I thought it ended the best it could. I talked to A before I headed out to dinner. She had found a job in Miami which sounded like a bit of frozen hell. Apparently, she and a group of other women in the area were to stand in a giant refrigerator all night packing fruit. While younger Greg would not have understood, older, wiser, more worldly Greg knew that there were too many jobs in the United States that Americans just did not want to do. With all the laws, rules, hoops, and taxes, there is a reason why there is such a demand for immigrant labor.
After she assured me she was fine, I headed out for dinner. Walking around La Ronda, I stopped at a little restaurant that looked like it would be interesting. I looked over their menu and decided on the Empanada del Viento. The waitress asked me if I was sure, and I said yes. While it was prepared, she brought me a glass of canelazo a hot, spiced alcoholic drink. What came out of the kitchen was something I was not expecting. About an open-large-pizza-box-size hunk of fried dough was laid before me. I looked up at the waitress as she smiled and walked away. I was astounded but decided to give it a go. Luckily, it was mostly hollow and it had a sweet flavor to it as there was some sugar and cinnamon. I did the best I could, finishing about half of it and regretting my life choices. I was immediately reminded of my time back at Plesh Csarda in Budapest.
I walked around a little to try and help settle my stomach from the copious amounts for fried dough and stopped in a bodega to get some fruit to help. I walked back to the hostel, and watched a little YouTube while I talked to A on her break before going to sleep.
The next day I woke up, had breakfast, and talked with an older Canuck about traveling through South East Asia. Afterward, I headed back up to my room to do some work. I watched some news regarding the Trump impeachment and decided what I wanted to do for the rest of the day. I accidentally locked myself out of my room, but a nice cleaning lady let me back in. While I wanted to go to the Equatorial Park, it looked like it was going to rain.
I headed down to the Ronda for lunch, but the restaurant I wanted to try was closed, so I headed to another one, and got some chicharron con mote, some boiled wine and a beer while I was listening to some cumbia.
I headed back to my room, hung out, made dinner, watched some of The Mandalorian, and some YouTube, and then went to sleep after talking to A.
My next day started rather emotionally raw. There was a rather nasty Facebook comment on a video that was an homage to my grandfather as well as a string of text messages from my cousin’s wife in regard to her pending divorce from the said cousin. Apparently, she confused me with her marriage counselor also named Greg. When she realized her error, she apologized profusely.
The day’s nerves would continue to be tested as I found out that the beloved basketball player / accused rapist Kobe Bryant died in a helicopter crash with his daughter and a few other people. The outpouring of emotion on social media was great. I headed down to the Chinese restaurant for lunch. As I was sitting there, I could see my Chinese waiter sitting at an empty table scrolling through his phone. He looked at it in disbelief. I knew he had just read the news about Kobe. Then he looked around the restaurant and caught my gaze. He lifted the phone and pointed to it. I nodded. He then came over having entered in Chinese in Google Translate that he was very sad because Kobe was his hero. I went back to the hostel then composed this Facebook post:
A few years ago, I was reading an article in the Economist about the almost universal popularity of tabloid magazines. The author surmised that it came from the fact that no matter the wealth, prestige and privilege of those in front of the usually telephoto lenses, they had problems that not even their status could solve.
Perhaps that’s the reason we acknowledge the deaths of celebrities. For when the bell tolls, we shall all be summoned to that undiscovered country. The real, universal truth is that both the pawns and the kings go in the same box at the end of the game.
After doing some more work, I headed out to get dinner then came back and talked to A. She helped me put the day’s events into perspective. It was then my turn to help her. Coming from a very progressive family, her half-sister was an open lesbian. While it is taken for granted in the United States, in South America, many consider this still an abomination against God and meet it with violent indignation. The half-sister had decided that she and her muscian girlfriend were going to get married to do their part in the destruction of the homophobic patriarchy. After four months of dating. Needless to say, A and her family had many reservations regarding this arrangement. I told A the Philly way of solving the problem, which she liked, but instead decided to have her grandmother intercede. Probably for the best. I was tired so I then headed to bed.
The next morning I got up and headed to the Plaza de Armas for the changing of the guard. Apparently, my intel was bad as they said it was supposed to happen at 11 AM when it really happened at 8 AM. Having missed it, I headed to the post office to mail a postcard to my nephews then to pick up a little bottle of alcohol for my brother-in-law. I went back to the hostel and dropped it all off then headed back to the place that had the walking tour to reserve a spot for a visit to the Middle of the World park.
As I was walking back past that restaurant advertising the etouffee earlier, I noticed their placard was saying that they were serving red beans and rice. For anyone not from New Orleans, Monday is the day that red beans and rice is served across the city. The history behind this is that in the 19th Century, Monday was wash day and the servants that ran the houses usually had to do it by hand, so they needed a dish that would not take a lot of time or focus to prepare. After reserving my spot for the trip, I headed back for lunch.
It turned out the proprietor of the restaurant was from the North Shore of New Orleans and came down to Ecuador and fell in love with the country. He decided to make a cajun restaurant and here we were. I ordered my red beans and rice with some Tabasco sauce and a beer. There were some other people in the restaurant that were doing missionary work in the country and we were all being serenaded by Gregorian chant versions of Depeche Mode songs. It was definitely an interesting day so far.
I then headed to my afternoon adventure of the Middle of the World park. I walked to the hostel where I met my travel companions, two Australian girls. We chatted and then got our van over to the park. The park was designed to showcase a lot of the curiosities of living in a country with half the world on either side. In Ecuador, the sun rises at 6 AM and sets at 6 PM. It does not change, ever. The name Quito derives from the native word Qui-to or center of the Earth. In fact, Quito was the name of the entire country when it was first founded. One of the things more intriguing things is that in the Northern hemisphere, hurricanes turn counterclockwise while in the Southern hemisphere, typhoons rotate clockwise. Luckily for Ecuador, there is neither. This is due to the Coriolis effect. For those not up to date on their Simpsons, the Coriolis effect describes the deflection of objects not fully attached to the Earth as they travel around it, such as water.
The park had several stands on displays that showed what happened if 3 basins full of water 6 feet away from each other were drained. The one north drained counterclockwise, south clockwise, and dead on the line just drained straight down. We were also invited to walk the equatorial line and see if we could feel the pull of the earth. I think I did. Finally, we were tasked to balance an egg on its end, which I did, and was presented with a certificate of completion. There were also some cultural exhibits like the houses the natives lived in. Inside, in one corner next to the hearth was a bit of shock; then was a pen of live guinea pigs. Apparently, this is where they lived until they were butchered and eaten. I thought of my meal in Cusco.
Next, we then got in the van and headed to the Monument of the Equator. Now, you might be asking, did you not just spend the last paragraph talking all the stuff you were doing on the Equatorial line? Why would you need to get in a van? I asked the same question. Apparently, in the 70s, Ecuador wanted to increase their tourism so they decided to make a huge monument complete with a three-story tower you could climb with a model of the world on it straddling the equator. Unfortunately, this was before GPS and it turned out that this monument was 90 meters shy of the actual equatorial line.
After this, we headed back to the hostel and I promptly went to a nearby brewery to think about what I had seen. I was sitting alone and it was not long before I was invited to a table of fellow travelers. There was Marieanne (French), Yuri (Ukrainian), A gentleman from the Netherlands, and Gary from Canada. I arrived when Gary was talking about how he sailed from Panama to New Zealand. We were all talking and I told them about my travels. Then politics started as they always seem to. I kept very quiet. Then these Americans at the table next to us piped up about how much they hate Trump and how stupid everyone is for voting for him. Marieanne turned to me and asked me my opinion. I just said it is all good. Anyway, I felt it was time to go, so I said goodbye as I needed to go talk to A. I got up, paid for my drinks as well as Gary and Yuri’s as it was their birthdays, and headed home. I made dinner and chatted with A about her adventures in the freezer. I finally started reading Anthony Bourdain’s Kitchen Confidential before falling asleep.
I woke up the next day, then headed down to the kitchen for breakfast. I was met with a table of loud, possibly drunk German teenagers. They were having a great time with a mild food fight, but then their chaperone came around, a man I dubbed Der Kommisar, and quieted them down. I chuckled to myself as all these kids were probably born after the Wall came down. Ah, impetuous youth.
I then went for a walking tour that no one showed up for, not even the guide outside the Old City. Quito was surprisingly modern and had all but healed from the social unrest they were having during my time in Uruguay. I was able to use a nearby hotel’s wifi to get an Uber back home.
I noticed the Esquina de la Ronda was open and decided to head down to this Anthony Bourdain-approved restaurant and have some proto-veal soup. What is proto-veal, you might ask? Well, when cows are slaughtered, sometimes they are pregnant. Ecuador is a country of modest means that wastes nothing, especially protein. So I ordered a bowl of something that did not have a chance yet to be born. It was incredibly tender and delicious.
Afterward, I headed to the Gold Church. The Gold Church’s real name is the Basílica de Nuestra Señora de La Merced (Basilica of Our Lady of Mercy) and its claim to fame is that it used 54 kilos or over 100 pounds of gold leaf for decoration. It was incredible, bright, and very humbling. Pictures were not allowed, so I made mental notes and would make sure to borrow some official photos later.
Next, I headed to the Church of San Francisco. There was an incredibly loud and disrespectful hat-wearing (a big no-no in church) American woman that was carrying on taking pictures, much to the annoyance of the holy people maintaining the site. I thought to myself, “Fucking Americans,” and then asked for penance.
I headed back to the hostel, did some work, talked to some friends, then went out to eat a the chicharron restaurant where I ordered a michelada (a beer with lime juice and spices,) chicharron, and higos (figs.)
I went home and did some more work. I talked with A and watched some Narcos, then had a look at my bank account. There were some purchases made that I did not authorize to a bunch of Canadian charities. I knew exactly what had happened. My card had been skimmed at an ATM and these were test purchases. Since it was a debit card, there was actual money leaving my account. I immediately called my bank and told them what was going on. They said they had to cancel my card. I told them I was abroad and asked if they could wait. They said that it was their protocol to terminate it immediately after fraud was reported. I told them that I would be country hopping the next few days and would need for them to send it to my third location in line. They said it would not be a problem and they would wait a few days and FedEx it to me there at no cost. They would also immediately refund the fraudulent purchases. I let my fam know what was going on as well as A who said she would wire me money if I needed it. I told her not to worry. I then read a little and headed to bed.
Colombia in the AM.