If curious whether there is an Irish pub in Ulan Bator, Mongolia I would ask my step-son, Jacob, who's been there. He would say yes.
Armed with that confidence I sought one in Quito.
As a diviner seeks water my steps bent closer until I saw the orange, white and green of Eire. Finn McCool's.
The smell, furniture, feel, and look said “I'm home”.
“Guinness por favor” I ordered. The bar keep said “sorry, we don't have that”. Trying not to sound too incredulous I said “Que paso?? “
He smiled and pointed to the price list above the bar that read Guinness $14 a bottle. I ordered a Pilsner Grande for $2.
In swept this affable lanky white guy speaking friendly rapid fire Spanish to all. He glanced my way and said “good afternoon sir”. I'm proud to say that I discerned a slight brogue in his Spanish.
His liquid transition from fluent Spanish to fluent English dazzled me.
He's co-owner with another Irish expat.
There are, he said, several San Francisco fans near by and I would be most welcome to watch the playoffs. 'Maybe so, I replied, but I've also been invited to a private showing. He said “Well done, mate.”
The fish and chips cooked by an Ecuadoriana were the best I have ever tasted – including Ireland.
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