A collector speaks

Travel with other people and you bypass the desire for companionship and go straight to place appreciation.

Travel solo and it's about the people you meet and then the places.

These are some of the colorful folks I've met so far. A few will end up in a book.

1. A fellow who is dual USA and Ecuador citizen from Berkeley. Loves the Giants and Niner's and is endlessly tied up in Ecuadorian courts fighting lawsuits and eminent domain over some family owned land.
2. A woman who visits countries long enough to learn greetings, good-byes, and ordering in a restaurant in the local language. She's up to 17 now.
3. Another woman who is traveling to every UNESCO World Heritage site in the world. Quito and Cuenca included. She carries a bag of Legos and stays in a city four days to find an iconic building. She then reproduces the site with the Legos, photographs it and places it on her blog.
4. An American man from Missouri and his companion from Nashville who got lost in the mountains driving from the coast to Cuenca and slept in their car on a dirt road in the Andes.
5. An Ecuadorian restaurant owner who spent his youth and young adulthood illegally in New Jersey. Makes a hell of a Philly cheesesteak.
6. Two shady looking guys. One with a New York accent and one with a soft Miami drawl. When I asked where they are from they both looked at the floor, hesitated then one told me Costa Rica and the other said Panama.
7. Another restaurant owner who is from my home town – Sacramento.
8. The “ugly American” candidate that I met at the Quito airport.
9. The Ecuadorian woman who was wooed by the California county sheriff.

10. The 72 year old widower whose daily stated goal is to seduce a woman into his bed for the night. The most poignant story so far and my heart ached for him.

There are more and more to come. Then there is me.

A Man Smitten

Warning:  Those of you with a salacious bent use caution because this post is not what it first seems.

Meal times here don't match my habits.

So I've been the only customer in a restaurant many times.

Hungry on Friday, about 6pm. Lucciano's, next door, is open. Gracias a Dios for Italian food.

Two chefs, a host, two waiters and no customers but me and a woman smoking a cigarette in a restaurant.

Illegal in Ecuador. She doesn't care because she owns the place.

She asks, in broken English, if I mind. I say the word for “that's cool” which I

can't spell but it's pronounced “chevrre”. It was stupid of me but I want to practice cool Spanish.

“Yo quiero pizza con chorizo individuale” I say. The crew snaps to. A Cuba Libre while I wait.

The woman asks my nationality and then tells me that she wants to practice her dormant English. My Spanish is on the same level so we commence a very very slow interaction.

She smokes 3 cigarettes a day to alleviate her stress. She works a full time job while managing this restaurant. Long days.

Her name is Guadalupe and she is the most strikingly beautiful classically Spanish woman I have ever seen.

I am uncomfortable. Culture and loyalty to my wife. Latin American openness is new to me.

She talks about California. There were still no customers.

No hint of arrogance. In fact, she shows no realization how she affects others.

Here is Guadalupe's tale.

Visiting her sister in San Francisco for 45 days she was enthralled with the city, the area and Lake Tahoe.

Her last week included a party thrown by the Silicone Valley company of her sister's American husband.

She was approached by a man muy guapo (very handsome). He spoke then produced an official law enforcement badge. This terrified her.

He said that she was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. He knew that she was in the states for a short time and he wished to see her again.

She declined then moved closer to her relatives. He followed.

Frightened again.

Her sister's husband said that the man is the sheriff of San Mateo Country and is very important. This scared her more.

The sheriff persisted. He could ensure immigration. He wanted to marry her.

Just stay. She said no over and over citing her husband and children in Ecuador. He was not deterred.

The following morning, two days before her departure, a small helicopter landed in the cul-de-sac in front of her sister's house. It was the sheriff. Guadalupe, her sister and brother-in-law were equally baffled.

It was a tour, the sheriff said, that's all. The family agreed that it would be safe and a one-in-a-life-time experience.

She said an “experience of beauty.”

Then Guadalupe returned to her family in Ecuador.

My pizza's ready. Lucciano himself brings it. Everyone hugs me and wishes me luck on my journey.

I Think I Met One

Occasionally on the expat blogs and forums the cliched term “Ugly American” emerges to describe obnoxious behavior by a gringo.

After much hand wringing and teeth gnashing this brute is righteously condemned and the topic goes dormant.

Priceless entertainment for me.

An American who owns a PhD and a bookstore in Ecuador, wrote a ponderous academic style paper about Ugly Americans he has observed in his new country. His sourced the 1958 book titled the same by Burdick and Lederer about arrogant America's then relationship with southeast Asia. You may remember the movie starring Marlon Brando.

Though the scholarly work is not written for the Internet thus tough to read, it lit a buzz among long time foreign residents justifying I-was-here-first-and-you-can-bugger-off attitudes.

It's also has been cited by newbies contemplating a move from the U.S.

One asked, seriously, whether he should remove his facial hair lest he offend Equatorianos (that's the correct term) who don't usually grow beards or moustaches.

Like I said, priceless.

Being an outsider is lonely and you don't want to antagonize. The delightful irony, though, is that they unintentionally insult their hosts way more than any one loudmouthed idiot. They patronize.

It's really stereotyping and prejudice. “Projection” if you want to go Freudian.

Everyone in the world knows that a jerk is a jerk regardless of location or origin. Most smart people don't generalize bad behavior to others with similar backgrounds. The ones who do are, well, jerks.

I think I met an “Ugly American” though.

Waiting in the Quito airport for my flight to Cuenca. Lots of Eddie Bauer clad gringos, ponytailed hikers, outdoorsey women, and Ecuatorianos going about their business.

A couple just south of senior sat next to me. They were nicely dressed and the wiry man appeared somewhat older than his wife. They were softly speaking American English and because it was nice to hear I said “good morning”. The man looked at me without a trace of humor and inquired “is it really a good morning?” I responded, perhaps a bit smartass “for me it is, how about you?” He looked away.

His wife stared at the floor but I noted an echo of a smile. Though I suspected I was being put on, she and I exchanged the normal stuff about country, state, status, and plans.

Since they live in Cuenca, I asked for advice. Her eyes glittered with mischief as she cryptically replied “don't go to places that you shouldn't be in”.

Their location provided easy access to VEGETARIAN (emphasis his) restaurants because he is a VEGETARIAN. (ok, maybe I am guilty of jerkiness but it seems that vegetarians usually need to quickly let you know that they are VEGETARIANS.)

He said no when I asked whether he owned a bookstore. No blog either. He opined, though, that the country was wide open with opportunity because the people here are way behind in their vision and ambition. (Uh oh...)

He doesn't think the folks in this country are ready for him. All the while, his wife smiled and once I spotted an eye roll with a short giggle. It dawned on me that their marriage was a true symbiotic balance.

Our carrier, LAN, sensibly instructed us in Spanish and English, three times that they will board the passengers beginning with the back rows and then the front rows last. No first class on a 45 minute commute.

I got in line first after the hostess saw my row 23 pass. She admonished the man and his wife to the back of the line because their row was 3. He wasn't having it. Good ol' American “moxie” he said, was required. The last time I heard that word spoken was on the Mary Tyler Moore show in the early 70's by Lou to Mary.

He walked to the front and beckoned his wife. She confided that they usually get asked to step out when he does this. She wished me well and then followed him.

This time the document checkers allowed them through. He looked back with a smug smile.

When I boarded, this couple was putting their substantial carry-on luggage into the compartments around them while I and about 2 dozen others waited to pass. After they situated I worked by and said “You know what? You got moxie. I hate moxie”. He gave me a hard look. His wife burst out laughing.

Melody But Not Many Words

Years ago my job was to look, listen, record, analyze, and report.

I became adept at discerning the “melody” of accents that identify national or specific geographic origin.

My hobby in Ecuador is watching the news and sports from Latin America, Mexico, and Spain. The “lyrics” mostly baffle me because they speak so fast. But I hear the melody fine and I'm smitten by the sensual rhythm and delicate expression of speakers from Madrid and Seville.

When my teacher, Mercedes, offered me a guided tour of the central historical city I jumped like an eight year old going to Disneyland. The bonus was that we rode a city bus. Our only rule was no English.

The Presidential Palace, churches and museums, and innumerable businesses. Municipal, national, and military police to make us feel secure. Prostitutes showing off at 9 am.

After the museum celebrating Ecuador's independence, Mercedes asked if I'd like to see one last church. This, she said, is great on the outside with Baroque architecture but the inside is “WOW!” “Claro (sure)”, I replied.

Nothing prepared me.

Mercedes talked fast with the young lady guide. She got me in for the 50 cent student price then told the guide to speak slowly but no English. My teacher then waved, smiled and said chao.

Within 2 or 3 minutes I heard that wonderful Spanish spoken by my guide and I asked where she was from. Barcelona, she replied. A nun temporarily studying in Quito. I thought “HAH!”

That was the last I saw of her until the end. Oh, she was by my side throughout, describing this historical masterpiece. Her arm waved this way then she pointed to that and my eyes followed.

Her voice was soothing as if she knew I was in sensory overload.

Every square centimeter except the portraits, the massive paintings of Hell and Judgment day, the seats, floors, and the cupola in the ceiling was gilded in 23 carat gold leaf.

The ceiling was viewed through a mirror to avoid falling over backwards and the cupola was designed to bathe the church in glittering sunlight when the hour was right. I was there when it was. I have no words.

I asked if I could film and she said “no, just enjoy and praise God”.

It took 165 years to build, was seriously damaged in a 1987 earthquake and then repaired until 2005.

It is called La Iglesia de la Compania – de Jesus.

Mano a Mano - Ecuadorian Justice

Osvaldo and I were together all day. He was the taxi driver and guide recommended by Mercedes, my Spanish teacher.

His main reference is his honesty. An English woman who was his passenger shopped all day in Otavalo. She  took advantage of the dirt cheap high quality stuff and filled Osvaldo's taxi with her booty.

He dropped her at her hotel then went home to his wife and two daughters. As a professional he later gassed and washed his car only to discover that his passenger left her purse. He immediately went to her hotel and returned it. Good enough reference for me.

I sat shotgun and we talked. He doesn't speak one word of English nor, I suspect, wants to. I speak a little Spanish.

Osvaldo's patience and knowledge of tourist's destinations took us to altitudes, museums, and sights that moved me, almost, to tears. We laughed, conveyed family information, and believe it nor not, discussed the nature of world politics.

At dinner Osvaldo told me WTF I was eating. He sang the wonders of Ecuador and we straddled the equator together.

He dropped me off at about 1600 and we agreed to meet again.

That evening Osvaldo decided to wash and gas his taxi. He took his wife and two daughters with him for the ride. A drunk driver t-boned his car.

Before your tears roll, Osvaldo and his family were not injured seriously. As they say down here, gracias a Dios. The other guy left the scene.

Here it Gets Complicated.

According to Mercedes, calling the police in these matters can be risky. Instead of no-fault there is “both fault” and, if the incident cannot be resolved immediately then both parties go to jail. Certainly not incentive to call the authorities.

But Osvaldo, as you might assume, thought this incident serious enough to beckon the troops. His car and livelihood and just been destroyed.

They found, corraled, and fetched the drunk's sorry ass back to the scene.

Because there was no injury or death the police officers did not arrest anyone. They simply allowed the two men to negotiate as custom required.

They talked for about a minute then shook hands and announced that a deal was struck. The two men told La Policia that $100 was the agreement. Satisfied, the two officers pocketed $5.00 apiece as is also customary then ambled away to continue their crime stopping mission.

Let the Real Bargaining Begin.

Osvaldo called his cousin to take him and his family home. His cousin, coincidentally, is a prominent criminal lawyer in Quito.

The other guy called his cousin who is an autobody man and a mechanic. He wanted to settle this issue quickly.

Well, as you might guess, this thing drew out for a good while as the other guy insisted that his cousin get the business of repairing Osvaldo's taxi. Osvaldo and his cousin took issue because they have another family member who has taken mechanical and cosmetic care of the vehicle for years. He's the only man Osvaldo trusts.

At the end his powerful attorney wore the other guy down they agreed that the perp would pay all costs for repair by Osvaldo's man. It was going to take about two weeks.

Unfortunately that is the amount of time that Osvaldo cannot be on the street making money to support his family. That;s a big deal when you're are living so thin. But Osvaldo, a man of faith, simply said

(in Spanish) thank God for the health of my family.

Disclaimer: Mercedes, who lives across the street from Osvaldo, told me this story in Spanish because, though she can, she won't ever speak English to me. Thus the finer details may have been blurred a bit.

It's just...too hard!

Here's the problem. Too much material. Hold your breath because here's a summary.

That stuff you've read about South America is true but not completely. Banos is very cool. The Andes are awesome (in the original undiluted definition). Criminals are rampant and I have something to warn YOU ALL about. Hamburgers here suck unless you go to the smallest restaurant.

Indigenous people are very poor AND very rich. Pedestrians go stealth when they step off the curb. All the school children - ALL the kids wear uniforms to school. Catholic mass is packed from 6 am to 8 pm. Beeping your horn says get-the-fuck-out-of-the-way. (signal your intention).

Car alarms are a musical instrument. In the older buildings you must wrap your used toilet paper and place in the garbage. Tourist toilets are pay to use. Toilet paper is sold at the door.

Elementary school teacher's average salary is $300/month. Hmmmm.....too negative here...

Latin men and women are the most attractive people in the world. German tourists are all young, tall, bold and attractive. My laundry woman is the sweetest most patient person I have met. Expats meet in certain bars and are from everywhere. My hotel has a lobby dog that has a brilliant smile.

The gondola ride up to Pichincha volcano goes to 15K feet and they have a doctor on station. (sea level wuss's think about that for a second). The view from my room balcony is stupendous. There was an earthquake at 6 am that caused me to jump from my bed.

An eruption of Tungarhua volcano during my time in Banos caused a thick coat of ash on cars. Hostals are for young people only. The climate is San Francisco. A typical Ecuatorian meal includes potatos, rice, and corn.

I was charmed by a taxi driver who, on realizing that he could not legally drive the wrong way down a one way street, put his car in reverse and backed down that street until I was in front of my hotel door.

Here's my most shameful admission: Commercials for the Grammies are played constantly.

The most charming excerpts are of Lady Gaga.