The Quest for Clean Clothes...

Guayaquil, Ecuador

February 8, 2007
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We left the beautiful, relaxing beach at Montanita on Wednesday and headed back on the bus to the hustle and bustle of Guayaquil, Ecuador’s largest city.

First, I want to take a few paragraphs to give the beach at Montanita some justice. The beach in front of the place we stayed stretches to the South for at least 10km, all of which you can walk during low tide. The water isn’t the turquoise blue you see in postcard pictures, but it is a green-blue color. The beach is pretty clean thanks to an education program and the locals seem to take a lot of pride in keeping the white sands clean.

We swam/body surfed in the lukewarm, almost too warm, water during the day, mostly during low tide. When the tide started to come in, the water belonged to the surfers, who headed into the water in mass, and we promptly exited the water—you are only asking to get hurt if you stay in the water with the surfers. After we got out of the water we would play a little Frisbee to dry-off, and then head to the patio where we would watch the surfers, drink 750ml Brahma (a local beer) for a $1.50 each, and wait for the most beautiful sunsets we have ever seen to date. We repeated this “exhausting” exercise for five straight days…

Our time at the beach accomplished its goal—time to decompress after many months of getting ready for our trip—we were so relaxed, we didn’t want to leave. However, we realized it was only our first week of the trip and we have many more great things (and beaches) to see along the way.

We headed back to Guayaquil with enough time to accomplish one thing—do laundry. We had a couple of other small things we needed to do in the city such as drop some stuff in the mail and buy a new USB memory stick since Marc “decided” to go swimming with the last one, but our main goal was to wash the stinky, sandy clothes from the beach.

Our Lonely Planet guide (last updated in 2003) said most places specialize in dry cleaning, not laundry, except for one. The one was very close to our hotel—perfect! We wrote the address down and scoped the whole thing out after our arrival on Wednesday evening. We found the location, but it was closed, and a revolving metal door was pulled down in front of the business blocking access. The address didn’t have any signage on the outside, so we figured we would just come back the following morning.

We set out on our laundry quest on Thursday morning, with bags of stinky clothes in hand. The nondescript building we found the night before is now a small office space with about 20 computers and a guard armed with what appeared to be an automatic Uzi, wearing a bullet-proof vest, standing in front. (Don’t panic, most businesses have an armed guard protecting them from the city hoodlums). We decided it would probably be best not to ask the guard about what happened to the lavanderia and returned to our hotel, bags of soiled clothes in hand. We figured we would find another lavanderia while completing some of our other tasks for the day. We did check with the concierge in the hotel to see if they could help us with our bags of reeking clothes. The concierge pointed us to the ridiculously expensive hotel service ($2.50 per t-shirt) and advised us that there isn’t anyone in the area that does just laundry. There has to be someplace, we said to each other.

We walked around the city for at least two hours sightseeing, looking at USB sticks, mailing things, and we never found a single laundry facility. Defeated, we returned to our hotel, where it was nice and cool, and stayed out of the city for rest of the day.

Not too much else to say about Guayaquil… Of course we know there will be other nondescript cities like Guayaquil (hopefully with laundry facilities). We just hope we get the sense in advance to get in and out as quickly as possible.

Next stop… Chile.

First Culinary Delight

Montanita

February 5, 2007

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For several days now we have been approached on the beach by Ecuadorian vendors on bike carts selling cebiche oestra, or oyster ceviche. Well, they aren’t really bikes, but more of a three wheeled cart, the front of the cart is used as a traveling oyster bar and the back of the cart is used to maneuver the bike along the beach. We were a little hesitant to give the “fresh” ceviche a try since the vendors peddle up-and-down the steaming, hot beach all day and there’s literally no ice or refrigeration on the carts. Plus, we weren’t really sure where their product came from; we figured some type of Ecuadorian oyster farm. Is there such a thing?

This morning, during a long walk on the beach we decided to explore the tide pools located on The Point to the right of our place, and that is where we saw the ceviche guys stocking up for the day. They were actually pulling the oysters right out of the water as we approached. I decided this was as fresh as it was going to get—we had to try it!

Marc isn’t a big fan of oysters, so the guy offered us the especial mixto—fish, shrimp, and oysters. I walked away briefly and apparently the friendly vendor proudly pulled a sinewy 24 inch octopus out of a five gallon bucket of saltwater and asked Marc if he would like it included in the mixto… Marc politely declined; no gracias.

To start the dish, he shucks the oysters by placing a rock on the ground and gives them a few good whacks with a metal mallet. After opening the two oysters and removing them from their shells he cuts them up into chunks and tosses them into a bowl about 7 inches in diameter. He adds the shrimp and dorado (a white fish) that has been soaking in lime juice from a couple grimy looking Tupperware bowls. Then, he squeezed the first lime into the bowl, and added all of the ingredients from his cart including cilantro, red onions, jalapenos, salt, diced tomatoes and a couple quick shots of oil. He adds a second lime before asking us if we want some Tapatio like hot-sauce for a little extra heat. Of course we do! He gave us one squirt, and we encouraged him to keep going. Then he asked us if we want roasted corn nuts—sure, give us the works!

We sat down on the closest rock in the tide-pool and shared the $3 bowl of delight as the guy stayed close and waited for his bowl and spoon to be returned. The blend of flavors was perfect, titillating all of the senses—sour, sweet, spicy and salty. We alternated bites, passing the spoon back and forth. Marc stuck with the fish and shrimp (he did try a couple pieces of oyster since they were hard to miss). After the majority of the seafood was gone, we still took turns slurping up the lime juice with all of its wonderful flavors. With the bowl empty, immediately craving more, we handed “our” bowl and spoon back to our ceviche chef. While he washed the bowl and spoon in what appeared to be a soapy solution on his cart we told him we might see him again tomorrow for another especial mixto! He suggested again that we try the octopus—we will see.

I look forward to more culinary experiences like this one on the trip. Unfortunately, this is the only one worth talking about to date.

Super Bowl Sunday at the Point...

Montanita, Ecuador

Super Bowl Sunday
February 4th, 2007
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After our move to The Point yesterday, we immediately scouted out a place to watch the Super Bowl. The place we found is actually connected to our new hostel, Casa del Sol, and has breathtaking views of the beach from the bar, where you can actually walk right into the ocean (see pic).

The owner of the bar is a burly guy from Philadelphia named Mike. He owns the bar with his Ecuadorian wife who is at least 15 years his junior. Mike is probably 6’ tall, weighing in at close to 225, which might have been muscle at some point in his life, back in the football playing days. Mike and his wife permanently relocated from Philadelphia to Ecuador in November after the loss of his father. At least this is what we gathered from our conversations with Mike.

We started the pre-game festivities by watching “Invincible” with Mike. He was really pumped up since the story is about a guy, played by Marky Mark, who tried out for the Philadelphia Eagles in an open tryout and made the team. Mike made it clear he is a die hard Philly fan since that is the way he was born. He didn’t really care who won the Super Bowl, as long as it was a good game.

We quickly slipped from the movie to the pre-game show which was all in Spanish. We had a few minutes of hysteria until the game came on and we determined it was in English. Others trickled into the bar, mostly Americans, but nobody really cared about the outcome. Everyone was just looking for something to do until it was time to surf again.

We had the standard football pool where everyone picked their squares. We weren’t big winners there, but we did enjoy watching the game. We have only been gone one week, but it was nice to have something familiar on a Sunday night. There is nothing more familiar than good old fashioned football, hot dogs, beer and potato chips.

Surfs Up and All is Groovy...

February 3rd, 2007

Montanita, Ecuador
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After two nights in the party environment within the village of Montanita, we decided to head to the North End of town, also known as The Point, in search of sleep. The music boomed well into the wee hours of the morning, causing us to stay up late and wake up late. Each morning we woke up and there were new tents, almost as if they had been breeding, just to the left of our place in an open area of sand. As we walked by the tents, towards the beach, the smell of strong weed permeated from the tents. I am positive we would have found at least a half a dozen sleeping bodies on the beach at 8a, if we were up that early. We gravitated towards our room each night a little after 11p where I wrote and Marc read. Two nights of this was enough.

We made the one mile trek, fully loaded with our packs, along the beach at low tide to The Point, a place that was supposedly discovered by a California surfer 25 years ago, and found a new place to stay, La Casa del Sol. The place costs more than our last place; however, how much are you willing to pay for sleep, air conditioning and an overall better environment?

The two places, the village and The Point, are as different as oil and water, one chaotic and crazy with signs that say, “drogas prohibidad” the other calm and peaceful with people here just to surf and enjoy the ocean. The people from The Point do go to party in the village, but when they are tired they can come back to the peaceful, calm Point for a nice evening of rest and relaxation. The main focus of the clientele is to catch the waves morning, noon, and night.

The Manager of the place we are staying, Greg, is an American from D.C. currently living part time in Ecuador and the other part of the time in Indonesia. Basically, he follows the surf, and when the surf is flat, as he calls it, he manages hotels and has other things to do such as varnish doors, fix the cleaning process, and build out a real kitchen with a chef that puts out the quality food his clientele is looking for. Greg appears to be in his mid-to-late 30s, about 6’1” and 165, with a shaved head, he is a lean, mean surfing machine. Greg’s passion for surfing, and the obsession expressed by others we met, makes us want to go out tomorrow morning and catch some waves. Who knows, maybe we will!

People are Strange

February 1st, 2007
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We finally got off of the bus in Montenita at about 5:45p from Guayaquil after the marathon bus ride. Marc tossed his nicely sealed emergency Ziploc bag of stomach bile to the side of the road in a pile of plastic bottles, bags and other garbage. It was extremely hot and he was simply over-heated. Our goal was to get off the bus and find a place to stay as quickly as possible and begin the recovery process with lots of water. The temperature is now about 103 and the humidity is at least 70%.

We got our packs on our back, I grabbed the rest of our stuff, and we walked across the street to the entrance of Montenita. I wasn’t able to take in everything on our first walk through town; I wanted to get Marc taken care of first. I figured we had a few days to explore. We were looking for a place called, La Casa Blanca, since the place we were hoping to stay was located behind La Casa Blanca. No, there were not any street addresses, but the directions in Lonely Planet claimed all places were off of the main street into the Village.

We got to the first cross street. A car was honking its horn behind us—I went right, Marc went left. I see the sign in the distance for La Casa Blanca on my side. When I turned back to look for Marc, I peered down the other side of the street. There was a banner that read, “People are Strange.” The banner didn’t have much significance at the time since we had more important things to worry about.

I screamed over the car horns and blaring Reggae music for Marc’s attention and we made our way to the place we wanted to stay; boasting immaculate rooms, terraces with hammocks for every room, and most importantly private baths. We were in luck; they had a room for us with a mood setting mosquito-net and everything. We dropped off our stuff and headed to get Marc some water and a little something to eat. It was at this time we were finally able to fully absorb the village.

The village is a cross between a Grateful Dead show, the summer in Pacific Beach, known as PB to the locals in San Diego, and a greatly scaled down French Quarter in New Orleans. So picture this, you have guys in dreadlocks with their standard Guatemalan print shorts, carrying their surfboards (this is an epic surf village), and they have their roadie (or beverage of choice) in their other hand. Most people are walking the street barefoot, or with flip flops. Street vendors are peddling jewelry, chicken on a stick, fruit smoothies, empanadas, grilled corn, your name written in Japanese, or whatever else they can sell to make a few bucks.

Every place along the main street is a bar, restaurant, and hostel all in one. There are only two side streets and the main street, which dead-ends into the beach. We are clearly some of the older people in this village; which was confirmed as soon as we received the flyer for the “Full Moon Beach Festival.” There is a big party every month to celebrate the full moon, which is on February 3rd, and we were lucky enough to arrive in time for this festival, which is an all night rave on the beach—right up our alley.

We sat at a table that is close to the main street, perfect for people watching. There were a lot of young adults who look like they just never went home. I’m sure this is a great place for parents to come find their missing children.

As we sat having dinner and watching the human traffic, a young, very tan, female performer in a tank top and skirt is doing backbends in the street, preparing for a show of what ended up being flaming baton twirling. Her friends stood beside her for support. When she was finished with her performance, she went table to table trying to collect money for the performance. At the same time, two stray dogs wandered into our restaurant and began humping and all attention was immediately diverted to the copulating canines… which were actually more entertaining than the street performer. Of course this will bring more orphaned dogs to the village in the coming months. At one point I turned to Marc and said, “This place is a total freak show, do we belong here?” Marc’s response was, “we live in San Francisco, baby, this is nothing.”

The younger crowd continued to do laps around the village—it only takes about five minutes. As the night grew on, the circling crowd got larger, as if they were all waiting for someone to tell them the cool place to go. It was almost as if they were playing musical chairs, but the pumping music (Reggae, Jack Johnson, Latino, Salsa, etc.) never stopped. We never saw a single bar completely packed. However, we did go to bed pretty early, 11p, after our long travel day. The music continued to thump late into the morning.

By the end of the evening, I understood the purpose of the banner “People are Strange,” and it was more than a tribute to Jim Morrison.

More to come in Montenita…

What a Pisser!

Montanita, Ecuador

February 1, 2007
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We woke up fairly early today, 8:45a, knowing it was a travel day. Travel days are always hard since things are out of our control. Our plan was to make it from Quito to Montanita, a little beach town approximately 200 km from Guayquil. To make this trip possible in a day, we opted for the 45 minute flight from Quito to Guayquil (instead of the eight hour bus ride), and planned to take buses the rest of the way to Monteñita. This is really the only way to get there with the exception of hiring a private taxi.

I was the first to wake up when the alarm went off at 8:45a, I slowly made my way to the shower, having slept very little. I was convinced the anti-malaria drugs we are taking were messing with my mind, and, therefore, my sleep. Each night before we went to bed we took one of the little pink pills in preparation for our trip to the beach. After my shower, I decided I wouldn’t take the pink pill at night anymore, but instead I would take the pill in the morning. So, after my shower, and before breakfast, I popped my daily anti-malaria pill and started packing my bag in preparation for the day. Ten minutes into packing, Marc now in the shower, I started sweating profusely. I sat down on the bed for a few minutes and finished my book, “Running with Scissors.” I sipped on some Gatorade, fruit punch flavor, hoping the sugar would make me feel better. No such luck, I ran into the bathroom and refunded all of the Gatorade I just drank.

Marc stepped out of the shower at about this time. He too took a little pink pill at my suggestion. I convinced him to eat a Clif Bar before he got sick too. I should mention he made the same suggestion to me, which I promptly ignored thinking Gatorade was my best option, thinking of the breakfast we would have at our little B&B.

We made it through breakfast, no puking from Marc, and headed to the airport. I was feeling much better, since the pink pill was probably completely exhumed at this point. We boarded our flight promptly at 1p and made it to the other end with luggage in hand by 2p.

Our day, and the fun, was just beginning when we landed in Guayquil. We left the airport terminal, got in a cab to the bus terminal 1.2 km away to catch a bus to Monteñita, snaked our way through the terminal to the ticket booth, and got to our bus with about 10 minutes to spare. We were very lucky to catch the next bus, or we would need to wait two more hours in the heat. The temperature when we landed in Guayquil was 28C, or close to 88F, and the humidity was upwards of 80%. We were drenched by the time we got on the bus, and I suggested to Marc we grab a few waters before our departure—thank goodness we did.

Bus rides in other countries are always an experience, similar to the Stockton 30, but different. Our bus had a drape between the driver and the rest of the bus. This was a good thing because it prevented me from seeing the seemingly suicidal movements the driver was making. The passengers had another distraction, a movie. The movie for the trip was called DOA, Dead or Alive. I had never heard of it before this trip. Marc only knew about it because Jamie Presley was featured in Playboy, and they had a great article on the movie. Marc summed up the article for me—the chicks in the movie are hot, but the movie itself sucks. I have to agree with Playboy on this one. Thank goodness they have those great articles.

The bus made a few stops along the road between Guayquil and Salinas, our transfer point to Monteñita, but the purpose of the stops was to let food vendors on board. They sold anything from ice cream to chicken and meat kabobs to deep fried surprises. The aroma from the food was wonderful, a lot better than the stinky, sweaty passengers, but we opted out due to that damn pink pill we took early in the morning. We still had at least 2 hours on the bus and we didn’t want to risk anything.

We finally got to the transfer point to Monteñitas. The only indication was the porter, or ticket taker, yelling at us in Spanish. Luckily, we figured it out, and got off the bus with four young ladies with the same destination. We waited at a corner, in some village in the middle of the dessert, after purchasing another ticket for the remainder of the way, and waited for a bus to show up.

The bus finally arrived 40 mins later, completely packed, and we picked two seats in the last row of the bus, the only two seats together. However, when we boarded, instead of there being food vendors, there was a traveling drama team already in mid-performance. We were probably on the bus for two minutes when a man in front of us started yelling and chastising the act. One of the “actors” told the guy to listen, but at the time we didn’t know he was part of the crew. In the end, the drama team passed out candy bars to the bus, and then came back and collected the $.50 from each person. We opted out of the charade by feigning to not understand what was going on... which was true.

After the performance was over, the entire crew departed the bus and I moved over one seat to give Marc a little more room. The windows on the back of the bus didn’t open and it is hotter than Hades. I had the day pack between my legs, resting on the floor, and Marc was balancing our packs on his knees.

It is at this point I felt a drop of liquid on my foot. Immediately suspicious, I looked at the guy in front of me through the reflection in the window. Remember, he was the same one having a fit over the drama performance. I see something spouting up between his legs, I shit you not! I immediately pull up the day pack and turn to Marc and say, “I think he's pissing.” Marc peeks over the seat and confirms my suspicion. I pull my legs completely up, Marc takes the day pack in his lap, and I tell the guy sitting next to Marc. The guy instantly goes to the front of the bus to report the findings to the porter. The porter comes to the back of the bus and confronts the pisser. The pisser tries to blame the incident on the delay due to the drama team and, specifically, the guy who told him to be quiet and listen; at least we think this is what happened. I could only understand every few words, making the complete translation difficult. The porter wasn't making much progress with the pisser and headed back to the front of the bus for reinforcement.

It was at this time the guy sitting (and sleeping) next to the pisser realized what happened, he repositioned himself on the armrest, bought some popcorn from a food vendor on board and got caught up on the entertainment.

The bus continues for a few more stops before the porter and his reinforcement come back to confront the pisser, who is now standing up in the aisle. I think he got tired of sitting in his own urine. Then another guy joins the reinforcements and they all have a discussion with the pisser, to no avail.

Then, the two larger guys get behind the pisser and begin pushing him to a waiting police officer at the front of the bus. After the pisser was escorted from the bus the porter came back with a spray bottle of 'something' and few paper towels and did a half-assed clean up of the mess.

The pisser was gone and we were back on our way. This whole incident with the pisser took about 20 mins and during that time the bus was stopped and it kept getting hotter and hotter. The air circulation in the back of the bus was poor, and Marc still had the day pack on his lap to avoid the piss on the floor of the bus. Our water was long gone and, in retrospect, we probably should have bought a few more, but we thought we were almost there.

Marc started getting very anxious like when he has motion sickness. The back of the bus is not the best place to be since you feel every single bump in the road. Marc placed the day pack in the aisle within in reach, and stood up to get a little air. It was a little too late. Marc sat back down and asked me for his emergency bag. We were 5K away from our destination at this point. Marc spent the last 5K dry heaving into a gallon Ziploc bag thankful he didn’t eat any of the deep fried surprises along the way.

When we arrived, Marc took his zipped up Ziploc with him; we got our bags, and made our way into the town of Monteñita. The entry into Monteñita will get its own story later. We found a cute little place to stay, right on the beach, put our stuff away just in time to see the sun starting to set out our window.

We dropped everything and ran closer to the water, about 100m. The beautiful reddish, orange globe was right in front of us prepared to dive into the water for the night. It was the most spectacular sunset either one of us have ever seen.

I guess the sunset made the rest of the miserable day worth it.

First few days...Quito, Ecuador

Quito, Ecuador

January 31, 2007

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W 078°.27.361

Today we took a trip 22 km outside of the city to see La Mitad de Mundo. The middle of the world is its own little city outside of Quito. There are several restaurants, parks, souvenir shops, with the highlight being in the middle of the “City.” There in the middle is a massive monument recognizing the spot on the equator when the latitude reaches 00.000.000. We headed directly towards the monument when we arrived.

Marc, with GPS in hand, was determined to verify the accuracy of the monument. The closest he got was 00.000.112 near the monument. He did find a spot with a reading of 00.000.049 closer to the fence of the city.

The highlight of the day, at least for me, was recording Marc standing on the big “O” for Oeste, or West, with the line dividing the two hemispheres below him. It was here that he let one rip, as he did in the Four Corners several years ago while traveling cross country with Mike T.; I know this because I have seen the tape highlights of that journey with Mike.

Tomorrow we will head to Guayquil, Quito and then over to the beach. The weather should be perfect—in the 80s almost all the time. We will relax on the beach for several days prior to returning to Guayquil. We hope to have internet access during that time, so keep looking for blog updates.

January 30, 2007
S 00°12.169
W 078°.29.830

We had a fantastic day exploring Quito. The town is broken up into three sections—Old Town, New Town and Mariscal Sucre. We hit all of them. As we walked from Mariscal Sucre through New Town, we got to the main park, Parque El Ejido, and continued through to Parque de Alameda.

We heard some noise in the distance, but decided to turn down a street and move away from the noise. Large crowds are not always the best places to be in foreign countries.

At the North corner of Parque de Alameda, there was a little monument that looked like a good lookout point. We climbed to the top, huffing and puffing a little since we are almost at 10,000 feet. We made it to the top and took a seat—we were the only people on top. This wasn’t a big monument; maybe 20 feet high with a weather vain on the top, but it was the perfect place for us to be at this point in time.

The same time we got to the top of the monument, we heard some yelling in the distance, and then we heard a few sirens. We looked out from the point we were sitting and saw some people running in the distance. A few seconds later the sirens drew closer, and we saw officers fully suited in riot gear. People were frantically spilling into Parque de Alameda, the look of fear in their eyes even though they are part of the protest.

Marc pulls out his camera to take a video of the protest and the people trying to escape the police in the riot gear. Next, the riot police unleashed the tear gas, as Marc captured the mayhem on his camera. The situation couldn’t have been too bad since the guy manning the hot dog cart was running with the protestors.

The tear gas cleared and we decided to depart from the top of the monument to complete our tour of Quito. We noticed a church from the top of the monument, Church of La Basillica, and decided to weave our way towards the historical monument. We did our best to avoid the protesters rest of the day, and it wasn’t too difficult since every where we went was heavily secured with police.

We ended the afternoon at the local British Pub having a few pints. Yes, this is kind of cheating since they speak English in the British pub, but it was day one—give us a little time.

I have to say our first day in Quito made us feel like home—those people in San Francisco protest everything too!