Guambras: Part 1

Guambra, pronounced (wam-bra) is a word that comes from an indigenous, South American language called Quichua. Originally spelled 'huambra', it actually means teen or young person. In Cuenca, Ecuador, however, it is used as a slang term to address your close friends. It can be used for both genders, despite the fact that the word ends in 'a', which would normally make it feminine in Spanish. It is generally spoken with a light overtone and always in good spirits like when seeing someone at a party. "Que más guambras?!?!" And although the words homeboy and homegirl aren't deeply affectionate most of the time, guambra, to me, will always carry an exceptionally special significance.

While my travels have taken me some very distant and interesting places, one place really stands out among them all. This place is Cuenca, located in the beautiful Andean highlands of Southern-Central Ecuador. Most travelers from outside of Latin America come through Cuenca for a few days, only to check out the plethora of churches, museums and cultural sites that are scattered all throughout the city and the surrounding areas. Others, such as expats from the US and Canada, have flocked here en masse because of the low cost of living and overall vibrancy of the city. However, there is another side of Cuenca that most people do not get to see. It is one that I have a great admiration for and feel truly blessed to have been able to experience during my time there. This is the side of Cuenca known only by the local residents. Or, as I could say, the coolest group of locals you could ever want to meet in any city.

Located across the street from La Orquidea is a neighborhood bar and restaurant called La Baraca. By day, they serve a delicious and affordable lunch and by night, mostly weekend nights, they have local bands and DJ's perform in the dining room. One particular night, I heard the sounds of punk and metal echoing through the narrow streets and so decided to inspect the scene. Making my way over La Baraca, I discovered a group of young, 20-somethings, skateboarding back and forth down the street and stopping occasionally to swill one of the 20oz bottles of Pilsner that their friends were passing around the group. Although my Spanish was even worse than it is now, which was probably similar to talking to a baby, I knew that I belonged there.

The first person I talked to was Esteban. I learned that it was his 28th birthday party and that his band was headlining the show. The mosh pit was awwwwwesome, but the lack of communication seemed to stifle what would normally have been an easy opportunity to make some new friends. At the end of the show, and after drinking probably 4 giant bottles of Pilsner to the dome, I was feeling a solid buzz, but also a bit lonely. I started to make my way across the street to my hotel when a few people called me over their way. They were one guy that I had talked to briefly earlier on, and two girls that I hadn't seen at all throughout the entire show. They asked me, in an amalgamation of Spanish and English words, if I wanted to come with them to get a drink. It was about 3 or 4 in the morning at this point and I was supposed to be getting up around 8 or 9 the next morning to go to Baños de Ambato with my Dad. Feeling the need for adventure still running thick in my veins however, I immediately agreed join them. I thought we were going to walk to another bar somewhere down the street, but it quickly became apparent that I was getting involved in much more.

I hesitated a moment as I was aware of the fact that I was about to get into a total stranger's car in the middle of the night while half drunk. Cecibel, who can speak English pretty well, ensured me that they weren't bad people. With just the little bit of assurance that I needed, the four of us piled in and blazed through the nearly deserted streets of Cuenca. We had mini drag races with other friends' cars on the tiny streets and blowing through road sign after road sign I wondered, for a second, if I had made a good decision. That thought was almost immediately followed by a sense of relief as I knew that that was exactly what I wanted to feel at that moment. (Sometimes you just need something that takes you over the edge enough to get your heart pumping and your mind wondering for a bit)

We pulled up to a storefront with a rolling steel gate already down, covering the windows and doors. This shop, which I assumed to be closed down for the night, was actually still open for business and simply closed the gate for security purposes. With a simple knock (no particular combination thereof) a small window in the gate opened and a voice from inside inquired about our business there. We bought a bottle of Zhumir (a popular Ecuatorian liquor), I think (my memory is a bit cloudy over that detail) and then we were on our way. This is how I learned to buy liquor late at night in Cuenca.

We arrived at a friend's apartment and proceeded to take shots and talk in broken Spanish and English, most of the conversation was filled with laughter anyway so it really didn't matter. Cecibel and I eventually found ourselves outside, taking pictures while I was waiting for a cab which we called from a pay phone. We exchanged numbers before parting ways that night and I promised to let her know when I would be back in town again.

Cecibel, or ChiChi as I came to know her, and Vero, became close friends of mine from that night on. Those two, Chichi in particular because she always let me know what her and her friends were up to, were largely responsible for making my experience in Cuenca a most memorable and fulfilling one.

Vero y ChiChi

guambras

Chili, Vero, ChiChi, Lionel, Amanda (chama), Miguel, Mariela's hand (jajaja)

Hitchhiking in China

Hitchhiking in China's Yunnan Province is not nearly as dangerous or difficult as people will tell you it is. There were four of us-Alex, Nicky G, Masha and myself. We made a pact that we were going to thumb it all the way from Kunming to Dali. No cabs, no buses, no airplanes, no money. We were told by many that we were crazy, that it was too dangerous to attempt because we didn't know enough Mandarin and that we would be at risk of 'bad men' who would take advantage of us. Some people even pleaded with us to take a bus. However, Alex and I were veteran hitchhikers and Nick and Masha hadn't just popped out of the womb the day before so, we were confident enough in our abilities to spot a bad situation if one came about. We also knew that gun laws in China are so heavily regulated that it is nearly impossible for an ordinary, private citizen to own one. After hitchhiking in the States where practically anyone can own a gun, this was a reassuring piece of knowledge. I am not usually worried about such things, but I've learned that anything is possible so you should be prepared for anything to happen. This was our route:

Pretty simple I'd say. Nearly a straight shot, approximately 317 km (196 miles).

We had a rough start trying to find the on-ramp entrance to Highway G-56 in Kunming. We walked for maybe an hour and a half before we came to the on-ramp only to realize that it was narrow and incredibly dangerous to try to stand there and get a ride. We had two choices: One, we could continue to walk for, oh, maybe another two hours under the highway until we found a better on-ramp, or two, we could get in a cab and have the driver drop us off in a safer place somewhere on the highway. We opted for the cab which ended up being like 5 yuan (less than one dollar). Now, I know what you're thinking. A cab! That's cheating! Well, we weren't on the highway just yet and plus, would you really want to walk for another 2 hours with the possibility of discovering that the on-ramp you were hoping to find was just as narrow and inconvenient for drivers to stop? I don't think so.

Here's where the cab dropped us off and the adventure began:

Nick G after he saved my favorite hat from being blown over the side of the highway

THANKS G!!!

Masha and Alex in the distance

One thing you should know about the cost of things in China is that there are three prices for nearly everything. By that I mean in the markets and local shops. Here's the breakdown:

Local's price - this is the price for people who live within the community. This is usually the cheapest and fairest price.

Other Chinese people's price - this is the price for people from other parts of China who are visiting or are unfamiliar with the community. This price is a bit higher than the local price, but not exorbitant.

The Foreigner's price - this is the price for, you guessed it, foreigners. This means anyone clearly not from China. Generally, foreigners stick out like white drops of paint on a black wall, but if one has a decent command of the Mandarin language and has any, and I mean any at all, resemblance to a Chinese person, it's not difficult to convince someone that you are from another part of China. For example, I used to convince taxi drivers in Xuzhou that I was from Xinjiang Province. This worked because of my curly, brown hair and my basic command of Mandarin. It was totally unnecessary to do this of course, but it was fun. But I digress. The price for foreigners is typically twice or three times the actual, fair price for something. This is why one should sharpen his or her haggling skills before traveling to China. If you don't know how to haggle before you go to China, don't worry, you'll get plenty of opportunities to practice. 

Moving on. Well, sort of. We soon discovered that this price bracket also applies to hitchhiking as well. This was our first, potential ride:

Alex working his Mandarin speaking skills

This guy wanted us to pay him 3000 yuan ($470 USD) to take us all the way to Dali. HA! (Just for reference, the average salary of a working person in China is anywhere from 2000 yuan to 5000 yuan. Also, a bus ticket would have cost us maybe 80 yuan each.) He was probably expecting to encounter some more desperate, weary travelers that he could take advantage of and, due to the fact that he had a van that would take all of us the whole way, probably thought that we would accept his offer at any price. Little did he know, we weren't the type to be fooled so easily. Our feelings were no mystery to the man and his preposterous offer and he was on his way just as quickly as he stopped.

Our first ride was with a man who also drove a van with enough space for all. He appeared to have some prior knowledge of hitchhiking as he offered to take us down the road to a place that was better suited for catching a ride. He only asked that we pay him 25 yuan (about $4 USD) for some extra gas money. All right, so we did spend some money. It was a fair deal though. This is where he dropped us off:

An underpass just before a toll booth 

(Nick G and Alex off in the distance)

Masha trying to wave a car down

We were not separated for the sake of the photo above but rather because we decided that, although we got lucky with one ride in a van, it was better to split 2 and 2 so that we could increase our chances of being picked up. We agreed that if one group gets picked up, we'll ask if the other two can join. If not, we'd rendezvous in Dali. (HH Tip: You should always be clear and straight forward with everyone who stops for you. Tell them where you are going and how many people you are with. You don't want to freak anyone out by inviting more people to join the ride without the driver's previous knowledge. This is an act of simple respect and courtesy which goes a long way.)

A few cars stopped for us near that toll booth, however, most of the people were just wondering what we were doing there. They would stop and ask where we were going and why we didn't buy bus tickets. We explained to them that we were hitchhiking (搭便车 da bian che) and when their curiosity was satisfied, they would explain that they were only going a short distance so it wouldn't be convenient to take us. (Now, when hitchhiking usually any distance is okay, but we didn't push the matter as we still had plenty of daylight and there was still a chance for all of us to get a ride together.) I thought about the people who stopped just to ask what we were doing. In the States, we see hitchhikers often and people would almost never stop unless they were going to give someone a ride. (Or unless they wanted to play a cruel joke by stopping, waiting until the traveler got close to the car, and then speeding away. Dicks.) I began to wonder if hitchhiking was such rare thing to see people doing in China and that's why people thought it was so dangerous (people are usually of afraid of things they don't understand) or vice versa. Nah, it couldn't be that dangerous, I thought.

About half an hour of waiting near the underpass went by until a middle-aged woman stopped for Masha and I. She, like our friend before, also drove an empty van with no other passengers. We gave her the rundown of our situation and she kindly agreed to take the four of us to a city called Anning which would bring us 35 km closer to our destination. She was very kind and understanding, but also concerned. When we began talking about our plan, she explained that she was going to call one of her friends to see if he could meet us in Anning and take us the rest of the way to Dali. So, there was a total stranger who picked up 4 total strangers calling a friend to take those 4 total strangers on a long distance car ride across the province. We would have greatly appreciated the ride however, twenty minutes or so later, she eventually told us that her friend would not be going to Dali that day. We didn't think much of it until, in a clear, concerned tone of voice, she offered to take us to the bus station in Anning so that we could just buy bus tickets. We explained to her that our purpose was to get to Dali by hitchhiking and not by any other means. She said that it will be difficult to get rides. In fact, she was saying the same things as everyone else had been telling us, yet here we were, sitting in her van while she gave us a ride to the next town! It was almost as if she didn't realize how we came to be standing near the underpass where she picked us up. Maybe she knew something we didn't. Or maybe she thought she was the only person she knew that would pick up 4 hitchhikers. So, we asked her why we should discontinue our journey and she said because China isn't like our home countries and that we will not be able to get a ride any further. She had made one good point, China is hardly at all like our home countries. However, her reasons for us not to continue on were the same reasons we had heard from most people. In fact, they were of the same type you would hear from anyone who was afraid to do what you are doing. These warnings sounded more like the projections of personal fear than they did rational thought. The woman was very kind to us though and I feel happy to have met a person who was so concerned about a group of total strangers.

We got to the off-ramp that lead to Anning and, after declining a few more of her offers to take us to the bus station, got out of the van and prepared for our next length of road:

Group photo next to the exclamation point sign.

We decided to walk down the road from the off-ramp to a more spacious shoulder on the highway. We weren't having much luck there however. We had all ready been waiting in Anning for about an hour and the sun's position in the sky was telling us that it would soon be much darker and much colder. A few vans stopped, but no commitments were made. Nicky G and I were together this time. We chewed sunflower seeds and made ridiculous jokes. Later we talked about our fathers and if they had ever attempted something like what we were doing. Then we talked about women, of course, and soon enough, we reverted back to ridiculous jokes. The sunflower seeds were almost gone and we began to discuss a time that we would call this journey off. After all, we didn't have sleeping bags or tents and we weren't prepared for a night sleeping outside. Plus, there was no where to camp even if we had been. We decided that dusk would be the time to buy a bus ticket. I began to wonder if I was wrong about what the woman who dropped us off here had told us. It wouldn't be the first time I was wrong about something, but then again, it wasn't like we were helpless if we didn't get a ride. 

Another half an hour or so of jokes and a van (another van!) stopped for Nick and I. The driver was a young man, probably about 22 or so. I explained our situation and without hesitation he offered to take us the entire way. He got out opened the back hatch and helped us put our bags inside. I asked him if it was all right if our two friends came along and he nodded his head as if to say, "Of course dude, I thought they were coming anyway." So, with our bags piled in and our bodies piled in, we began the journey from Anning to Dali.

It was a comfortable ride. The van was empty, so there was plenty of room to stretch out. I remembered that I had bought a pack of cigarettes for just this type of occasion, but before I could pull them out and offer one, our driver all ready had one in his hand waiting for each one of us. I took the cigarette and waited for my next opportunity to offer one up. (In fact, I don't even smoke that much so I actually intended to offer him the entire pack once we got safely to our destination.) As we drove, we learned that his job required him to drive back and forth from Dali to Kunming and that most of the time he makes this drive on his own. (No wonder he was so willing to pick us up. The man wanted some company!) For the duration of the ride, he called me, Alex and Nick by a name I had never heard before, Xiong Di （兄弟）,which means brother or male cousin. For women, it is Xiong Mei（兄妹） , meaning sister or female cousin. This is how we addressed each other for the rest of the trip. 

I was satisfied in the moments after I was able to offer our new, distant relative cigarettes. As if I were telling him over and over again how much we appreciated his kindness. After offering out nearly a quarter of my pack, I became inundated in the scenery outside the van. Gazing out the window, I was captivated as the landscape transformed every few minutes and giant cumulus clouds took on shapes of turtles and dragons in the sky. Colors blended together and darkened in hue as we chased the sun West to a new city. Overcome with solemn satisfaction, and reassured that all was well in that moment and in life, I dozed off.

I woke up as the van pulled into a gas station. Looking around at everyone, I realized that we had all dozed off and were all awoken by the change in momentum. Our Xiong Di had all ready paid for the gas he was going to pump and was walking out of the station with two handfuls of individual sized bottles of water. He gave us each a bottle, pumped the tank full and we were on our way again in less than twenty minutes. 

It wasn't long before we arrived outside of Dali. We pulled into a truck stop off the main highway. Our driver, our brother, paid a toll and continued on a short way until we reached another highway where he stopped the van and got out. We all got out to look around and to assess our situation. Xiong Di told us that he actually lived in a small town outside of Dali, but would take us into the city if we wanted. We still had some daylight left, so we decided to catch another ride instead of troubling our brother to go out of his way. Just then, another van pulled up and a man, who looked about the same age as Xiong Di, got out and walked over to us holding two handfuls of raw sugar canes. Xiong Di explained that this was his brother (no surprise there) as he handed one cane to each of us. I pulled out a 50 yuan bill and the pack of cigarettes and handed them to him. He looked at me almost in shock. He accepted the gifts without even a friendly dispute, but I could tell by his expression that he was not expecting them. We chewed the canes on the side of the highway for a good twenty minutes before deciding to part ways:

And of course, we had to get a group photo:

Left to right: Xiong Di, Alex, me, Masha, Nick

We left Xiong Di and his brother with a smile and a handshake. (I would have given him a hug, but Chinese people are not big on the hugging strangers thing. In fact, even handshakes are a bit awkward for most Chinese people.) And there we were again, four friends and four total strangers, out on the road with thumbs out and spirits up. A bus stopped just as we walked onto the highway which led to Dali. The driver said it was 10 yuan each person to Dali. Without hesitation, Nick yelled, "tai gui le!" (too expensive!). We exploded into laughter as did the rest of the bus including the driver. The driver then immediately dropped the price to 5 yuan. We looked at each other and, realizing that daylight had nearly disappeared, decided to jump aboard. We finished chewing our canes on the bus, assured of our final ride into the city and into a new adventure.

Racial Profiling

So, I was sitting in a small restaurant in Cuenca today 

watching one of those Japanese game shows where people 

dress up in giant hand costumes and get smashed in the face with gigantic boxing gloves which hurl them head over heels into a pool of muddy water (you know the type) and I'm sitting there laughing my ass off while the ladies in the kitchen are staring at me, probably wondering what the hell is wrong with me, and then the name of the show pops up on the screen. Humor Amarillo, Translated: Yellow Humor. Are you serious????

Surfing Ayampe Day 2

I'm burnt, battered and bruised. The waves were big again today. Probably 5-7 feet. I got crushed in the morning around 10:30. I went back to the hotel after two hours of being mangled and had a sandwich. One of the most delicious sandwiches I've ever had actually. In fact, it was the same double stacker from yesterday. (see Day 1) Everyone was gone from the hotel. It was just me, my Dad and Ivan, the friendliest maintenance guy and cook you could ask for. I got a bit depressed thinking that Keith had taken the rest of the gang to a spot that was more suited for beginners (which I am) and after a couple hours, I decided to just take the board back out and try to find a better suited spot. Well, the tide started coming in and the wind started picking up, which made for poor surfing conditions no matter how good you are. I sat there on the beach, examining the rocks that were strewn across. I was paying close attention to their colors and textures and feeling the surfaces and wondering where they came from. Volcanoes I presumed. I found chunks of grayish-black clay twice the size of my head. Where did that come from? As the tide was coming in, I noticed swift movement from a bright red object out of the corner of my eye. Scanning the beach, I saw a crab leer out of it's hole, it's body half way in and half way out. I took a step towards it and it retreated immediately. It's lanky claws moving in fluid motion.  It was aware of me, and it was being very cautious. I sat down for a few minutes and the whole gang surfaced from their hideaways. They began scouring the beach, eating miniscule things from the sand. I felt happier seeing these crabs coming out together, right on schedule. It made me appreciate the instinctual nature of these timid creatures. I noticed that there were small holes surrounding the area where I was sitting, more crab chambers. They weren't going to come out as long as I was sitting there, so I got up and left to give them their peace. Walking down the beach, I saw Adam with his surfboard. I followed him to a spot where he was about to get in. I met up with him and another guy, Chris, who was also staying at the hostel. Adam went out and I talked to Chris for a few minutes before going out myself. The wind had calmed down and the sets were rolling in nice and smooth. I got into position with very little trouble and waded until I saw a wave that I wanted. "Here it comes, HERE IT COMES!" I paddled intensely as if trying to escape from some shadowy figure in a nightmare. Just when I thought to stand up, the wave rolled right under me. Timing is everything. I turned around, and there was a monster coming right at me. I had a second to inspect it and then I discovered that it was thinning out on top and I was in the perfect position, not to ride it, but rather, for it to break right on top of me. And that's what it did. It smashed me down, swallowed me up and spun me around. Then it seemed like wave after wave, relentlessly crushing me. Finally I got a break, but realized I was headed straight for a group of trees which were now beginning to have their trunks submerged in the incoming tide. "I have to get out of here now!", I thought. The waves pushed me closer and closer to the the gnarled branches and the current trapped me into that same position. I thought, "One more set of waves, and I'm crab food." The first wave of a new set came and it knocked me off the board. I extended my legs in search of the sandy ground, but instead I was met with a sharp, intense pain that started in the backside of my thigh and shot up into my back. A cramp. A massive, horrible, nearly crippling cramp. A moment of sheer panic at the thought of not being able to use my leg took over my mind. I found the sanity to take a deep breath before the next wave however. It barreled into me, hurdling me forward at a great speed. As I fought to divert my crash course with destruction, I felt the soft, sandy bottom below me. Hope was restored! Now it was time for my escape. I treaded as hard and as fast as I could, trying not to focus on the pain in my leg. The second and third waves came in, however, decreasing in power as I got closer and closer to the shore and away from those razor blade branches. I stepped on shore, a few feet from the trees, and thanked the world for having an ounce of pity on me. I stretched my legs, took three deep breaths and headed back to the hostel. Tomorrow's another day.

Surfing Ayampe Day 1

I'm in heaven. At least I'm pretty sure that this is what heaven is like, for me anyway. I'm currently staying at Bungalows La Buena Vida in Ayampe. It's a perfect surfer's hideaway. Great waves, no crowds, warm water and friendly neighbors. Plus Keith and Marilyn, the owners, are the coolest people you could ask to meet. (Big thanks to Nick Vitale for the contact) The food so far is excellent. I just had a monster, double stacked ham and cheese sandwich (when's the last time you saw a double stack?) and some tasty fries for just $4. The private rooms are clean and very cozy. Plus, each one comes with it's own balcony so you can sit outside and meditate on the sound of crashing waves at night. After eating, Marilyn set me up with a board and I hit the beach. Well, I guess you could say the beach hit me. At least the waves did anyway. When I got out, the tide was coming in and there was a swell pumping out 5 footers. It was pretty brutal for me out there and if you had been standing on the beach watching like my Dad was, you would have seen the carnage first hand. I didn't even make it out past the break. I attempted to get out twice, then I called it a day cause my arms stopped working and the ocean was getting ferocious. It became another heart wrenching experience. I could do nothing but stand on the beach and watch big rights and lefts crash in front of me! 真可惜呀! (what a pity!) Oh well, tomorrow is another day. If you're interested to see just what the waves are like here, you can go to wannasurf.com and search Ayampe. The pictures at the bottom of the page are from the very break I was attempting to surf today. Well, not much else to report for today other than the fact that I am elated to be away from Cuenca after 2 weeks. And more importantly, that I feel like the luckiest guy on Earth right now to be here with my Pop, surfing (attempting) and heeding to the call of the ocean. 

A Journey into the Andean Valley of Yunguilla

I'll just start by thanking the generous and accommodating Solis Family for their hospitality and fun loving nature. I'll explain.

My unofficial guide to Cuenca, Lorena (who I introduced briefly in First Thoughts), had invited us to her uncle's 50th birthday party that was being held in the valley outside of the city. I should tell you about Lorena's family. Her parents own a hotel in the heart of Cuenca called La Orquidea, which is where my Dad and I rented out a suite for the month. Her parents also own three houses; one in the city, one in the valley and one in a coastal town called Salinas. My Dad and I have been here just four days and we've already been to two of the three houses. We've also been invited to Salinas and will be going there in the next week. They're great, hospitable people and they've made our stay here very comfortable and inviting thus far. Now, on with my story!

After an hour drive into Azuay county, we finally came to a series of dirt roads which lead to a hidden community surrounded by a range of high mountain peaks. We arrived in the Yunguilla Valley, tucked away in the bosom of the Andes. (This valley is also home to one of the previous CEOs of the Coca Cola Company whose main hobby is the buying and selling of Arabian horses. There are probably 50 or so roaming through this man's gigantic range.) After a brief stop at Lorena's parent's house to grab some party supplies, we drove over to her uncle's house. I sat in the bed of a pickup truck with Lorena's sister and her two nephews, Juan, 14 years old, and Juan Cristobal, probably around 6 years old. Juan Cristobal was asking me all kinds of questions in Spanish that I could hardly understand, all the while gripping a Captain America action figure. He would ask me something, and I would just look at him with a sort of confused look on my face, and then he would laugh, and then I would laugh. Oh, the infantile stages of learning another language! One thing you must remember is that laughter is the greatest communication tool at this point in the learning process. Laughter demonstrates one's humility, as you orally and visually display your lack of understanding mixed with your good sense of humor. This also helps take the tension off and allows one to see the language barrier as a small hurdle easily cleared with a running start instead of The Great Wall of Language.

People were chatting and sipping drinks in different groups around a large courtyard in front of the house. We got out of the truck and joined the ensuing festivities. As I made my way toward the house, a person walking by mumbled something inaudible in Spanish and then causally handed me a beer. I was liking this party all ready! I was then introduced to Lorena's cousin Andrea who, to my surprise and delight, had spent a few months in Beijing and could speak Mandarin Chinese. I couldn't believe it! We shared some stories about China and then she took me to meet another friend of the family who spent time in Kunming. Her name was Tami and she could speak Mandarin just as well. "This is awesome!", I was thinking. I never thought that I would happen to meet someone, let alone two, rather attractive girls, who could speak Mandarin in the middle of an Andean valley in Ecuador. Life is full of surprises isn't it?  

An hour or so of speaking Mandarin and broken Spanish went by and it was time to eat. The feast consisted of an array of fresh vegetables and, as the main dish, a traditional, Ecuadorian-style roasted pig. The beast is propped up on a spit and it's succulent, tender meat is sliced off per helping. The skin was crispy fried and dissolved on the tongue, seeped into the taste buds and sent warm, waves of pleasure throughout the brain. As we ate, a few people came around with a pitcher of rum and coke and two glasses. They filled the two glasses a quarter full and handed them to two people sitting next to each other. The two companions would salute, then down it all. Without changing the glasses for new ones, the bearer of the almighty rum and coke pitcher would continue on to the next pair. This custom continued for the entire night, without interruption.

After the pig gorging feast had concluded, (I was later to realize that this was just Round 1 of said feast) it was time to dance. After all, how many parties in Latin America could be complete without dancing and music? (The answer is none) In came the musicians! This particular act was a duet who played the native Pasillo music by way of the guitar. Check the video below: (this was their first song, no one was dancing quite yet)

It was during this time that I came to a profound realization. It had only been 4 days since I was in Beijing, on the other side of the world. Now, I was in the middle of the Andean mountains, totally immersed in a different culture and lifestyle. I had officially become a citizen of the world, a global nomad. The sun enveloped my being in it's light and warmth. It was drawing me into it's burning core of inspiration and enlightenment. Welcoming me to the world again. And I find it interesting that I should have had such a thought in a land where the native people worshipped the sun as a god. And I understood why one should think that the sun was god. After all, it does provide for most all life on this planet and it was the main component in the creation of their ancient calendars. It's sheer magnificence and particular beauty at that moment caused me to revere it in the highest sense. I thanked the world for its gifts and returned to my surroundings.

Just then, the last mellow Pasillo ended and the minstrels started in with the dancing music. I was pulled out into the middle of the courtyard almost immediately. The next thing I knew I was being taught a traditional Ecuadorian dance by some of the older women. Shortly after that, I was dancing a two-step Pasillo while twirling my hat around in the middle of a circle they had made around Tami and I. Every few beats or so the circle would close in on us and everyone would raise their hands and shout. I quickly learned that because I had the hat, I also had the option of choosing any one of the ladies from the circle to have a one-on-one dance in the center. It was like some kind of courting gesture in which a man chooses his lady based on the quality of the dance. (Oh yes, it's good to have the hat!) After a few brief dances with my chosen women, it was time to pass on the hat to any one, male or female, of my choosing. So, I passed it to my Dad and got him in the mix.

The minstrels completed their set as our side of the Earth turned slowly away from the Sun and into the darkness. Now it was time to turn this party up a notch. First there was a series of blindfolded piñata destruction. After the candy was all collected, everyone put on masks and started blowing whistles. Then a large circle formed and Lorena's uncle was dancing in the middle around two 1 liter bottles of rum. It looked like some tribal dance in which we were worshiping the gods of rum and spirits. (hiya heya! hiya heya!) Then the sound of fireworks tore abruptly through the clear, starlit sky and reverberated off of the mountains and down the length of the valley. I took break from dancing and walked over to where some people were standing next to a pickup truck. I noticed that there was a giant, wood carving of a bull in the bed of the truck. (How I didn't notice it before was beyond me.) I asked what it was for by saying, "¿por qué?" and the only words I could make out were 'fire' and 'sky'. Then somebody told me, in broken English, that it was very dangerous. A brief inspection revealed that this entire bull was rigged with fireworks. I imagined how the lighting of this curious design would play out, however, I was soon to learn just how clueless I was. My Dad walked over also to inspect the strange wooden thing that resembled a bull. People then began to instruct us on how to grab onto a set of two handles that protruded from underneath the bull's body. We thought they were just showing us how someone walks around with it until they started pointing towards the courtyard where everyone was still dancing. I didn't understand their Spanish, but I understood that we were meant to walk into the crowd and simulate the action of a bull charging at people. I had no idea why we were to do this. What does it all mean?!?!?

After a few awkward chases around the courtyard, someone came over and lit one end of the white wiring that was strung around the ligneous steer. Two other people grabbed the handles and then the thing started exploding all over everyone. Check the videos below:

I apologize about the video quality, (it was recorded on my phone which kept running out of memory space), but you certainly get the idea of what was happening. In the background you can hear the music and the whistles. In the last video you can see streams of sparks spewing out of the bull's horns. This was the steer's last stand before it was retired for the night. It was UTTER madness!

First thoughts on Cuenca

I told myself I was going to write. Now I'm writing. No excuses this time. I'm here, in Ecuador. I arrived yesterday all the way from Beijing. The total flight time was nearly 30 hours. Jet lag? Does that really exist? I don't mean to sound like I'm impervious to physical strain, but honestly, I've never been jet lagged, at least not for more than one day. Sometimes I hear about people who are jet lagged for 2 or 3 days. I just don't get it. I admit, a plane isn't the most comfortable place to sleep (especially when sitting in an aisle seat), but I don't believe that recovering from this type of tiredness should require more than one, good night of sleep. When people start talking about being jet lagged for more than one day, I start to wonder if they're just making an excuse for not wanting to do something. "Oh yea, she was going to call me when she got back to Miami, but she's probably jet lagged and forgot." "Where was she coming from again?""Atlanta." Whatever man, you got stiffed and she's using jet lag as an alibi. It's bullshit.

Anyway, I'm here in Cuenca, Ecuador and...wait, what the hell was that? The whole bed shook just now. Earthquake? Or, to be more accurate, a minor tremor at best. Both are quite possible. Ecuador is home to approximately 30 active and nonactive volcanoes, three of which have erupted earlier this year. I wonder if the foundations of our hotel could withstand a series of these tremors? Speaking of our hotel, did I say bed? I meant heavenly, floating cloud. I'm currently living in a suite on the third floor of one of the many old, Spanish style buildings in the historical center of Cuenca. My Dad and I are down here on a tour/scouting mission to find out if Ecuador is a place that my parents would like to retire. So far, it's not been a match, but we've got some more exploring to do. After all, we've been here just two days now. Although, for some places, that's enough time to know. I'm going to predict that in a few more days our answer will be clear, and I'm thinking that answer will be...(unnecessary drumroll) no. "Why?", you might ask. "Isn't it just to die for there?" Well Mr. and Mrs. Uninformed American, I understand why you might think that way, because your illusions are fantastical, but the truth is that you are spoiled and if you attempt a move down here, you'd better do your research first because you will find life different in ways you might not be able handle. That's okay though, I understand that you've been living in the land of convenience and indulgence for your whole life and you really have no idea just what life is like in other parts of the world. My only request is that you don't come down here and start preaching about the way other people should live. For example, in Ecuador, you are not allowed to flush your shitty toilet paper. It goes in the garbage next to your shitter. Also, if you want to go to a public bathroom, you'll have to cough up a little change for a fee. If that shatters your illusions about living abroad, especially in a place like Cuenca, well, good, don't come here! However, if you can withstand some cultural differences and are willing to learn a new language, I can guarantee you will have just a splendid time. My father is the type of man who can adapt to these changes, after all, throwing away your used toilet paper instead of flushing it is really not much to ask, it is? However, Cuenca, thus far, has not proven to be all that sensational. May be we have been misguided, may be we haven't met the right people or been to the right places yet. All of these things are possible. In my experience, patience pays off.

This is just my opinion of course. As a 26 year old man/boy, I can tell you that Cuenca is a quiet and quaint little town, which happen to be both its strength and weakness. If you enjoy a very relaxing atmosphere, comfortable temperature all year round, friendly people and a place where you can indulge in the local cuisine, which, I should add, you could afford on the most meagerly of salaries, then Cuenca may be the place for you. Most shops and restaurants close their doors around 8pm and everything is all quiet on the range by midnight at the latest. Now, I'm not looking for an all night party town with rave clubs and bullshit because, personally, I detest those kinds of places. What I am looking for is some nightlife though. By that I mean a few bars that play some good music that are open until 1 or 2 in the morning. I don't think that is very much to ask for, but in Cuenca, that is nonexistent. At least as far as I know. Now compare this to my life in China in which one could always find a BBQ with multiple groups of drunken Chinamen, shouting in tongues it would take a lifetime to understand, and you can see how this lifestyle transformation might be a bit difficult for me. Although, as a seasoned traveler, I believe in the power of perseverance and I know it's just a matter of time between being a ball of nerves wondering just what the hell kind of decision you made and finding a comfortable niche to call home. There is no set rule for the amount of time that will take. I guess as a general guideline, you might say a year. If you find your niche before then, awesome! If not, then you might want to consider moving on.

One thing that is amazing though is that it is now 7:30am and the smell of fresh brewed, South American coffee is filling my room. It puts me in a trance-like state. I feel compelled to go get myself a cup. In fact, that's what I'm going to do. I'll be right back...Woah! I'm back, but that took much longer than expected. It just so happened that my Dad was also compelled by this enticing aroma and so we went for breakfast together. Here is the rundown of what we ordered:

Three plates of scrambled eggs
Two pieces of toastada with a side of butter and jelly
A cup of tea
A cup of coffee
Two glasses of some type of juice which tasted like Mango and Papaya mixed together

Total: $4 USD

What a country eh? Of course, if you want to find these types of deals, you have to know where to go. There are places all over the city where you can get ham sandwiches, soups, and massive plates of rice mixed with pork and chicken for just a few dollares. Now, as in most countries in the world, there's always a piece of good old America if you want it. On the other side of the city there is a shopping mall fully equipped with a KFC and a TGIF style sports bar. Our unofficial local guide, Lorena, mentioned that she would be going there to meet some friends from Argentina. She mentioned that it was American food, specifically BBQ ribs, and invited us to come along. I was weary, as I am with most American restaurants in other countries because they are mostly all chain restaurants with a cheesy atmosphere and food that is generally poor quality. In spite of my previous experiences with American food in other countries, all being monumentally disappointing, I conceded in going anyway thinking that it might be nice to have some BBQ ribs after having eaten noodles and rice for a year. The minute we walked in I knew I was in for trouble. There were posters of Elvis and other famous boxers and athletes covering the walls. The place was a typical, tacky American nightmare. The menu looked just like a TGIF and the prices were just the same. To stick the proverbial knife in further, there were no ribs on the menu. I decided at that moment I would try to find the most similar thing to Ecuadorian food I could find. That turned out to be a pressed panini with turkey, bacon and American cheese with a side of fries. Oh god, I knew that when I ordered it I had committed a monumental sin. In a country full of delicious, cheap food, I'm sitting at a cheesy fucking American chain restaurant about to eat a food that I am embarrassed to even say the name of out loud. No offense to Italians and your delicious cuisine, but the 'p-word' has become a staple of modern, soccer mom America and it makes me cringe at the sound. To add insult to injury, the service was terrible. I ordered water, and it came in a bottle so, after at least 10 minutes, I returned the bottle and ordered a beer instead. The beer never came. I ate half the pan-fuckin-ini and felt sick. My dad and I left with Lorena, as she was our ride there, and vowed to never eat that shitty excuse for food again. We were both feeling anxious in the restaurant and afterwards a bit saddened. However, later that night, we found a bar/resturant across the street from our hotel. We stopped in to have a drink and found a diamond in the Cuencan rough. Here's what our tab looked like:

1 glass of wine
2 Cuba Libres

Total: $6 USD

The menu was just as sweet. I found a ham sandwich with a side of fries and a small salad for $2.50. We redeemed ourselves!!! Speaking of which, I'm going to stuff my face with just that right now.

I leave you with this totally bunk city review of Quito that I wrote so that I could get a $20 coupon for my next flight through CheapOair. Note: I never left the airport in Quito and the Cafe Rosa is apparently some kind of strip club. haha. Enjoy.

After landing in Quito International and successfully douping an entire crew of customs agents, I successfully managed to import all of my previously duty-free items into the country. Now that my money making operation is nearly secured, it was time to get something to eat. Down through the old, tapering streets of La Ronda, through San Francisco Square and past the baroque church of La Compania, I come to small restaurant nestled comfortably off the main street. I sit down in anticipation, as I have been waiting for this moment since I left Beijing two days ago. First, an order of Guayllabamba which is a type of locro, a potato and cheese soup, that comes with avocado and pork and perfectly seasoned with onions and achiote. There was little time to marvel at the presentation of the dish as it was halfway consumed just as soon as it hit the table. Next I ordered El Quinche, another locro, but this one with fried lamb instead of pork. Oh yes, indulgence is the name of this game, and to ensure that I am properly gorging my face, I devour El Quiche in record time and prepared for a local dessert. You'd think that after this much protein and starch, any man would be practically rolling out of a chair and begging for a hot nurse to take him away in a wheelchair, but not this guy. Well, I wouldn't have minded the hot nurse of course, but I was just getting started with this night. In record time, Pastel de tres Leches, or the 'three milks' cake was placed before me. It was golden in color and seemed to be melting as it sat there, soundlessly awaiting its fate. It took a matter of seconds before I sent that cake on it's long journey back from where it came. After stuffing my face to excess, it was time to work off some of those proteins and calories by joining the locals in a native dance called the Pasillo. You can find Pasillo dance halls all over Quito, which is quite an appeal for those seeking a true, immersion experience. Single guys, brush up on your Spanish if you really want to impress the ladies out there. Single ladies, be careful, you might just be swept away by the romance of this dance, of course, that's not necessarily a bad thing. 

After a few hours of stepping awkwardly through Salsa, Merengue, Pasillo and Bachata (I never said I was good at dancing) the dance hall began shutting down. So, my gorgeous Colombian/Ecuadorian dance parter and I got a few beers to go and decided to find more of the Quito party. What to do now? Our options were by far exhausted, so it was just a matter of making that, all too difficult at times, decision. In Quito however, no decisions are bad ones. We revert to the age old decision making tactic of flipping a coin and in the next minute we were off to one of my favorite spots in Quito, Cafe Rosa. With it's elegant draperies and warm, inviting atmosphere, it's a perfect late night hang out for vivacious locals and celebrities. Don't believe me? Just ask Dwight Howard (formally of the Orlando Magic). He made a guest appearance that very night.