SOUTH AMERICA: Hiigh Fiiiiiive!

In a matter of days some airplane will touch down in Quito, Ecuador hopefully with me inside. And hopefully with me not being drunk for these seven reasons: 1. That cost will be about equal to two weeks budget in Ecuador. 2. The flight will be seven hours long and I am big and Irish 3. Arriving intoxicated to third world countries when someone is not holding a placard with your name on it inadvisable. 4. Airports in this region are about as easy to navigate and accommodating as a hedge maze–one where on each corner people give you shitty directions too fast in a language I half-understand. 5. I only half-understand Spanish. 6. I get “randomly” searched all the time in airports in the States where people have some rights and there are lawyers around—only this time I’ll be in Ecuador instead. And 7. I want to sleep that night in a place that doesn’t rhyme with ‘bail’ .

This would be a scenario called smooth sailing: Airport on time, flight smooth. To the stewardess: “Yes, I’ll have a bottled water, please.” Get off the plane. Bags come off the baggage claim intact. Walk straight for the taxi place. Negotiate an acceptable price to the New Town section of Quito. The driver is friendly speaks slow, clear Espanol, drives hassle-free to my hostel, pay the man with maybe a bit of a tip and head into the hostel. It has never happened that way before on Latin American trips but maybe because I didn’t visualize it happening like this.

Last summer, upon flying into the Mexico City airport I was told the section of city my hostel was in was at that time of the day: closed. Funny, I had never been to a city that closes at one PM on a weekday, but thanks to Mexico City and its 26 million people I now have that distinction. Too much traffic, senor. Es cerrado.

A year before, the Costa Rican arrival occurred after midnight (poor planning, late plane, stupidity on all fronts) and after a near fruitless search of places in the tour book, we finally found one that had a vacancy–the last one in the area. It was a modest room with a window that opened to a concrete courtyard which provided astonishingly vivid acoustics for the sounds of the couple a few floors down going at it. Welcome, senor.

I am not expecting the best. But I have a provided a glimpse for myself–a vision for what could be a smooth arrival into Quito. Call it high hopes, low expectations.