I dreamt I saw San Agustin

About the time the latch which held my seat back in a reclining position broke I asked myself what the heck we were doing. It was 3 in the morning and I hadn’t had a minute of sleep as our bus barreled down what can only generously be described as a dirt-road, bouncing over holes large enough to swallow a VW Bug.

After a week of going mountain biking, kayaking, hiking and swimming Asma was ready from a break from all the physical activity. The bruises were starting to show. That meant going rafting down the Amazon would have to wait. We thought of heading to Banos, which we heard is a lovely little town set among the most magnificent peaks of the Andes, known for it’s thermal baths. But then Mt. Tungurahua decided to start erupting, only 4 kms from the city center.

We had talked about taking a side-trip up to Colombia earlier to see the ruins of an unknown ancient civilization at San Agustin but decided against it because, well, it was a little complicated. But as we sat around trying to figure out where to head to next, knowing that our options had become limited, we decided to forget common sense and just get up and go to Colombia the next morning.

You see, on the map, San Agustin is only like 1 cm away from the Ecuadorean border. But getting there is way more difficult than one would believe. The most direct route through Mocoa is considered dangerous, something about being overrun by the anti-government guerillas and a center for narco trafficing. And the only other paved road to San Agustin comes from Bogota, nowhere near our intended route. That meant we’d have to head 7 hours north from the border to Popoyan and then backtrack another 7 hours over barely passable dirt-roads to get to San Agustin.

The ride started out well enough. I showed Asma my new favorite pastime on the long-distance busses of sampling all the foodwares the various vendors were hawking and staring out the window. I was somehow able to rip my eyes away from the Jean-Claude Van Damme marathon playing on the bus to marvel as the landscape changed from the dramatic peaks of Ecuador to the lush rolling hills of Colombia. We met a nice Colombian family at the immigration line who offered to give us a lift as far as Pasto and find us a hotel for the night. That left us only 12 hours short of San Agustin.

Colombians have a terrible reputation throughout the world and especially up and down Latin America. Everyone considers the men to be criminals and the women prostitutes. But I’ve found that the Colombians I’ve met are literally the nicest, friendliest people in the world. I don’t know how to reconcile what is common knowledge with what I have experienced first hand. Maybe I’m just naïve, but I think I prefer believing my own lying eyes to assuming the worst about people.

We finally did arrive at our destination, after missing our stop and being forced to backtrack another hour. We were tired from the journey, cranky form the lack of sleep and wanting for a good meal and a hot shower. Both of those things proved to be near impossible to find in small town Colombia. I tried to remember why I kept telling everyone Colombia was my favorite country in the world.

But regardless we went out to see these ruins we traveled a ridiculous distance for. And yes, they were quite impressive and the scenery was gorgeous beyond compare. No one seems to know any things about these artifacts or the civilization that created them. They can’t even seem to agree on in which millennium they were constructed. All they can agree on is that these are the only remnants of what must have once been a power civilization which fell as the Incan Empire expanded into present day Colombia.

After spending a day exploring the archeological sights, we prepared for the two day journey back to Quito. We both wondered aloud why decided to make this excursion, and agreed the expectations that we had setup for ourselves led to disappointment. I thought I had learned that lesson already but I suppose it takes more than one time for it to really stick.

The adventure was one unlike any other, and Asma seemed to have a lot of the same revelations that I did when I first started traveling in Latin America. Asma told me about her new found respect for all the simple pleasures in life that we seem to take for granted. And we both marveled at how people who have so little seem to enjoy life so much more than we do with all our flat-screen TVs and fast cars. How they relish in the strength that their friends and family seem to provide, in ways that would only annoy us.

Asma and I are alike in many more ways than I realized before. We both seem to be rather content on just seeing where life winds up taking us, rather than making our grand plans. Of course that causes problems from time to time. Every once in a while you get the silly idea of traveling 5 days to Colombia on a whim and wind up tired and exhausted from the journey. But even with that possibility I have faith that things will always work out, they always have so far. And I still think I would still deal with the chance of that happening rather than keeping lists and making itineraries.

More Boobies Than You Can Shake a Stick At

I was super excited to see my sister Asma again, she was bringing me an iPod loaded with music and a new camera. Our 3 weeks together started out by exploring a little bit of Quito, but we were both looking forward to heading out towards the coast. The hump-back whales started showing up in Ecuador about a week ago and we were going to head to Puerto Lopez to get a closer peak and enjoy the beaches while we were at it.

My Spanish teacher Zulema wanted to go too. She’s lived in Quito all her life and for some reason had never managed to get out to the coast to see them in person. So we made plans to catch a night bus from Quito to Puerto Lopez and spend the weekend there.

As normal things didn’t go quite so easily as we had planned. Turned out the bus we were planning on taking was completely sold out. We decided to head to the main bus terminal in Quito and see if we could find another way to get there that night. No such luck, but we decided to hop a bus to Manta which was two hours north instead and figure out how to get to Puerto Lopez after that.

The ride on the bus was nice. I got to listen to my new tunes on my iPod for the first time, since sleep was not to be found on the bumpy roads heading down the western slope of the Andes. As I scrolled through the list of artists that my sister shoved on there I couldn’t hide my excitement. Bob Dylan, Yes! Jurassic 5, Yes! Neko Case, Yes! Warren Zevon, Yes!

I don’t know how, but my sister Asma and I must share the same gene that leads great taste in music. Sure she didn’t have any Miles Davis and didn’t know who Townes van Zandt was, but she’s young yet. We’re alike in a lot of ways, I think it’s all about her being the second daughter and me being the second son. But that’s just a theory.

I stared out the window as the hours on the bus rolled by. And at some point while I was drifting in and out of sleep Zulema yelled down the corridor of the bus at us “chicos…vamos aca” We hadn’t quite reached Manta but it turned out we could catch a bus in this random terminal on the side of the road towards Jipijapa and one from there to Puerto Lopez. Good enough for me. We showed up in town only two hours later than anticipated and Maxima and her husband were happy to see the three lost travelers as they had taken to calling us.

Within a few short hours we had arranged a tour to head out and chase down some of the whales and explore La Isla De La Plata, also known as “the poor man’s Galapagos.” I managed to take several pictures of empty open see but almost caught a couple good shots of a whale showing off. I also kind of got to play tour guide in Puerto Lopez seeing as I knew the city somewhat well after being there for 3 days a couple weeks ago. Strange seeing as I had a native Ecuadorian by my side.

The Blue-footed boobies were spotted in alarming numbers. Also a bunch of other crazy types of birds whose names I can’t remember which only seem to exist on the Galapagos and this island. But it most certainly was not the tropical island paradise I had come to except, a poor man’s Galapagos indeed. The snorkeling was good, but not great.

All in all, after this trip Asma and I found ourselves really motivated to get to the Galapagos Islands, if only it weren’t so damn expensive. We still had 2 and a half-weeks and no real plans, and I guess we both assumed we’d figure it all out in due time. I liked the fact that neither one of us was stressing about it, moreso just pondering the possibilities.

Hail to the Victors

Before the two lovely exchange students would sit with me they had to know, I wasn´t rooting for France was I? No I assured them, I don´t like the French, so by process of elimination I´ll root for Italy. They were happy to hear that, ¨we´re Italian¨ the first one said in perfect English with what seemed to be a US accent. ¨But you live in the US right?¨ I asked? No, it turned out they were from Toronto. Whatever, Canada is like the 51st state.

¨Where are you from¨ they wanted to know. This is actually a question that has always given me some difficulty. And these days I really don´t know what to answer. If you reply, ¨The US¨ to anyone from the US or Canada or anyone who has ever been there they will immediately ask where in the US. That´s when things start to get complicated.

The last place I lived was Seattle, but I was raised in Cleveland and right now I´m pretty sure I´m going to move to San Diego when I get back. The real answer is kinda nowhere, so I said Seattle, which generally makes my life easier. ¨But what´s your nationality?¨ they cuter one asked. Oh, I saw where this was heading. This is the other turn this topic of conversation always takes. ¨Well my nationality is I´m a citizen of the US, but my family is from India.¨

¨Oh, well then you´re Indian¨ the less cute, although still quite lovely one, said. I told them I thought it was strange that they called themselves Italian although they lived in Canada their entire lives as did their parents, they had never been to Italy to visit and didn´t speak a word of the language. ¨Oh but we´re still Italian, eh¨ they assured me. I guess everyone is Italian when the World Cup Finals roll around, well excpet for all the Frenchies.

But the truth is, I don´t really feel Indian. Not like these girls felt Italian for whatever reason. I spent a great amount of my childhood in denial about the fact that I was Indian, or not Indian as the case may be. And while I´ve come to accept that there are a great deal of things about me that are undeniably influenced by my parents homeland, I never really identified myself with that land. Unless of course it happens to be more convenient in any given instance.

At some point in the last few months I realized that my Spanish has become better than my Hindi ever was. I remember the last time I was in India and was talking to one of my Aunts and I felt proud that I somehow managed to find the Hindi words to thank her for the meal I just ate at her home. And she smiled and nodded at me and then turned to her sister and asked her what I just said. Sigh, I never realized quite how sad that is until just recently.

Of course I´ve never really felt quite at home in the US either. Lately I´ve been toying with the idea of moving to India at some point and actually learning the language. I don´t think it would be too hard, if I can learn Spanish in less than a year than Hindi should come faster, maybe. I used to jokingly tell people that I was a ¨citizen of the world¨ when they would ask me where I was from, but I don´t think most people read enough Greek philosophy to get the reference and no one really found it funny.

In between high-pitched shrieks at mostly inappropriate times the Italian / Canadian girls and I managed to share some travel stories and views on the world. Apparently these two college students were quite upset with the recent election of the Conservatives party to the Canadian parliment. Canada is becoming just like the US they complained. ¨And you know, people in the US are just kinda off¨ the cuter one told me.

Hmmm...funny I was under the impression it was the rest of the world that was kinda strange. Yes I suppose there are a great deal of things that are unique about us folks from the US. Everyone seems to thing we´re arrogant and yeah we have our moments. Everyonce in a while we decide to start bombing people but I like to think that´s just our ¨Can Do¨ attitude coming through. And yeah we´re kinda isolationists, except when we´re not, but hey we do have two big oceans on either coast and only two neighbors to deal with.

¨You´re just a young nation that doesn´t know any better¨ the less-cute one told me. Yeah I suppose we´re young, but we have the longest form of functioning government of any nation in the world, I replied. And sure one of these days maybe we´ll figure out the same lessons that the ¨mature¨ countries of Europe have, but I still can´t imagine any other country I´d like us to emulate. There are a lot of things that are wrong with the US, I´ve come to believe, but nothing that can´t be mediated by what´s right with the US.

¨Why don´t you like the French?¨ the cute one asked, ¨is it because of the Iraq thing?¨ No I told them the fact that if it wasn´t for the US, they would be speaking German from Paris down to the Riveriera and somehow the French have decided that they don´t like us in the last 50 years annoys me greatly. ¨Well if it wasn´t for the French the US Colonies would never have been able to win their independence from the British¨ the less cute one said. Touché.

As the second extra period came to an end the cute one asked me what happened now. I´d watched enough World Cup Futbol at this point to be able to explain the shoot-out. She started chewing her fingernails. As the Italians scored the fifth penality kick high-fives and hugs went all around. Before we parted ways they asked me to change my plans about moutain-biking on Cotopaxi, ¨it destroys the vegetation and it takes some plants 20 years to grow in the Andes¨ the cute one implored. ¨Well if those plants don´t want to get run over they should get out of my way¨ I told them as I went off to find a steak.

A few shots from Cuba

Meet the new boss, hey who is the new boss?

I rememeber Election night 2000 pretty vividly. Bush was announced the winner, then they all took it back, and then we waited around and they told us they had no idea. And months later we still didn´t know. I remember thinking ¨this is the United States of America and things like this don´t happen here. They happen in places like Mexico.¨

Well if it makes any of you feel better it turns out they still happen in places like Mexico. Although I suppose we´ll have to wait and see just exactly how ugly things get. As far as I know so far there hasn´t been much of any violence, which is the thing that suprises me the most.

The latest Google news articles tell me that the Conservative candidate, Felipe Calderon, holds something like a 0.5% lead in the popular vote over his Socialist rival Andres Manuel Lopez Obrador. I´m sure that will change several times before this is all said and done.

I read another article linked from Google news, amazingly enough written by someone at the Seatlle PI, who thinks this means that the recent socialist trend in Latin America is coming to an end. I suppose if 0.5% of Mexicans had voted the other way he would have interpreted this as meaning that Socialism is an unstoppable force in Latin America.

But to be fair the populist socialist movement emboddied by the self-declared ¨Axis of Good¨ of Evo Morales in Bolivia, Hugo Chavez in Venezuela and of course, Fidel Castro in Cuba have been dealt a series of set backs in recent weeks.

President Uribe of Colombia won a suprisingly strong re-election, making him the first Colombian President to be elected to a 2nd term since the 19th Century. This admist even more evidence that The Colombian DAS was involved in the failed 2001 coup against Chavez in Venezuela and increasing cooperation with the US and Bush Administration.

Peruvians chose to give former President Alan Garcia, who´s first term as President can only be described as disastrous, a second chance rather than electing the candidate that Chavez openly endorsed and campaigned for. This has led to a back and forth fury of insults between Lima and Caracas and now Chavez says he suspects electoral fraud.

Bolivians gave Morales´ party a solid victory in the recent Constituent Assembly but didn´t pass the Constitutional Referendum he was championing. This seems to point to ever growing split between the indigenous highlanders and the Lowlanders of European descent.

And to be fair one must really point out that Obrador, while definately a leftist and arguably a socialist, has done a fair amount to distance himself from the label of Populist Socialist. Obrador seems to like to portray himself more as a Roosevelt New-Dealer than a Che-esque revolutionary. And seems to have more in common with Chile´s Bachelet than Chavez.

But I find it fascinating that a socialist trend which essentially didn´t exist 5 years ago is now losing a series of nail-bitters across the Latin American map. Sure maybe it´ll just wither away and die, but that´s it´s far to early to put that nail in the coffin. And as the price of oil continues to go through the roof, the poster child of this movement gets stronger and stronger.

Who knew it could be so nice

My back was starting to peel for only the 2nd time in my life and that meant it was time to take a break from the beach. I had found some stuff I wanted to get done in Quito anyways so I figured I might as well head there a little early and wait for my sister. Samira decided she wasn´t going to be able to make it to Ecuador after all, something about work and school. It all sounded very responsible, I couldn´t really relate. But Asma was still coming down.

There´s a 10 year age difference between me and my sister Asma. But now that she´s 18 and I´m 28 (at least for a few more weeks) it doesn´t seem quite as great as when I was graduating college and heading off to Microsoft and she was listening to the Spice Girls. But I still have no idea what we´re going to do together for 3 weeks.

I actually kind of pity her. I don´t know too many people that can stand seeing me every day for 3 weeks. I think I drove Ellick crazy being constantly around him in Rio for two weeks. But we´re family and we´ll manage, I suppose. Plus I think its cool that my little sister and I will be hanging out by ourselves together for what might be the first time ever.

I bid farewell to Maxima and her husband, who might actually be the nicest people in the world, and hopped on the bus to Quito. By the way, if you ever find yourself in Puerto Lopez and need a good hostel to stay in look them up at http://www.hotelmaxima.net. They provided great information, and managed to perfectly walk the line between providing too much motherly nurturing and geniune friendship. The mosquito nets worked good enough and they´ll even let you borrow their boogy boards or bike for they day, no worries.

I´m still working on buying a new cell phone and USB flash card. I´m torn between being my normal cheap bastardly self or getting the uber-cool new Motorola Razor I think I´ve fallen in love with. But I have managed to find a Spanish school and a some salsa classes. Neither of this was very hard as Quito is apparently the number one gringo capital of the world. And La Mariscol, where I´m staying, is literally crawling with all sorts of stuff catering to all sorts of tourists.

And while I normally hate the idea of being around so many damn foriegners I must admit it´s nice to be able to go to a restaurant and order Phad Thai and have it be pretty damn good. And I haven´t had to walk over a single passed out bum on the street, shoo-away any street kids or hop over any open sewers. And I must admit, while there are obviously a ton of travellers here I haven´t seen a single heckler refering to me as ¨my friend¨ and after being in Havana, Lima and Cusco this seems absolutely unbelievable. I know, I know, I just need to venture out a bit and I´m sure I´ll find it.

But so far Quito seems quite lovely. I suppose the world is always wonderful when you refuse to step out of your little bubble. I´ve spent a lot of time in the last few months intentionally popping my bubbles for no other reason than because it seemed like the right thing to do. Right now I think I´ll just stay blissfully naive about Quito and assume life is full of nice restaurants and clean hotels. At least for a little while longer.

Salt Water and Electronics don´t mix

The notion that the free market can provide the most efficient mechanism distribute good and services falls apart as soon as externalities are introduced. And this global world we live in where goods and information can be sent around the world at negligable costs the major externality we continue to live with is government regulations. Such as import taxes. Especially on electronics. Especially in South America where electronics from the US and Europe are generally charged a 100% duty. Do you have any idea how much a new digital camera costs in Latin America. I do, all to well unfortunately.

You see I lost my first digital camera in a cab in Buenos Aires. It was my own fault, I had it just sitting in my pants pocket and when I got out of the cab the camera stayed. I went about two months without a new camera because I just couldn´t bring myself to pay the outrageous prices for the 2 generation old cameras I could find in Argentina. I went to Mount Aconcagua and Machu Piccu and Solar de Uyuni and don´t have a single photo to show for it. Such is life when you´re a cheap bastard.

But while flying through Panama I decided to pay the outrageous prices they were charging for a brand new super nifty Canon SD camera at the duty free shops. It was still better than what I could get in any retail store in Latin America, but about 50% higher than it should have been. And it was a great camera, only 3 weeks old, sharp pictures, great night shots, tons of settings, some of which I even learned to use. I took a bunch of pictures in Cuba and one of these days when I buy a new USB keydrive I´ll upload some of them.

This morning I decided to go snorkeling at La Isla de Solanga. Well it wasn´t actually morning, I came up with this plan the night before, before I realized how the evening would unfold. You see I met these three Ecuadorean guys last night and, well I´ve come to realize that no matter where you are in the world if you decide to start partying with a group of people, some of who have dreadlocks, an affinity for boxed-wine and the only english they speak comes from lyrics to Bob Marley songs you can kiss your plans in the morning goodbye.

No I didn´t make it up at 6:00 AM like I was planning to in order to bum a ride on one of the fishing boats that would be passing the island. Instead it was about 1:00 PM when I finally made it down to the beach. And they best price I could come up with to get to La Isla de Solanga was US $15, an outrageous sum. But lack of perfect information and rationale players are also market extranalities.

So instead I bummed a ride on the back of somebodies motorcycle to Playa de Solanga hoping I could find a better price to the island. No such luck, as almost all the boats were already out at sea and no one would go below US $20. Instead I decided to just hike around the edge of the beach towards the coves and playita I heard about and hope I could find some corals there worth exploring and work on the island the next day.

The trek started out easily enough, crossing a couple of coves and working my way around the bay. And I came upon the playita I heard about and it was spectacular. You could have called it paradise. Beautiful beach and the only marks in the sand were from my feet and a couple of sand crabs. But I wasn´t quite satisified and I needed to know how far I could keep going and what I would find.

I crossed the next cove fairly easily, but the one afterwards was a little more daunting. The cliff on the side I was on was sheer. But I saw a path I could take by climbing over the rock face that surrounded the cove. My feet slipped a couple times and I cursed the slipperly Cuban soles of my newly bought sandals as I peered down over the edge at the waves crashing upon the jagged rocks below. ¨This would be a crappy way to die¨ I couldn´t help but thinking.

But I made it without too much problem to a spot above a rock embancment. The only thing left to do was gently toss my backpack down on the rocks below and climb down. My throw was true and the bag hit exactly where I wanted it to, but I put a little spin on my bag, which was top heavy from the snorkeling gear. The bag tumbled once, twice and fell to the embancment directly below it, where it tumbled once, twice more before falling to the next ledge and hanging ever so agonizingly close to stopping before turning one more time and falling into the waters below. I just nodded my head suprised I didn´t see this outcome well in advance.

I jumped down off the rocks and my mind immediately went through what I would lose if the bag was pulled out to sea. My juggling balls, that would be a bummer, I just got those and it was an awesome gift. A pair of clothes, no biggie. Wallet, oh crap. Camera, shit. Cell phone, dammit. Snorkeling gear, bummer but replacable. My cool Brazilian flag beach towel, well they lost already and I´m just a fair weather fan so whatever. My half-read copy of Kafka in the non-original Spanish. Replacable but damn it was painful marking it up with all those study notes.

I looked around frantically as I planned my dive into the cove to try and retrieve my belongings. As luck would have it a wave washed my now soaking back up on a rock. And it only took a minute or two to get it and climb back to my sandals and sunglasses. I opened it to see the damage and everything was drenched.

I haven´t had much luck with electronics in this trip. When I was climbing Pucamarca in Argentina I was listening to my mp3 player and smoking a cigarette. My feet slipped and I needed to make a split-second decision about which hand I was going to put down to brace myself. My cigarette was fine but the Creative Nomad bounced off a couple of rocks and I´ve been without tunes ever since.

My sister is bringing me a brand new shinny iPod when she comes, the one that does video and photos. She even said she´d fill it up with good music, but seems to ignore all my questions about how much Dylan she is going to put on there. I almost broke down and bought one at the same duty free store in Panama but I figured I could go another couple weeks without music. And now I think I´ve got to add another item to the shopping list.

Those off you concerned about my health should know that I haven´t had a cigarette since Argentina. Ok, ok, I had one in Peru but that was a congradultory you just hiked Machu Piccu smoke and the crazy gringo I met from Seattle practically forced me to inhale. And yeah there were those 2 (only 2!) cigars in Cuba, but come on how often do you get to smoke Cuban cigars in Cuba? But I´ve been feeling pretty good these last two months or so without smoking and I think I´m finally done with that disgusting habit. Now if I could just stop breaking my toys I´d be all set.

How the mighty fall

I put off heading for my daily swim because Brazil was playing France. And like I´ve been telling anyone and everyone, Brazil was my team this year and they were going to win it all. It´s not so much that I had any basis for that viewpoint, before I started this trip I never actually watched an entire futbol match from start to end. And I don´t really know anything about any of these teams other than that Brazil has the most names I recognize from my few months of being a fan. But I really dug how crazy the Brazilians were for futbol when I was down there, even moreso than the Argentineans, although it was close.

And the thing is, if you happened to be in Latin America in the last two months and you started talking with just about any male and maybe something like 25% of the females, the World Cup would undoubtedly be one of the first 3 topics of conversation. And I came to learn that the secret to this conversation was having an opinion in which you had unwavering confidence and could state loudly and repeatedly with bare a minimum of words so as not to confuse yourself after several cervezas.

As I watched the match with the 4 other fanatics crowded around the TV set in our hostel our grunts and sighs became lounder and more anguished as the minutes ticked away. Argentina had lost to Germany the day before (I bet you´re still gloating aren´t you Patrick?) and we were now watching the unthinkable. Brazil, who was everyones favorites, including aparently the referees, was minutes away from sucumbing to the Frenchies.

In my travels I´ve met enough cool Germans to change my previously uneducated opinion of them. Sure they might all wear socks with their sandals but they´re generally good at giving directions and can do currency conversions like nobodies business. And overall they´ve been a swell bunch as far as I´m concerned, except for that one dude and the incident with Jonathan´s laptop and iPod in Buenos Aires, but never mind that. The French on the otherhand, well, I still refuse to be anything but sophmorically annoyed by those baguette swinging weenies.

But vanquish the Brazilians they did. And it seemed like everyone in the entire continent of South America let out a collective sigh at precisely the same time. We were all going to be forced to endure watching 4 European teams compete in the final rounds for the World Cup. As if being unable to watch their national heroes play for four years because they are all in European leagues anyways wasn´t insult enough, now it turns out when they did get a chance to play and represent their countries, they didn´t come through.

We had already watched the Japanese beat the Cubans in the World Baseball Classic a couple months earlier and this just seemed to ice the cake. No Latin America still can´t seem to catch a break. Just when you think somethings going to work out for them, it´s all ¨tout de suite¨ and eclairs. Oh well, at least they´re down to only one active Civil War, granted it´s been going on for something like 40 years, but it´s only a tiny little skirmish up in the corner of the South America.

It´s good see the next stop on the road is

After spending a couple days hanging out in Salinas I decided to start making my way up the Ruta del Sol. I still had over a week before I needed to meet my sisters in Quito and figured I should see what kind of trouble I could get myself into in the meantime. I was originally thinking about heading to the surf center of Montañita but then I remembered that Charlie don´t surf, and neither did Kashif. Sure it´s on my list of things to get around to one of these days, but I was enjoying swimming up and down the Ecuadorean coast-line and saw no reason to stop.

So I hopped on the first bus I found heading north and got off at Puerto Lopez. I heard it was a beautiful city set on a nice horseshoe shaped bay. I figured that meant I could escape the waves all the surfers came to Ecuador to find. The bus terminal didn´t look like anything too special but after spending a day swimming down the beach and walking around the Malecon I´ve decided I love this little pueblito.

It´s touristy but not too touristy. It´s peaceful but not too peaceful. It´s clean and friendly and cheap. There is a wonderful ratio of inhabitants to hammocks. And it´s got a line of fruit juice stands that goes half-way down the beach. Mangoes are out of season but the pineapples are fantastic and the strawberries are to die for.

When I was in Salinas I met a guy working on the beach named Patricio. He told me he used to finanace car loans in Guayaquil but about 6 years ago he decided to move to Salinas and has been giving tours and rides on his boat ever since. He told me that he hated working in an office and would never go back again. He said that when he´s on his boat he feels free, he´s his own boss and now he finally is motivated to get up and go to work every morning.

I thought back to the answer I kept giving everyone when they asked me what I was going to do when I was ready to return to the real world, ¨I don´t know, maybe open a juice stand on the side of the beach.¨ Like most jokes there is a kernel of truth in there somewhere. It still does sound like a cool idea. I think I first came up with it on my trip to the Bahamas, but it´s evolved over time. My juice stand would have kick-ass sammiches and a shot of rum to go with your smoothie would only cost $1 extra. And there´d be free Wi-Fi and salsa dancing.

But the truth is I don´t think I´ll ever get around to opening that juice bar (it´s called Zak´s Juice Shack, btw). I miss the software industry. I miss conjuring up a straight-forward solution to a really hard problem. I miss the elegance of a finely crafted design, the beauty of layered complexity composed of individual simplicity. I´m actually almost 100% convinced I´ll go back to software when I´m back in the States, the only question is where.

I´ve had about 1000 people tell me that they think I should find a start-up to go work at, and that doesn´t sound like such a bad idea. And I´ve even got my resume pretty much all written. So if you know anyone that needs a highly-skilled and newly re-motivated software engineer let me know, you just gotta wait like 2 (uh, better make that 3) months.