• Joanna

Baby Jesus

Updated: Jul 7

I left Canoa very early yesterday morning... big flight to catch!


Thanks be to Baby Jesus that I opted out of taking the local bus... I would have come unglued in regards to the time and my potentially missing luggage... and let's face it, I probably would've been late.  When the taxi guy picked me up, he told me that I had"loads"of time, but it certainly didn't feel like it between airport arrival and airplane departure.

So... back to this taxi guy.  I'm going to officially name him Mr. Family Car.  I'm assuming that he was a friend of Zack's and Quinot actuallya taxi driver, as he showed up in his own car, with his youngest daughter in the back seat.  Then we all circled back in to town to pick up his wife and his other daughter.


After about 15 minutes on the road, I literally became the back seat sleepy time leaning post... so it was very similar to the bus... but they smelled a bit better and didn't snore.  The ride took about an hour & a half... and cost me $45.  I think I should have got the family rate... but who am I to complain?

The plane sat about 40 people and as I boarded, the dark clouds started to roll in & it began to rain.  I was feeling a little bit like Ritchie Valens as I boarded, and briefly reconsidered my bus cop out.


The flight was ok though... 


In fact, the airline sent me a'review request'almost immediately after we landed.  They gave me two options to rate my experience - Happy box or Sad box.  I chose the Happy box due to the mere fact that I arrived... and so had my luggage.  


I think I might have mentioned something along the lines of'my luggage is always the last to come out,'in one of my first blogs.  If memory serves... 


Well, dry those always-last-luggage tears, Joanna... because this time- it was the FIRST!


I think it was the world's way of making it up to me because of prohibition. 


Not sad at all, Tame Airlines... not sad at all.


During my entire Ecuadorian vacation, I have gone from hostel to B&B to hostel to family accommodation to cheap hotel... and I decided that for my last two nights in Quito, I would treat myself to a more luxury option.  

A boutique hotel!


This decision didn't always sit well with me, and there were many times during my travels that I was seriously tempted to cancel my reservation there and book something cheaper.  In all honesty, it wasn't THAT expensive.  $65US per night... but considering that I could probably get a hostel for $20... it was a cost & accommodation tug-o-war in my head....

But no, dammit... I am a brave & inspirational woman and I deserve the Boutique Sugar Hotel! (it's actually called the Boutique Plaza Sucre... which I think it quite an elegant name.)


Damn straight I deserved it... and I knew it as soon as I walked in my room.


A large, comfortable queen size bed, with a headboard, and actual real 1000 thread count 100% certified soft Egyptian cotton sheets - not just one shitty old sheet covering an old limp mattress.  You know those sheets that become so thin that you can actually feel the gummy latex-rubber type material of the decrepit mattress below?  


No more of that for this Boutique chick!

But I must quickly add... as much as I LOVE the beach, sometimes you need a break from cozying up with sand every night.  It just seems to get everywhere, no matter how hard to try to rid your body of it.  Feet are the worst!

But back to my Boutique Hotel... I even had a pure white comforter and FOUR pillows.  Did I mention the headboard?  There were complimentary shampoos, conditioners, body lotion, soaps... Large, fluffy white towels... vintage furniture... a hairdryer... a safe!  Secure, strong, thick doors thatactually lock...  


The entrance foyer, it was an open balcony concept - and almost reminds me of a hotel that Count Laszlo de Almasy and Katherine Clifton would stay at in Northern Africa... except I'm in Ecuador and not Norther Africa.  *The English Patient. 

Even the drapes on the window make me want to sew outfits for the Von Trapp children.


But I do have to say that Baby Jesus has played a pretty big role in this trip.


He's every where I go. 

Leaving Ayangue, he was on the bus.  In Puerto Lopez, he was the taxi...  In Canoa, he was on the boat...


And being back in Quito is no exception to the rule... in fact, I almost feel like maybe I'm trespassing in a seminary.  That is how much Baby Jesus stuff there in in here.  Lots.


Perhaps on top of life telling me'no more wine for you'right now, it's also probably screaming at me to get a little religion in my life...  but I'm going to hold off and just wait for the wine instead.


I realize, as an adult, that there are times you have to let things go.

I have to let the sun go... and realize that it's probably going to rain every single day that I'm in Quito... and that my suntan is fading quickly...


In saying this, I left my beach towel in Canoa...


I also finished off the last of my Aloe Vera cream, which, by the way, if you ask me, works about as well & as quickly as Father Time.  I also believe that my favourite flippy floppies have seen(and smelled)better days, so they also hit the bin.  The sun tan part of my vacation is over and it's time to let go.

So... back in Quito... let the bloating and the gas begin!  I kept looking at my ankles, expecting them to flare up at any given moment, but I think that doozie will be an airplane perk I'll have to look forward to in the next couple of days.


Spent the day spending all of the rest of my money at a local market.  It was pouring out, the market was indoor and I need to put more stuff in to my pack... so the trio combo seemed like a good idea.  $100US later.  I was suckered in to buying more rings, a multicoloured llama sweater and an elegant white poncho that I'll never wear. Such is life.


With hardly a dime left in my wallet, I figured out very quickly what I needed next.  Something good to eat and a glass of prohibited"call the police"red wine.


They say that any good crackhead can find crack anywhere, so I'm pretty positive that I can do the same with wine.  And I succeeded.  I figured out that the trick is to find places that are not so open to public viewing. Those little places tucked away, 3 floors up, no windows... that's where they serve the wine!  My own personal little illicit establishments!


I took a taxi home, as the downpour was endless and if I'd been feeling the slightest bit good about myself at any point during the day, this taxi pounded it out of me with our conversation.


It went something like this;  (and I have written it in English to spare everyone the annoying translation)


You are alone? Yes. Traveling all alone? Yes, I am. You have no friends? *laugh... Not with me. Where's your husband? I don't have one. Boyfriend? Nope. That's sad. My therapist doesn't agree. Who do you kiss at night? Me. Do you have kids? I have a dog. That's it? I can only afford one dog. Why? Dogs are expensive. No, no!  Why don't you have kids? I think the question should be, why don't more people nothave kids. Are you sad? Getting there... When are you getting married? I haven't pinned down a date yet, but I'm thinking that August seems nice.


OMG!  Talk about the Taxi of Depression.


He did make up for it (ever so slightly) by telling me that I didn't look a day over 20.

Now, granted, this is pretty close to the exact conversation that I've had with every single male taxi driver.  It's absurd to be a single woman, without a husband or children, traveling on her own in a foreign country...  Inconceivable.


Yet... we endure the personal and invasive questions and we smile and we laugh and we just keep on going....


Until there's a ban on alcohol, of course.  Then we're all fucked.


Where's Baby Jesus when we need him???

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