Banditos

Ecuador

It's been a whirlwind week. And we made it home - barely. New York fuckin' City. Thanks to Marie, I made it home... But let's go back to the beginning and those fucking banditos (we'll get to barely gettin' home later on - after I lay down and pass out). Nearly a week ago we were on our way to Otavalo. Marie'd wanted to go to that town about an hour and a half north of Quito as they purportedly had one of the biggest open air markets in the country - every Saturday mostly selling local arts and crafts. And Marie having the big heart that she does wanted to check it out and buy all of her friends and family gifts before we went home. Shit, she even ended up buying my family gifts - like I said: big heart. So we're on the bus and we have a couple of our small bags above us on the rack, and the bus begins to fill up as the Got damned buses there stop for every straggler on the side of the road all the way throughout the trip. You can catch a bus anywhere along the road ANYWHERE in Ecuador. And we're not paying attention for about the first quarter of the ride, when suddenly, at one of the stops where some of the people who had been standing in the aisles cleared out Marie had a 'feeling' and stood up to check our bags. Hers was fine but mine had slid (or been pulled) down the overhead rack to a few seats behind us. She took them down and handed me mine, but I didn't think anything about it as it was heavy and figured that it had just slid. Needless to say, I was wrong. And I really wasn't paying attention as I'd had to pee for about the last three hours as the buses NEVER stop for piss breaks, and the bathrooms either aren't open on the bus or they don't exist (I swear Ecuadorians have the biggest bladders in the WORLD - they NEVER have to pee! NEVER! I was on buses there for up to 12 hrs at a time and never saw anyone but Marie pee.) So I was thinking about other things at the time and I didn't notice that anything was missing until we got off the bus in the pouring rain in the dark a mile or so outside of Otavalo. Marie and I'd been fighting a bit about something or other that bus rides usually provoke between us when a German kid sitting across the aisle got up to ask the bus driver's assistant when we were going to get to Otavalo. The bus driver pulled over and promtply dropped the three of us off in a downpour in the dark of the night and said that we'd just passed Otavalo and Marie cussed him out under her breath as we got off and the assistant took our bags out from under the bus. I was pissed too, but pretty much fucking resigned to fate at that point and was just glad to have a chance to pee. My body was all crinkled up, my bladder was burning, and I was burned out from the ride and from Marie and me arguing, and my friend dyin' the week before, and walkin' in the rain in the dark seemed par for the fuckin' course at that point. And so when I went to reach into my pack for my flashlight to light our way I wasn't too shocked when I found that it was gone, along with a few other things. So we walked halfway to town, about a mile in the downpour, soaked to the bone, until we found a taxi at a stop light and the German kid hopped a bus. We found a place, peed, dropped our stuff off and continued to argue all the way throughout dinner. It was an auspicious way to start winding down our trip... Fucking banditos.

Love

Great Buffalo - Tribute To The Late Great Asa Tom

Ecuador

To the Great Buffalo in the Sky,

A couple of nights ago you received the great Choctaw spirit of Asa Tom, who I'm sure came snorting and storming through the gates of your Great Plains talkin' shit and wondering where the hell the beer was and the all you can eat buffet as he was probably very hungry and thirsty after his great trek as he most likely had to slay many beasts and demons along the way that tried to keep him from reaching your great glowing presence - there wasn't anything in this world, or the next, that would keep him from reaching the Great Plains in the sky that you roam. Great Buffalo you know what was in his heart as he spoke to you often, and you know that he was good - if only somewhat misguided, like we all are who wish for great and adventurous things in this world and often times have to suffer under the grim reality of simply providing for ourselves - a great and wondrous horizon reduced to slave labor for small minds with small ambitions. So, Great Buffalo, welcome him back into your tribe after his wild stint here on earth where he cut through the bullshit that is all too often our tedious existence with an acerbic wit, laser like ability to speak the truth, profound philosophy, ball biting humor and a distrust and disrespect for power and authority that was fucking wonderful to be around! Great Buffalo, give him a post worthy of his soul and let him roam. I'm sorry that you found it necessary to take him back, but I'm sure you had your reasons. He was really, plain and simply, too much for this fuckin' world. I'm just glad that you brought him into my life while he was here as he often helped me to laugh at the absurdity of this existence and the bleakness that we all sometimes feel. He helped me to laugh and smile and find some sort of joy in the face of often painful, overwhelming, and seemingly unfair life obstacles, like helping me to make it through endless hours of back breaking work under a tortuous sun in 110 degree heat for thankless mule driving employers - invariably in the midst of one of these endurathons, about to snap and kill myself or somebody nearby, he would get me laughing so fucking deliriously that I would somehow forget the pain that racked my body and we would make it through the day or night back to the safety and comfort of our motel room or home where we would trade feel good pills and rub each other down with Tiger Balm - because that's what friends do: they help each other out, even if that means rubbing each others bodies with ancient Chinese ointment - FUCK YOU! And as hard as some of that fuckin' work that we did together was, we had some pretty fuckin' good times. And as anyone who ever worked with Asa Tom can attest to, you ALWAYS had a good time when he was around, always, undeniably. Fuck, it got to the point towards the end there to where I wouldn't even want to work unless Asa was on the job, especially if it was a road trip. Basically, Asa made the pain that life can be bearable for me. I'm really gonna miss him. It was like having my own life Shaman or Buddha around when I was with him, a madman Shaman, but a Shaman nonetheless. He could make light of ANY situation. It was an amazing ability that I'm gonna miss. I just wish I could do the same for him on this one, but I'm stumped, and when it comes right down to it, I'm just hurt and I'm sad. I'm really gonna miss havin' him around. I'm gonna miss him talkin' shit about my ex-wives, my lack of direction in life, my often questionable decision making skills, my lack of money and/or work, my hopeless romanticism, and my writing a memoir at 35 (as you put it so poignantly buddy: "You got nothin' to write about!" and then, "I'm not gonna write somethin' until I lose an arm. Then I'll have something to write about.") Well, the last laughs on me partner, cuz now I'm gonna write YOUR story - that's right, and I can write whatever the fuck I want to, and in my version of things you will most likely be a cross dressing beastialist with a fondness for boas and poetry - maybe with one arm (howyalikethat?). Well, you got a front row seat for the show now buddy, and I'm not gonna let ya down. I'm gonna run the Iditirod for ya. And I'll see every port in the world, just like we talked about, takin' a shot of liquor for ya at each stop. And if Marie and I have a child you're still gonna be the Godfather just like you wanted, just like I promised ya. And you can see the kid anytime you want to. And if I ever get this book published that I've been working on I'm gonna dedicate it to ya. Thanks for helpin' me to not take myself so seriously buddy. I'm gonna miss ya. I love ya... Buffalo ride...

Love

Ecuadorian Update

Ecuador

Apparently the cops in Texas have been hot on my tail, tracking me down at last known addresses and leaving notes on doors threatening felonies and such. Well, they can kiss my ass. It's all a minor misunderstanding about a car, and it's in the process of sorting itself out... so chill out Cops. And what can I say, except that things were moving quickly when I was packing up to leave Austin, and some small details fell through the cracks. But it'll all be resolved shortly. And if not, well, I'm in South America (come and get me motherfuckers). Ahhh, life, I've been makin' a grand mess of it for a while now. That's become evident since I've been working on this rambling, blabbering confessional that I've been trying to turn into a book - GOD PLEASE HELP ME. Jesus, my poor mother. Mom, I'm sorry. Maybe what I've written has some sort of value or worth beyond exposing my faults and flaws as a person, or maybe it's just the vomit of a sick head. But either way, mom, I'm sorry, and I love you and I hope that you never read it. I've been working on it as much as can since I've been here, and I'm at a stopping point with it, and don't know if there's anything that I can do to it at this point to make it any better. I need some outside input. So, if anyone out there has any contacts or advice as far as an editor is concerned, I could use it. Marie's been working on her book as well, which I scanned over tonight and tried to format a little to make the structure consistent, and I have to say that Marie and I would have one hell of a handful of a kid if we ever got pregnant. And it would probably be best for the kid if a nanny or someone watched it a lot to give it a better chance of survival in the world. Having said that, I like what Marie's got book wise. It's a lot better than what I've got. And maybe we could adopt? There's some kids down here that could use a home. Maybe we'll get one before we go, to help around the apartment in Brooklyn? So I've been reading what she's got, and she's been reading what I've got, and I guess that it's pretty poignant (or something like that) that we've got each other considering what we've written. And thinking about it now, I think that's the way we should push this thing - both the books need to be published simultaneously and marketed as a team. I can imagine Oprah crying or (calling the men in white coats) while interviewing the two of us. Shoot, if that interview happens I'm jumping for joy on her fucking yellow couch.
It's coming together. It's happening. It'll work out...

Love

No Comprende Espanol; Espanol No Comprende Us

Ecuador

Marie and I started taking Spanish lessons this week at Mayra's school of Spanish here in Banos in order to improve our chicken scratch charades Spanish. But apparently us not understanding Spanish is only half the battle we face down here, as the Spanish culture seems to be having a bit of a difficult time understanding us... The first few days of our Spanish classes were spent trying to explain our "situation" to our aghast teacher and the young college aged Ecuadorian girl who was sitting in on our classes in order to improve her English. I don't remember how it all started, but it probably started with me opening my big mouth and making some stupid comment in an attempt to try to be funny, probably at Marie's, or our relationship's expense, which I think resulted in Marie smacking me in the face with the paper that she was holding in her hand, which left the teacher and the young Ecuadorian girl shocked that I was laughing after having been smacked by a woman - I guess that doesn't happen in Latin countries much due to rampant machismo.

But, as the teacher pointed out, I was not a machismo, rather a masochist.

And the cross cultural exchange of relationship understanding spiraled after that when Marie and I revealed that we had each been married twice, and that Marie was still in fact married to her second husband after seven years of separation, to which I was shocked to find that he still lived in New York, as I was under the impression that he lived in South Africa - which I liked much better, to which the teacher responded that we both needed to have an exorcism performed at the local church. It's free (I checked).

The next day when we returned to school we found that our conservative teacher had been replaced by a much more liberal still-in-the-closet-homosexual (who seemed to take a liking to me), and that the young Ecuadorian girl was no longer sitting in on our classes. I like our new gay teacher better anyway. He's much more thorough and a lot more fun - he breaks out into dance quit often. As for the learning itself, I'm having much more trouble than Marie and have been assigned extra homework tonight as punishment by our hard assed (pun intended) homosexual disciplinarian - he's really been cracking the proverbial whip on me since he found out that I was a masochist. I really want to learn Spanish as I hate being tongue tied and mute and reduced to playing charades in public every time I want to explain something, it's just that I have a difficult time paying attention, staying awake, doing homework, and grasping what in the fuck is going on in general with certain types of learning, especially in classrooms that remind me of High School. And I find myself drifting off in thought to never-never land, staring out the window at the mountains just outside the windows, wondering about all the living that I'm missing cooped up in a sterile little room. That's probably why I've never finished College and why I've never kept a job longer than a year of consecutive time, and why I tend to gravitate towards contract labor (as it gives me the illusion of freedom), as I always feel like I'm missing out on LIFE when I'm stuck in a room with the smell of stale coffee in the air trying to memorize lessons for school or company manuals and codes of acceptable conduct for work. And what happens in response to this abject tedium is that my mind will start to wander and find what it is that I feel like I'm missing on the other side of the glass, always just out of reach. And which is, I guess why when my name is called by someone for me to snap back to reality, like it was by Marie this morning in Spanish class, I turn and respond with something completely out of left field and nonsensical, which has always gotten me reprimanded in some way or another - like extra homework for tonight - but left Marie laughing uncontrollably wondering where my mind was and what the fuck I was talking about when I responded... Ahh... ahhh?... Ahh, life, where are you? I see you out there...

Love

Chicken Shit!

Ecuador

We made it through Carnival without getting hit by water balloons, flour, eggs or chicken shit, which was quit a feat considering we had no plans whatsoever to be anywhere near Carnival. We did get sprayed however with some sort of foam in a can, but that wasn't too bad. Actually it was all right as it seemed like the opposite sex usually sprayed us which was slightly flattering. We'd planned on trying to avoid Carnival all together as we'd heard that it could get slightly out of control on the beaches. And we're really in the mood to take it slow here - chillo. And we were under the impression that Carnival really only happened on the beaches, so we decided to high tail it to the mountains see some more of the country and avoid Carnival all together. Unknowingly however, we traveled into the heart of Carnival in the Andes in Banos. All I can say is thank God that the Ecuadorian government stepped in a few a years ago and completely banned the spraying of chicken shit by its citizens after a severe outbreak of hideous skin conditions due to exposure to said chicken shit. Because honestly, if I'd have been sprayed with chicken shit after that horrendous bus ride from Pueroviejo I think that I probably would have snapped and killed some pour motherfukin' Ecuadorian. As it was, Carnival wasn't all that bad considering the crowded streets, the incessant car alarms - The Ecuadorian National Anthem, I'm convinced (those fuckin' things are going off while people are going down the road they're so paranoid, it's out of control) - the drunken teenagers, the fireworks throughout the night and the flying projectiles. But we made it. And who would've thought that our doctor ordered two weeks of sexual restraint would have brought us closer together? We had to learn other skills I guess - like not pestering each other, and leaving each other the fuck alone. We've settled into a tranquil existence. We're currently enrolled in Spanish classes. We visit the thermal hot springs a few times a week, watch rerun Lost episodes with the American proprietor of our Bed and Breakfast each night at six, go to the market in the mornings for something called La Pingacho for a buck twenty five which consists of rice, avocado, sausage and eggs, or maybe a fresh juice, or some soup. We wander the streets for food at night, buy bootlegged movies for a buck twenty five, go to the triple decker bar that looks over out over the main street a couple of times a week where a strange crowd of locals and foreigners gather to a strange mix of Reggae and Rock. We read, we write, we play Cribbage with our proprietor, we drink wine and we watch bootlegged movies late into the night. It's not bad here. And I don't really ever want to go home.

Love