A 3rd World Bitch Slap Will Open Your Eyes

"True and serious traveling is no pastime, but is as serious as the grave." --Theroux
"There are no thieves in Ecuador. Only professionals." --Fellow Backpacker

The Linda I knew one year ago would have left. She would have paid to change her ticket and departed a week early. The Meghan I knew one year ago would have convinced her to. Why? Well, on her second day here in this fabulous little country, Linda was robbed by some fabulously talented (perhaps invisible) thieves. We were on a bus to Baños, a route targeted by thieves as it is the tourist destination in the country. I knew this. I was prepared. I gave my lecture about taking special care of her bag. And though Linda had her feet on her daypack the entire trip, they got in anyway, and removed her wallet. Just her wallet, without disturbing anything else in her bag, let alone us, as we chatted and laughed and reunited during the 4 hour journey.



We didn't discover the theft until much later that night, after she was alerted by American Express (god bless 'em) to suspected fraudelent activity on her card. That night was rough. We spent 45 minutes on the phone to the US (and, ironically, India) as she called to cancel her cards, and were informed the thieves had gone Christmas shopping immediately. At that point, the greatest loss was her beloved and handsome wallet and about $160 in cash. I had her passport and most of her cash strapped to my calf, and so once we joked about it and wished the thieves a Merry Christmas, she was really no worse for the wear, only a little bit wiser about the adept skills of Ecuadorian thieves.



Then, 4 days later, after a series of foiled plans, missed reservations, a bout of food poisoning, a headcold, several too-long, arduous, heinous bus rides, and a cold night spent in the Guayaquil bus terminal, the shit really hit the fan. We'd arrived at our first beach stop, one with zero sun and plenty of wind and rain, and on our second night Linda discovered that the checkbook she'd also lost, to which I said, "Oh, no worries, they can't do anything with that here!," had been opened and used, to the tune of nearly $7,000 in forged checks. Cashed no problema at a bank in Quito. Yeah, if we thought the night of the lost credit cards was rough, we were completely unprepared to deal with this on a Sunday night before Christmas. It was kinda meltdown central, but oddly more for me than for her. She needed me to be "a rock" and I was more like ugly mud. I was so angry, so frustrated, so sad, and felt guilty, responsible, all of those things. Linda had trusted me to take care of her, in a way, and though of course she didn't blame me, I blamed myself in many ways, and then felt guilty for making the catastrophe "my" problem. We were terrible company for one another that night. Nothing could be resolved until the morning when she could call home and talk to someone knowledgable at her bank about what recourse she had. This was her life savings, and she wasn't sure if she would be culpable for not reporting the checks stolen, too.



Long story made a bit shorter, Linda was NOT responsible for any of it, and her funds were returned in just 48 hours. And as soon as we arrived at the second beach, on Christmas morning, the sun literally and figuratively came out. The last half of our two weeks together were wonderful. And I am so proud of her--for letting Ecuador strip her of all sense of security, for withstanding and weathering this giant, 3rd world bitch-slap, for allowing this place to consume her in a way neither of us were expecting, and in a way no one should be consumed, but then, for not only recovering, but for thriving despite all of this. Linda truly let herself be here. And she stayed.



I got to thinking it was like Ecuador--or the universal force masking as Ecuador-- was forcing Linda to vacate, in every sense, her life in New York. And I was forced, to see my traveling-self through a friend's eyes. In my over eagerness to show Linda how awesome this country is, how much I love love love it, I ended up even spoiling the scenery. Linda was just so tired and frustrated and angry, that she basically refused to even look out the windows during our ample hours on busses, to enjoy the bountiful and breathtaking scenry as it passed us by. I was too ambitious, and had I been a little more patient, taken a less frenzied approach to her trip here, we may have avoided at least some of the problems we had. I went from being the laid back traveler with no set itinerary, to a mad-cap dasher of a pseudo tour guide with busses to catch and schedules to keep.

I went into my camp counselor mode, my girl scout self. I planned to do and see and go too much. I was so intent on Linda seeing this country as I do, wanting her to love it the way I have come to love it. But how could she? Two weeks is just not enough time. Between the 13 hour plane ride to get here, the less-than peaceful dorm room accomodaton, the altitude, the culture shock, the language barriers, all of it, one needs time to adjust. And I forgot about that. But once we settled into the easy palm tree sway-rhythm of Mompiche's beach, the pace of everything changed. And finally, I think, I hope, Linda loved Ecuador, at least just a little bit



I now remind myself: less is more. Think small. Go slow. It is a good lesson for life everywhere.


Ultimately, what happened to Linda forced us to slow down. And, it forged us yet another bond, found us ending up closer together than where we'd started.

After I left her at Quito's airport on New Year's Eve morning, I caught another bus alongside the highway to head back up to Otavalo in order to celebrate the festivities with my friends. I sat on the right. This was an unconscious decision. Just flopped where I landed, trying to avoid falling over as the bus swerved wildly back onto the PanAmerican. During that drive, I saw, for the first time, Laguna San Pablo--the sacred lake, reputedly a portel to the center of the earth. People had been astonished when I told them I'd never seen it. "But, it's right there, out the window on the bus from Quito to Otavalo," they cried. Maybe I'd never sat on the right before, or maybe I just hadn't paid attention. As I watched it glisten in the late morning sun, I thought of Linda. I cried again, sad to suddenly be without my best friend. And I took stock of how, suddenly, again, my vision was different.

With Linda here, I was awakened to the ugly. I saw the struggle, the discomfort, the fear, the scary parts of traveling. I was more conscious of how long a bus ride could be, how noisy, how bumpy. I couldn't sleep soundly, as I normally do, when we were in a dorm-room hostel. I heard every noise. I even shushed people! Wanting Linda to have a good night's sleep. I was paranoid about our bags being stolen from beneath the bus. (Never before have I jumped off, mid-ride, to check the undercarriage, making the controllador open the hatch so I could be certain our luggage was secure. With Linda, I did just that.) I mean, I knew all of this, but my awareness of these details were intensely hightened while trying to "take care" of my new traveling partner. I don't mean to say Linda needed special caring for, but it's like when you play one of your favorite songs for someone who's never heard it before. You loved it, enough to share it, but suddenly, with a new set of ears hearing it, you become conscious of how it might not be so great. "Is that chorus too cheesy? Does it repeat the same phrase too much? Is the beat annoying? The lyrics cliche? Do they like it?" You begin to doubt what you were so sure you loved. That was how I felt about Ecuador. "Is the scenery not as stunning as I'd thought? Are those clouds just like the clouds at home and not some supernatural phenomenon like I'd thought? Does she like it?" I have stopped doubting my love for Ecuador. It is as amazing as I believe. And I will never doubt my love for Linda. She helped me see.