I Ate Guinea Pig! Part Duex

Sunday morning I woke up, rolled over, and saw that the other four occupants of my dorm room were still fast asleep. I quietly got up and walked out to the hammock where I sketched my view and wrote notes about the previous day. Thirty minutes later my travel buddy came shuffling out looking for breakfast. We decided on the same roof top restaurant before. When we got there, the Brit from the night before was there and so we joined her. She was several bites into the double pancakes we had recommended earlier when we arrived, and just looking at her plate made me full. So I opt`d for the omlette. The really delicious omlette with lots of cheese. The three of us ate slowly, enjoyed the view, and discussed past and future travels. A good start to the morning.

The next step was to find the public pools. But since we had to check out at noon, first we needed to pack up. Back to the hostel we went, to collect bathing suits (or gym shorts and a sports bra for those of us that didn`t have a suit), and put our packs in storage. Storage was a small utility closet with an open door. I decided to take my small backpack with me and just leave my boots.

We walked to the park and asked around about the bus to the pools. Then we waited. And waited. There was plently of good people watching. And the covers of bootleg CDs being sold next to us provided plenty of entertainment. And just as we decided to take a cab, the bus rolled up. The decor was awesome. I love South America. I think the way it works in the smaller cities is there are no public buses, just people who own buses, make up a route, and pick people up. It`s really quite effecient. And the ride was only twenty cents. It was also really short. I asked the wife(?) of the driver to let us know when we arrived at the pools, and when she did, we got off. There was no site of a pool but there were several vendors selling bathing suits. So we walked on down the road assuming we were in the right place.

The public pool was everything a public pool should be: loud, dirty, and full of kids. And we were the only gringos there. Actually, there was another couple, but they left within five minutes of us arriving because it wasn`t what they expected. Where`s the sense of adventure? Studying the populace, we discovered there was a place to check our things. So that`s where we went. Ah, but first we need a large blue basket to put our things in. So back to the changing rooms where we found these baskets stacked in a corner. The changing rooms were just individual stalls with very little light and no doubt teaming with an obscene amount of bacteria. Cleaning them consisted of an attendant tossing a bucket of water inside each time some one stepped out.

We checked our things and made our way to one of the less crowded pools, but were stopped short by another attendant who said we needed to shower off first. Okay. This was an experience. I think this might be a bathing ritual for the locals. There were bars of soap, shampoo, people tugging at bathing suits - exposing more than needed be seen. And the scrubbing was intense. Whole families scrubbed each other down. I did a thorough rinse, taking much less time than everyone else, and headed back out to the pools. The pools were brown. They were luke warm. They seemed like petri dishes housing little Pink Eye microbes, and who knows what else. But in we went. We watched as one kid blew his nose directly into the pool. Since we could see nothing more than an inch or two below the surface, there was no telling what else he was putting in the water.

45 minutes of this was enough. Now I knew why there was such serious scrubbing in the showers. I was right there with them.

The changing stall was an experience as well. The attendant called me over to a stall that had just opened up. As I walked towards him, he doused the room with a bucket of water. Everything was soaked. Where do I put my dry stuff? Door closes, wait, I can`t see anything. Shit, just dropped my shirt in the puddle below. Jeans folded over my wet shoulder. Backpack is going to have to get wet. Screw it, everything is going to have to get wet. I`ll dry off in the sun. Back out in the open, I found my travel buddy and we exited into a light drizzle.

Back at the hostal a short time later we decided to chill for a bit in the lounge (we were checked out and had no room at this point) an let the rain pass. I grabbed a bear and we listened to a short recant of the previous night`s b-day outing. The newly-turned 19 year old Norwegian was looking rough. She said she was feeling worse than she looked. She later made her way to a hammock where she was still stretched out when we departed 2.5 hours later.

In the course of the conversation I mentioned I wanted to try guinea pig. The Canadian knew exactly where to go. And so, stomach feeling strong, off we went to find "Cuy". We found it. And it looked scary. We took the obligatory pics of the little guys being roasted on a grill and then strolled into the restaurant and confidently ordered a small portion. With more beer to wash it down just in case. A few minutes later out came our plate with the back end of a small rodent. We stared at it. Is that a claw? Oh good, here comes the beer.

It was oily. The skin was crispy. There wasn`t much meat. But it wasn`t bad. Mind you, it wasn`t good. But it wasn`t bad. And the eating the back end of the rodent was much easier than if I had gotten the front end like the guy at the next table holding the little guy buy his ears. Mission accomplished, we walked to the food market and ordered a real lunch. The best soup I have ever downed (complete with a large chunk of chicken - bones and all), rice, meat, salad, and mango juice for two: $3.

It was now 3:45 and time to grab our stuff and look for a bus. Walking into the bus lot, we were immediately accosted by someone asking where we were going. Quito. Here, get on this bus, now, it is leaving. Sweet. No wait. And we get the entire back row. Oops, forgot about picking people up along the way. So we shared the back row. Better than standing. Sweets were exchanged with the little boy beside us. The movie playing was End of the Spear. No one seemed interested in seeing white men killed by natives (thankfully). The bus ride wasn`t nearly as full going back as coming down. And we were even entertained by a little girl who ran up and down the aisle and pounced on my lap repeatedly. We asked her how old she was, she told us to wait a minute. She ran back to the front of the bus, asked her mom, then came back and reported she was 4 years old. We asked her name. It was a long one. We asked if she wanted to know our name. She said she knew our names. Really? You are la gringa and you are el gringo. Well, yes, I guess you`re right.

Photos of the trip can still be found here:
http://www.flickr.com/photos/15233918@N00/sets/72157603116749838/