Great Expectations

The following I'm about to tell you really did all happen. None of it is fiction.

Karen and I flew to the coast Friday evening for a little mini vacation. It was one big part of Ecuador I hadn't seen yet, plus the weather in Quito had been leaving a lot to be desired of late. We left rainy Quito only to land in rainy Manta. "Oh well," I told myself, "tomorrow it'll be better and we get to stay in a hotel tonight!!" The hotel, or so we thought at the time, had been recommended by my boss' husband, so we had high expectations. Until our taxi driver wrinkled his nose when we told him which hotel, and it only went downhill from there what with the lock that wouldn't lock, the broken bathroom light, the torn curtains, and the flooded lobby the next morning when I almost broke my neck.

But we weren't to be perturbed. We feel asleep fully expectant of a nice Saturday with a great adventure to another coastal town where we were going to catch a boat to "Poor Man's Galapagos," an island just 2 hours off shore with some of the same animals as on the real Galapagos. Instead, we awoke to torrential, monsoon-like rain around 6:30 am. Breakfast cheered us up slightly before we made our way out into the downpour. It took nearly 10 minutes before a taxi stopped for us, and then it was a guy carting around his children in the backseat and an overchargerer at that. In the bus terminal, we must have looked forlorn enough, for a "helpful" dude began running around trying to help us locate the Puerto Lopez bus and literally tried every side of the terminal, us in tow. We did manage to hop aboard the correct bus, and I at least enjoyed the scenic though watery 3-hour ride to P. Lopez. The picture makes it look like there was a gorgeous sunset outside. That's just the flash bouncing off the fogged-up, rain-soaked windows. (Note the hippie in the backseat whom we dubbed "Gret" [pronounce H-phlegm-ret, from Holland] who slept shirtless the entire way there.)

This was the real view out the window:


We arrived in P. Lopez around 11 am, highly expectant of our fun boat ride to the island, albeit if it had to be in the rain. Crossing the streets in the town proved to be quite the challenge, matched only by the confusion in locating the tourist information, but we optimistically found it and inquired about the next boat ride. "Oh, they only leave once a day, around 9 am!" Crushed, Karen and I looked out at the monsoon and the rising water in the streets. Neither of us wanted to get back on a bus right then, so we decided to find a restaurant, which we did, just across from the beach. "Nice," I thought. We settled down, fully expecting (getting the theme here) a wonderful Ecuadorian meal. Karen ordered some grilled chicken, and I ordered the Churrasco when our waiter with the two mullet tails (we affectionately dubbed him "Ewan," and later his brother with the matching mullets "Gregor") told us "No, only seafood." So, I ended up with fish and Karen a mini salad.

Then came the next hurdle: crossing the "raging river of death" (our name) that was now flowing down the streets almost as high as the sidewalk. Spirits high, I blazed a trail that Karen could follow, until the one point when I was ankle deep in mud. I lifted my foot out and it came without my sandal. Bravely, I thrust my hand into the mud and groped around until I located my squelchy sandal. I had to trot barefoot over to a stream of rainwater that was overflowing out of the church gutter to wash my sandal off. It was about at this point that I started to lose sanity and got, what is known as, "the giggles."

The ride back to Manta was rather uneventful other than that we kept off-roading to avoid watery, muddy potholes and took the long way home. I had mud all the way up the back of my legs, and Karen's pants were splattered. We were both half-soaked, starving, and all we wanted was a shower. We splurged on pizza followed by cake afterwards, but the big bug in the shower made it difficult for Karen to enjoy that part of the clean-up. Oh, and then there was a power outage at the hotel.

I'm happy to report that we entered into Sunday with no expectations whatsoever, and this was the beautiful day we had:
We did nothing but lie on the beach from 10 am till 6 pm when we had to rush to the airport to catch our flight back to Quito. Have I ever mentioned that the Custer Travel Curse extends to vacations, too?