REFLECTIONS ON NEW YORK

So now, Joe's frantic escape from Rocia and Banos leads to a familiar despair.

About three weeks have passed since I’ve returned from Banos to Quito. I’m sitting here in my bed at Hostel Loro Verde, listening to the old Perry Como song -
And I Love You So’.
For the 20th time in a row.
In case you’re not familiar with Perry Como, or the song’s lyrics, they go like this:
"Yes I know how lonely life can be
The shadows follow me
And the night won’t set me free"
Ok, you get the picture right? This is where my head is at now.
Fuckin’ lonely as hell.
Brutal.
Traveling solo is just, like, a whole other level of loneliness, man. I poached the Perry Como CD from my father’s music collection before I left. A momentary smile comes to my face when I think of my father searching all over the house for it.
“Somebody swiped my goddamn Perry Como CD, for crying out loud! Who the hell would do something like that…I know, I bet it was that goddamn idiot… dollars to donuts he brought it with him to Ecuador!”
My poor father. Hahaha…
I can’t help but laugh at the scenario, which gives me momentary relief as I gulp down another swallow of Pilsener from the bottle. This is about my fourth pint bottle. Pilsener is the Ecuadorian national beer - and surprisingly good. It actually has a bite, which, swear to God - shocks me. I mean, a South American beer?
C’mon.
I pick up the letter I’ve been reading for the third time. It’s from Rocia in Banos. Got the letter yesterday. Written in broken English phrases, then back to Spanish, forcing me to consult my Spanish-English dictionary every two minutes to try and figure out what she’s saying.
In essence, she is saying that she loved our time together, that I’m the most interesting person she has ever met - and that she can’t wait to get together again. Sigh… of course I’m the most interesting person she’s ever met - she’s 19!
God, I mean, she’s a great girl - pretty, sweet, and intelligent - but this is like a major conflict for me. I know I gotta pull the trigger on something. Something. I mean, that’s one of the main reasons I came to Ecuador in the first place - to reinvent myself.
Really, maybe I should just take on one of these Colombian prostitutes around here. They’re constantly accosting me when I venture out to one of the nearby chifas for dinner. What are chifas? Chinese-Spanish restaurants. The Chinese are everywhere. Anyway, maybe I should just get it over with, y’know? Take the fucking’ plunge already.
These hookers are all over the place - and that’s because this area is known as ‘Gringolandia’.
Meaning that there are a bunch of backpacker hostels.
That means gringos.
And gringos = money. At least in the view of everyone around here.
Especially the ‘rubios’, which means ‘blonde’ in Spanish - and the rubios are usually German. Like the Chinese, the Germans are everywhere. Whenever I’m eating at one of the chifas, there’s almost always a group of Germans sitting next to me - and they always get charged more.
The ‘gringo especiale’.
Thank God I’m dark and can easily pass for Latino. More importantly, I can roll my rrr’s, which gives me a huge advantage over the poor Germans. Again, thank God for my Sicilian heritage.
Now, in any case, these Colombian hookers are fuckin’ caliente, man! Yet, I still have this gut tearing conflict about… paying for sex. Like, what am I, some desperate 75 year old loser on his last leg?
Shit.
Plus, my other major conflict is even more insomnia provoking. Probably half of the hookers are transgender, and I mean, that’s cool and all, but that's a whole Pandora’s Box (so to speak) that I’m just not ready to deal with at this point. Combine that with this on again-off again guilt about not really checking out the ESL (teaching English) scene - and you understand the madness

THE MIND GETS YOU EVERY TIME

Joe is having a great time with Rocia and the senoritas in Ecuador - when...
Then, all of a sudden, the fun just stops as quickly as it started! It has nothing to do with Rocia or Ivan, or anyone else, for that matter.
It’s me. It’s my head.
The strangulating thoughts - they eventually always ruin my good time, man. For some reason that I’m not even sure about, I leave Banos and get back on the bus to Quito!
I know.
Riding the bus on the way, the side of my face pressed against the window, the gloomy, rainy weather outside - it all mirrors my own mood.
I gotta do things, man.
Yeah, I was having fun. Yeah, all the drinking, dancing and carousing helped invigorate me again.
But I’m 43.
I came down here to accomplish something, y’know? Maybe to help the indigenous down in the Amazon… but I didn’t even go down there - and I was in Banos! Like, what is holding me back!? Of course, I haven’t slept in a couple of nights now, my mind is in utter turmoil. I mean, at least, I should be exploring teaching English, I promised my parents that.
Then there’s the Rocia situation, I could tell she was falling for me, and to be honest, I was having feelings for her, too. But she’s 19. I’m 43. Y’know what I mean? Plus there were all these other young, cute seńoritas flirting with me, giving me their numbers… I don’t know. I mean, I do have my reservations. I don’t mean to sound like a jerkoff or anything - but getting involved with girls that young can be extremely dangerous.
First of all - they think all Americans are rich - no matter what. Like we all live on yachts and wear apricot scarves, and have diamonds on the soles of our shoes. Like we’re all Richard Gere in ‘Pretty Woman,’ or something, I mean, It’s just not reality, man. But you cannot convince them of that - no matter what you say.
Second, Ecuador is a majorly Catholic country, as is most of South America. They don’t really believe in condoms, definitely want marriage - and babies - lot’s of babies. They’re like baby machines! A traditional huge Catholic family. Then you gotta support all their relatives, too, including the aunt with ‘cancer’, the uncle with no legs…
Everybody.
So, for maybe, like, one year of sexual bliss with a beautiful caliente seńorita - you pay for it - with years and years of hard labor to support the ever growing cast of the lame, the halt, and the needy. Again, I don’t want to sound like a jerkoff - but what if they’re just playing you for a green card? Then they take off as soon as they get it? Unfortunately, it’s something to think about.
I must admit that all the attention is quite flattering, though, and it does get me pretty worked up, but…
In the States - this kind of stuff would be a major scandal, man! Except if the guy had a fortune - then, of course, it would be perfectly acceptable.
Still… this could be like my last chance, y’know?
Believe me, I’m pondering this incessantly over many sleepless nights - in rainy, foggy Quito. Maybe I’ll never get this kind of opportunity again!
It’s not like I was exactly American Gigolo in New York, either. Hey, I know I’m no catch of the year, or anything like that, but… c’mon.
The only chance I had to meet women in New York was either Omega Institute (this holistic center in upstate New York that I freeloaded at for many years) where the young girls all dressed like Fleetwood Mac legend Stevie Nicks.
Minus the talent.
And charisma.
However, they did attempt to practice witchcraft, at least.
Or… even more unpalatable, the catering /acting scene. Which is basically one and the same - because everybody in catering - is also an extremely frustrated/suicidal performer. These are the types of women who would pack up and leave you the day after you were diagnosed with pancreatic cancer, or something. Citing that they had to concentrate on their ‘careers’ - even though most would eventually become bitter alcoholic spinsters living in government assisted women’s housing.

BORN AGAIN

Joe attempts to snap out of his malaise by taking a bus from Quito to Banos, and comes upon a restaurant where he meets...
It turns out the gentleman who takes my order has long blonde hair and speaks Spanish with a rather heavy Italian accent. I ask him (in broken Spanish) if he’s maybe Northern Italian? He replies yes, he is from Milan! I excitedly go on to tell him that my father/grandfather come from Sicily.
BAM!
We become instant friends!
He sets me up with a room upstairs, and we hang out late that night drinking copious amounts of excellent Italian red wine, with his woman, Corina, an Ecuatoriana who is the actual owner of Cafe Hood, and speaks English pretty well.
By the time I head upstairs to bed in a rather pleasant drunken stupor, my spirits have been lifted massively. The next day, I go with Ivan (The Italian guy) to the famed aguas caliente, which he goes to everyday, and excitedly extolls their many health benefits to me. The funny thing is, this guy knows everybody in Banos, man. He’s introducing me all over the place, the aguas caliente, the bars, the town square - everywhere. It’s like ten days of constant drinking and celebration.
After that, I start making my own way around town - hiking, exploring, etc., when I meet this kid Patricio. Suddenly, we become fast friends too, and he soon introduces me to his entire family - with a special introduction to his lovely younger sister, Rocia. This takes things up another notch on the merriment level!
Dancing. Partying.
Yeah. This weekend we all go out to this local club, The Leprechaun. Me, Patricio, Rocia, and their cousin Miguel. After a few drinks, it’s like some kind of spiritual euphoria overtakes me.
Man, I still have the rhythm!
Holy shit! I can still do it!
My body just starts moving in pure inspiration.
Synchronicity. Abandonment.
I feel more alive now than I have in years… over a decade - easy. I mean, I feel like I’m back in Rudy’s, a great old dive bar in 1980’s Hell’s Kitchen. Back to the good ole days. The pimps, prostitutes, drug dealers, all cheering me on as I jump off tables and do - ‘The Push-Up Dance’. Pure joy, man. It’s like I am one with the beat again, adrenaline flowing, and I have transcended normal reality. Rocia, Patricio, Miguel, and their friends are both amazed, and amused.
All these young cuties are flirting with me - and I’m 43!
Oh my God!
A second youth.
After a long time, I head out into the night air - my clothes, my body, my hair drenched in sweat. I thirstily pound down beer after beer. Looking up at the clear sky, I savor the moment, thanking the Universe for permitting me this miracle.
The joy goes on for maybe another couple of weeks… more hanging out with Ivan at Cafe Hood, the aguas calientes, the bars. We - me, Rocia, Patricio and Miguel go hiking, and especially dancing.
Man, it’s fuckin’ crazy!

A RESPITE?

After a rough time in Quito, Joe decides he MUST take to the road again!

Scary. Haunting. Incredibly loud.
That’s my first impression of the cavernous, dilapidated Quito Bus Terminal.
The shouting, the haggling and the bargaining between the various touts from competing bus companies is deafening. Echoes everywhere. This place is like the ancient ruins of the Roman Coliseum, or something - without the history.
Or the architecture.
So, finally, I was able to extricate myself from my bed at Hostel Loro Verde after about a week, and believe me, it takes every ounce of my resolve. Where I’m attempting to go is a place called Bańos (baths) which is famous for its ‘aguas caliente’ - or thermal waters. Also, it’s a popular tourist town, which I think is probably good for me to be around people right now. Furthermore, it’s only about three hours away, and is known as the gateway to the Oriente, the Amazon region of Ecuador - which is where I kinda wanted to go in the first place.
Now, boarding the bus is where I encounter my first real Ecuadorian surprise.
Apparently, Jean Claude Van Damme, of all people, is a national hero here.
Or a cult favorite.
A legend?
The minute the bus pulls out of the depot, the driver immediately pops a Van Damme action DVD into the beat up monitor - and cranks it up to the highest possible decibel levels! Everything is dubbed in Spanish. For the entire three hour trip. I will soon learn that all of the long distance buses in Ecuador are each equipped with a damaged monitor and what seems to be an endless supply of Jean Claude Van Damme DVD’s. I mean, before I came here to Ecuador, I had not even seen one minute of one Van Damme flick! Unfortunately, I would soon become intimately acquainted with all of them.
By the time I finally exit the bus after three tremulous hours, I am beset with an excruciating headache - courtesy of countless bombs, explosions and machine gun fire - to say nothing of more than a few reservations as to why I had ever left my comfortable hostel bed in Quito in the first place.
I am now driven to scour the streets of Banos by a ferocious hunger, and this oddly enough, is where my luck unexpectedly changes. While running around with no real idea of where I am going, I happen to turn into this restaurant, which says:
‘Cafe Hood, where the food is good’