ROCIA

    I’m on the bus to Banos again.

 I was back in Quito for a week after leaving Cotacachi, and it was the same old shit, man! Rainy, chilly and misty. My mind plunging down dark crevices I should not allow it to go. I’m vacillating back and forth about the Rocia situation, until finally I decide - fuck it! 

I’m pulling the fuckin’ trigger, man! Once on the bus I’m still filled with conflict - but fortunately, get caught up in the sideshow that always plays out before every departure.

  First, it’s the mad rush, an insane chess game as the passengers dive to get seats. What I find to be really hilarious though, is that when somebody spots an unoccupied seat, but another passenger is sitting on the outside seat, they’ll just say:

 “Pardon gordo (fatso), flako (skinny), viejo (old man) - or negro (black)” -

 and it’s totally normal. Nobody gets offended, or anything - they just move over. Hahaha… Equally amusing is the parade of vendors piling into the bus one after another, plying their wares up and down the aisles. Everything from homemade ices and ice creams, to soda, chips, fruit and hard boiled eggs. All from these humongous baskets they lug around with them.

 The grand finale, however, are the guys who then hop on the bus, hawking these ‘magic elixirs’ 

Yeah.

 They recite these interminably long, overly rehearsed speeches promoting these cure-all concoctions which will apparently ‘heal’ everything. Then they bust out these charts of the human anatomy - pointing out weaknesses their magic potion will cure. That’s like 10 minutes right there, on top of the other 10 or 15 minutes with the vendor show.

 So, it’s about 25 minutes later, the bus finally starts to pull out, and now the ayudante (the helper, every bus has a helper who takes the fares and handles the luggage), immediately pops in a VHS. Unfortunately. The screen in front lights up - and the war sounds begin! Usually, it’s a Jean Claude Van Damme flick, but this time it’s Chuck Norris, followed by Dolph Lundgren, of all people. 

Always blasted at the absolute maximum decibel level.

 The other hilarious thing to me is that it’s all dubbed in Spanish - by what seems to me to be the same guy - the only one who does all the voices! Hahaha, swear to God, I believe it’s one guy who does all the voiceovers in South America! 

    In short order, a woman will pull out her tit to start breastfeeding, the baby quickly falls asleep, and right away - you hear people snoring! 

What!?

 How could anyone sleep through the explosions, machine gun fire - the indescribably loud and stilted dialogue!? Apparently, in Ecuador it’s quite common. Can you imagine any of this stuff happening on a bus in New York!? People would be having heart attacks, man!

 Hahaha… 

When we finally do arrive in Banos, I’m alright with everything. I mean, I think I’ve become accustomed to all this Van Damme stuff - I actually find it to be kind of amusing now.

       Anyway, I head straight over to Cafe Hood to hang out with the Italian guy, Ivan. This Rocia situation is weighing heavily on my mind, man… this is a huge step. it’s like I’m placing all bets on Rocia - which is extremely unsettling.

 See, Rocia is the classic good girl. Pure and wholesome. The kind you marry. That’s what worries - and also intrigues me. I’m cracked down the middle, torn, about this whole settlingdown/family/Catholic thing vs. just complete abandon!

   Totally going wild with the Colombian tranny prostitutes in Quito. Or pretty much any other prostitute, in general. A part of me knows, however, that after a short, yet totally dyonesian time - that would put me over the edge. Soon afterwards, I would just cease to exist. 

So guess I’m gonna attempt the traditional lifestyle thing, at least for a minute, y’know!?

   After a night of drinking and debauchery with Ivan, I wake up the next day, take a deep breath, and make the call to Rocia. I tell her I’ll be there around 5 PM. She only lives around the corner, across the street from the Basilica (church). There are many Basilicas and Iglesias all over Banos, and indeed, Ecuador itself! As I've said before, this country, along with most of South America, is heavily Catholic. Uber Catholic.

 I thought (us) Italians in Brooklyn when I was growing up, were really Catholic - but these people? Forget about it. They make Brooklyn Italians look like freakin’ Atheists, man. South America, or most of it, has been inordinately influenced by the whole Spanish reign here. 

The Conquistadores.

 Jeez, what a job they did on these people! I mean, instilling that whole hierarchical, fanatical Catholic, white-on-top stuff. The descendants of the Spanish, who for some reason, are as pasty white as any random musical theater fairy from Ohio - are definitely running things here.

 And I mean - everything. The banks. The press. The money. All of it - even though they are like only one percent of the population! In fact, like only a couple of these ultra-powerful families basically run everything - and they pretty much look down on everyone else!

  On the next level, you have the Mestizos, who are a mix of Spanish/White from the Conquistadors - and the original indigenous people. That’s what Rocia and her family are. The mestizos basically make up what is considered to be the middle class, and usually follow in whitey’s footsteps, at least as far as tradition and society go. 

  Next, the indigenous people. They for the most part, live in their traditional ways, although even that’s eroding quickly, as the petroleros (oil companies) have made sure of that. They’re basically universally looked down upon - especially the ones living in the Amazon.

Sadly, you then have the blacks on the bottom of the totem pole. They can’t catch a break, man. Poverty all over.

 So you can see my Rocia dilemma.