WASTING AWAY IN MARGARITAVILLE

Joe escapes another panic attack at Bospas Farm and heads down to the beach for the Christmas holidays!

The sun… 

AAAHH. 

Like I’ve said a thousand times before, the sun is akin to my personal opium, man. Yeaaaah.

 I’m here on the beach in Canoa now, third Pina Colada in my hand, shades on, bopping my head to the ever present dance music playing in the background. Lying on the chaise lounge. Digging the waves of the ocean. All is good in my world now. Worry, anxiety, chaos… all just melts away. ‘Wasting Away in Margaritaville’, y’know?

 I spent Christmas and a couple of days later with Piet and his wife, Olda, at her family’s place in Esmeraldas.

 Talk about some beautiful black girls!? 

 Insane! 

Olda has, like, six ridiculous sisters who bring their equally ridiculously hot friends out to this dance club, the appropriately named -Cocobongo - where a wild time is had by all. Dancing ‘till the morning light two nights in a row - to say nothing of copious bottles of rum and brandy.

 Fortunately, I’m just sober enough to escape a ready- made family situation.

 Whew! 

I leave three days later, hop the long bus ride to Bahia de Caraquez, sleep for two days, then finally make my way to Rio Muchacho, the organic farm I volunteered on when I first arrived in Ecuador. Interestingly enough, there’s only one guy still left from when I was here, and that was only like 3 ½  months ago! He’s this Australian kid, Sebastian, and me and him hang out for a couple days at this house down the road that sells beers right from their refrigerator

We catch up on the comings and goings of the people we knew there. It's kind of fun, drinking Pilseners here at this house. I mean, it's just a regular house - the family has a table and some chairs set up for people to hang out - buy beer, and drink in this room. Seems like there’s always a few of these kinds of houses in the rural areas where there aren’t too many bars around.

 Anyway, seems like a good business for them.

 Probably the highlight of the whole visit, however, is meeting this guy, a real Amazon indigenous guy named Chachapuma Quispe, who’s briefly staying at Rio Muchacho to ostensibly spread the word about the indigenous lifestyle.

 My suspicion though, is that his real mission is to poach some of the young volunteers here - to pay up for the experience of living first hand indigenous culture on his property in Achidona. It’s a small pueblo in the Oriente, located right outside Tena - the city considered to be the gateway to the Amazon.

   In any case, me and him have been having some really good conversations about what’s been going on in the Amazon for some time now. Mainly, the rapidly encroaching presence of the ‘civilized world’ upon the indigenous territory.

 Particularly the petroleum (oil) and mining industries who just indiscriminately clear cut the jungle - poisoning the rivers and resources of the indigenous - with no regard for either them, or the future. Of course, it’s culminating in disastrous results. What it comes down to is, after forcing the natives from their land, they are basically given one option: Assimilate into ‘modern society’ - which basically means to work like slaves in the processing plants - or die. 

Simple as that. Of course, all the real profit and resources always makes its way into the pockets of the CEO’s. Who then supply the so called ‘developed world’ (America, Europe) with a never ending stream of inexpensive products for their comfort and security. No matter what the consequences. I mean, I totally relate to this guy’s viewpoint and his cause, and probably at some time will join the movement to educate young people about these atrocities - and their effect on indigenous communities. But right now I’m planning to go back to Piet’s place later in January. 

   At the moment, however, I am just cooling out on the beach, and I don’t want to think about anything. Fortunately for me, my brother Paul just wired me $250 via Western Union before I left Piet’s - so I have a little breathing room now. Been here in Canoa about a week already, and almost every night I’ve been hanging out at this little bar on the beach called ‘The Surf Shack’. 

   I go there for a couple of beers and laughs before heading out to the local clubs later on. The guy who owns the bar, Jimmy, is a retired Navy veteran from Florida, who still has this really heavy Southern accent. This guy is also in horrible shape, man!

 Seriously. 

 He has a body like an overstuffed Hefty trash bag left outside during a garbage strike. He’s always coughing, too, and is probably a somewhat functional alcoholic. He’s a good guy though. Has a great sense of humor, and we get on quite well, mainly cracking on the other patrons.

 They are mostly on their last legs, as well. Jeez, you should see these people. I swear, this bar is like the Billy Joel song, ‘Piano Man’ - except worse.

  The last stop for American expats (usually military vets), with a sprinkling of some old Europeans, who all have one thing in common - they’re all on their last legs, too. Give ‘em their props, though, they mostly have good senses of humor. 

 Alcoholics with that kind of gallows humor. 

Anyway, Jimmy rents this room out to me in a building on his property behind the bar. Guess how much he’s charging me?

 Three dollars a night!

 Can you fuckin’ believe that!? 

Three dollars a night to live literally fifteen or twenty yards from the ocean! I mean, I go to sleep listening to the crashing of the waves every night.

 At this rate, I might never leave, man. Hahahaha.