PROHIBITION & RAIN

I'm just going to start off and tell everyone exactly what is going on right here and right now... because no one is going to believe it.  But rest assured that it is all true 100%... and I'm living it and if you don't believe me, please feel free to do your own research.

This is the kind of thing that people say "it could only happen to you"... and right now, I'm inclined to agree.

Ecuador is in the middle of a referendum. and due to this electoral process, it is illegal to sell or buy alcohol for 4 days before the election.  That's right... I've landed my last few days in the country right in the middle of PROHIBITION!  

This is real.

I'm going to need a lot of support from those that love me, in order to get through the next few days.

Not me though...

I've been told that they don't want politicians bribing people with alcohol and the government wants the entire country sober when they go in to vote.  I tried to pinky swear to a few restaurant servers that I would absolutely NOT be drunk when I DIDN'T go vote, because I'm NOT Ecuadorian... but I still don't get any wine....

In my opinion, if they are going to cause all of the tourists to go dry, the least they can do is let us have a say in where the country is headed.

In addition to finding out that alcohol is illegal, I woke up with a pounding headache... from the drinks the night prior, as I already mentioned.  That's what happens to you when you don't really drink for 3 weeks!  You start experiencing hangovers again... and they aren't fun.  In fact, it stayed with me all day.  

I forced my sleepy & lazy ass out of bed though, and walked in to town for breakfast, and I'm actually quite surprised that they let me in their establishment. It's a long way in to town- and due to the incessant downpour, it was muddy, it was wet, I was filthy, I was soaked right through...  When I walked in, I arrived looking more like a dirty & disheveled ditch pig than the inspirational woman I'm desperately really trying to be.

Fruit, yoghurt & granola on the menu...  There is a God!  And wow, they didn't skimp on the portions... it was like my own personal buffet. I wanted to say  "I can't eat all this" but decided to keep my mouth shut for fear that they'd start folding it all up and stacking it on a 5" styrofoam plate.

It was delicious though and I'm proud to say that I polished off almost the entire thing... except for the "butter" (which we all know is disguised as rancid margarine) and half of the yogurt, which was yellow and I'm not sure why...

It poured all day.

All day.

I do have to admit that something horrendously mortifying happened to me on this particular day - and although it's definitely MORE than "blog worthy," I am going to spare each & every one of you the pain of the details... and keep this one to myself, unless, of course, you reach out to me and ask me to tell you the story.  Then I probably will, because I find that they older I get, the less filter I have, the less personal pride I have and the less humiliation I feel when I screw up - publicly or privately.

It's like there almost comes a time when it's just par for the course.

If you can't beat it, join it.

Damn straight.

I was going to pop in to the most expensive store on the planet and grab a bottle of $12 Gato Negro... but I forgot that it's illegal to drink. Police were trolling the streets too... slowing down to look in every location for suspicious alcohol consumption activity going on.

If I was here for any longer, I would open my own Speak Easy underground.

Lazy day all in all.  Not much to do in the rain.  Went back in to town with Jennie (one of the Canadian guests) for lunch later on and then just sat around... just a bunch of teetotalers hangin' out... practising the art of abstinence.

Seriously???

I booked a flight to rainy & stormy Quito tomorrow morning.  There goes my tan...

I could take the bus for $15... but I've been told that it usually turns in to a 10 hour journey... or I could take a flight (40 minutes) for $105.  

Flight, it shall be.

I'll start hooking when I get home and have it paid off in no time.

Honestly... I don't think I could take 10 hours of wondering if my luggage was still on the bus...

Ahhh... living with anxiety...

Warmest regards to those who love the bus though... I just don't want to be in that gang anymore.

RIGHT ON THE F'**KIN BEACH

Yesterday I left my little dirt hill haven in Puerto Lopez and began my day's journey to Canoa.  I have to admit, I struggled a little bit with the adventure ahead of me.  A lot, actually.

First, when you Google Map something like 'Puerto Lopez to Canoa' it comes up;

• Walking: 35 hours. 
• Driving: 3 hours and 9 minutes.

A day on the bus...

Like any normal person with a massive boulder of a backpack, I choose the driving option.

Now what Google Maps doesn't tell you is the 'Driving in the local bus' option... and that is NOT 3 hours and 9 minutes.

Quite the opposite, in fact.

Although it's always the cheaper option, there are downsides to the bus.... 

1. I have NO idea what route they are going to take.  Most of the time, I just watch my Google Maps and pray... 

2. Who knows if my luggage is still on the bus?  Maybe someone else pointed to it, thinking it was theirs... and Mr. Bus just threw it off.  How can we expect them to remember who's luggage is who's?

3. Sometimes we stop on the side of the road for 7 seconds and sometimes it's for 25 minutes. It's a bus ride mystery...  Which means that your 3 hours and 9 minute journey becomes 10 hours... give or take...

4. There is zero leg room and even less if the jerk in front of you reclines his seat in a quick, no warning, jolted motion that smashes directly in to your knee and makes it pretty much impossible to uncross your legs and go on living & walking like a regular person.

I'm not even going to get into the weirdos that have to sit right beside you (regardless of whether the bus is empty), the smells you encounter or the colourful B Grade movies that they play, dubbed over in Spanish.

But I should NOT really complain because as onerous as it was, the journey was actually quite quick and simple...

Hear me out...
This is the series of events I endured from the moment I prepared to  leave the B&B to when I got in Canoa...

• Leaving the B&B - the owner called the taxi for me.
• The taxi showed up immediately.
• I got a ride straight to the bus station for only $1.
• I bought a ticket to Manta for $3.25.
• The bus was actually right there waiting for me.
• I boarded the bus and we left the station within10 minutes.
• I got off the bus in Manta, walked inside the station & bought a ticket to Canoa for $4.50.
• The bus was right there waiting for me.
• I boarded and we left 1 minute later.
• A stranger boarded the bus in Bahia and all I could think was "You look like someone Zack and Chris might know." 
• I kept a watchful eye on this stranger...
• When he stood up to get off, I moved in immediately, "Where are you going???"
• He said "The Coconut," I replied "Zack's place?" 
• He nodded and that was my cue to follow.
• Arrival: Coconut Hotel.

Boom!  Mic drop...

Right on the Fuckin' Beach

I made it, with zero issues... 6 hours later... in one piece... and they didn't throw my luggage out on the road in some random location.

Their place is, as advertised, right on the fuckin beach.  No disputing that at all!   Palm trees lining the path down to the beach, spectacular views, an endless horizon... and it just gives off such a casual, relaxing vibe.  Roof top terrace, bright flowers, free bananas, hammocks, communal kitchen, local dogs lazing around, cold beer... I loved it... and I have to admit, I'm quite impressed!

Everyone was incredibly wonderful, generous and welcoming - in fact, I felt at home right away.  Zack upgraded me to a private room with a private bathroom, looking right out on to the beach and the palm tree path leading there.  I had my own private hammock right outside my door... not that I think I've ever been in a hammock... Just seems too dangerous to be playing pig in a blanket when I'm prone to falls and cuts and broken things. 

After sorting out myself, my room and my things, I decided to wander in to Canoa - which is about 20-25 minutes trek away.  It had been raining, so the streets were quite muddy, but on I trekked like a trekking trooper.  It was wine that I was after, so mud alone was not enough to deter me!

Ok... those who know me, know that I rarely complain... lol... BUT honestly... a bottle of Gato Negro red in Canoa... $12US.  That's about $16 Canadian for a bottle that they probably bought for $1 and is maybe worth $3, if you throw in a bit of cheese.

Captive market, stuck between a rock and a hard place... and no amount of huffing & puffing was going to get me a cheaper bottle.  So I had to buy.  

Two of them...


I was very disappointed that I'd missed Chris and Max by only a few days... but it was good to see Zack again.  

Had a great night playing cards, chatting with everyone - my 'dry' three weeks came to an abrupt end when the Gate Negro started flowing.... 

... and I definitely paid for it the next day...

Thank God I had to suffer my hangover in paradise...

NOT A PLATE IN SIGHT

Yesterday, while enjoying my complimentary breakfast by the pool, I met a really nice American couple from Reno, Nevada.  They were touring around the country looking to see if there was a location that might be perfect for purchasing a home for their retirement.  Ecuador is really becoming quite the hub for retirees!

Anyway- we traded stories of our lives and our travels and they told me that I was an INSPIRATION.

In fact… not only that, but I’m the FIRST inspiration they’ve met so far and they’ve been in Ecuador 8 weeks.  This is definitely going on my resume.

So, as you can imagine, I’m feeling quite chuffed.. thoroughly impressed with myself for being so impressive… I’m walking  down that big nasty dirt hill, on my way to town, head held high, shoulders back… feeling culturally empowered, dignified and enriching…

And then I stepped in dog shit.

So that was sobering.

Snapped right back…

I was on my way to do a tour to the Isla de la Plata that I had booked the day before.  I made a little joke on my Facebook about how I had mistaken the word ‘plata’ for ‘plate’  and how disappointed that there wasn’t a plate to be found.  Thank you to all that chimed in to correct me.  It will always be Plate Island to me… in fact, as you read this, I’m off looking for a silver plate right now to commemorate the visit.

I walked by the little store where I had ‘misplaced’ my phone the day prior, and as soon as the grandpa saw me, he started pointing at me and laughing uncontrollably.  That was almost as good as stepping in dog shit at 8am… a close second, for sure.

I have no idea why I tend to think that I am utterly unrecognizable when I put my hair up and wear a different outfit, because clearly I am not.

I reached the tour meeting location, and I was the only one there, which was a little unsettling.  They assured me that there were a LOT more people waiting on the dock… so I hoped, rather than believed.

Slightly unsettling... but safe?

Then the real fun started.

A loud speaker came on full blast, bellowing out “¡Peligro! ¡Alerta! Deja la playa inmediatamente. Esta es una advertencia de tsunami!

Simple translation... "Alert! Leave the beach immediately. This is a tsunami warning!"

The worst thing was that no one did a single thing.  No one flinched.  Not a soul.

And it just kept going!  On and on with its loud, menacing threats!

As I walked towards the pier with one of the guides, she must have seen the worried look on my face and assured me that it was only a drill.  I guess they’d all received communication about it yesterday.  I didn’t receive communication yesterday.  Don’t you think that might be something that might be important to let the hotels know… and in turn, their guests?  Slightly unsettling and I must admit, I kept staring out at the sea, half expecting to see an enormous wave to come barrelling towards me.  I knew if suddenly the dogs disappeared, there would be trouble.  

It's not exactly what you want to hear as you’re heading out to sea… but I guess when your time is up, it’s up.

The tour lady was right about one thing… there were a lot more people waiting on the pier.  Thank goodness... to be honest, there was a fleeting moment in my mind where I envisioned myself, alone, on some rickety boat... heading out in to the ocean... surrounded by sharks.  I would be the living, breathing sequel to 'Life of Pi' - a middle aged woman barely survives disaster at sea and is hurtled into an epic journey of adventure and discovery...

I had strategically placed myself in line at the end as we embarked, so that I could sit at the back of the boat and catch some rays on the way to Plate Island.  As per usual, my shrew little plan didn’t really work in my favour, as I ended up at the front of the boat sitting new to an old hag who's arms were literally wrapped in a 1000 dirty old woven bracelets, and she appeared to have scabies all over her legs.  She was another one if those people with a camera and hogged the entire open window for the entire duration of the journey.

I sat there, fretting as to whether or not she might share the view with me at one point or another… or if she was going to be one of those people who is assigned a seat and refuses to move. 

Anyway... I swear that I saw about 40-50 sharks break the surface of the ocean on the way there, though the guide assured me that I did NOT.  Likely tale.  They’d hardly have people for tours if everyone knew how many sharks were surrounding us.  Right?

When we arrived at Plate Island, I chose to be a part of the English tour crew, as it seemed more fun, more understandable and plus, Scabies Leggies went with the Spanish tour.

The tour was interesting… a lot of walking through very dense and dry vegetation, and once we were up on top, we had fantastic views of the surrounding cliffs.  There were a LOT of Blue Footed Boobies.  This first one intrigued me and I couldn’t take enough photos.  The second lot, equally as interesting… but then by the middle of the walk, my motto was, “You’ve seen one Blue Footed Boobie, you’ve seen em all!’ and I quickly lost interest.

I wanted to see rats… and I think that I was the only one there who didn’t catch a glimpse of one.  

Back in the 50’s and 60’s, a prestigious man and his family inhibited the island, and started introducing new animals to the area - cows, pigs… and along with those, came rats.  Everything else went away when they made it in to a National Park… but they could never get rid of the rats.  Now, as you walk along the trails, there are tubes containing poisoning, meant to try and keep the population at bay…. 

Where’s the Pied Piper when you need him?

Met a few nice people on the trail… met a few slow pokes as well. It doesn’t seem to matter where I am - a busy city during tourist season or on a trail on the Isla de la Plata, I tend to get road rage behind slow people.

This is the Bay of Sharks - See any???

THEN… the guide pointed out the Bay of Sharks.  She told us that ‘many’ different sharks frequent this bay and normally we are able to see them from where we are standing… Of course, there were none visible today because the waves were too strong. 'Many??’… ???  Only an hour before, I seemed to recall having being scorned for inquiring about the murderous bastards.  You just can't trust tour guides these days.

From there, off we went to snorkel.  First, of course, lunch on the boat... and not a smidge of rice!  Tuna sandwich, cheese sandwich and a piece of watermelon. Perfect!  

Some idiots were throwing the watermelon rinds in to the ocean to attract the wildlife... and they did attract a big turtle... but it was still wrong.  

In regards to the snorkelling part of the day, and I must admit, I was a little sceptical and a whole load scared.  I didn't really know anyone on the tour, so it was going to be very tough to glob on to someone and use them as bait.  I was on my own.  I have to say though... they make those stupid snorkel equipment very badly.  Rubber???  

Really?

It pulls at your hair, it's tough to adjust and it's not comfortable when you're trying to be casual in front of 18 strangers, knowing that you're plunging in to your death and you're petrified.

I tried to play it cool, while keeping a constant eye on my surroundings.  I was ever watchful of where everyone was, what I looked like under water and where I was headed.  For example: the guides warned us not to rest on the rocks.

Rest on the rocks?  Who was anyone kidding?

God... I felt like I was going to be sucked on to the rocks, the current was so strong.  At one point, I had to pray to Poseidon to make me swim quickly and with force... and to please keep me safe from sharks.  You can never be too careful.

Then I ended up manoeuvering my way through such a large school of fish that I found it almost incompressible that a whale shark didn’t come along, mouth open, and just engulf us all whole.

Quick rant...

Underwater cameras - WHY?

If I want to see a particular fish… I’ll Google Image that shit or I will purchase the National Geographic Underwater Exploration box set.  No one cares about your dumb fish photos. 

And as for humans under water?  Most of us are big fat, white beasts adorned in something ugly, tight and unflattering... The water is meant to HIDE us... Let’s leave it that way.

But honestly, I was snorkelling... without a buffer.  I was completely alone.  I really did try to relax and just enjoy the fish and the tranquility... but I had this panicked running commentary going through my head the entire time....  The guide had guaranteed NO SHARKS... but honestly, who can guarantee that?  No one...  

I kept thinking that I looked too much like a seal... so then I would freeze and try to stay very still so that any sharks that came upon me would automatically assume that I was a canoe.

Occasionally, I would lift my head up to find the boat and pray that people were heading there so I could "hitch a lift" on their bait wagon.. but I had to wait. There was no way I could swim to the boat alone and just assume I'd be safe. 

Finally the group started to return to the homeland and I took the first opportunity to start swimming along with then.

THEN SOMETHING BIT ME!

Do NOT ask me what or why... I can only assume that it was the ocean's way of saying "GET OUT" and who was I to argue?  It stung... I was silently & ever-so calmly approaching hysterical breakdown, and in my frenzied mind, I was bleeding out and bloodthirsty sharks were on their way.  I swam faster and faster... almost psychotically... and finally reached the boat... barely alive.

I got the window seat!

Mentally exhausted and physically exhausted, I kept repeating myself as I boarded, "Something bit me... something really bit me..." and NO ONE even flinched.  

They couldn't care less.

No one.
Zero.
Zero people cared that I had suffered an under-water attack...

Scabies Leggies told me that there was an area on the back of my leg that was a "little bit red, but not a lot."

Wha????

Doesn't matter.... a little bit red or a lot... still means something bit me.  Eventually I had to let it go because obviously no one cared... 

Regardless, Scabies Leggies took pity on me and offered me the window seat for the way back, so that was good.

We got back in to town around 4pm.  I made my way home, cleaned myself up and headed back to the streets again.

Poor me...

THIS time, as I was making my way down the big, dirty hill, I lost footing and fell... and it hurt something' fierce... and it's ugly AND it messes with my tan.

I would have melted in to a river of tears, but some construction guys were watching me, so I had to play it low key & casual, like I fall all the time... (which, I do, actually.) No big deal.

I FOUND PIZZA
Not folded!

You know those people that travel to 'find themselves'??   To really 'discover who they are' and 'be at one with themselves'???  Ya... I can’t do that.  

Every time I think that maybe I need to 'find myself' and really just figure out who 'I am', life strikes back immediately... it trips me up & takes me down... It's almost like life mocks me...

“Don't wander off or get any delusions of grandeur… you’re right here and you're not changing, so no need to keep searching!”

PS- I know that plata means silver....

PUERTO PISSY PANTS

I was Miss Pissy Pants yesterday.  NOT all day… but most of the day.  Please remember how hungry I was… it wasn’t a conscious diet-effort hungry, it was an actual ‘get me food that isn’t rice NOW’ kind of starving & craving…

I got up early in Ayangue, got all of my things together and got ready to leave the B&B.  Big Hugs was actually incredible to me- gave me a bottle of water and a map of the coast of Ecuador… AND a big hug, funny that … Then, of course, she asked me to go on Trip Advisor and write a nice review.

I have considered writing "Foreigners take note!  I almost messed everything up for all of you! Big Hugs"... but I will say something more congenial and appreciate...

Big Hugs called me a taxi when I was all ready to go and it showed up almost immediately.  Everything was planned that Mr. Taxi was going to just drive me straight up to the highway and I was given explicit instructions not to move... to just sit there and wait on the side of the road… until a big green bus showed up.

This seemed quite daunting because... honestly, what if a big green bus never showed up?  Would I eventually just die from heat exhaustion on the side of the road?

They assured me that a big green bus would appear…so I took their word for it and headed out… ever hopeful.

You know, if my thighs weren’t so fat and my ankles weren’t so thick, I probably wouldn’t even have to worry about the big stupid green bus showing up, I could show a little leg and get a ride for free!  But given my current state of affairs, I’m not sure exactly what I’d get by showing my legs, but odd are that it wouldn’t be a free ride to Puerto Lopez.

The taxi pulled over to let me out and I just couldn’t help but keep thinking, “This is the moment of truth.”  This is the exact moment that I actually paid a taxi cab to drive me to the highway and leave me there.

But… WOW!  Luck be a lady tonight! 

The big green bus came wailing around the corner.  It was a sequence of dream-like events... Mr. Taxi waved it down, the big green bus stopped, Mr. Bus jumped out, grabbed my bag, tossed it in the storage compartment, I jumped on the bus and away we all went! … Easy peasy monkey squeezy.

Look at the cute little things!

The bus ride was about an hour an a half.  People got on. People got off.  It was a very pious big green bus, with a giant vinyl replica of Baby Jesus at the front, keeping a watchful eye on all of us for the entire ride and ensuring that we were all safe from harm... and sin.

We wound our way along the coast, through all the little beach towns, wove in and out of the forest, up and down the hills... and at one point, I think we must have gone past a dumping ground for bodies that couldn't afford proper burials... the smell was intense.

I actually thought I missed my stop because I was so enthralled in a game of Tetris on my phone... but thanks to Baby Jesus, I was ok.

In my little motorized Rickshaw!

Once off in Puerto Lopez, I saw the most neat-o thing.  Motorized rickshaws... everywhere, scooting up and down the road.  Jumped in one immediately, pack in hand, pointed forward and yelled “Bella Italia! Vamos!”

Bella Italia was a restaurant that I'd read about on line.  It had fantastic reviews for its Italian style food (not a rice or banana in site!) and damned if I wasn't going to partake... right away.

Remember how hangkry I had been?… Well, the thought of Puerto Lopez was the only thing that kept me alive… because I knew that as soon as I got there, I was going to EAT (*not rice, bananas, queso, eggs, chicken, fish or bananas)...

Like commanded, in good form, Mr. Rickshaw took me straight to Bella Italia, which, I might add, is nothing more than a house on a dirt road in the middle of nowhere, with a sign that read "Bella Italia."

  

Closed.

I felt like a Griswold at Wally World.  Disappointment engulfed me.  To add insult to injury, a creepy little man peeked through the curtain and yelled 'Cerrado!"

Mr. Rickshaw still wanted to leave me there... but there was zero chance that I was exiting my only means of transportation, in the middle of nowhere.  

Please take me to food that isn’t rice…

Please… I might only have a few hours to live....

He tried to take me a few places. All closed.  Finally I gave him his $2 and got out on the main Puerto Lopez promenade.  There seemed to be a restaurant every 2 feet, so I was fairly confident that I'd find something.  The one place I finally decided to drag my pack in to ended up having exactly the same menu as every where else, but in their defence, they had wine and wifi... so I sat down for a well deserved break.  I could only stay for a couple though, as it wasn't long before the Spanish version of "Call me Maybe" came on, and that was my cue to depart...

My quest for food came up fruitless... literally, I couldn't even find fruit. Nothing… ZERO.  Many signs lead me in each & every direction, with promises of pizza & hamburgers & lasagna… but almost all of them closed… or non existent... or too far to walk with my 300 pound friend.

Then I started to get pissed off.  As it was now past 1pm, I jumped back in a taxi to head up to my B&B.  The least I could do was dump my pack.

Online, Maremonti B&B was a picturesque, quaint little bed & breakfast with amazing views of the town and the beach... and that is exactly what it ended up being... BUT WAY up the mountain (hill) and in the most remote part of town.

The lady who ran the B&B was lovely, but she must have hated me up a storm... When I arrived, I was feeling shitty about the location and how I would get in and out of town.  Then she showed me to my room, which had 3 double beds... setting me off in to thoughts that I was expected to share!  *I was assured that they room was only for me.  Then she expressed concern that I was traveling alone, which I misinterpreted as an issue, due to my emotional state of mind.  I was just depleted. None of the rooms had been cleaned yet... the toilet in my room was broken (seems to be a theme here).  There was another room directly next door, with only 1 bed, and I asked if I could have that one. It was smaller… and more suited to me traveling alone.

The road less traveled...
Down from my B&B

I left to give everyone a break from me and make the big 20 minute trek back in to town... but every recommendation that people gave me for a restaurant was closed until 6pm.

I stopped at a local bakery on the road and just pointed at something that didn’t look too sickly sweet.  I think I heard the words 'pan' and 'miel' - by taste, I can only assume that it was some kind of honey bun.  At one point, I did have to laugh… I envisioned me collapsing in the dirt, over exhausted from this search.  The authorities would find me with a half chewed piece of honeybun hanging out of my mouth.

It was then that I decided that eating fries would tie me over and be fine until all of the worlds pizzerias finally opened.  It was right there, on this particular menu, that I saw Lasagna!!!  I had a choice of chicken or beef.

"OMG - give me chicken lasagna! PRONTO!"

No mushrooms. No cilantro.  I was set.  Then the waiting game began.  I waited and I waited and I waited… and when it finally arrived, I realized WHY it took so long.  They cooked each individual piece to order!  And the reason I knew this, was because the noodles were undercooked... almost to the point of inedible… 

It was awful.

On my plate, I had 1 & 1/2 pieces of toast… so I proceeded to make a melted cheese & chicken toastie and shoved the noodle pieces to the side of the plate.  As nauseating as it was, my hunger was distinguished for the time being and I could now try to continue with me day trying not to be negative & mean.

And then I saw the most beautiful skirt in the world!  I was lured, absolutely spellbound in the thoughts that it would look amazing on me once I lose 40 pounds... and plus, I have loads of room in my backpack!

$8... paid... love it... put it in my bag... left the store and kept walking, thinking that luck was changing in my favour- and perhaps I just needed a little bit of retail therapy to get me over the hump of the day.

It was then that I realized my phone was missing.  PANIC.

I retraced my exact steps back to the store in which I had purchased the skirt.  Nope... they hadn't seen it.    I think it was a grandpa and his granddaughter.  They were so nice and tried helping by attempting to call my phone... that was on silence, with no roaming fees... ugh.  Doomed.  And then there it was, shoved in between the product and the glass in the retail display.  Obviously, I had been so taken with the skirt, that I had put my phone down, and it had fallen through the broken glass and right in to the display. Baby Jesus was with me on the bus, and he was still with me in Puerto Lopez. Holy shit.

View from the road to my B&B

After this, I was really hating Puerto Lopez so I decided it might be a good idea to return to my B&B - relax, have a lovely swim, enjoy the view, read a bit... I wasn't hangkry anymore and I had my phone in the tight grips of my hot little hands.

Then a little later… I headed back in to town.  God suddenly it feels like the only reason I go to town is to eat.  Well, haters, I also had to get wine...

I walked directly to the first place I saw. There were 3 options.

• 1 slice - $1
• Medium Pizza - $8
• Large Pizza - $10

Obviously I wanted the medium, right?  Seemed reasonable.

"Do you have wifi?".... No. *First red flag.

"Do you have wine?".... No.  *uh-oh...

Why I didn’t leave right then and there… ???
So I sat on a child size seat, drinking my aqua sin gas, waiting for my pizza and then I happened to turn around. 

It’s HUGE.

The thing is more than 16”!  NO!!!!!

No no no.

I kept saying to the girl, it’s just me!!! No. TOO big.  Honestly, it wasn't her fault, but wow, now I was getting frustrated... because what was I supposed to do with this enormous pizza?  It was ridiculous.  I just sat there… waiting, growing more and more irritated with each second that passed.... and then, finally it came out of the oven.   

Then she proceeded to pull out a pizza box that would make pizza boxes at the Sasquatch Pub look like lego.  Colossal.  I could NOT walk around with this.. it was like an "I just picked up Christmas dinner for the family type of pizza box!"

"Please have something smaller?"

Nope.

Good news... the girl offered to put the pizza on a plate.

Bad news... the plate was a 5 inch styrofoam plate.   She started taking the pizza, piece by piece and FOLDING them so that it would fit on top of each other, on the ONE small plate. All the toppings were sliding off.. the plate was filling with cheese grease and tomato sauce.  It just put me over the edge.  I pulled out $10, said 'no' one more time, paid for it, apologized for the inconvenience and walked away.

Everyone has a breaking point, and mine was a 16" pizza, folded up piece by piece and being towered on to a 5" styrofoam plate.

You know those moments when you just have to walk away... without pizza.  That was my moment.

Signs (and Baby Jesus) led me back to Bella Italia.  Despite it's questionable location, it ended up being the most beautiful little Italian garden restaurant I have ever encountered.  Especially in Ecuador!  I ate a Caprese Salad, some garlic ciabatta, and it was exactly what I needed.  

Made my way back to the B&B, and sat for a couple hours and drank by the pool with my new friend, the lady who ran the hotel.  I don't think she hated me anymore.  We talked about life, love, travel... and polished off a bottle of red together!

AND... when I went back to my room that night, there were a couple cockroaches in the bathroom.

I just thought, "Nice to see you again, old friends.  It's been a few years."

I like Puerto Lopez.

Life is good again :-)