As my trip winds down, I find myself wishing  I’d written down all the little oddities I’ve seen on my journey.  Here are a couple that I can remember.  You’ll see that I’m easily amused.

Today sitting in the central park of Loja I noticed a place called the Beer Factory.  Haven’t checked it out, but noticed a big banner two floors up for Alcoholics Anonymous.

On one of my day trips out of Lima, I saw a billboard offering airplane rides to some of the local hotspots, and the sign said “Let us flay you there”.

I think I could make a living renting my proofreading services out to people who need signage.

In Lima (and parts of Ecuador), I was surprised to see that instead of billboards, advertising is done on grassy areas  lining the expressways using flowers and other plants and rocks to display logos of big and small companies.  Rather a nice idea, I think, and certainly a lot prettier than billboards.

Taxi drivers are generally very nice and willing to let me practice my Spanish.  I now realize that I speak at about a second grade level, but most of them are very patient and glad to know that a gringa is trying to learn their language.  That said, in Loja, Ecuador, I’m staying in a spot that either no taxi driver in the city seems to be able to find or, as my hostal owner said, they are trying to shake me down for more money.

Sadly for them, they are finding out that I do know a little bit and can figure out when I’m being “taken  for a ride”, and a couple times have refused to pay an inflated rate when the fare is more than I know it should be or they are taking a really roundabout way to get where we’re going or worse, profess not to understand where I want to go even though I give them the hostal’s card with a map on one side and the address on the other.  I generally solve this to my satisfaction by tipping the people who get me here at the normal rate and giving the exact change to those who don’t.

I am cutting my stay here to two days instead of five, as I am anxious to get back to Cuenca and maybe squeeze in a few days of Spanish lessons.  After only a three-week break from classes I’ve lost a lot of the progress that I’d made., and besides, I really liked Cuenca a lot.  Much easier walking for me than in Quito and quite a pretty place.

Yesterday on the drive from Vilcabamba to Loja, with spectacular scenery on either side of the road, I caught myself thinking that family and friends better start packing to visit me when I decide to live here for part of the year at least.  Don’t know yet if I’m serious about that, but I just might be.  I could rent a furnished apartment for less than $500 a month and sock away some money for the future.

Oh, back to taxi drivers, and I’m not complaining, really I’m not, but the drive from Vilcabamba was kind of a riot.  The rate is a standard fee, and these guys drive from Vilcabamba to Loja on a regular basis, so perhaps I could be forgiven for thinking the driver probably knew where he was going.  He was very nice, although he didn’t seem to be interested in talking very much, which was fine.  The cabs in Vilcabamba, by the way, are big white trucks, not the usual taxi.  I’m guessing maybe they’re four-wheel drive, which might be necessary during rainy season, as at least parts of the road are torn up and at this moment are dirt – I mean mud.  Found myself holding my breath a couple of times on some curves on the muddy road with a cliff on my side!  Don’t forget, these are the Andes, which are some pretty serious mountains, even though we aren’t in the really steep part.  There are still some heart-stopping drops to the bottom of the mountain.

So we get near Loja, and although I told the taxi driver the hostal was just off the main highway, he exited going into the city center.  I told him that might not be right and in my Spanglish told him we should go back to the highway.  Well, you know men.  They’re not taking directions from some woman, especially a gringa.  We go and go and go for miles on the outskirts.  I give him my sheet of paper with the address carefully written down exactly as given on the website.  I could see right away that he had not the least idea where we were going.

He stopped at one point and went into a little store to get directions, but came back shaking his head and looking rather miserable.  On we continued, with a gentle suggestion from me that we should stop one of the seemingly thousands of taxi drivers and ask for directions.  No.  Nope.  Not a chance.  In his defense, I realize now that many of them don’t have a clue where my destination is.

Next stop for directions, he pulled into the curb right behind a big delivery truck, and when I say right behind, I mean we’re almost IN the truck.  He leaves our truck, leaving the engine running.  Fifteen minutes later, I am looking and looking around wondering where the heck he is, and I see him coming out of a little store, again looking rather dejected.  I guess the little store owner wasn’t a taxi driver who might at least have some general idea of where we were going.

Back in the truck he gets and attempts to pull out of his parking space, but to his chagrin, someone has pulled in right behind him and – you guessed it – with not an inch to spare.  It took quite a bit of maneuvering to get out of that tight spot.  On we go to a giant traffic jam in the city center.  At this point I was losing patience and although I’d promised myself I wouldn’t say I told you so, I did mention that I’d told him it wasn’t in the city center.  In Spanish, actually.  I just learned past tense and maybe I was showing off a little, I don’t know.

So we continue to drive and stop, drive and stop, drive and stop, passing multiple taxi drivers, with me occasionally suggesting that we ask one of them for help.  Nope.  Again, not a chance.  By this time, I am begging him to take me to the main transportation terminal in the city where I can use the restroom and perhaps, just perhaps, snag a local taxi driver, but he is ignoring me.  I can’t say I blame him at that point, because I was getting really frustrated and losing my ability to speak in either Spanish or English

I’d just about given up when, during yet another five-minute wait in stop and go traffic, a cop pulls up beside us and hurray!  The driver asks for help.  The cop mulls it over, shaking his head, but finally gets on his radio to ask for directions.  Now traffic is moving again, but the cop is motioning for everyone to go around us.  He then tells the driver that we can’t find it because it’s not in Loja (even though the address is in Loja) but in a suburb.  The driver looks at me as if to say see, this is all YOUR fault.  IT’S NOT IN LOJA.  You know, kind of like Buckhead is not in Atlanta.  Or Chamblee.  Or Dunwoody.  You get the point, I know.

So at last I think he knows where we’re going and he edges his way into traffic.  We finally get out of the center of the city and I’m breathing a sigh of relief, but too soon.  Around and around and around we go, and I’m starting to feel sorrier for him than I am for me.  After all, we’re not on the meter, and I’m paying the set rate.  We are both practically in tears when finally, an hour after reaching the city limits, we find the hostal.  How could I not give him a big tip?  He was so apologetic and he actually helped get my bags up the stairs of the hostal.  I’m pretty sure he’ll never drive the Loja route again.

Oh, and guess where the hostal is?  Right near the main transportation terminal where I’d begged him to take me…….