Em and Jeff's Adventures

Trouble comes to Emerica . . . .

We should have known better.

Whenever the red white and blue goes for a little walkabout, God knows something bad is going to happen. They're too afraid to bring the fight to the HOMELAND - to FORTRESS AMERICA - know what I mean? So they prey on us out of our element and off balance . . . . but still strong, never doubt, STRONG AS THEY COME, WORLD . . . here in Ecuador.

I´m refering to bacteria, mostly. My stomach´s been doing the Almuerzo Salsa for the last two days (Almuerzo being a fine lunch occasionally consisting of chicken feet soup, roasted chicken and rice and aji peppers for 1, count em, 1 Washington, baby!) and sustained an emabarassing injury to my thumb which bled like mad and conjured thousands and thousands of over-burgers Shaubisms (Matt Schaub for those who don´t know him, at work, handles leathally toxic bateria and for fun, clucks his tongue and shakes his head and tells everyone about them while they´re eating) in the less than pristine South American Streets. But the coup de grace of bacterial infections must go to none other than my dearest Emily . . . .

She got pink eye.

That´s right. Never, for years in her classroom does she succumb, but once in Ecuador, flings open the doors of immunity for every little infection that might be wandering about. Now it´s in her eyes. I tried to take some sweet digital pictures, but the battery in the camera died, and Emily almost killed me. Incidentaly, the below photographs of the parade might illustrate how the world looks to someone with pink eye, if that´s of any help.

So now, Ol´Pink Eyed Mary wanders the Ecuadorian streets willy-nilly, infecting all those who misstep in her wake, never seeking a cure, content in spreading the disease in a misguided attempt to assuage her newfound, incurable hatred for South America and it´s people.

Okay, not true. We went to go visit a doctor in the town square. We gave ourselves hours, and packed all the necessities to trim the beaurocratic tape and break the language barriers on our visit. We anticipated forms, stacks of papers, lack of insurance, etc.

There was a nicely varnished, wooden waiting room (hallway) and a door with a small bell. We rang the bell and an older gentlemen answered and let us in . . . to the examination room. Emily sat on the table and was examined by the doctor, who was the same guy who let us in - without paperwork. He nodded morosely, told us the problem, wrote us the perscription, and told us the charge. 10 bucks. That´s one, count ém, ONE Hamilton, baby. It took ten minutes, and we got the prescription filled across the street.

God love American medicine, huh?

Then we dined with the assassins. They like to haunt a little restaurante on the edge of town called La Campana. As far as I can tell Campana is Spanish for "car bomb." They took our order and brought us a delicious pizza. It´s typical for South Americans to seduce their enemies with respect and tasty foodstuffs. To their astonishment, we complied by eating the pizza, rubbing our satisfaction with it´s perfectly flaky crust and the deliciousness of its toppings in their sullen guerrila faces.

We certainly won this time, but our next meal may not be so fortunate, or nearly so delicious. I believe they were kept at bay by their fear of my pink-eyed compainion, and I shielded myself with her infection as we quickly left the restaurant, leaving a generous tip on the table, to further twist the knife.

That makes my count Americans 2, Assassins 0. And if you disagree with me, you´re a terrorist.

posted by Tobias Arthur @ 8:32 AM