Having said that (or written it) I am unsure as to why I am dedicating a blog to it, but here goes...
Monday, 11th January 1999
New year blues would be well an truly embedded at this stage of the year, particularly with it being a Monday, but I found myself in Ecuador. A relatively unknown country of South America.
There were fifteen of us still acclimatising ourselves to this new land, after only a mad week to date. Quito had more restaurants than you could shake a bit of bamboo at, so inevitably we were stuck for choice. Myself, along with six others, formed a splinter group and headed off into the unknown (slightly, we had a Lonely Planet guide).
One chap and the girls opted for some Chinese eatery, but in a show of machismo, we split from them and decided to try something daring, dangerous and extravagant. It was all talk, but little did we know that this was exactly what we would be doing.
I should probably describe the group at this point, so here goes. Ben, a dear friend from school, was the leader of the pack. He was a well travelled man as his father flew for Britannia and latterly BA. He had a basic grasp of Spanish and he had a penchant for Marajuana. Hadji was a post-graduate Sikh with an addiction to N64 International Superstar Soccer and an undying love for Derby County.
Will was a biological genius with a place at Oxford waiting for him, I still check the news to see if he has found a cure for Malaria or a similar ailment that has left scientists puzzled. Jon was a quiet soul from oop North, being so quiet, I never worked out what he had done or what he was intending to do; in fact, he was fluent in Spanish, having spent the last six months learning it. Ian was a giant from Hitchin and a local celebrity with a popular band called George - Again, another one with a liking for 'whacky baccy'. Chris was a bit of a pin up, last I heard of him, he was living in LA spending days and nights playing poker, professionally. Then there was me - a fresh faced awkward fellow trying to rid himself of an awful shyness and find himself.
Our first port of call was some sort of Salsa bar. We settled down with out Pilsener and a bowl of popcorn - we found out later that the bowl was an actual ashtray, when we got down to the last layer of corn. After a few tequilas and some more beer, we decided to head off for some food.
Only a few blocks away, we passed some sort of open roof restaurant/barbeque. Ian said "That place looks wicked!". So we ate there and it was affectionately named 'The Wicked Place' (WP). By jove, they produced kebabs as if they had been sent down from heaven. I have never tasted anything so good (apart from the latter visits to the WP) and it is hard to imagine that I will ever again. A glorious concoction of a variety of different sausage meat, peppers, bananas and onions. Whilst sounding very simple, I can assure you now that it was out of this world and we hadn't smoked any weed at that point!
After spending thousands in the WP (15,000 sucre = £1), we decided to go for a wander. Eventually we came across a deserted looking park and Ben suggested that we smoked his morning market spoils. He had even nabbed a carrot from the WP and carved us a little pipe.
No sooner had he packed the vegetable smoking device an lit the ganga a hoard of trucks began to circle the park. I am not talking about the normal sort of truck, I am talking about army trucks packed to the brim with armed policemen in camouflage (not great camouflage as I could clearly count them all). It was then that Ben said "Wouldn't it be funny if they were coming for us..?"
They were.
Jon (the Spanish speaking introvert) and Will (the biological genius) made a run for it. The trucks soon unloaded and surrounded the park. Ben hastily disposed of the pipe and hid the rest of his drug parcel. They closed in, forcing Jon and Will to make a hasty retreat. The next part was a little hazy (I hadn't smoked anything at that point), but we found ourselves on the edge of the park talking to the officer. He demanded our passports, apparently it is an offence not to carry ID, but alas they were at the British Embassy. So that was it. We were arrested.
It was a little bit scary. Our only hope of reasoning with them was Jon. Sadly, six months of Spanish school had not prepared him for a bout of stage fright and he was unable to speak. So we were ushered (at gunpoint) on board a collection of trucks and transferred to some army base.
We were ushered into a larger truck that contained the slime of the streets of Quito. When I say slime, I am not talking about actual chemical slime, I am referring to the ladies of the night, drunks, druggies and ex-armed robbers. It was at that point that I decided to dish out a phone number (carefully concealed in my money belt) to my fellow incarcerates. The number was for our 24 hour support - nothing could go wrong.
Eventually the engine fired up and the ageing vehicle trundled it's way through the streets of the capital. We ground to a halt in front of the main police headquarters and after a bit of shouting, the gates opened and we moved in. Not before a rather 'wellied' (I took that from 141 words for drunk) gentleman attempted to punch Ben, got pepper sprayed and wet himself - the drunk man, not Ben.
The seven of us found ourselves ushered into a courtyard with snipers at every corner. We assembled ourselves into a human shield type formation to protect ourselves from a rather large amount of armed police and an even larger amount of the zombies, prostitutes and bad eggs. It really was quite surreal and the stuff of nightmarish sleeps.
It was then that an official came towards us and offered us a phone call, after much gesticulating to get the message across. All seven of us made a bee-line for the phone. Sadly, we were without a phone card and the coin slot was 'out of order'. Not that it would have helped, it later transpired that Diego, our 24 hour support, was holidaying in Miami and non-contactable. Smashing.
It was then that Ian remembered he had a photocopy of his passport and produced it. The chief of police seemed impressed and decided to release two of us to retrieve the other copies. So after much deliberating, Ian and Jon were released to rescue our copies. It was pushing on midnight at this stage and our hostel curfew was about to expire. We waited and waited and waited....and waited. An hour passed and there was no sign. We were literally a fifteen minute walk from our hostel and we had been told they had got in a taxi.
The prison bus came and the five of us and all the other criminals were told to form a line. There were no tears, but you could see that we were 'bricking it'. At the last minute, the five of us were hauled out of the queue. Ian and Jon were back, complete with our photocopies. Joy! Now you know how Mini-cabs tend to extend the route to justify a larger fare, well the Ecuadorian cabbies took that to a new level.
Our prints were taken. Our names and passport numbers were registered and we were free to go.
We wandered back. Laughing uncontrollably (we still hadn't smoked at that stage) and returned to the hostel.
"Where the hell have you been?" were the cries that met us (it was 1am by now). We walked in, poured ourselves a tequila, drank it and asked them how their night was.
A terrible evening outright, but looking back on it, certainly one of the best nights of my life.
We went out for food, innocent and relatively inexperienced. We cam back as hardened criminals.
Word of the Day: Borborygmus - A rumbling sound of gas passing through the intestine
Quote of the Day: "A friend is someone who will bail you out. A best friend will be sitting next to you saying 'That was f*cking awesome!' " - anon
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