Hello Guayaquil

My new place is quite nice.  Come Friday I even got a taste of the neighbors playing horribly bass-ridden techno into the night.  I had succeeded in reading a slue of papers from the 2004 Mont Pelerin Society (essential illuminati) meeting until about four in the morning when, as I tried to sleep (and I am very tolerant in these moments, Friday is a night of celebration and by no means am I here to cramp anyones culture) and couldn’t, I figured I might as well dance.

Appropriately, to some foul techno version of California Dreaming, I put on my shoes and, as my stated goals on this trip are either to become kidnapped or married, head down the block.  It was only about 100 paces later and a neck wrenching triangle or two before I had determined that the party was behind a very high wall with no discriminate entrance. 

This is when, if my true goals were the aforementioned and I was a true diehard nightlifer, I would have stepped back, gathered some inertia and done a Jackie Chan-style wall-scaling entrance and awed either my future captors or my future wife.

This was not the case however.  Instead, regarding my dark-street-like status and realizing that the California Dreaming song had now ended (this would make my entrance all the less novel, even inopportune perhaps since it was once again clear that I dont even like this type of music) I retreated to another yet-unstated goal of the trip (perhaps even a more realistic one), devouring a wealth of marvelous economic literature.

After an hour more of drowning the bass in air-conditioner motor and bluegrass (yeah, the hoedown converted me) I emerged to realize it was once again silent (minus the air-conditioner motor, but this sound is like that of mosquitoes at dusk for a family that lives on Lake Michigan I would presume).  One doesn’t even need sheets to fall asleep in the humidity down here.  Asi es.