The last 24 hours

Our final day in Ecuador was a bittersweet mix. Just as we were preparing to leave Cuecna Linda called with the sad news that her long-time friend Hank (pictured with his back to the camera in the Dec. 3rd blog entry) died of a massive heart attack. My picture five days earlier proved to be his last.

We had made a reservation for a van to take us back to Guayaquil, avoiding the bus for 2 reasons - memories of news stories about buses careening off roads in the Andes and the uncomfortable bus conditions on the ride to Cuecna.

In the van company waiting room we learned our van was being detained at a police checkpoint; however a taxi had been hired to take us and an Ecuadorian couple to Guayaquil. The bus ride from Guayaquil to Cuecna was just shy of 5 hours. The taxi driver following the maxim: "Time is money", made the return in two and a half hours. Most of that time was with all four of his wheels on the road, but seldom in his own lane. I believe - although unprovable - that he used my weight in the passenger seat as a counter balance on a few hairpin curves while allowing De Anne and the Ecuadorian couple in the sub-compact's back seat to become better acquainted, first on one side of the taxi then the other.

Our safe arrival at the airport was not the end of our fun. Standing in front of the immigration official we were informed we had overstayed our visa and the police were summoned. I was ready for this because a few weeks earlier I had noticed (after a prompting by an expat) that our passports were stamped with an expiration date of Dec. 4th. While pulling out my iPad which had my prepared speech about how their system was incorrect De Anne overheard the policeman say "this is why I hate Americans".

 After allowing us to cool our heels a while we were given back our now stamped passports and bid a bon voyage. We scampered out to the international concourse whispering jokes to each other about missing the accommodations afforded in third world jails.

Meanwhile, back in the USA, forces were marshaling to make our re-entry perfect. An on-time flight, a short immigration line and an officer who approached us before we were fully cued in line and escorted us to the flight crew check-in line for an instant entry. I am sure the reason must have been the shellacking I gave them months ago on my blog. The power of the press. As you can tell, I am proud of my humility.

Although we are home now I still have a couple stories to tell and a picture recap. Let us pretend the next couple posts are done from Ecuador.

 On the main square in Cuenca palms grow beside fir trees: