Foiled

The Kentucky Fried Chicken at Guayaquil's ¨Simon Bolivar" International Airport promises "The Best Chicken in the World." I suppose this means that it is still, by implication, finger-licking good. Several years ago, the Colonel himself sued KFC, claiming that it was producing lousy chicken and that he no longer wanted to be used in deceptive commercials. I forget how the lawsuit turned out, but at any rate he soon died and KFC replaced him with a more cooperative cartoon Colonel.

I had hoped to visit Guayaquil proper and find ceviche there during my three-hour layover. Unfortunately, the luggage storage facility was closed (when will it open? I asked a security guard, who shrugged, then said, maybe today, probably Monday) and I hesitate to venture downtown in a big city carrying two overcoats and a large down pillow.

So instead I've camped out at the cybercafe in the airport, which is named, rather plainly, Internet Center. To make it more of a true cafe experience, I picked up a vanilla cappuccino in the food court next door. Giving up on my seafood dreams, I also tried to order a guacamole burger from the menu. "No tenemos guacamole hoy,¨ said the woman behind the counter. This made me sad. After scrutinizing the pictures a while longer I asked for a "pernil sandwich." I wasn't sure what pernil was, but it seemed to be some kind of cold cut. The woman looked embarassed. "No hay pernil tampoco," she said. I asked her what she did have, and ended up with a mushroom burger and yesterday's french fries.

In better news, though, I did secure one more alpaca at a souvenir shop, this one made of brass, and picked up a clean t-shirt for the flight home. Then I went into a bathroom to change--which is where I learned that I´m not the only one having trouble finding things here. As I slipped into my new shirt, a man in the stall next to me made some noises, then grunted, "Do you have any toilet paper?¨

I looked around. There wasn't a sheet to be seen, except in the trash can, where I preferred not to see it. Suddenly, I was happy to be just switching t-shirts. "Sorry," I said.

Earlier today, I survived the chaos of checking in for a domestic flight from Quito to Guayaquil. Even Southwest couldn't have matched this: there was a flight every fifteen minutes from 6:30 to 7:45. Every flight status indicator, instead of "on time" or "delayed", read "early." I´d never seen anything like it. It was like Chicago in reverse. Because the airport was closing at 8 am and not reopening till nightfall, the airlines had crammed forward as many flights as they could into the early morning. I was scheduled originally for an 8:30 and then moved up to 7:30, but when I finally got to the counter, the airline rep asked me if I would be okay with 7:15. Sure, I said, unwittingly switching from a modern Airbus A320 to a Boeing 727. The three-engine 727 was last produced in 1984 and nowadays is used mostly for cargo service; this one probably dated back to the 70s. We boarded through its underbelly directly into the rear galley.

Anyway, it's time to emigrate. Farewell, Ecuador. It's nice to be leaving a country where I don't have to worry about what to do with my leftover currency. Off I go to seat 35G on American Airlines flight 952.