I'M AT: The Secret Garden Hostel. Cracking place, run by volunteers from England, New Zealand and Switzerland, great terrace bar, great people, terrific for the lone traveller as it's so easy to meet people, they sort trekking and jungle trips out, murals everywhere, music always playing, big fire on the terrace each night, great view, can't be bettered.
Good christ.
It´s almost four and I´m still hungover.
My hostel lays on meals and music for the guests, and last night was Ecuadorian evening. It all started quite gently but a few beers, a fish supper and some ragga panpipes later and I was cheering the house band to the rafters. Knelt next to fire, burning in a metal wheelbarrow, and took some pics. And then, coming back up the stairs, I stumbled a bit and almost wiped out the cook.
I should say something about the old town and reading the paper and sitting in the sun but really nothing much happened until the sun went down.
So it was dreadlocked Alex´s second-last night in Quito and she insisted we go out, and took us to a salsa club, one beer, then another more hardcore club, three beers, back to the first, three beers, a tequila and a vodka, and then when it closed we went to a thid club, hip hop, we were the only white faces in there, and some geezer taught me an Ecuadorian handshake and called me his brother, and then when THAT closed we went back to Alex´s place, a shared house down the road from the hostel.
Her two mates had been friends for life and got a guitar out, and a bongo thing, and finally the washbasin, and started just giving it some to a massive extent, all rap, all Spanish, the veins on this guy´s neck stood out as he just belted his tunes out, and then I played their basslines, and whacked the washbasin, and the mango and vodka was passed, and then the guy got his pipe out, Colin copped off with a girl on an organised tour, and it all made pure sense, and the sun came up, and I staggered back, and now here I am.
It´s salsa night at the hostel tonight.
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