None of us had ever cooked mashed potatoes or stuffing from scratch before, but we tried it anyways. I must say, for not having a turkey, we had a pretty damn good meal. Cheese and crackers were the appetizers. Somehow guacamole made the list too (I think Julie had avocados that were going to go bad). Glazed pork roast was the protein of the meal and in my opinion was a much better and less drowsy alternative to turkey. I did not bring my camera, but I will try and get photos from others in attendance
(My neighbors have Christmas lights up, tis' the season)
Sometimes you meet people and you think to yourself “wow, that person was really nice.” And other times you meet people that make you go “holy shit, you are one fucked up person and I am definitely going to write this shit down because you sir are ridiculous.”
(Inca Lounge)At the local watering hole I met an interesting character while waiting for friends to arrive. Now, I should probably change his name for the sake of the following information. And his name shall be, Sanders. Sanders is in his mid forty’s, divorced and has a daughter. Now, none of this really stood out, quite common in the US. It was not until he told me how he made his living for some time that I realized the can off warms that was opening before me. Now, the order of this was never entirely clear, but here goes.
He cooked and did meth in Mississippi for several years, while married to his wife of some years who had no idea about her man’s occupation. One night, apparently she got to be quite the bother. So he slipped a big old rock of meth in her coca-cola to shut her up. Sure enough she got a little freaked out and cleaned the whole house. She never found out what compelled her to do that. However, he did say he regretted it, but it was funny.
The time line got a little hard to follow after that. It was a little bit difficult to process what this complete stranger had just divulged to me.
Sanders managed to obtain a medical marijuana growing permit in Montana. Perfect candidate in the government’s eyes I guess. So that went well for awhile, growing, but he had some bills to pay. So he decided to screw selling it legally and just started dealing on the side.
And at this point I started to realize we were, in fact, actually having this conversation. Luckily my phone rang and I was able to leave the conversation and the bar. My friends were not able to make it so I hopped a bus home to process what just what happened.
During the course of the whole conversation, I also spoke with the bar owner, Mike. He is in the process of revamping a finca (farm) into a nice little country retreat for tourists. He invited me and a friend out to check the farm the next day.
Around 1pm my friend Jamie and I met up with Mike and a few of his employees to head out to the finca. We were introduced to a man I will refer to as, Captain Jack. He was an army sergeant back in the day and was in the Vietnam War. He drives a 1983 Chevrolet Jeep, not a car, he corrected me on this. He liked to brag about how it is comparable to any modern day pickup and how it could haul anything, if not more than anything than a pickup truck. I decided to keep my mouth shut and not say “I don’t think you could fit a dirt bike in here.”
(cool bug we found before heading to the Finca)
(Captain Jack)So Jamie, Rachel, myself and Captain Jack got into his jeep to follow Mike in the other truck. Within minutes we lost the other car and Captain Jack started calling Mike for directions every few minutes. Captain Jack has lived, worked here and driven here for 14 years; you would think he would know how to get to the only national park within 15 kilometers of Cuenca. Now what was even more frustrating is he would not listen when we would say hey, Cajas is just down that road. “No, Mike said he lived on the backside of Cajas and this is how you get there.” He said several times. Mike never said that.
Meanwhile, Rachel has BEEN to the Finca twice and he ignored her polite direction suggestions. After about the fifth or so phone call (while driving a manual) we could hear Mike on the phone saying I exactly where the Finca is and Captain Jack was quick to scold Mike on not knowing how to give directions. The rest of us in the car could not help but crack smiles and shoot glances at each other trying not to break out in laughter.
We finally arrived at the Finca and it was pretty exciting to see even though the rain had begun. We were instantly greeted by the two dogs Mike inherited with the farm. The biggest of the pair was recently named General but the younger one had not been named yet.
Before Mike gave us a tour of the Finca, we tossed a case of beer in the stream to cool down because the fridge he ordered had not arrived yet.
(greeted by the general)
(as if Captain Jack was not strange enough, one of his hobbies is digging for gold. I honestly could not make this up, and I even have a picture to prove it)
(view from the back door)
(living room)Once things got loaded in and the beds were built, Captain Jack broke out his homemade rum. For those of you who don’t know, Captain Jack is cheap rum available in the US. This homemade spiced rum was 70% and it tasted like it.
As we sat around the fire sipping river cooled beer, we all tried to avoid the rum. Captain Jack had his first glass and it was after he finished, that I had another “holy shit, you are one fucked up person and I am definitely going to write this shit down because you sir are ridiculous” moment. It was like something out of a movie. With just a drink in him, Captain Jack was back in Nam and telling us war stories. He told us about the people he met and other things most of us did not care to hear about. Then with the next glass he became an offensive old bigot, but no one said anything because he did not really understand that the things he was saying were bad. It was like when a child says a curse word, you cannot get mad at them because they have no idea of what they are actually saying.
His wife (who is Ecuadorian) called during one of his rants. We informed him that his phone was ringing. Captain Jack does not hear all that well sometimes. His response was “fuck that woman, I’ll be home when I feel like it.”
Jamie and I decided it was time for us to be heading back to Cuenca and one of Mike’s employees was ready to leave as well. Captain Jack was quick to offer us a ride and we accepted because a taxi would be around $6 (almost 2% of our month budget. Hindsight is 20/20. It began to rain. Bad sign.
As we drove down windy unlit roads in the car (sorry, Jeep) older than both Jamie and I, there were a couple of random swerves. Captain Jack played it like he was just avoiding potholes. Another clue that something was askew was when we hit a large speed bump at 20 mph sending Jamie and I airborne in the backseat (no seatbelts in the backseat, of course).
“Sorry about that fellas, didn’t see that.” He apologized
It was not until he nearly rear ended the big fucking blue bus in front of us that he explained himself after we all shouted “what the fuck?!”
“So guys, I really only have one good eye. My right eye doesn’t see all that well.
And as a result I don’t have the best depth perception”
“yeah, I’ll fucking say.” I thought to myself as I said a quick prayer.
“Just tell me if I might hit something.”
Don’t worry Captain Jack, we will.
We were close to our destination at this point, but not close enough to feel out of the shit storm that had descended upon that jeep.
I could not resist asking how that happened. Although I should have asked why the
hell he decided that kind of information was not important prior to entering his jeep.
Turns out a grenade was the cause of this partial (probably mostly) blindness.
We finally made to the city and he dropped us off. I laughed for a few minutes and then was thankful we survived. I owe the big guy for getting us through that one.
