Runaround

I arrive at my target hostel in Guayaquil to find there's no room for me. The receptionist recommends another place which my taxi driver knows.

I don't think this hotel is the kind of thing that would be recommended from a backpackers hostel. I think my taxi driver may have taken me for a ride, so to speak. I'm paying an extortionate eighteen buck for the night. I have my own room, but I'm not impressed. The thin and, in places, torn sheets on the bed are almost enough for me to unravel my sleeping bag. The air conditioner is very loosely mounted to a hole in the wall. When it switch it on, it sounds so unnatural that when I'm concerned that it will fall out. I have a TV, but despite the set-top box, it receives just on channel. The shared bathroom is in bad shape.

I'm thankful for a basic breakfast of cake and jam. The pleasant enough lady who's running the hotel can't provide me with a city map. She's apologetic about that, but that's the least of what she ought to be apologetic about. After half an hour of walking in what I'm given to be the direction of the town centre, it's quickly becoming apparent that my hotel is in the middle of nowhere.

I need to do my piece and get out of here. I understand that Guayquil has a big port, and my plan is to find a boat to hitchhike to the Galapogos. With the help of some locals and three buses, I reach the port to find that there's nothing here for me. This is no more than cargo ships. From my walk and bus rides, it's looking like Guayaquil has little to offer. I need to get out of here. I wonder if I could get a refund on that dirty little hotel if I leave now. I doubt it.

Upon asking how to get back to town, the only advice I'm given is that I'm far, far away, and need to take a taxi. Having already blown twenty bucks with nothing to show it, I'm not impressed with that plan. A taxi driver quotes ten bucks to get back to the centre. I'm not  impressed. He tells me the buses are controlled by the mafia, and that I'll be extorted for money. Despite having survived three buses, after some conversation, he agrees to take me somewhere I can watch Germany vs. Spain for five bucks.

We arrive at a shopping centre where he tell me I can watch the game, eat and drink. It has everything, apparently. Apparently, my driver expected me to watch the game through the window of an Ecuadorian Dixon's. I'm not impressed. I've got an hour, so I'm off to find the real centre of town.

I spend another half hour walking through nothing but residential dead zones. In lots of cities this has  happened, but I have always found a worthwhile town centre. In Sarajevo, where I soon found that Google doesn't map, it took three hours of directionless searching, but I found it. Here, I'm starting to think that there really is no real centre of town. Maybe the whole place is just this. I'm not impressed.

After an hour, I stumble across a butcher shop, then a whole meat district. I've never been so glad to find a game of "Que Tipo de Carne".  Sweating in the heat of midday, I finally reach the centre of town. 


The waterfront and town centre are pleasant enough. But that's not my interest. Germany-Italy is my interest. I spend a frustrating twenty minutes try to find a bar. It seems like there's no interest in football in this whole city. I ask the bouncer outside one bar if they're showing the game. He looks back at me as if it's a stupid question. Fucking moron.


I eventually find a bar, and spend a further fifteen minutes trying to coordinate them to change the channel on their televisions from Ecuadorian pop to the second biggest football tournament in the world. The game is pretty lousy and my favoured Germans are swept aside by the Italians.


A walk around the town and an internet cafe confirms there's no boats for me here. I need to get further up the coast.


In the centre of town, there's a square with a park. It's known as the Iguana park. A few Iguanas simply wander around of their own accord, with no fences or gates securing them. I'm not hugely impressed until I'm standing by a tree and look immediately upwards to find ten or more big lizards minding their own business up there.

Thirty five, if not forty bucks later, I've got little to show for the day. That kind of money would have made a full week of entertainment in Bolivia.