I Remember You

After revisiting the bakery and the police, with only the most tenuous hopes that my wallet will have turned up, I´m off to Western Union where my emergency money awaits. I´m even more keen to get out of town now.

The Western Union here is no more than a booth, just big enough to house a fat, useless idiot. When he eventually turns up, he tells me that they have no money, and can´t pay out for another half hour. I´m still hopeful I can make the 1000h bus out of here. Half an hour later, he tells me, that he expects he might be to be able to pay out between eleven and midday. I manage to squeeze blood from that particular stone at half eleven. Western Union has saved me, whilst at the same time, ripped my eyes out on fees and, no doubt, a crooked exchange rate. I dare not look too hard at the receipt.

On the bus, I remember that, on top of the fresh hundred bucks, I´ve also lost seventy Euros, five Pounds, my Oyster card, my old work ID, at least. As small mercies, I´ve still got my powerboat license, which I´d taken out to try and skipper the whale watching boat, and my Campaign for Real Ale membership card.


The bus grunts up hills and switchbacks into the Ecuadorian highlands. In the evening, the view out of my window is of deep green forest covered mountains protruding up from a unbroken floor of thick clouds. The sky, not much farther above, is another layer of thick grey cloud cover.


We roll into Cuenca at 1030h. As I wander into town, I pass cash machines with their little green lights blinking in the night. I remember when I had an arsenal of plastic bits that would yield precious dollars from these things. I´ve spent over twenty five dollars today, mostly on cancelling cards and buses. I wonder if I can live on the remaining two-hundred-and-seventy-five bucks long enough to get my replacement cards.
In reality, the worst-case is another trip to Western Union, but as we say in the bank, "I´d rather stick my nob in a beehive."