Ecuador. How I hate you.
It’s been almost 18 months since
my first trip southbound in a Piper Navajo named FPXL, and the beginning of a
long odyssey that included as much danger, illness, injury and heartbreak as it
did beauty, excitement and wonder. And while it always sounded so exotic to say
“I’ve been working in South America” (in answer to the question “So what do you
do for a living?”), the experience wore thin. Fast.
In summary, South America was a
study in contrasts. The scenery was amazing, the people were friendly and energetic,
and the experience of flying in Equatorial airspace was educational to say the
least. We had our own apartments with air conditioning and a little hot tub on
the patio, feeling nice and secure behind an electrified fence. The local coffee was
delicious and the local beer was cheap. We couldn’t say we were lacking for anything,
except clear sky under which to actually complete the contract.
But, on the opposite side, our
team collectively experienced armed robbery and kidnapping in a taxi, allergic
reactions to anti-malarial medication, altitude sickness, injury, and governmental
stupidity (in a foreign language). My lungs ached from the dry breathing oxygen
while flying at 21,000 feet in an unpressurized Aztec (that airplane was simply
never meant to be up that high). The job became more and more frustrating as
client pressure increased and the months went by with no work.
The snapping point occurred was
when I slipped and fell off the Aztec’s wing, broke two toes and split my knee
wide open. The dull fear of what lay ahead while I was being rushed to an Ecuadorean
hospital in a bouncy ambulance overshadowed what physical pain I should have
been feeling (for the record, the private hospital I ended up in was clean and
modern, and the entrance to emergency resembled a fancy hotel lobby. The
plastic surgeon who stitched me back together was top-notch. Highly recommended).
I was stuck in the apartment in Ecuador for the next month, leg stuck in a straight position and unable to walk
without crutches. I was not permitted to fly home on a commercial airliner on
account of not being able to bend my knee enough to get into a seat. It was most depressing 30 days I
have ever experienced.
So I’m done with you, Ecuador. Get
me out of here.