Charlie’s Experience in Ecuador, Part II

I spent my next morning in bed attempting to write while awaiting the arrival of the group to which I was to attach myself for the next week. My hotel room had become an office of sorts. A place to unwind and collect my thoughts all while devouring the culture of this foreign land. A place where I could crack the window and let the sounds of the city percolate about the small confines.

By ten, to blow off the stink, I showered and departed from my room. Once outside, I chose a direction at random and began walking. As a vagabond would clamor about looking for purpose, I went about my way, hungry for new material and at the possibility of unexpected happenstance. Just after noon, I found myself in a familiar place, in a near empty restaurant where all except for one other table, I was the sole patron. The emptiness, I hoped, would spark some rabid period of literary construction.

In Spanish, I ordered a Chorizo sandwich and a drink. The waiter returned briskly with food and drink in hand. The cheese dripped from the sandwich and dribbled over the layered slabs of meat. The bread, fresh and warm, was packed tightly with hot cheese, onion, lettuce, tomato, and was drizzled with a special mix of hot oil.

Three bulls decorated the room in which I ate. Two bulls were mounted nicely. The muscles in their neck and face were positioned convincingly. Their eyes, I imagined, were as ferocious as they had been while living, and captured a trance as if the beasts were waiting eagerly to run into their killer again. Sharp and determined. The third bull, however, looked all kinds of a mess. I couldn’t tell if it was the horrid work of some hack taxidermist or the butchering done by the matador, but this poor sap looked awkward and confused. His eyes were at a strange cross, darting off in separate directions. Perhaps he had been on a prairie attempting to woo some beautiful cow and was briskly tied and shipped off to meet his maker at the last minute with no time to prepare for his eventual demise.

Next to one of the mounts was a poster depicting how the deceased bulls were utilized. What cuts were the most delicious, how to dry the meat and, most importantly, how to cook the meat. A pleasing poster, I imagined, for those unaware of the cultural customs which revolve around Spanish bullfighting.

As I sat there enjoying my meal, I wondered who had slain these giant beasts. I wondered what a spectacle it must have been. I’m sure even the cross-eyed bull put on quite a show. I hope their deaths were to the sound of thunderous applause.

To continue this series, click here. Or, to read the first post in Charlie’s series, click here.