Guayaquil, Ecuador -- It should have been easy. At least that was my hope when I boarded the 5 a.m. bus to Guayaquil intending to arrive before lines grew as long as Gretel’s braids. And at 8:30 a.m. I was thrilled to find only one person queued ahead of me at the immigration office in Ecuador’s largest city, a frenetic bastion of pollution, heat and smog thick as pudding, noise, traffic and all the chaos inherent in any big metropolis. Expelling an audible sigh of relief, I approached the visa extension window and pasted on the kind of phony smile one dons when trying to win the favor of bored bureaucrats who mechanically deal with paper and people all day every day each week each month of each year.

My goal was to get in and out, a stamp in my passport which would afford me the freedom to move within or out of Ecuador at leisure. I’m surprised to even find myself here, securing the free 90 day tourist visa extension, having – as previously mentioned – fully expected to be in Peru, Bolivia or some other country by now. But I like Ecuador. It’s diverse, beautiful and easy, and the longer I’m on the road the more I seek out places like this, places where I can sit still for a bit, not have to lug my heavy gear from bus terminal to unknown quarters of an unknown destination like some humpback-packer whale.

But, I digress. As I said, it should have been easy. But it wasn’t. Ensnared in the web of a bureaucratic snafu, entangled in an entire roll of red tape, held hostage by human error and one number incorrectly entered into my passport when I arrived three months ago. One number and I was erased as a person, a spectral visitor undetected by the all-seeing eyes of the computer gods. They knew I was here. They were looking straight at me. The humans, that is. They knew I got in. They had my passport and visa entry. They just couldn’t find me in the computer and this was a problem. I’m only grateful that this didn’t happen at some wayward border crossing, me needing to catch the last bus to somewhere lest I be stranded in what would invariably be a one-horse last-chance town in a country where should I stay or should I go (ode to the Clash) would no longer be my prerogative.

Plus I had a big day planned in Guayaquil. I needed to navigate the labyrinth of an unfamiliar behemoth in search of things I couldn’t get in tiny Montañita. Jewelry supplies for starters (as gratefully my stuff is selling pretty well), a cart to wheel my increasingly burdensome load, perhaps a haircut, my last desperate trim self-inflicted with cuticle scissors.

After two hours of “espera” -- wait -- I became a bit agitated. With my Spanish improving slightly, I understood enough to glean that since I came in through Quito, it was to be both the source and resolution of the problem. Quito needed to find me, reinstate me as a person and send written confirmation to the government workers in Guayaquil that I did indeed exist and was worthy of my 90 day extension.

Although I was a bit reticent to leave the office and my fate in the hands of people who may or may not care, who may or may not be efficient, who may or may not get this thing fixed by the time I needed to catch a bus back to the coast, I found it equally futile to just sit idle when I had so much to cram into just a few hours. So I left and prayed that upon my return I would be vindicated.

Armed with the general location of one store that possibly sells stones and silver, I grabbed a taxi and headed off into the heart -- or bowels -- of Guayaquil. With my rudimentary command of the language and the kindness of shopkeepers, I embarked on a five hour treasure hunt, clues to the next potential source of fulfillment being proffered around every corner. Directo (straight) entonces derecha (then right) and across the street (don’t know Spanish for that) hay tienda pequeno con piedras (there is a small shop with stones). And finally, in the Malecón district, I found it. A slightly larger than small shop with stones, some silver and other sundry supplies to make jewelry so I can earn a bit more money which will help me to continue my world travels.

I didn’t have time to eat, just time enough to walk back and forth and around in a few circles. I didn’t locate a wheely cart, but I did get a new pair of flip flops. I also found people to be helpful and patient as they left their shops to point me in the right direction, sometimes even walking me there themselves. Quite a contrary experience to the one I had in Chengdu, China the day I set out on a quest for facial cleanser and new digital camera, an ordeal that induced sweat, frustration and near panic. Such simple tasks when one is on familiar turf but exercises in patience, resourcefulness and diligence when in a country where the exoticism that so inspires and thrills when sight-seeing similarly pains and devours one’s soul when trying to purchase a simple tube of foaming face wash. Sign language only goes so far….

Anyway, after attempted fare extortions by two unfriendly cab drivers, I was finally picked up by a lovely young man with whom I chatted in Spanish (!) during the fifteen minute ride back to the immigration office. With a mixture of trepidation and anticipation, I approached the desk of the person who would prove to be either my savior or my foe, having left my destiny in her hands while I scoured the city for half the day.

Since I am writing from my room in Montañita, Ecuador, Señora Official obviously came through for me. September 2, she intoned. That is when I will need to leave, with no chance of a third extension. $200 per day for over-stay. Disfruta. Enjoy your visit to Ecuador.

But I will not stay that long. For sure. Really this time. The rains have come early to the beaches this year and while I am comfortable in Montañita, like the people and my room here, have a routine and life devoid of stress, I am a traveler. And a travel writer. So I suppose it’s time to start traveling again. I know, I’ve said this before, but this time I think it might be true. I have made vague plans to head out next week, back up to Quito, possibly to attend a ceremony helmed by one of Latin America’s most famed shamans, then five hours further to the Colombian border. Then Venezuela, Brazil and a loop through Argentina, Bolivia, Peru and perhaps back to Montañita to visit my friends. But who knows? One day at a time. That’s the way I do it. That’s the way we should all try to live for we never know what this day or the next will bring. Pretty cool way to savor the moment I think!

Write to me my friends. Share your thoughts, comments, insights.

Happy trails.

by Suzan Crane – the Global Gypsy Girl