The more you know

Turns out that if your bumper is just a smidge over the no-parking sign, while you're in the bank for 10 minutes you get a $45 ticket.

Turns out that the banks aren't into giving temporary cheques anymore. Turns out that's pretty inconvienent for some.

Turns out that you can really shock people by walking into a bank and asking for 4,500 pennies.

Turns out that 4,500 pennies is really heavy.

Turns out that City Hall in Vancouver will accept 4,500 pennies to pay for a parking ticket.

Turns out that half of the people in the line behind me were impressed, the other half were a bit annoyed at the fact that the teller had to disappear for a while to count change.

So nice to be back.

Chronicle of S’00.00.000 oops, err S’00.00.130

“Here, let me take a photo for you with your camera!”

“Thanks man, that’s very nice.”

“What’s with the cell-phone?”

“It’s a GPS. Turns out these guys have it wrong. This monument should be one kilometre that way.”

“How far’s that? Bout a quarter mile?”

“Where are you guys from, and what brings you to just south of the Equator?”

“We’re from Houston, and we’re filming a commercial for a client.”

It’s funny, this is so called middle of the world. Back in the earlier part of last century the best astronomers in the world, using the best equipment, with the best money decided that this is the Equator. They got it wrong. Wrong by 8 minutes (in astronomy terms) or by one kilometre in on the land terms. And it is a tough place to find. It took me 4 wrong buses and two wrong times to get it right.

We didn’t really figure this out until the GPS came along, and man, were faces red. This is a big goof. A lot of concrete got poured into this place. And a lot of commercials from Houston are filmed in this place. It’s big money. For a country that gave it’s name to this imaginary line, they imagined wrong.

But even that this place is wrong, and that it is really a memorial to inaccurate science more than the waist of the earth, the tourists keep coming in droves. People straddle the red line. They kiss across it. They embrace in two different hemispheres. And they do other things across this line, creative or otherwise.

But interestingly enough, when you are there with the GPS, and you show people that this line incorrect….they don’t want to hear it. “What’d ya mean it’s wrong. Hell they put this goddamn monument here, it must be right. It’s your gizmo that’s got it wrong.”

Fitting, no? People and societies are quite capable of perceiving their own realities. And when those realities are perceived, dead wrong as they can be, and an alternative (be it truth or otherwise) shows up, presents itself, people will still refuse to believe it.

“Hey, do you guys want to take your camera to the real Equator? I’ll take you there.”

“Naw, this is good enough. We’ve got a golf game anyway.”
It’s a fitting conclusion to four months on the road. Balancing the line between what we perceive and what we know is really out there.

The only time in history that the south has pissed on the north.

So this is the fake Equator

And here's the real one

As my thinkings on the Equator received many warm reviews, here are some additional photos.

Here's the real Equator, by the way:

What really divides north from south:

Having enough of the fake Equator, I went to the real one. Armed with a GPS a camera, and bright smiles, I let the GPS lead. It lead me into a goddamn slum. One of the worst I’ve been to yet. Soccer fields without grass, cars without wheels, and dogs without life. I followed the soccer fields hoping to find the Equator barrelling right through them. But they were too far south. I went through a ravine strewn with garbage, chickens and pigs. Up the other side and through a guy’s corn field. Bone dry. More weeds and dust than corn. Ambling through a barb wire fence I make it to a street with hungry dogs, and hungry guys drinking away life at 11:00am. Finally, turning down possibly the sketchiest alley in Ecuador, I find the Equator. N/S 00,00,00.0.

They say that you weigh less on the true Equator, being so far from the earth’s centre. Most people around me do weigh less. You don’t need a scale to prove that a 10-year old kid at the Equator weighs less than a kid in Texas. Because all of them here are under-fed. This kid over here needs to put on another 15 killos. They say that being underweight in your youth robs years from your old age.

What really divides north from south? This dried up river. It’s on the Equator indeed, but it’s still in the south. You don’t get this kind of poverty in the north, sure. But you also don’t get the recognition that it exists in the south. We pay minor charity to it, we know that it might be there, but like the fake Equator monument, people really don’t want to see, feel, touch and smell the real Equator. Our society knows it’s there, and probably doesn’t have to guess that the true monument of the Equator is stifling poverty. That’s what really divides north from south.

And again science proves to be far from absolute.

Now here’s the real insult to injury. While 19th century science screwed up finding the Equator, someone else got it right. You know, it’s always boggled my mind how we put guys on the moon before inventing the pocket calculator. But now, it truly blows my mind that we put guys on the moon before we even found the centre of our own planet. Amazing.

But 1,200 years ago a pre-Incan culture laid a monument to the centre of the world. On top of a round hill, one that doesn’t fit into the local topography, they made a circle of stones. If you put your GPS in the centre of it, it will read S/N 00,00,00.0. I didn’t make it up there, but a local showed me his recorded mark on his GPS. These ancient people also drew two lines 50km a part to mark the path of the sun on the equinox. These lines mark the path of the direct rays.

This culture, 1,200 years ago knew that the world was round, while Europeans were still burning those who thought so. They were also able to measure the dead centre of between north and south, and they put their monument on something that might as well be the earth’s navel…look, it’s an outey!

This little circle was only discovered 8 years ago, thanks to GPS and a few archaeologists. Like that shot of the GPS on the compass at Machu Pichu, another tribute to ancient forms of knowledge that knew more about our earth, land and life, than we do today.

Just another weekend.

On Tuesday I was burning alive with some sort of delirious fever likely related to something stupid that I ate and linked to getting caught in the cold Quito rain without a jacket. Still on the mend from that experience, I went to Cuenca again this weekend for their carnival. Straight from the airport to the fair ground. You know those dodgy fall fair rides that go from town to town in Southern Ontario in October? Who knew that they would make it as far as rural Ecuador? These things are sketchy enough in northern countries where mechanics and safety standards abound, never mind rural Ecuador. And rural Ecuadorian Carneys make the Canadian group look like members of parliament. Bearing all this is mind; I wasn’t all that keen on going on “The Zipper,” some vomit comet contraption of a ride, but Rolando already bought the ticket. In I go. Turns out it wasn’t all that bad. Pretty fun actually, and the power outage happened after I got off, so no worries there.

Later that night we went for some cheeseburgers (sketchier than eating maggots in this country, but whom I to argue?) and went dancing at a local bar. Turns out that drinks are free in this place, as long as your drinking this sketchy orange drink mixed with locally made vodka. Not bad, actually, and it will get you up on top of the bar dancing.

The Next night:

In the MTV show Jackass they would open up every skit with a guy saying, “Hi I’m Johnny Knoxville,” and then they would announce the stunt that they were going to pull, pull the stunt and get all banged up or embarrassed. On Saturday night, while sitting down at the family dinner table I heard in my ear, clear as day, “Hi, I’m Johnny Knoxville, and this is the Latin American Family Dinner.”

Georgina and Gaby invited me to their parents place for dinner. It was me in amongst about 25 uncles, aunts, cousins, grandparents and others. “We have a beef leg.” Some one said. An entire beef leg? Jeeze for lunch we devoured the better half of a pig. My god, people, how is it possible that there is hunger in this country? Beef leg soup for everyone, and then a heaping plate of chicken with rice, potatoes and everything else. The old man pours me a whisky (again made just down the street). Being polite I throw it back. Another is right there by the time my glass hits the table. Apparently drinking these slow is an insult. An entire jar gets filled with whisky and gassed water, and it’s going between me and the old man.

Bursting from a heaping lunch, a heaping dinner and now drinking whisky “mano a mano,” this is what I’m up against. The aunts are asking me about what I’m doing in Ecuador and immigration policy to Canada. The uncles are advising me to never marry, but are making a good effort to point out how beautiful some of the single nieces are. And the old man is keeping a good pace on the whisky. Eventually we get on to ripping into the U.S., and at this point half the jar of whisky winding down. Not sure how much more I could take, I need an exit strategy. Fortunately, the old man falls asleep in his chair….the whisky jar remains un-refilled.

The next day I head off to the Amazon. On the first bus there are no drunken singers, but some guy, I’m sure, took a dirt in his pants. My poor nose. I switch buses in Loja and keep going to Zamora. There are two girls in my seat (about 8 and 12 years), and their mother next to them. There must be a mistake, I think. But no. This woman only bought one seat for three people. Two girls on her lap turns out to be more like a girl on me and another on her mom. I’d give her another $2.50 to help spread us out, but the bus is already stuffed full. A BBQ’d chicken arrives. These people are family of the people across the isle, and they’re sharing lunch. The bus is jammed full, so I’m going nowhere. Buried under children, luggage, chicken, BBQ sauce and French fries, I’m here for two hours on this winding road. People are standing in the isle next to me, and while this chicken is well dead, I’m sure that there is a live one in the back somewhere. And for entertainment there is a lanky Brit sitting on the armrest of the chair in front of me groping his little brown lover. Good grief. These people need a room. Maybe the bus driver can stop for a bucket of cold water. If the winding road and chicken grease aren’t enough to make you nauseous, Romeo and Juliet will get you there.
Finally I arrive in Zamora to meet, yet another unemployed doctor. She worked in the local hospital for a year, but they let her go. There’s no work. Look at all of these empty beds, there’s no demand for you. We talk for a bit, and then I go back to my broiling hotel room for the night. The power cuts off at 11:30pm, and I roast with no fan until 7:30am.

Just another weekend in Latin America.