Emily

In recent posts many of the usual "I..." comments have been posted in the form of "we...", and the very essence of my travel has evidently changed to a different one from that of before. In fact travelling seems so different now that travelling doesn't seem so much like the travelling I knew before. So why write about Emily now? Well in truth, in my mind she has become virtually synonomous with the time in Canoa and many of the very best moments are specifically Emily related. Before, we were pretty much unsure about what was going to happen and how right for each other we actually were, but of late things have gotten more serious, and since we're likely to be together for a while to come it is something more than significant enough to deserve an explanation on the blog. But these thoughts will mostly be set out later in a post that kind of falls in between a profile and the usual rundown of travel events. But first; the vital statistics:

Name: Emily Elizabeth Hale
Birthplace: Austin, Texas
Age: 24
Hair: Brown (also visible in picture)
Eyes: Blue (speckly)
Status: My girlfriend
Occupation: Largely unknown; potentially Hobo.
Met: On the road to Machu Picchu - it was "romance on the ruins"
Time together to date: 1 Month 1 Week
Likes: The worlds tallest people; Geese; the Sun; Arrested Development; talking in German; Piggytails; Earth colours; Mexican food; getting on random buses; new music; Qechuan; Avocados; returning through recently locked doors; moisturizer; various local cats and dogs.
Dislikes: Bicycles; Heights; being tickled; me scaring her everywhere; sugary juices; hawkers; shoes; stereotypical Texans; being cold (which is often).



So onto the story in hand. We left Montañita on a local bus bound for Manta, with hopes to arrive early and go straight to Canoa. Unfortunately we appeared to have climbed aboard the slowest bus in the whole wide world, soon to be discovered to be bound for the most depressing, drab and dull coastal city in the whole wide world. We checked into the most depressing, drab and dull hotel we could find and settled down for an utterly exciting night in. Morning came and we shot for the bus station like a rabid rabbit thirsty hound from the proverbial gates, in search for a Canoa bound bus. We found one with haste and we soon bumping down the bumpiest road in the whole wide world before arriving in Canoa.

Canoa was powerless to our charms. Well actually it was just plain old powerless after a pack of locals had stolen the powerlines for the copper. The place was full of deserted beach stands and there was almost nobody about. We checked into a stupidly cheap hostel (£1.50 a night each) and went off to explore the town. Before long we had gravitated to the Gringo owned, and populated, hangout which was to be both our daytime and fiesta hotspot, and were soon surrounded by a great bunch of people. After an early night the first night, we hit the beach the next day for a spot of book reading and sunbathing in the hot equatorial sun. Unsurprisingly I reddened in a matter of minutes and retreated to the shade to read my book and drink a cold beer. With little to actually do in Canoa (especially considering my inability to surf due to my sore rib) the days were spent chilling or recovering from the previous night's whoring from happy hour to happy hour in the local beachfront bars before finishing the night off at the Surf Shack.

It was at this point that the most romantic story of our, and possibly all, time occurred. One heavy evening at the Surf Shack Emily, myself, Lee (from Australia) and Justin (from NZ) were ploughing our way through an adult sized portion of Jagermeisters, cocktails and beers. Justin, myself and Pete, the owner of the Surfshack went into ultra competitive mode betting who could play the Nintendo Wii the best, and who could slap the other's belly the hardest. Emily and I drunkenly decided to go for a moonlight walk on the beach and stopped at an empty beach hut. At this point after somehow emmersing ourselves in sand, losing one ring, one pair of flipflops, my jumper and the room key (to be recovered later) we decided that this was the perfect moment to exchange 'I Love You's. We returned to the bar, announced it to everybody (who in their highly inebriated states were nothing short of extatic) and staggered back to our room.

In an extra special 'morning after the night before' debriefing (after retriving some of our lost items), we both agreed that we had totally meant what we said and that it felt natural. Things were beginning to become serious and any remaining doubt on whether we would continue together during and after travelling diminished. The rest of the Latin American Adventure would continue to be described in plural terms rather than the singular one I had had before and continued to expect.

We spent a couple more days doing very little in Canoa, including me being able to go out surfing now that my rib was better, before leaving on a dreadful night bus to Quito. The time for beaches had ended and the cities perched on the spine of the Andes once again beckoned.