Dodgy clubs and the Ecuadorian SSIA

9 am SATURDAY........rose in a cold sweat. The match was about to start and I had to meet up with a group of people to watch it. Dragging my body, which has become a cheap place for fleas to eat out of bed I wobbled out of the basement I´m staying in. In the hallway of the hostel a number of red eyed zombies waited for me. We wobbled out the door in search of a bar to watch a match. It was going to be difficult. It became obvious that this town sleeps in on Saturdays and only an internet cafe was open. So after a light jog through empty streets searching for a big screen we resolved the internet cafe was best. So did every other football supporter. The waiter did not. He was alone and wore a stunned expression as more and more crammed into his little cafe. He sweated profusely and resorted to ignoring peoples requests for beer and more beer. He was as indifferent as the game itself..........
9pm Saturday.........After the fleas had finished their 3 course meal on my belly I gathered up a group of people to go out with. An eclectic bunch, we wandered to the nearest bar for some beer. It`s name, Strawberry Fields and it`s decor was one of romantic Liverpool. All the cocktails were Beatles songs. But not one song was theirs. I sucked on an Eleanor Rigby and listened to the Doors again and again, joining the locals in a sparkling rendition of Light My Fire. After downing a Yellow Submarine we fled to a club which reminded me of a school disco. Young bodies lay be-straggled across tables and a heavy scent of vomit pressed out from the toilets. The place had an air of decadence. Random greasy haired lads were dragged from the dance-floor by irate barmen and thrown(literally) onto the street. Salsa mixed with raggaton raped my ears. When the beer ran out it was time to leave, to search, to find.
And we did. A club with no name, just a symbol. A club formerly known as.... It was airy, had no prostrate teenagers and no lingering sick smell. It played reggae and we wobbled and wooed to the music. Only going home when a bouncer produced his gun and told us to leave.........
........A short lesson in Ecuadorian Finance. An accountant by the name of Jose Cabrera came up with an in-genius savings scheme. The jist of which was invest a sum of money and earn 10% interest a month on your investment. Thats a month people. So the locals not being ones to miss out invested in vast sums and where happy to see their high interests returned. So much so they re-invested. These people included the army, the police, the government and the general people. The only problem was he was running a money laundering scam for a drug lord. The problem was, he died. When a 71-year-old man has a heart attack after allegedly smoking cocaine-laced cigarettes, drinking whisky and popping Viagra in the company of his 18-year-old girlfriend, it's pretty suspect. Jessica Valles, Cabrera's girlfriend of two years, which made her 16 when their relationship started, told police he collapsed in their luxury hotel room after ingesting cocaine, whisky and Viagra. Angry investors dug up his body after hearing of the Pyramid schemes collapse and made sure he was dead, then tore it apart. Check out this link for the full crazy article. http://www.theage.com.au/news/world/a-scandalous-death-rattles-ecuador/2005/12/30/1135732703361.html
.......beating Americans is fun, beating cocky Yanks is even better, which made me winning a pub quiz with a small team over a bunch of loud arrogant yanks beautiful.
Pat Rafter
Unlucky the Pool