Quito, Ecuador – By midnight it had become evident there would be no sleeping of the conventional sort. My arrival at the Crossroads Hostel in Quito’s “New Town” had somehow morphed into the Telemundo rendition of “Charlie and the Chocolate Factory,” and I was playing the part of Mike Teavee landing smack dab in the middle of “Sabado Gigantesco” or “The Best Damn Deportes Show Period.”
This was my first visit to Ecuador’s capital city, and I was unaware the 15-minute cab ride from the airport would transport me to the epicenter of year’s biggest party, although in hindsight, the cabbie wearing the bright red doo-rag and face paint in the colors of the national flag might have served as a sign of things to come.
After a mad scramble through the Lonely Planet guide for an overlooked list of holidays and festivals, I resorted to my handy Spanish phrase book to ask the driver, “Are the people of Ecuador always this festive?”
“No,” he explained while weaving through the throngs of revelers on the streets. “Today Ecuador has qualified for the World Cup.”
It didn’t take long to realize he wasn’t talking about ski racing. In Ecuador, as in the rest of Latin America, sport means soccer, or futbol (not to be confused with futbol americano). And a 0-0 tie against former World Cup champion Uruguay earlier that Saturday afternoon had been all the Ecuadorian national team needed to clinch the nation’s second World Cup berth in history and launch the dedicated fans into an endless night of frenetic carousing just outside my room’s street-level window.
Horns honked, stereos blared a ridiculously redundant reggaeton soundtrack and groups of drunken futbol fanatics sang as they stumbled arm-in-arm through the plaza. It’s hard to imagine what might happen if the team actually scored.
But scoring goals, like sleep, was superfluous to the task at hand – partying like a roadie for the Scorpions until the flag of Ecuador flies over Deutschland next summer. Fortunately, my limited Spanish vocabulary understands fiesta (right along with the next day’s siesta). And I like to think I have a basic comprehension of deportes, no matter what the language.
After traveling a respectable chunk of the world and being force-fed dialects ranging from Portuguese to Zulu, I’ve come to think of sports – like music – as something of a universal language. Barring perhaps the campus of MIT, where they speak their own universal language called math, I’ve found no place in the world where the language of sports is not spoken, whether it be with a ball and a goal, a foot race or basic billiards game. Of course, sometimes it might be expressed through a fight to the death between two chickens.
While I’ve been known to jump into a Mediterranean volleyball match or an African soccer schooling, more often than not, international sport for me involves a river and a small plastic boat. In cities such as Quito, the kayak frequently is greeted by confused stares.
But out in the campo, or the countryside, paddlers often are greeted by name: kayaquero. Although sometimes they are simply known as loco.
It’s important to learn your izquierda from your derecha when kayaking in Central and South America. The rest of the standard paddling vocabulary – rios, rapidos, cervezas – is no problemo, almost natural. But, between river runs, it’s also helpful to learn a few of the helpful phrases found in the back of “The Kayaker’s Guide to Ecuador.” Sentences such as “Ya no quiero viajar arriba” (I don’t want to ride on the roof anymore) or “Puedo compartir este asiento con su bolsa de gallinas?” (May I share this seat with your bag of chickens?) are particularly useful during shuttles bus rides to and from the river, while “Podemos comer ese gallo para la cena?” (Could we have that rooster for dinner?) became a personal favorite after a few too many sleepless nights on the farm.
After moving to the beach, I learned that my surfboard actually was a tabla de surf and the olas were much better when the tide was alta. I also learned that olas grandes led to tabla reparation, muy rapido, but that’s another story.
Mostly what I learned was that Ecuadorians, like the rest of the world, know how to have fun with their sports. But I suppose that really only took about 15 minutes.
Staff writer Scott Willoughbycan be reached at 303-820-1993 or swilloughby@denverpost.com.
