Where Anything Goes

© Alisa Clickenger / RumBum.com

My stomach was rumbling, but there were enough distractions to keep my mind from acknowledging it. I was on the Ecuadorian side of the Colombia – Ecuador border waiting for customs to clear my motorcycle, and things were getting interesting. I thought it a bit strange that in the cue for immigration there were several people covered in foam, but I assumed it was college students having a prank. Then I saw other adults outside in the parking lot throwing water balloons at each other from behind their cars. Evidently no one was immune, since outside the police office two women rushed an officer and dumped a bucket of water over his head.

Evidently it was Carnival, and what I as witnessing was the 'typical' way Ecuadorians celebrate – lots and lots of water, and the occasional foam hazing thrown in for variety's sake. Locals seemed to take advantage of every opportunity to soak each other – at bridges water-pail chains of people lined up to pass bucket-fulls of water to the water throwers. At every police checkpoint locals lines both sides of the street and threw water at the vehicles helplessly stopped in line. Groups of people in the back of trucks threw water balloons at pedestrians, and children chased each other gleefully with giant-sized water guns.

© Alisa Clickenger / RumBum.comAll good and fun if you can roll up your windows, but on a motorcycle you are completely exposed. Feeling worse and worse, I was a sitting duck for these water devils. And the locals knew it. Fifteen minutes into the country and I as soaked through! The worst was when I was sitting in a traffic jam along the main highway to Quito with my face shield up – I saw someone coming toward me with a can of foam and luckily managed to get the shield down before I was sprayed, but then I could not  see. Obligingly someone else quickly threw water on me and luckily washed the foam off.

By this point my stomach was really unhappy, and I began to take evasive measures. Each time I saw  a traffic slow-down ahead of me, I'd carefully poke my head out into the oncoming lane, and if it was clear I'd just zoom by all the stopped water targets and duck back into line right before the police inspectors. Normally I don't advocate breaking traffic laws, but I've learned that in Latin America traffic laws are more like guidelines anyway. Do what you need to do and nobody gets too bent out of shape.

Wet, cold, and uncomfortable, the road began to rise. As I rapidly climbed from the flats of the Colombian jungle to the heights of the Andes, my discomfort grew. I'd been too distracted with my border crossing paperwork, then the water evasion to pay any real attention to my body. When my mouth started to water, however, it finally dawned on me what was going on.

Riding at about 60 mph, I began frantically looking for a place to pull over. No shoulders to this road. To my good fortune, up ahead I spied a pullout for trucks. Unbuckling the helmet with the left hand as I was braking with the right hand, I managed to downshift without the clutch. I skipped to a stop in the dirt and simultaneously removed my helmet as I threw down the kickstand. No time to get off the bike, my stomach involuntarily emptied even as I was seated on the bike.

I suppose there is a first time for everything, and while not necessarily an event to commemorate, I did have to chuckle at the good story it made. Feeling much better, at least for the moment, I put the helmet back on and rode off. It must have been quite a sight for the parked truck driver facing me to see such a sight, but I did not feel like explaining. I knew I had a limited time before the process would repeat itself, and I'd hoped to find a clean hotel before trying that stunt again. I knew I'd been lucky to get the helmet off in time. Welcome to Carnival where anything goes!