“I think I’m drunken.” she said in her Austrian accent, as she smiled and finished off a cocktail.
“Me too. Let’s go.”
Walking through the crowded Mariscal district, we stumbled to a corner licoreria to buy a $4 bottle of Colombian Cabernet Sauvignon. The clerk thanked us as we paid through the sliding window and turned to walk back through the mass of Saturday night revelers.
On the way to the hostal everything faded away. Our missteps on the pavement echoed into the night. Closure was in the air. Like the first day of school, we knew it was coming, and we still weren’t prepared.
Elke and I met at Maquipucuna two months ago. I learned she was from Austria. Naturally, my first question was “Have you heard of Kruder & Dorfmeister?”. “Yes!!! You know them too???” It was a perfect way to start a friendship. As the mornings turned into afternoons, nights into days, and days into weeks, we continued to share our mutual affections for music, nature, and travel. It seemed like, we both agreed, that we had known each other for years.
Now, in the middle of the night, in the middle of Ecuador, it was almost time to say goodbye.
A light rain started as we sat down in the courtyard of the hostal and opened the bottle of wine. Our glasses filled, we made our toasts.
“To being drunken.” she said.
“To Bjork!”
“Yes, to Bjork. To Ecuador.”
Clink.
“To Ecuador.” I paused. “To the year 2015!”
“Wow. I’ll be 33.”
“Shut up, I’ll be 37. And we’ll still be friends.”
“Definitely.”
Before we realized it, our $4 bottle of wine was empty. It was nearly midnight. In the morning she would be leaving on a 10-day trek of the Galapagos.
The tour company set her up in a swank hotel for the night. It was only 5 blocks away. Leaving the hostal in a drunken stupor, we locked arms, a look of desperation on both of our faces, and started towards the hotel. We arrived and I pushed the button for the 5th floor.
Saturday Night Live was playing on the television. Paris Hilton was the guest. We didn’t care. Elke showed me around the place — there was even a hairdryer in the bathroom — and we both plopped down on the bed. This was it, the final hours were upon us.
Our conversation drifted from my plans to visit Europe next summer, to our apparent ability to read each others minds, to music, to letters and packages in the mail, to friendship. I can’t remember how long we talked, but it was beautiful, and we both passed out sometime, I think, about 2am.
Nothing more, nothing less.
I woke up at 5:30am. We had our last goodbye hug. “I’m going to miss you.” And I took a cab to my hostal, tucked myself under the sheets, and tried to sleep. I couldn’t.
Elke Romirer, you made my time in Ecuador memorable. I can’t put into words how much I want and need to thank you. Maybe I’ll figure it out in 10 months of absence. See you next summer.
