"To where are you going," you, my intrepid reader(s) may ask? You wouldn't, of course, because that's far too formal. You'd go with something along the lines of, "Where you go?" while exhaling Cheeto dust. To Ecuador. I'm off with B for a week long side trip of high altitude fun and explorations. On the agenda are some hikes to 4300m (that's 15K feet to you Imperial-units wanks), exploring an old, historic district, and of, course, food and beer. There appears to be a quality microcervecería near the hotel we have booked for the first few nights. Checking their website, I like the selections, and at $3/pint what can possibly go wrong?
I saw that I could get right on the equator, at a reasonable cost, and decided, why not? I'm really, really happy that B is willing to take some of her hard-earned time off to join me. Of course, I am bribing her: I said I'd buy the beer. She can easily drink me under the table (Let's be honest, who can't?), in addition to beating me in all forms of physical activity (ok, to be fair to my baby cows, I can still outrun her, but I foresee that thin advantage disappearing). At the aforementioned $3/pint, I think I can afford to keep her happily in her favorite flavors when we're not out exploring, hiking or eating elsewhere. Besides, with an elevation of 2800m (9500 feet), it might not be a lot of beers for either of us anyway! The hotel appears to be within walking distance of both the main historic area and the brewery (at least on a map, it does), and if it doesn't, well, I can't see a taxi or an Ube being too expensive, given what I've seen of other costs.
This will be a nice short, side trip before I stumble back to the United States of Armaments on the summer solstice for a month or so. I hope I don't get caught in a mass shooting while I'm there, but since I won't be visiting a school, I think I'll be okay.