Landed after dark in the small beach pueblo, Same (pronounced Sa me), located on the northern coast of Ecuador and our stay turned into an eight-day escape from the modern world.
Internet was sparse and slow, the locals an eclectic colorful tribe, the fish fresh, the Pilsner grande cold, wave cruising pelicans, and no gringos in sight except for Tex Mike who had a young Venezuelan wife, a place on the beach for eighteen years and more than a few stories of working the oil rigs.
We stumbled onto Same after dark when the bus dropped us off on the side of the road a mile past the dirt road leading to the town. We wondered back, schlepping our roller bags and backpacks, looking for the hostel, La Casa de Amigos, listed in Lonely Planet, which no longer existed. Several young local boys came to our rescue and took us to one of their father’s who is a caretaker for a house on the beach. We rented a room in the house, only we were the only occupants, thus had the entire house to ourselves. The house had an intriguing story – owned by a wealthy British woman who lived life big, played hard, and died of a heart attack at 54.