Counterfeit Twenty
Friday, March 20th, 2009
Somewhere along the line I picked up a counterfeit twenty dollar bill. I didn’t know it was dubious until I tried to spend it at a restaurant in La Libertad. The waiter asked me if I had another bill, he said the one I gave him was bad. I protested, a little offended. It’s not like I counterfeited the bill and regardless of its authenticity, the restaurant could just pass it off to the next unsuspecting customer and so the bill would circulate like a hot potato.
The waiter took me to the cash register and showed me what it looked like under a black light. There were several creases that had worn away to white from wear, the white creases shining under the black light. I had noticed the bill was worn before I tried to spend it but I thought it was just because I had put it in my shoe for safe-keeping on one bus ride. I finally agreed the bill was fake and I borrowed money from my captain for the bill, figuring I’d spend the twenty at some less vigilent establishment, even if I have to wait till I get back to the States–they never check there.
After Quito I took a night bus to Guayaquil and then another to La Libertad. I didn’t bother checking out Guayaquil because I’ve grown tired of the big cities. If I have time before we leave, I might check out some of the smaller towns on the coast. Once in La Libertad I phoned my new captain to tell him I was getting in a taxi to the marina. He said he’d meet me at the gate in 10 minutes. At the gate I met Tom, face-to-face, for the first time. He hopped in the cab and the driver took us the rest of the way, through the marina, to Tom’s boat, Marlin.
From Bogota, I took a bus to Cali (not -fornia). I arrived late at night and didn’t have an address for the hostel. I had a taxi driver take me to another hotel and I used their Internet to locate the hostel. It was like saying, “I’m not going to stay here, but can I use your Internet to locate another hotel?” I spent two and a half days in Cali. It was okay, I hung out at the hostel mostly, laying low and trying to save money, especially because I can’t get any more until I get my bank cards. The hostel was kind of empty anyways but there was one guy who rode his bike from the US to Costa Rica until he hurt his leg.
I booked a room at a hostel in Miami for Saturday night because my plane was scheduled to leave at 6:30am on Sunday. I never made it to the hostel, though. I asked Adam what he thought of going out in Miami on Saturday night and he said he was down. He asked Allison and so was she. We pre-partied at Honey and Dan’s place (friends of Allison). More of her friends arrived and we taxied it to Mansion in South Beach. Adam, my friend Owen and I had actually been there once before when we were last together in Florida. It was more crowded than I remembered it being last time, which was a couple Decembers ago. Things were going good until it was getting a little late and I went to the bar to get a water. After ordering, I reached for my wallet and it wasn’t in my back pocket. I knew immediately that I’d been pick-pocketed. I showed my ID to gain entrance, so I had it then. I also tipped the bathroom guy, so I had it in the bathroom too. The dance floor was packed and there were always people brushing by. It was an easy task for a thief. I met up with our friends and they were tired and wanted to go home. Dan had already been kicked out—for what I don’t know.