Ecuador is not for the faint of nose—–so to speak.
You see, they sell an inferior brand of Kleenex, at least here in Cuenca they do.
I don’t know if this is a nation-wide tissue issue—one that rubs raw all things nasal-related across an entire swath of the country—or if this dysfunction is isolated to the highlands of southern Ecuador.
Whichever the case, my nose will never be the same. It’s raw. It’s red. It’s had an up-close encounter with sandpaper masquerading as tissue. I’d rate it medium grit.
The astute among you may have guessed—that I’ve been sick. And you wouldn’t be wrong.
(No, not sick in the head. Well, sort of sick in the head, in as far a head cold counts as crazy.)
It all started with a sore throat, devolved in sneezing and snotting, and ended in over-all, head-cold Hades.
Have you ever noticed how head colds have a way of doing that—making you feel miserable all the way down to your fingers and toes, making you feel please-amputate-my-nose miserable?
But this is not a post about the nose, per se; it’s about the Ecuadorian tissue, to be specific.
Now, you know how I feel about Ecuador. I’m crazy about this country.
Still, some of you have asked if there’s anything I don’t like about it.
Well, let it now be known, I’ve met my Ecuadorian nemesis—the wanna-be Kleenex of Cuenca.
Don’t get me wrong. My message is still the same.
Come to Ecuador. Enjoy the clean mountain air and still-affordable sea-side retreats.
Just don’t blow your nose here.
If you have any thoughts of vacationing in the country, please, for the love of God, leave your nose at home.
Or bring your own, lotion-coated Kleenex from North America.
Such is the nasal reality of Ecuador.
DISCLAIMER: Sara says there’s nothing wrong with the Kleenex here in Ecuador. She says it’s all in my head. “Hell, yeah, it’s in my head!”
When’s the last time you had a head cold? Are you picky about the brand of tissue you use?