To cross the border into Ecuador, we had to take a bus to Tumbes in northern Peru and grab a busline called CIFA that would escort us across what was supposed to be “the most dangerous border crossing in South America” into Ecuador.

Our 18-hour bus ride to Tumbes was uneventful, until we got off the bus. We strapped on our bags and tried to find the exit to the bus station, discovering that it was locked. One of the employees asked us if we were ready to leave. We told him we were going to CIFA and he told us it was just three blocks to the right. Then he opened the door.

Touts came crashing in the door. Dozens and dozens. And Lauren and I were the only tourists leaving the station.

“CIFA? CIFA?” they yelled, “I take you for 1 dollar. Uno dolares!”

It was reminiscent of Lauren’s experiences in Cambodia, but we hadn’t experienced anything remotely like this since India. I was confused as to what was going on, but Lauren stood her ground, forcing them to get out of the way so that we could walk out the door. She told them that we just wanted to walk, and off we went.

Two blocks later we discovered a bus company called “CIVA” that seemed to exist for no other reason than to confuse tourists, but we kept going to CIFA.

The next bus to Quito left in less than an hour, so we bought tickets, emailed our parents and waited to leave.

The “most dangerous border crossing in South America,” as it has been labeled by Lonely Planet and others, was completely uneventful. But that might have been because we took CIFA, which was highly recommended. Of note, however, is that CIFA picked up a very serious, armed and bullet-proof vested security guard at the border, and he stayed with us until the end of the ride. It was our first armed-escort bus ride, and hopefully our last.

The bus got into Guayaquil late that afternoon. Unfortuanately, for all the ease of crossing the border, the CIFA bus driver and armed security guard seemed to decide that they were tired of dealing with traffic. They forced everyone off the bus just outside of town, a few miles from the bus terminal where they were supposed to go, despite the protests of many locals.

We were able to team up with an Icelandic girl and a local, though, and share a $3 cab ride to the terminal, where Lauren and I bought our bus tickets to Quito for the next day.

Then we headed into the city. Guayquil is the largest city in Ecuador (Quito, the capital, is second) and is a port city off the Pacific Coast.

We picked a hotel out of Lonely Planet and were impressed that our $15 got us airconditioning, a private shower and cable TV.

We went walking around the town and were struck by how much Guayaquil looked like Miami. Palm tree-lined streets, towering office buildings, and fashionable people were everywhere. We passed beautiful fountains as we headed down to the boardwalk over the port.

We took plenty of photos of the water and the views from the boardwalk before realizing that we were starving — we hadn’t eaten anything all day.

On the way, we passed by a pirate-themed ship. Lauren wanted to get on and have a beer, but I refused saying I wasn’t going anywhere until I had some dinner.

Nearby, there were several outdoor food-court-esque areas, and Lauren and I surveyed our options. We broke down and got shwarma from an Iranian joint and some patacon con queso, a banana and cheese Ecuadorian specialty from another restaurant.

The food was good, although I thought the bananas were a little bland.

As we finished our meal, I looked up and saw the pirate ship sailing away. I pointed it out to Lauren and she gave me the most devastated, disappointed look ever.

“Well maybe it goes again in an hour,” I told her, hoping it was true.

She went to go check and there was another tour leaving in a hour, so we bought tickets and wandered around an electronics store, looking at cameras in the meantime.

On the pirate ship, we discovered that we could only order imported beers — they didn’t have any Ecuadorian beers. So we got two and watched as the port city went by, towering buildings, casinos, very wealthy neighborhoods and seemingly abandoned ships in a small port area.

The next morning we left for Quito. We were both concerned about going, since we had heard reports of it being a very dangerous city in terms of pickpockets and political protests.

Our 8-hour bus ride got us in around dusk, and we tried to get a cab to a hotel we had picked out. The first cab refused to take us, telling us that we should just walk the four blocks. But we didn’t understand his directions and it was getting dark, so we flagged down another taxi and jumped in.

The hotel was more expensive than we had hoped ($24/night) but it came with a very nice shower and more cable TV. And it was in the center of things, so we decided to stay and splurge the extra $2 each per night.

We went out to find dinner and found a highly recommended Mexican food place just around the corner. We had eaten so much bad, tasteless Mexican food on the trip so far that I had just about written off eating any Mexican food outside of the U.S. or Mexico, but I decided to give it one more try.

We ordered nachos and fajitas, but skipped the Margaritas, worried about the ice. We were immediately impressed that the nachos came with refried beans. And the fajitas came out sizzling, with cheddar cheese and guacamole that, while wasn’t the best we’ve ever eaten, it was the best guacamole we’ve had since leaving the States.

The next morning, we hit a breakfast place called the Magic Bean that had coffee. Most of South America served NesCafe for coffee and I had convinced myself that I had lost my taste for coffee, drinking mostly tea in order to avoid the Nes-Nastiness. But here I ordered a cup and was reminded exactly how great a cup of coffee can actually be.

We also had our first breakfast with eggs in months.

Afterwards, we just on the trolley down to the Old Town. The district is full of olf colonial buildings and cobblestone streets and is protected as a World Heritage Site. It was beautiful.

Lauren and I walked around and made it to Plaza Grande, a main square, where we were trying to set up a a video shot when we noticed some cops staring at us.

Terrified we had just done something wrong and were about to get arrested, we tried to keep a low, innocent tourist profile, but they came over.

Of course, this is Latin America, so we hadn’t done anything wrong — they just came over to flirt.

I, of course, denied speaking Spanish and Lauren thankfully explained to them that I was married and she had a boyfriend. After much conversation about flirty topics, we snapped a shot with them and then excused ourselves to go do more shopping (Lauren: Hey, as long as we had to deal with them flirting, we might as well get a picture out of it for the blog…)

We headed home at the end of the day, and unwound by watching movies on cable TV, much to our excitement.

A few hours later, we went out to find dinner. The second we stepped on the street, we realized that the entire neighborhood had become one huge party. It was like a college-town, with people pouring out on the streets out of every bar and restaurant, and loud pounding music coming from every direction.

We wandered around for almost an hour, trying to find some local Ecuadorian restaurant. We considered a Malaysian BBQ joint at one point, but in the end, ,we broke down and went back to the Mexican place.

This time, we got cheese enchildas, which were smothered in cheddar cheese, the nachos again and we broke down and tried the margaritas. It was amazingly delicious, but I couldn’t finish my margarita because it was so strong. The restaurant was playing Mr. And Mrs. Smith on a TV screen and we stayed longer than we needed to watching the movie.

We had to go home early, though, because my stomach was hurting, not from the Mexican food, but because I had had a stomach issue brewing since Bolivia.

Back at the hotel, we discovered that Mr. and Mrs. Smith was on a cable station, and we watched the whole movie before going to sleep.

The next morning was filled with last-minute errands like sending postcards and a few emails. We also sold our South America Lonely Planet Guide, which had been with us for the last two and a half months.

For lunch, we grabbed homemade brick oven pizza from a restaurant around the corner. It was real brick oven pizza and oh, so delicious. We decided that Quito was the place to get whatever foods you had been missing, more so than any other capital in South America that we’d been to.

Then we went back to the hotel and grabbed our bags. For the first time in months, we grabbed a cab, “to the airport.”