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Published: August 12th 2012
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Two days after my near-disastrous episode in Peru, my boss, Jason, and I headed off to Quito. I was looking forward to getting back to Ecuador’s capital, as I really enjoyed my first visit in 2007. As we boarded the plane, we joined an army of Argentineans dressed in full on soccer gear and carrying a variety of musical instruments. Throughout the entire flight from Lima these fans sang nonstop, banged on their bongo drums, and worked themselves into a contagious frenzy. They had traveled all the way from San Lorenzo, Argentina to cheer on their team as it played the local club LDU Quito in the semifinals of Copa Libertadores, a prestigious South American soccer tournament.
Jason and I both really enjoy soccer; he’s a Brit, and I’m an American anomaly. So, naturally we wanted to catch the match that night. Once in Quito, we headed into the office for a few hours, whereupon saying goodbyes, our host told us not to go to the soccer game alone. For perhaps five minutes we both believed we’d skip the game. Then curiosity got the best of us, and we decided we were going. After all, the stadium was right next
to the hotel in a good neighborhood, right? Wrong.
Heading out of the hotel, we found out the contest was being played in another stadium, to which we would need to cab it. To get there, we had to pass through much more run down parts of town. We reached the stadium, found the game sold out, and then scalped whatever tickets were available.
Our designated “seats” were on the second level, right above the visitors’ section. I’m sure every section was just as rowdy, but this was wild. The singing, the music, the streamers, the flare guns; it was crazy. People were climbing the chain link fence that separates the pitch from the stands. At one point, our fellow Argentine travelers below got into a fight and were escorted from the stadium. The match ended in a 1:1 draw which meant penalty kicks to advance to the semis.
I was carrying a small point-and-shoot camera which I occasionally used to inconspicuously snap pictures of the madness as evidence. Jason leans over and tells me to put the camera away; people have been eyeing me steadily since I started to use it. Keep in mind, we might
have been the only two gringos in the stadium. At this point, I realize that for a game this intense, no one should be paying attention to me. But yet, there were all the unnerving glances, coming from all directions.
Jason realizes this as well, and we agree that as soon as the PK’s are done, we’re going to quickly and silently exit the stadium. After Quito drills the winning kick home, we turn and make our way to the concourse. Then we notice that a crowd of people is racing after us. We break into a run. More come our way. Then the sounds of gunfire begin. We accelerate into a sprint through the hallway while the mob runs after us. A sign says exit to the left. But first, there is a stairway of perhaps 150 stairs to climb. I take them two at a time. I look back, and Jason is right on my heels; the crowd, growing in size, just behind him. My legs burn. I push harder. I reach the top and spot an empty cab waiting just beyond the exit. The gun shots continue to ring out. I yank open the door to
the taxi, dive in, and Jason slides in just after. I yell to the drive to
VAYA! As he accelerates away, I look back through the window to see the “angry” mob spilling into the streets to begin celebrating; never were they chasing us. Then I see the source of the gun sounds in the sky as fireworks illuminate the stadium.
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Sorry for the letdown in the story. But I wanted to explain it as I experienced it. In hindsight, no, going to the stadium wasn’t probably the best decision. Using a camera probably wasn’t either. But seeing Ecuador en route to their first championship ever: pretty amazing.
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