“Move to Ecuador” the little voice whispered

Recently a lot of people have asked me why we have decided on Ecuador of all places.  It’s a good question, and I wish I had a really good answer.  After all, it’s common knowledge that most Americans choose Costa Rica or Panama over the other 18 Latin American options.

All I can tell you is it’s kind of one of those “little voice” things.  You know, like in the movie Field of Dreams, when Kevin Costner is minding his own business, working in the corn field, and the little voice suddenly says “if you build it they will come.”

Well fortunately my little voice is a tad more blunt than the Hollywood version.  I imagine him in a tank-style undershirt and smoking a cheap cigar as he tells me exactly what to do.  “Quit your job, stupid,” he blurted out one morning back in May as I was driving to a client meeting. So I did.

A few days later, the little voice suddenly pipes up again, asking “What are you still doing with this piece of shit car and a garage full of crap?”  I had no answer for him, so I started listing stuff on Craigslist. I kind of liked this little voice.  He had spunk.

After that, I began listening to some expat podcasts and researching locations online.  A little Caribbean beach community called Tela, Honduras, seemed like just what Diana and I were looking for.  That is, until the little voice suddenly hitches up his pants and weighs in with “Use your head, dumbass. Ecuador’s the place for you.”

So I looked it up, and sure enough, it seemed to have everything we were looking for.  Nice beaches, warm weather, mountains and jungles to explore, a reasonably stable government, and fewer people per capita who want to murder us with machetes.  Something told me this little voice was right again, so I said “Gee thanks, little voice.”  He exhaled some cigar smoke and said “Don’t mention it, numbnuts.”  Then I’m pretty sure I heard him yell at his wife to fetch him another beer.

I just hope that after the last stick of furniture is sold, I don’t land in Ecuador, set down my backpack, survey the landscape and suddenly hear the little voice say, “What the fuck is this?”

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