As long as I can remember, incarceration of any type has been my biggest nightmare. I’ve had dreams of being trapped in endless corridors, alleyways,  elevators, mazes and the like since I was a kid.  I think this aversion to any type of confinement   has been one of the driving forces behind my travels since I began over 10 years ago. I grew up amid gangs, drugs and violence on the South Side of Chicago in a tough area known as Back of the Yards where besides working any part time job I could find, travel was one of the only escapes I had from that world.

Today was Father’s Day at Garcia Moreno Prison, Quito’s largest maximum security prison located just a few minutes from the city’s historical center.  The lines wrapped around the corner with prison widows, their children, mistresses and others coming to visit the inmates on this special day.  They came with fruits, snacks, toiletries to visit their fathers, brothers and sons.  We came specifically to speak to one of the many foreign inmates that we had heard about from some of the other travelers we had met in Ecuador.  After waiting about half an hour under an overcast sky we were patted down and then stamped on the arm as we made our way to the check in counters to gain entry into the prison.  We were told that nothing of value was allowed inside, probably for security reasons so we made sure to leave our cellphones, belts, sunglasses, etc at home only bringing our passports, some cab fare and one set of house keys that I had to leave in the care of a clerk at a food stand opposite Garcia Moreno.  At the check in desk we were asked to produce our passports and the name of the inmate we were planning on visiting.  When pressed for a name, we were unable to come up with one and almost left empty handed until one of the guards told us to try a different wing of the prison, La Tres, or building number 3 because he said there would be a better chance of us finding a gringo who would agree to speak to us. Later, we learned that most foreigners are housed in a special wing and are usually doing time there for drug offenses. We also learned that being in Garcia Moreno is no free ride as the inmates have to pay to rent their own cells.  I’m not sure what the going rate is for a room at the place but our prisoner, Californian R. , an ex drug dealer who had been busted in Quito 3 years prior paid about 2,000 USD/mo for his 2 story cell that was outfitted with a  Bowflex workout machine, bed, tv, dvd player, stereo and cell phones.  R. was a very jovial fellow whom although we awakened early in the morning around 9:30 AM for our unplanned visit welcomed us in after first peering out of the dark slot at the top of his door and greeting us in Spanish. He seemed pleased to have visitors and regaled us with story after story of his exploits in multiple countries while chain smoking in his dark cell.

The experience was surreal as this type of existence had always been my worst nightmare but here was this ex-surfer looking man sporting board shorts, a tank top and a pony tail telling us how “it wasn’t all that bad in there” with a smile on his face.  He was the type of guy you would find on the beach in Cabo or Key West but here he was in  Garcia Moreno giving us all of the dirt on prison life, all the dangers, threats, corruption that made up society in his world.  I realized how much I valued freedom, my passport, my family, the ability to book a last minute getaway for the weekend, or go out and watch a movie with friends.  I thought about how I missed my family and friends back home and could hop on a plane this very second if I felt the need.  I wish the best to R. and everyone else at Garcia Moreno and thank God that I am able to come and go as I please. We were only behind the prison walls for just under 2 hours but walking out into a gray rainy sky never felt so sweet.