Guayaquil, a steamy and teeming city in the lowlands of coastal Ecuador, was becoming familiar to us as a frequent starting point for our plant explorations. Though nowadays fairly modern, the airport still has the distinct flavor one might expect in a third world tropical country and never failed to bring a sense of trepidation every time we passed through it. Whether coming or going, we were almost always carrying something sure to raise questions from the authorities. So it was always a challenge to look as nondescript as possible when passing through customs and immigration. Our collapsible collecting poles we passed off as fishing equipment and learned not to bring military-looking camping gear, which they would almost always confiscate. Empty suitcases needed for specimens, packed one inside the other, always raised questions and all too often elicited a bit of ‘mordida’, or bribe money, from us to expedite our passing with such ‘questionable’ items.

It had become our custom to bring along used clothing to give as gifts along the way, and this also worked well to fill the extra suitcases without raising suspicion…usually. On one occasion, Wally had obtained some clothing items from his daughter-in-law that included things we usually didn’t bring along, such as silky underwear, lacy brassieres and high-heeled shoes. As luck would have it, we drew a customs agent fishing for mordida, and he proceeded to do a thorough inspection of our luggage. Each piece was opened and questions were asked about food items, canteens and other camping gear. We explained away each item, until he opened a case with the women’s clothing. His eyes got as big as saucers and his exclamations brought other nosy agents over as he pulled out and held up each embarrassing piece, sizing us up with a look of disgust that I’ll never forget! We were finally dismissed with a few rude comments, and slinked towards the exit followed by leers and laughter with our luggage intact but our egos in tatters.