The wine was flowing freely this evening, that’s for sure. The lights were dim and the class was seated at three large tables. This place was the definition of country rustic "swank"- an old restored Hacienda near Otovalo. The Ecuadorian servers dressed in authentic attire scampered around frantically to keep everyone satisfied with their drinks. Appetizers were served and consumed instantly.
The stage was set, Class 39 was at the Finale Dinner of the trip of a lifetime.
As typical Ag Leadership fashion, all tables delved deep into discussion regarding our trip. The topics varied in relation to the extremes we’ve seen- the arid Peruvian deserts to the Amazon jungle. Food was served. Food was devoured. Mas vino, again and again.
Ding, ding ding… The few clinks of a fork to a glass suddenly brought the room to silence. You could hear a Peruvian finger puppet drop. It’s toast time. Our class philosopher and international man of mystery, Peterangelo Vallis stood up. The class crept forward in their seats, attention focused completely on the bearded man and every word coming out of his mouth.
The toast began in typical Peter fashion, as he wandered around the room, vino blanco in hand, and began his eloquent speech. The class was fixated on every word out of his mouth. Soon the toast turned to an eulogy, as we had suffered a loss on this trip. You see, we lost a brave soul this trip. The men of the class (and possibly some of the women, although they would never fess up) decided to make a pact- after the embassy visit in Ecuador- no shaving for our trek to the Amazon. This was a unified pact and also included campus coordinators and deans. Unfortunately, this pact was broken by one of the fellows. Good ol Jimmy, previously known as Rick Stark had shattered the pact.
Rick, face as smooth as a baby’s bottom stood out like a sore thumb in the sea of scraggly beards. Poor Rick. He asked for it, and he got it. Peter proceeded with the eulogy, and with a raise of the glass, we all toasted our fallen comrade.
You see, Peter has a way with words. There is not another Class 39’er who can slog down a few drinks, get up and give a twenty minute speech that captivates like no other. Oh Peter was on his game tonight. He swaggered around the room, glass dangling from one hand, and proceeded to talk about some of the finer aspects of the trip. He covered the trip to the Fallen Angel in Cusco, where a very conservative fellow ‘comrade’ was introduced to the ‘diversity’ of South America. This particular comrade has decided that stepping foot in such a ‘diverse’ bar may hinder future political aspirations…. Who knows, he’s from California, it may increase his chances. There are pictures that have this fully documented, complete with a large red heart shaped couch and a few Ag Leader fellows with their arms around each other. We embrace diversity here!
Peter had the class in tears from laughing hysterically for twenty minutes straight. He needed a break. He deserved it. He asked for other stories to come forth. Greg Wegis, a typically quiet farmer type from Buttonwillow, got up with a little story. He proceeded to talk about his fondness for one particular fellow, Tyler Morgan. You see, Tyler is the comic relief for the group. Its not exactly like he’s making everyone laugh, but he sure makes most of us laugh. He sticks to a few basic topics and runs with them. Greg talked about one story for example, where we learned about Inca men and their large nostrils. Tyler would evoke the great Inca accent he perfected on the trip and acting as an Inca warrior, stomped his feet and talked about other superior qualities Inca man may have. “Inca man
Others in our class and told stories. James talked about he and Josh’s quest to find James a soccer jersey in Quito. With our limited Spanish knowledge, this actually turned out to be a dangerous task. They found one store, and unfortunately were asking the poor ladies in there where they could find a soccer swimsuit (In their defense they thought they were asking for a jersey). Dead serious yet dead wrong, the language barrier really was evident on this one. Finally they were pointed to a sporting goods store that sold both soccer jerseys and swimsuits after many very odd looks.
Another story was told of Scappa-Inca (John Scaap) and his experience in the nightclub named Flashback. You see, Flashback is an 80’s club the class had read about on our flight to Lima on LAN airlines (its advertised in one of those books you find in the seat pocket, bored stiff). We had no idea this would be directly across from our hotel. After a fantastic meal at one of Quito’s finest (hat tip to Erin), a select group of us headed to Flashback. When we arrived, the dance floor was dead. After a round of Pilseners for the men and Smirnoff Ice for the ladies, that dance floor was ready to get some Gringos rocking to the oldies. Cara started it out, shaking that ghetto onion. Soon, others were out in full force. Once the song, “Walk 500 miles” from the Proclaimers hit the waves, we were in for a special treat. Ol Scappa, in his typical Scaaptacular fashion, stomped around the dance floor, singing the lyrics with determination and grace. Oh, Flashback has not seen such dedication to singing a song before. After many other songs, Scappa returned to the highlights, such as the sprinkler, the lawn mower among other popular dance styles. I don’t exactly recall the specific song, but at one point the ladies tried to mimic the Amazon bowl dance we had seen the night before. Thanks for the memories, Scappa. That was scaap-tacular!
A few more stories were told, but the damage had been done. Our sides hurt from the laughter, but it was a good kind of hurt. Cheeks burning, we raised our glasses for one last toast.
Here’s to Class 39! Clink, Clink, Clink. Chalk up another success for Class 39!
Respectfully submitted, James Rickert
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