Luck has an important role when traveling and in between preposterous meals and wild characters you discover something that hits close to home. El Dorado's serendipitous moment came when I found the local whorehouse had been named in my honor. It was pure chance. I was walking down the sidewalk of the main street with Santinflas and TyLapse when a group of well-turned-out ladies surrounded me and asked if we'd like beer. These sorts of things happen frequently to VBS correspondents and we're trained at HQ in the art of provisional acceptance to any feminine offer. Could be good footage, don't you know.
Now I am not a complete fool and was certain these ladies desired my company for just one thing. But what the heck a beer sounded good. It 's hot in El Dorado after all. Not having seen the streetside sign, I was unaware and unconcerned with establishment's name, but upon settling in I noticed the place was called the Hotel Edgar. Apparently it had been named, like myself, for that ancient English sire, Edgar the Peaceable.
Immediately, I produced my passport to show the female proprietor that my given name is Edgar and to my great amazement, with the glee of a TGIFridays floor manager on a birthday, she announced that everything was on the house for me. Just the possibility of just this sort of cathouse-coincidence is what makes traveling so rewarding.
EDGAR "TRACE" CRUTCHFIELD