Some people in this world are idiots and some people are highly intellectual. Some people are both stupid and criminals, and some people are highly intellectual and criminals. Some people are just unfortunate and some people knew what was waiting for them. Among a very different crowd of people, I found myself right in the middle of the Quito high security prison without a guard.

Hollywood movies are a glorification of many things. They glorify the actors, lifestyles, war, love and to some extent - crimes and prison. Due to this, I had no imagination of what was waiting me inside the walls of a building that housed murderers, rapists, drug traffickers/smugglers, robbers, shop lifters and every other kind of, what the general population of this world would call, scum. I had no imagination of what it would look like, if it would be safe, if we would be welcome or if we would enjoy it. The expectations were there, though, and they were relatively high, without knowing why they actually were that high. I was going to visit an inmate in a prison in Ecuador - a person I don’t know, a person that has been sentenced to 12 years in prison for high scale replacement of drugs and a person that is at my age. A person that has experienced been shot at and having the very paranormal experience of meeting a guy in prison, that previously were hired to kill him. How can I relate to this guy? I have no idea.

I have hardly seen the outside of a prison in real life and I have definitely not seen the inside of one yet. In my world, western prisons must be fairly nice serving time in. Not that I would ever want to, but if I had to at some point, I would rather spend time in a western prison, than in a prison in Thailand, Africa or South America. But to end up there, I first had to invent my crime. I wouldn’t know yet what that crime would be. After watching too many Hollywood movies, being the head of a drug cartel seems tempting, living the life in the fast lane with fame, money and all other male fantasy in immediate range, but after talking to inmates serving time for crimes very similar to the Hollywood glorified image, I might consider another crime. But searching for a "cool" crime can give anyone the impression of a desire of serving time in a prison - an experience I rather be without, so for now I think I will drop the search for a crime.

As the level of excitement elevated in the male line in front of the prison, imagining what kind of other people that actually queued up for entry passed my time. These other people could be wifes, relatives, children, lovers or just prostitutes wanting to visit their loved one or a guy providing easy cash. The crowd didn’t actually cheer, tell jokes or laugh and the atmosphere were a bit odd. I didn’t really understand at that point, that I was going inside a prison and since I had no idea of how that would be like, I had a hard time preparing myself. Being searched, stamped, scribbled on, delivered my passport and searched again, I was ready to enter - off course without cameras. Standing in the middle of 6-7 heavily armed police officers with barred doors ahead of me, the first glimpse of a real prison were a reality. To my immediate surprise, there were no cells in sight. Police officers outside shouted for the officers inside, that I was coming through "Number 157 entering!!". The door opened, closed with the brutal sound of prison behind me, another door opened and a long worn down concrete corridor waited for my passage. There were no one here, apart from the visitors entering the prison right in front of me and the nervousness started to enter my body. Being not really afraid in the situation, but rather unfamiliar and out of place. I am walking into a prison with relatively clean clothes, an apparent western look on my face and absolutely inappropriately dressed for the occasion - army pants, t-shirt and flip-flops did not actually mix well with the colors on the wall and the steel barred doors around me.

Absolutely disoriented like a newborn elephant on the savannas of Africa, the main door to the prisoners area appeared in front of me as surprising as the witnessing the first popcorn pop in a pot with a glass lid. It was sudden and the spectacle behind the steel bars were both uncomforting and confusing. I thought we would sit and wait in the hall until "our" inmate would come and get us, but the reality couldn’t be more different. Having stated the inmates name when registering at the entrance of the prison, his name is Peter, I knew who I was going to visit, but I had no idea of how to find him. As the door opened, revealing a huge crowd of dirty, greedy, scarred and somewhat dangerous looking prisoners, I was at this point actually standing unprotected amongst a group of people I had no idea of how to face. Should I look them in their eyes politely saying "hello"? Should I avoid eye contact to prevent offending anyone with a high rank? Should I walk up to someone and ask "where is Peter?" or should I turn around and just run out of there? Luckily, where there are greedy people, there is always some kind of help to get. As some inmates were shouting that they would gladly help, I told one of them that I wanted to visit Peter. He took me to him, he took some of my money in return of the favor and he took off. I was now sitting inside a prison cell in a prison in Quito, Ecuador. Facing someone younger than me doing 12 years in prison for trafficking drugs. As strange as the situation was, he was very pleasant talking to and the level of comfort elevated.

The stories he told were amazing and I am not the one to pass them on. Whatever crime he is convicted for is his problem and not mine, but I am very glad that he was a gentleman about the visit, he was very open about his situation and as prisoners normally do - they are careful talking about certain subjects. Whenever the conversation crossed the line of misappropriation, he made it perfectly clear, that it was a delicate subject. He offered tea in his fairly nice cell with tiles on the floor, a TV, DVD player and a blockbuster selection of DVD movies on the wall and even if the space were scarce, his hospitality exceeded the concrete walls surrounding us.

As I felt more and more comfortable in the situation, I realized that the relative coziness of his cell made me feel at home. When comparing this kind of encounter with another person to similar situations when traveling, the situation were not actually fully taken in at the time. I was actually sitting 2 feet away from an alleged head of a multinational drug syndicate and the conversation did just seem like any other exchange of stories between travelers. That was not the right feeling to have. At that point I realized that the prison were everything that I did not imagine before. The prison seemed very open and free and the prisoners could, in fact, walk everywhere they wanted. And as long as I were sitting in Peters cell, I was protected by the dangers outside. I probably just need time to reflect on the experience. I probably need to absorb every little detail of the visit and put the puzzle together piece by piece. As I received bits and pieces from many different prisoners I have a vague impression of both the committed crimes and the persons behind them. But most prisoners I talked to - drugs were the main cause of imprisonment.

Did I feel sorry for him or any other person inside the prison walls? Not for a second. Do I pity them? Not for a second. Do I want to help them? Not at all. Some of the persons seemed strong and resourceful while others seemed weak and victimized. I could tell that Peter were one of the crowd that stood out, as his ability of conversing was above average - fast and alert. My impression of him was that he had been used to think, act and react in a world where the mind is the ultimate weapon of defense. In a world where every angle of any situation needed to be thought through before an action or reaction were taken on. Even though he had 10 more years ahead of him, it seemed like he sometimes was in a hurry. "What is the hurry, Peter? Don’t you want people to finish their sentences?".

Enjoying every minute of the conversation and the stay inside the walls, he painted the picture of a prisoners life before my eyes. I had my first prison meal with him and he introduced me to a very interesting older man, who’s specialty were homemade pies. Clearly suffering from the major aorta surgery he went through some time ago, he was a very different character among the relatively young crowd. He had friendly eyes and knew about the grave situation he was in. Peter did that as well, but others I talked to stated that they would return to whatever got them in prison, without even hesitating.

Peter couldn’t really say he appreciated the sensation of being a tourist attraction but he don’t mind the visits. Being far away from home, where his family, friends and girlfriend lives, visits are not very common. Visits passes time and when 10 years are ahead of you, every minute seem like forever. As our visit came to an end, I bought an apple pie from the older man and thanked for my time inside the walls. I do not glorify or condemn the crimes committed by the persons I met, but knowing that their business have a huge impact on the world, families and individuals it is hard not to agree with the sentence they have received. The paradox is though, that the product they provide is widely accepted in the world surrounding most of us and we first condemn these people when they have a name, face and a sentence.

I have only Peters verbal story and the official case documents. I have no concept of the greatness of him or his alleged actions. I left the prison with impressions I never thought I would have and enlightened in several ways. I wanted to talk about so much more, though and learn more about Peter, the prison and his case. Was he sympathetic? Hell, yeah. Did I wish I had more time? Yes. Unaware of any danger inside the walls and with only stories from the prisoners about the violence at this place, we were stepping cautiously out of the massive concrete building. As I strolled into my own freedom, I couldn’t help to remember the final monologue from one of my favorite movies: Blow.

So in the end, was it worth it? Jesus Christ. How irreparably changed my life has become. It’s always the last day of summer and I’ve been left out in the cold with no door to get back in. I’ll grant you I’ve had more than my share of poignant moments. Life passes most people by while they’re making grand plans for it. Throughout my lifetime, I’ve left pieces of my heart here and there. And now, there’s almost not enough to stay alive. But I force a smile, knowing that my ambition far exceeded my talent. There are no more white horses or pretty ladies at my door.