It was the Ambassador’s idea, not mine. I’d sworn that I would never open another bar in Ecuador.  Apparently he had learned that the house next to the British Embassy and across the street from the prestigious Hotel Quito was for rent and he suggested – only suggested mind you – that it would make an excellent English pub. It was then that I recalled a recent conversation with my good friend Peter which had been conducted over ample glasses of Scotch. He had confined in me that unless an alternative opportunity came up; he would be leaving the country when his contract with tea plantation where he was employed ended.

The next time Peter arrived from the plantation, a journey which took him two days of arduous travel to reach Quito, I put the proposal to him. He loved the idea but, like me, he had no money to invest in the venture. Our Lack of funds was almost the end the venture but fortunately Peter’s former manager kindly offered to loan us the necessary 3000 US dollars.

The Chilean owner of the premises was eccentric to say the least. Negotiations were conducted in her bedroom and on her bed, where she normally entertained her toy-boys. The deal agreed was as strange as her bedroom;  which, including the wooden floor, was painted black with a pathway of fluorescent white footprints painted from the doorway, across the floor, up the wall over the ceiling and ending above her bed.

 The Ambassador had no objection in us naming the bar; the Ambassador’s Arms and would even allow us to use his coat of arms for the pub sign. But the local authorities had other ideas. It was at a time when the government were concerned about the rash of non-Spanish names being used. There was even a ban on the Indians christening their children with names such as, Alka-Selser, Coca-Cola or Aspirin and Ambassador’s Arms came into this category.

In a flash of inspiration Peter came up with the name El Pub. What does that mean, we were asked? Short for Publico in Spanish, answered Peter. Amid lots of tittering the name was officially accepted. Publico  to them signified toilet.

El Pub Ingleseopened but after stocking the bar – the furniture and kitchen equipment were included in the rent; the owner at some time having converted the ground floor into a restaurant, with sacking covered walls and chairs – there were no funds to spare. Here again Lady Luck stepped in disguised as Big Jim Anderson. BJ was an oilfield hand and he drank only Jack Daniels bourbon, of which we had none to offer. Slamming about 1000 US dollars on the bar, he ordered us to make sure that, in the future, we had Jack Daniels when he came to drink and we should let him know when his credit ran out.