September 30, 2010 · 8:58 am

10 Strange Things That Have Become Normal While Living in Quito

Yesterday, while I was walking to work, I had a thought: You know what TwT needs? A LIST. That’s right. A top 10 LIST.

The truth is, I don’t feel like the other “travel blogs” out there. They all have tips and advice and top ten lists and contests. I don’t know. I just feel… a little different from the others. My blog is a little more personal, a little less aggressive, less deliberately didactic or authoritative perhaps. I think it is more of a memoirs-meets-travel adventure-meets-here’s a random fact about a cool place I visited-meets-I had a parasite in Ecuador-meets-here’s some travel advice – meets – oh, btw I’m Tavel, and I’m not famous or important or anything, I’m just me. But, I kind of like it that way. For now.

That said, sometimes I just can’t resist a top 10 list. Lists provide instant, fine-tuned gratification. It’s like pouring a bowl of Lucky Charms as a kid and having someone else pick out all your favorite marshmallows (in my case, the rainbows), then watching them put it on a big spoon, lifting it to your mouth, and asking you to open wide. YUM! I literally eat Top 10 lists for breakfast, but I rarely create them myself. That’s about to change.

10 Strange Things That Have Become Normal While Living in Quito

Foot in typical Ecuadorian soup. Photo by Desiree A.

1. Fireworks. At first, I thought it was a May-thing. Then I thought it was a June-thing. Now, I see that it’s an every single night thing. I have never seen so many fireworks in my life. Every evening, I hear them… They start popping, and, although I can’t always see them through the fog, I know they are there. For holidays, soccer games, festivals, and just plain old who-knows-what? This city gets the pyrotechnics poppin’. It’s always a relief when I realize they aren’t gunshots.

2. Snow…on the equator. Every morning, I walk to work. Usually, mornings here are bright and sunny (they often turn into thunder or even hailstorms in the afternoon). As I walk the 25 minutes to work, the sun begins to hit harder and harder, and I LOVE it. Meanwhile, the nearly 16,000-ft high Pichincha Volcano stands to my right, its peak covered in snow. This juxtaposition always fascinates me. It’s like walking through all four seasons every day.

3. Paranoia. The other day, I got in a cab. The driver started talking quietly on a walkie-talkie, then he received not one but two phone calls, and he kept telling the person “I’m stuck in traffic!” I quickly put a $5 bill and my cell phone in my sports bra (I had just left the gym). I accepted my iPod might get stolen and I might get pepper sprayed. I memorized the location of the door handle. I memorized his Taxi number. I thought about getting out in the pouring rain and getting a different cab, but trusted my gut. When we got to my apartment, a car pulled up behind me. I paused before getting out and unlocking my first of 4 doors. A child jumped out. He lives in my building. Whew. Another close call! Or…has this city made us all paranoid?

4. Ponytails and braids…on men. Maybe I kind of like a man with a long black braid these days. When in Rome…

5. Parasites (and stomach aches). “My stomach hurts.” “Awe, I’m sorry. Mine has been hurting for like a month.” “Ick.” “Yeah.” “I have a parasite.” “Oh yeah? I had one of those. What’d you name yours?” “Juan because, you know, it’s one of the most popular Ecuadorian names.” “Nice. I called mine Hugo. Hey, are you going to salsa night tonight?” “Yeah!” “OK cool, see you there.”

6. Paying less than $2 for a three-course meal. Who cares if there is a chicken foot or spinal chord from a cow floating in your soup? That’s what I call a deal!

7. Children playing in traffic. I’m sorry, but there is no way I am going to give a toddler less than three feet tall any money, even if he is juggling four swords. And no, if I am wearing flip-flops, I do not need my shoes shined. But thank you. (Yes, it’s actually really sad, but I’m going to try and stick with being funny-ish.)

8. Public urination. If I see one more Ecuadorian man using a crowded pedestrian street as a urinal, I’m going to… Sigh. Yeah, that’s just it: I’m going to. Gross.

9. Weekend grocery shopping/weekly preparation for the Apocalypse. Every weekend, Ecuadorian families (yes, this includes grandma, uncle, newborn baby, teenage son, etc.) flock to the biggest supermarket they can find, grab two of the biggest shopping carts you have ever seen, and they stock up for what appears to be three years. Either they all own restaurants, or the average Ecuadorian family can eat 50 papayas in one week. And yes, I’m always right behind them in line, with my 15 items, waiting patiently.

10. Andean pan-flute bands playing Simon & Garfunkle’s, “The Sound of Silence.” I’m not kidding. No matter where we are, if a bunch of Ecuadorian guys come in with drums, pan flutes, and other instruments, it is only a matter of time before this ditty comes on. My coworker Desiree gags every single time. I don’t care what ANY of you say… I LOVE a little pan flute in my life (the gringas here hate it. I think it’s because of my Latin blood. Maybe it’s because I grew up listening to it. Who knows?). But I prefer non-covers, with a little more action, like this or something with a lot of drumming. Why do I feel like I’m alone here? Heh.

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September 28, 2010 · 8:22 am

Gone ‘Til November

Life in Quito is about to get VERY busy.

For those of you who don’t know, I am coming home in early November. There is so much more to say about that, but there will be plenty of time to GO THERE, so to speak, later on. All I can say is that, when you decide to come home, everything becomes more wonderful wherever you are about to leave. It’s already becoming bittersweet, and while I don’t doubt the decision at all, I am afraid this next month and a half is just going to FLY…

Ecuadorian woman in indigenous garb. Otavalo Market, Ecuador.

Man, what have I been up to?! SO MUCH!

Over the weekend, I ventured to the famous (and overwhelmingly colorful) Otavalo Market. I am NOT a big shopper, and if I do any kind of shopping, I usually prefer to do it on my own and fast. I have to touch everything, and I’m in and out (uhhh, still talking about shopping here). I especially am not into shopping in the scorching sun (as much as I do love the sun, this whole Equator thing is very real), and I am not into being grabbed and lured into every single little tent when I’m just trying to look around. But, that said, it was a very nice trip and a good experience to get out of the big city and over to Otavalo. I had big hopes and dreams of getting friends and family members all sorts of easily-packable presents, but somehow I ended up with a bunch of random wall-hangings (for an apartment I don’t have, mind you) and one necklace of the Inca sun for myself. Oops!

Pile of Yarn and Gringos. Otavalo Market, Ecuador.

After the Otavalo market, we headed to Cotacachi, a place known as “the leather town” here. Now, I usually just stick to Argentina when I want something made out of leather, but this adorable little town in the middle of the Andes also cast some sort of spell on me. I had NO intention of buying anything in leather there, and only had $60 remaining in my left shoe (I had already gone into the right shoe for my other $60 while in Otavalo). Well, we walked into a store, I immediately saw the kind of leather jacket I’ve been looking for for years (a dark brown leather bomber), I tried it on, it fit perfectly, my friends encouraged me to throw down for it, I said F-it, I’ll take it, and that was that. The owner told me it was $78. I told him I had $60 in my shoe (visiting these places, bargaining becomes like a game). I found a couple more scraps of dollars in my bag, and it became mine for $70. Excellent.

Cotacachi Street. Cotacachi, Ecuador.

With only about a month and a half left in Ecuador, I am going to have to be very productive and efficient. I absolutely cannot leave South America without going to Colombia, and yet how can I leave Ecuador without visiting the Galapagos Islands?! I can’t afford either trip, especially with no job lined up for when I get home (YET! Anyone, anyone?! I’m available and on the hunt!), but let’s be honest: it’s not like that has ever stopped me before.

Here’s a song to match my current mood.

Basically, I’m in a good place. I am feeling great about being 27, about still having over a month of South American living, of speaking Spanish, of putting together an Argentina guidebook before I leave (this involves reading over 900 pages of writing in the next 2-3 weeks and cutting it down to about 600 or so), about things I’ve learned, adventures I’ve had, trips I still plan to take before I go…

Man on a bike. Cotacachi, Ecuador.

Some people have said to me, “I’m sorry it didn’t work out” because I am not staying in Ecuador the entire year. Look, that is absolutely NOT the case! It’s hard to explain this, but all I can say is that this trip has absolutely worked out. It hasn’t been about getting exactly what I want out of it (I didn’t know what I wanted), it’s been about taking everything I DO get out of it along in my little life suitcase. I came here with no idea what to expect, and that is exactly what I got.

With only about a month and a half of Ecuadorian adventures left, I’m going to have to try not to blink. It’s funny how deciding to go home can make you love that you aren’t there …yet.

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September 16, 2010 · 8:52 am

Taxi!

After being here exactly four months now, there are a few things that have become a part of my everday life here in Quito, and one of these things is: the taxi.

Taxi in Old Town Quito.

As most of you know (I may have mentioned it once or twice… yes that is sarcasm), I am a New Yorker (speaking of, I was trying to teach an Ecuadorian how to say and use “OY” yesterday… hehe. It was pretty funny, and I think I left him totally confused). I’ve been hailing taxis since I was in fifth grade. In normal non-Quito life, a taxi can be one’s refuge on a cold, rainy night. It becomes a yellow beacon of hope when you are tired, alone and tipsy in the wee hours of the morning. Taxis can be the hero that swoops in and saves you when your feet are killing from a cute pair of shoes and your legs have danced all they can dance. When the first flurries of winter begin to fall and that chill writhers down your spine, or when you get caught in summer’s first flash thunderstorm wearing just a white tank top, a taxi can come to the rescue.

Ahhh, but everything you knew and felt about taxis changes when you get to Quito.

It’s a catch-22: most people know that, in Quito, it is way too dangerous to walk ANYWHERE at night, especially alone. People are instructed by every guidebook and website to take a taxi to their destination once the sun goes down, even if it’s only a few blocks away. The irony is that we are also warned to be extremely vigilant and cautious when it comes to taking a taxi here. Like in many other cities, there are official cabs and then there are unofficial cabs. The official cabs are yellow with a cab company name on the side of the door and a license plate number on the front windshield. These taxis, we are told, are safe.

Of course, some criminals are very clever. There are plenty of impostor taxis that mimic the official ones; they are yellow, with a cab company name on the side, and they have some numbers on the windshield, or on the side door. While often, these are just people trying to make a few bucks, they can also be dangerous thieves waiting to rob you, or worse. Then, there are the normal cars that drive around the city with a home-made TAXI sign, which they only whip out when they see you waiting for a taxi. We are strongly discouraged from using these cabs, but sometimes, when you are standing on a street corner at night for the 20th minute, unable to find an official cab, and there are sketchy men trying to talk to you, you just get the heck into the car. It’s really just a gamble. Most of the time, I’ve found these guys to be the most polite and kind (there is definitely grumpy cab driver syndrome in Quito). I usually judge the safety of the driver the moment I get in, and I am not afraid to get out if some red flag goes off. Usually, I see how they greet me . When they say “Good evening miss, how can I serve you?” which is usually what the nice ones say, I go OK… Green light. I also give them my address, which is quite a mouthful, and most cab drivers don’t know where it is so I always have to direct them in the car (“No pasa nada, puedo avisarte…”). If they listen carefully, they actually want to know where I am going and are planning to take me there. If they don’t respond — sketchy. If they ask questions on how to get there, even better. This is usually what happens, and it gives me comfort.

Taxis in Ecuador.

Hailing a cab here is quite the ordeal. I have never seen such pushy people in my life (ok ok, not all Quitenos are like this, but I have definitely encountered one too many!). During rush hours, it is VERY hard to find a cab, and Quitenos are ruthless. There are some official cab stands, and they will literally walk past the line, cut everyone, and try and hail the cab twenty feet before the line… shamelessly. They will also steal your cab, if you aren’t careful. Pull that shit in NYC and you will get verbally punched in the face, if not physically. Nothing makes my blood boil like trying to be a good samaritan in someone else’s country, and watching them walk all over good people. It’s just wrong! We have to work together in this world, and if you start cutting the taxi line where little old ladies and tired gringos with parasites have been patiently waiting for a taxi in the cold, then you are an ASSHOLE. There. I said it.

Why are these taxi precautions necessary? Well, there are a lot of horror stories out there. One common occurrence is something known here as local kidnappings. Yes, these happen. And often. Basically, a person hails a taxi — an official one even. You get in, say your destination, and then head off on your merry way. At some point, the driver takes a wrong turn. They pull into some dark alley in the middle of nowhere, some guys pop out of the darkness, pull you out of the cab, rob you of everything you’ve got, and abandon you there. Then, there are the stories I’ve heard of people getting into a cab, the cab pulls up somewhere, two guys get in each side with either a knife, screwdriver, or gun digging into you. They rush you somewhere , take everything, punch you in the face or whatever they have to do, and leave you with nothing.

This past weekend, two of my good friends were robbed this way. It’s not just stories you hear about friends of friends of friends; these things happen to your friends, and to you. They are very real and there is a new horrible story every week. I feel particularly guilty about this one, because my friends happened to get robbed after leaving my birthday party. Basically, they live in Tumbaco, a town 30 minutes outside of the city (where I spent the weekend just before I ended up in the hospital with the parasite for the first time). They found what they thought was an official yellow cab at two in the morning, got a good price to get to Tumbaco (every time you get in a cab here, you have to barter with the driver for a price. I’m quite used to it now and definitely wear the pants and get my way almost every time. Or, I get out, at which point they beg me to get back in and take me home.) The driver made friendly conversation with them and they watched carefully as he took them the right way. Then, when they were almost home, he took a wrong turn. They were a little confused and tried to redirect him, but he ignored them. Suddenly, he stopped the car. The driver pepper sprayed them in the face as two guys yanked them out of the cab and demanded they give them everything they had. The thieves kept saying “we aren’t going to do anything to you, just give us your money!” so they gave them their cell phones, their cash, and their change while stunned by the pepper spray, and the guys drove off… leaving them in the dark with nothing and no idea where they were.

Taxi in Old Town Street. Quito, Ecuador.

They couldn’t see, but they heard music so they followed the sound until they arrived at someone’s doorstep. Some very friendly people let them in and told them the only way to get rid of the burning was to blow smoke in their eyes, so they took turns puffing on cigarettes and blowing smoke into my friends’ eyes. By now it was almost three in the morning. They walked them to a police officer down the street, who eventually drove them home. Luckily, the robbers only took one of their sets of keys; one girl managed to keep hers, so they could get home. They spent the next hour drinking peach schnapps and trying to calm down. But they were ok.

Just another weekend in Quito.

Usually, you get a cab and you feel safe. Here, it’s different. Most drivers have rosary beads dangling from their rear view mirror, and a Madonna statue perched over their dashboard. They have these things to protect them on their journey. What do we have? Common sense? Street smarts? Experience? Gut instincts?

Unfortunately, none of these things promise you anything. Taxis are part of my every day life here; to me, they used to symbolize safety, relief, and an escape route from danger. Now, I know that each one comes with a risk. But that’s life here in Quito. And sometimes you’ve gotta take risks to get where you’re trying to go.

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Filed under Ecuador, Uncategorized

September 10, 2010 · 7:54 am

An Ironman

I want to do something a little different today.

A couple weeks ago, my friend Zach P. competed in Ironman Canada. For anyone who doesn’t know me, I’m fascinated by Ironman competitions (and Ironmen… allegedly… heh). Not that a marathon isn’t an accomplishment, but I find it hard for many people to grasp the actual physical challenge of an Ironman which, for those who don’t know, is a super triathlon (2.4 mile swim, 112 mile bike, 26.2 mile run/marathon). For a race that long, it is as much physical as it is psychological (or way more psychological?). Sure, you need to be physically prepared so that your body can handle the intensity and endurance — but, like many competitions, it’s our minds that usually get in the way.

I always LOVE reading the post-Ironman race report that my Ironman friends share afterwards, in an attempt to capture some of the pain and euphoria of completing this bad boy. And while I have never raced in anything even close to an Ironman competition, for some reason, as I read Zach’s race report this year, I felt more connected to the experience than ever.

I just thought I would share what Zach wrote, because somewhere in his Ironman saga, which involved travel woes and feeling like death, it reminded me of life in general. My life, maybe. Even though most of us cannot relate to the physical pain and mental determination it takes to complete an Ironman, I think we’ve all had our own “Ironmans” to get through. Some of us are in the middle of one right now.

Zach P.

Here is Zach’s story:

***

The Saga That Was Ironman Canada

Here we go!!!

On Wednesday I left the apartment and headed out to LaGuardia Airport at 10:30am in order to get there with enough time to spare for my 1:30 pm flight.   I checked in and got through security with ease.  I always love to get to the airport early so I can watch all the large planes take off.  My imagination soars away with the planes as I wonder where those lucky people will land at the end of their flight.

It was raining out and several Air Canada flights had been cancelled, so I started to sweat.  Then of course I hear “the 1:30 pm flight scheduled to leave for Toronto has been moved to 3:30 pm.”  Uh Oh!  That means I will miss my connection from Toronto to Vancouver and my third flight from Vancouver to Penticton.

I went to the kiosk and they re-booked me to Penticton but told me that I needed to re-tag my bags when I got to Toronto.  What?? Never did that before, but I didn’t think much of it.  I mean, I’ve traveled to many different far off destinations, missed connections and never had to re-tag my bags.  Not going to worry… (Infamous LAST WORDS!)

When I landed in Toronto I learned that I had 55mins to de-board, go through customs, grab my bags and clear customs again before dropping them off, getting through another security check, and then running to my gate.  AHHHH!!!!  I’m doing an airport Ironman and my transitions have to be lightening quick!!

I somehow managed to do everything and get to my gate as they were preparing to board…..BUT……..WAIT…..they have canceled my flight due to mechanical problems.  Our flight was now going to be two and a half hours later.  Wait, that means I will miss my flight to Penticton. Yep, it will according to customer service, but DON’T WORRY they will book me on the next morning’s flight and give me a room in a hotel, but THAT will have to be decided by the gate agent when I get to Vancouver.  WONDERFUL, I am at the discretion of some tired agent in Vancouver who couldn’t care less about annoyed patrons. Ok I told myself, it could be worse.

I then told customer service that I didn’t re-tag my bags cause they gave me absolutely no time to figure out what the hell I was doing with the bags before needing to board my flight.  “Well that is not our problem” said the French employee “however you have such a delay that I wouldn’t worry about it, they will be on your flight.”  Ok I said, and on I went to wait for my next flight.  Somehow I was upgraded to first class!  Free baked cookies and ice cream! Nice flight over to Vancouver besides sitting at the gate for an extra hour as they off-loaded all the checked bags because someone decided not to fly.

Upon arriving at Vancouver, I waited at the baggage terminal for my bags not to appear. I was not alone; a woman who I swear looked like a PRO IRONMAN woman looked pissed off as well.  We both trudged over to Air Canada baggage service.  “Oh, we have your bags already checked through Penticton, I guarantee it. They will be there when you arrive tomorrow” a tired spokeswoman stated… Infamous last words, take two.

I headed off to my hotel, which turned out to be a suite, NICE!!! Two stories in fact, phantasmagoric!!!

The next day I flew out to Penticton, and on our arrival I saw the swim course and people swimming.  Goosebumps appear.  This is really happening!! I am here!

My happiness fell flat when I saw that my bags were not there. Where the F*&$ are they?  I have had enough of the S#$% service Air Canada has been providing.  “We don’t actually know where they are, our hunch is they are in Vancouver waiting to board the next flight this evening” the gate attendant said. At this point I was so mad that I told her, “ your fucking company has had me flying for over 24 hours and you are leaving me sitting on my ass in the middle of nowhere without anything in my name. All I have are these shorts, shirt, a computer and a dead phone.”  The woman I saw the night before said that she was missing a bag too, but then they found hers.  I could have sworn she looked familiar…. Who was she? Ha ha.

I went outside, screamed and threw my binder of files into the wind.  The next two days were full of ranting and raving about not having my bags.  All I was able to do was register for the race and sit around whimpering while all the other tri-hotties rode their bikes around. Finally I gave in and bought some gear so that I could swim and run, to rid me of my anxiety of having to race and not having gear with which to do so.

All this training and literally nothing to show for it……Why now?

I felt like I was on a show; I had been dropped in the middle of nowhere and it was my task to get back to civilization alive and healthy.

On the bright side to all of this, I had the pleasure of speaking to Paula Newby Fraser—-the queen of Kona Hawaii Ironman and she gave me her cell number telling me that everything would be ok, and that I would be racing on Sunday.  If anything went wrong, I could call her. WOWZIERS I am still in shock… A goddess of Ironman was speaking to a mere mortal such as myself.

Finally Air Canada found my gear…….in Sydney, Australia.  It would come to my doorstep, hopefully, the Saturday afternoon or the day before the race.  Well at least I would have something.

The bags arrived and I was ready to set up for the race. Yikes….it’s here….IRONMAN CANADA.

Oh, and by the way, the woman I thought looked familiar on my flights was Tereza Macel, last year’s winner in Ironman Canada for the women. She finished 4th in Hawaii… A budding GODDESS. He he.

At 1 am I got up to eat and drink around 1,500 calories of food that consisted of peanut butter, a banana, Gatorade, water and tomato soup.  I headed back to bed, but couldn’t sleep — nightmares.

5am came and THE DAY HAD ARRIVED!  2 hours before the canon blew.

I checked in, got body-marked, put on my wetsuit, checked my bike and gear, and headed down to the swim start.  I wanted to start on the outside, away from the main pack of swimmers. It’s not the straightest line but I felt that I would make up for lost time on the outside by not being kicked in the face by the main pack, who had a straighter line.

2,900 athletes lined up for one large mass start. I had goose bumps and everyone started talking about how nervous they were.  I was nervous but I wanted to get the show on the road.  The gun went off, and everyone started to swim!!!

I got around 500 meters into it and started to see swimmers who looked like seals with their suits all around me, and I began to hyperventilate for some reason. I kept saying to myself “I can’t do this, I can’t do this.”   I began to breaststroke.  I told myself “ I have trained for this, I have trained for this” over and over.   I started to get into a zone again and continued on.  The course was an out, over and back in a semi rectangle….a perfect course.  On the way back to the shore, around a mile into it, I started to get VERY cold and I felt like I was going to freeze to death. I actually felt myself shivering. Finally the shoreline came up and people were walking up to the transition area.  I looked at my watch, 1:07…YES!! My goal was 1:10 for the 2.4 mile swim.

Swim time 1:07:10

In transition I saw that my hands were blue and I was shivering. A fear set in that I wouldn’t make it out on the bike, that I was too cold. But I decided that there was no way in hell that I came out here to do just a swim. I would rather be pulled off the course by officials than give up.  I got dressed and got on the bike.

Transition 1 time: 8mins 29 secs

The 112 mile bike:

I quickly settled into a rhythm on the bike and started to warm up.  It was sunny out but a little windy and definitely not warm.

The first 40 miles were mostly flat and I felt great; my heart rate was easily under my 145 beats per minute target.  Up comes Richter Pass, a significant 10 miles of climbing.  It went pretty well. There were thousands of supporters forming funnels on the toughest parts of the climb — AWESOME!! So motivating and positive during a tough time.

The middle part of the bike was rolling and WINDY! Headwinds, tailwinds, side winds, under winds. Wind wind wind.

I made it my goal not to stop on long bike rides for fear of cramping, but I had to in the middle of this one. I couldn’t help it!! The stop took 5 minutes or more — not a great thing because I had to wait in a line. Yuck.

The rest of the middle section of the ride went well. I kept under or at 145 bpm for the majority of this section.  I also hydrated and had pretty good nutrition, eating my 200 calories per hour and around 800-1,000mg of sodium per hour.

THE RIDE WAS VERY BEAUTIFUL, MOUNTAINS EVERYWHERE.  I felt like yodeling during many parts of the race

Then came the third and last part….Yellow lake, another huge climb.

All of a sudden a gale force wind hit us like a truck and the clouds that had formed above us began to lightly open up dropping rain. Having to climb a large grade on wet roads and heavy wind equaled my first feelings of personal hell.  I felt like I wanted to die and I still had to get to the top of a mountain.  The only way I did it was with the amazing crowd who again formed funnels around the course, even though it was raining.  Thanks crowd!!

Bike time 6:10: 56

I finally got back to the transition area feeling ok. I changed, use the bathroom again, and off I went onto the run course.  I felt good and I started to get emotional because I didn’t think I would feel this good on my tired legs.

Transition 2 time: 7mins 29sec

26.2  mile run (aka, marathon):

I ran the first 12.5 miles and then began to run/walk, which is what I planned on doing if I made it to the halfway point feeling ok.  On the way back I started feeling very, very bad, and the only way I made it is through was with Pepsi and warm chicken broth soup.  Honestly, all I can say is that I felt like death, but had to keep moving.  There really isn’t much to say besides the fact that personal demons come to mess with your psyche halfway through an Ironman marathon… At least for me.

When I finally made it back into town, around the last corner, a mile from the finish, I saw that I might make it under 12 hours!  I ran like a bat out of hell!  My dad was cheering me on and I sprinted to the finish line to cross in 11: 59:55.  It was an amazing end to a windy and rainy day. I wouldn’t trade this race situation for any other.

Marathon time 4:25:57

Thanks for reading.

***

Hey Zach… CONGRATULATIONS (again).

3 Comments

Filed under Contributor, Travel Disasters

September 1, 2010 · 8:18 am

Quick Plug, Another Bug

I’m not going to write about how, this weekend, I got the horrible stomach ache that I have learned to recognize and dread here, and how I had to go to the doctor on a Sunday for immediate testing only to find out on Monday morning that Juan the Parasite still lives (which I knew the moment I woke up Sunday to the now all-too-familiar painful cramping), or how I found out that, not only do I have a parasite again (still?), but I also have a bad bacterial infection again (still?). I probably should have realized this while I was dancing my butt off on Friday and Saturday nights, or around the time someone tried to slash my bag strap for the third time since I’ve been here while I was shaking it at a sketchy dance club called Bungalow surrounded by about ten friends. But I didn’t. And for some reason, it was still an amazing weekend, for reasons I can’t fit into this blog entry. I guess I am unfazed by all this stuff now — the infuriating bag slashing attempts, the persistence of my unwelcome parasite (it’s been three months of having a parasite and bacterial infection now — what is going on?!). I’m on my third round of Cipro since I’ve been here, combined with bacteria-killing drugs, and I’m just tired of being sick, tired of taking medicine that makes me feel worse, and tired of not being able to be free of caution. But, like I said, I’m not going to write about any of that.

Horse Encounter in Papallacta, Ecuador. Photo by Libby Z.

What I do want to focus on is a little positive somethin’ somethin’. Strangely, I think I’m the happiest I have been the whole time I’ve been in Quito! I am really enjoying myself, and really glad I’m here. I’ve met a bunch of new people, hung with several great Ecuadorians, and begun to consider other options for when I come home… Many things are making me happy and optimistic right now, and as I wake up to the first day of September (my birthday month — the big 27 is just around the corner!) I feel GOOD. Well, my stomach hurts, but besides that… I feel GREAT. I know what I want more than ever, and I’m going to go for it.

To celebrate, here is a little shameless plug that makes me proud and gives me hope. If I’ve learned anything from being here (well, I can’t even tell you how much I’ve learned — it’s a LOT!! We’ll get to it all another time), it’s that I want to write. I LOVE writing. And, no matter what, I am going to write. So, any little encouragement I get is appreciated.

A few weeks ago, I contributed to a South America ex-pat blog called Expat Daily News South America (my little article can be seen here). Then, yesterday, I found out I made this list of the Twitter Ten, or the top ten articles tweeted last month (as chosen by www.the-working-traveller.com).

I know this isn’t a book deal or a Pulitzer Prize, but hey — as they’d say on “The Jersey Shore” (ah shit, I’ve blown my cover by referring to that show TWICE now on TwT), I’m just doing ME. And even if “doing me” comes with three rounds of parasite pain, three attempted bag slashings, and several Quito ups and Quito downs, people out there keep reading about it. That is my little TwT victory.

View from my apartment, with clouds. Quito, Ecuador.

Shoot, it’s 8:20 am. I’m taking Juan the Amoeba to work now. Outside, the clouds are crazy.. I can pretty much see the entire city of Quito from my apartment, and right now — with the clouds this high up — it looks like half the city is on fire and full of smoke. But I definitely see some blue sky peeking through…

HAPPY SEPTEMBER!

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August 24, 2010 · 8:08 am

“Quito Is Cooler Than You Are”

The other day, I received this comment in response to my blog post, “Quito, Slashed.” It comes from “Fan of Quito” and I thought it deserved its own blog for a response:

quito is cooler than you are.

and you’re missing the point.

stop thinking about yourself and your privileges that you miss so much and you’ll really start enjoying spending time in a culturally and geographically fascinating city.  think less about what you can GET from the city, and try to focus on what you can do to ameliorate all the sad things that you are witnessing.

Uhoh, have I come off like a total privileged, anti-Quito, gringa snob?! Please say NO. If so, BLOG = FAIL!! Gawd, I hope that is not the case… If anything, that is the exact OPPOSITE of how I would describe myself, but it’s always interesting to get a reaction from a stranger (have you read the rest of my blog, Fan of Quito? Because I think you’d see I’m quite different from your impression… or at least I’d hope so!).

Me horseback riding in Canoa, Ecuador. Photo by Clemence D.

I love traveling (duh), and I always live with an open mind. I’m living in Ecuador for every experience that comes with it, and sometimes those experiences can be negative… But sometimes they are very, VERY positive.

Fan of Quito, I see your points. I hope I didn’t come off as ungrateful or superior in any way. I’m here to learn, to experience the ups and downs, to figure this city out, to take a risk, to explore myself as much as Ecuador. The truth is, I hit a rough patch a few weeks ago but I feel SO much better about Quito and about being here now. Hopefully that will also come through in the blog, alongside my downer moments. All I can do, and all I want to do with this blog, is track my journey as honestly as possible. The reality is that I was feeling frustrated with this city, so I wrote about it. When I am feeling in love with being here, I write about that too (did you read my last post on Canoa? All happy thoughts!).

Morning in Canoa. Photo by Tavel.

My coworker Nick decided, Fan of Quito, that you are right: why have I not been able to single-handedly change the world yet? Why have I not saved an orphan, randomly picked a street to patrol, or marched for some cause since I’ve been in Quito? I’m not sure what is expected of me by being an expat here, but I’m not trying to make a huge change — I’m sorry. All I intend to do is live here, take it all in, learn from it, and share the experience as best I can with anyone who wants to know about it. The changes I can make are small — tiny, miniscule. And part of my purpose for being here is for me, whether you think that is right or wrong. I know Ecuador isn’t perfect and that the problems — poverty, crime, political dysfunction — are much bigger than me and my experience, but they are also a part of it, and I think people deserve to know what being here really feels like for one person — in this case, me.

It’s true: I have been missing certain luxuries about NYC/USA-living like crazy. I am SO lucky to have them at all, and traveling to less-developed countries involves giving up many comforts as an American. But don’t you dare start to think that I am not getting so much by being here too! I am FULLY aware of how much I am getting out of being here, and I am trying to give in my own way. But part of the reason I was so frustrated with Quito was because I kept getting sick and it was wearing me down. There are problems in this city that I cannot solve, but I can live here, capture my honest experience in words, and then maybe other people will want to learn more about this place and what life is like. From there, who knows? Someone might want to volunteer here, or research it, or help it, or just appreciate it for what it already is — right?!

Clemence on a Boat. Canoa, Ecuador. Photo by Tavel.

The important thing is that I am here, I am open, and I am being as honest as I can be about how this experience is turning out for ME, nobody else. I’m sorry if I offended you, if I came off as ignorant or overly negative towards Quito, but I expressed exactly how I was feeling the moment I wrote that particular blog, whether it was right to feel that way or not.

For what it’s worth, I’m not feeling like a Negative Nancy sour-puss anymore. That’s part of learning; sometimes you’ve got to go through rough, resentful patches to come out on the other side. I’m over some sort of hump and feeling great! It is a BEAUTIFUL morning, I’m meeting more and more wonderful people, I’m slowly discovering some places I really like in this city, and I am actually really, really happy to be here right now — despite all previous blog posts that may give the impression that I am not.

I obviously pissed someone off, and I guess it was cool to see that sort of reaction for a change. I am glad you said something, Fan of Quito, and thank you for reminding me that this experience in Ecuador isn’t just about me (even though I know that — I promise!). I mean, if I’ve pissed someone off that means a couple things: 1) people are reading, and 2) I’m on my way to success! Hehe.

No but really, I appreciate every and all comments, as long as they are honest. I am far from perfect, I have a lot to learn, but as long as I am imperfect and as long as I still have a TON to learn, I sure as heck am going to keep writing about it.

And hopefully, you’ll keep reading.

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August 18, 2010 · 8:20 am

Canoa: Shakin’ It Down to Sea Level

OK, FINALLY, a moment to sit down and write!

I’m BACK from a fantastic long weekend in Canoa. Five friends and I arrived in Quito Monday morning at 430am. We took the overnight bus, and I’ve gotta say… I saw some of the best stars I’ve seen in years. While the entire bus of Ecuadorians and a few gringos slept, I watched out the window as we ascended from sea level to 9,400 feet through the Andes. Over the previous few days, I: visited the Ecuadorian coast, felt an earthquake, got stung by a jellyfish, wrestled a coworker on a dirt field, danced for hours with Ecuadorian surfers to salsa, reggaeton & merengue, went horseback riding on the beach barefoot, had a pina colada, played frisbee in the ocean, played soccer with Ecuadorian kids in the sand, & got kisses blown to me by a 3-year-old Ecuadorian boy in a Speedo. 🙂 The entire weekend was just what I needed.

I think I’ve been a bit of a Debby Downer towards Ecuador in the last few blog entries, but I’m ready to bring the mood back up a few notches. Let’s see, where to start?

Canoa La Magica. Photo by Chris H.

It all began with the earth shaking.

After dozing on and off during a seven-hour overnight bus ride down from almost 10,000 feet to sea level, we (Desiree, Clemence, Jen and I — more friends were meeting us in Canoa the next day) had arrived in Canoa a bit heavy-eyed and creaky, but ready for the beach. As soon as we got off the bus, we knew we had to buy our bus tickets for the ride home, which would be packed on a Sunday night after a long holiday weekend (happy Independence Day, Ecuador!).

Desiree (Portland, Oregon), Jen (Cork, Ireland), Clemence (Paris, France) and I waddled off the bus, over to this convenience store/ticket counter (meh, every store tends to blend together in this country). As we tried to get the attention of a very distracted and high-strung Ecuadorian woman, she began to scream. We were a little perplexed when she jumped out of her seat behind the counter mid-conversation, grabbed her kids, and ran out the open-air shop in hysterics. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t completely confused for a moment there. We thought someone had stolen something because she grabbed her kids and BOOKED it out of the little shack-like shop, which was held up with some weak-looking pillars.

That is when I realized the ground was moving. Now, after a seven hour overnight bus ride, an earthquake is not the first thing you expect. The whole shop, which was plastered wall-to-wall (“wall” being a loose term here) with bathing suits, sunscreen, plastic beach toys, snacks, and towels, began wobbling. I saw the three pillars holding the entire roof up moving like we were on a boat in the ocean. Something funny was going on. My friends and I instinctively ran out of the shop into the middle of the dirt road — the main street in town — where everyone else had just run out screaming and tried to figure out what the F was happening.

As I stood by our bus, which we had exited no more than five or ten minutes earlier, I felt the earth rolling underneath me like a wave. Precarious looking telephone polls were wobbling to my left, and I saw a wooden fence shaking to my right. Behind us was a decrepit building that consisted of blocks of concrete and large metal spears — probably the worst sort of thing to be near during an earthquake. We just stood there, a bit stunned, with our backpacks on and sight of the beach about 200 meters away… Was this seriously happening?!

Desiree, Jen, Clemence and I looked at each other, kind of laughing, kind of freaked out, and said almost simultaneously: “Was that  a fucking EARTHQUAKE?!” (As Irish Jen would say, “CHRIST IN TEARS!”) A couple after-shocks and some funny looks exchanged between fellow travelers later, we decided we could complete our ticket transaction, and walked to our hostel a bit thrown-off, literally. We had no access to the news, but later found out there had been a 6.9-magnitude earthquake over a hundred miles beneath the Amazon in Ecuador. CRAAAAZY.

When we found our hostel, all I can say is… we were underwhelmed. Now, we don’t ask for much. We don’t need much. But there is one thing we all require in a malaria/dengue-infested town where mosquitos completely take over each night: a bug net. For $10/night, we booked a room at Posada de Daniel, which has a lovely website and mentioned a pool, hammocks, bug nets, and comfortable rooms…

Well, when we walked in, we were saddened to find that we were basically going to be sleeping in a mosquito-infested barn, with one thin sheet on every bed (no blankets) and… grrr… no bug nets. The bathrooms were filthy, there were no toilet seats on the toilets, and there was not a mirror in the entire place (what if you have something in your teeth? what if you need it for applying sunscreen? what if you get something in your eye?!).

Canoa from a hostel. Photo by Jena (from http://jenainecuador.wordpress.com)

We wandered the sandy beach town in search of other accommodation options. Our first choice, Surf Shack, which was owned by an awesome American named Peter (who I may or may not have a little crush on) was booked. One lovely looking hostel promised us a room, so we walked all the way back to our shit-hole hostel to tell them we weren’t going to stay there, then walked back to our upgrade only to find it was a mistake and the room was not available. We probably wandered into seven different hostels before finding one, Bambu, which was became, by FAR, our first choice. Only, we had to wait two hours before we would know for sure if we could stay there.

Luckily, it worked out, but we would have to spend the first of three nights in the dirty barn. We sprayed bug spray over our beds and bodies like we were spray painting ourselves and didn’t want to miss a spot. That room was one big carcinogenic cloud of Deet, but damnit, we were going to make it through the night! We literally had a padlock to get into the room, and there was such a thick cloud of mosquitos at night that we had serious trouble unlocking it. Sadly, cracks in the wooden stall-like doors did not bode well for our rest, but it was time to give sleep our best shot.

When we woke up, I was freezing with no blanket, and desperate for fresh air after spending most of the night completely underneath my thin white sheet (head and all). We all surveyed the damage and, poor Jen and Clemence, they got the worst of it; Jen was covered in red welts from getting bitten, even though she spent the entire night completely under her sheets. Clemence’s face got attacked by some smaller bites, but for a girl with perfect skin she was horrified when she eventually found a mirror (much later in the day). We counted our losses and booked it as quickly as possible to our new hostel which, for the exact same price, was now like a five-star hotel to us. We had our own shower, beautiful new bug nets, and our own colorful alpaca blanket on each bed! Things were looking UP.

We quickly met some very brown surfers with mesmerizingly toned butt muscles and the kind of abs that ripple perfectly from one’s love of a sport, not frequent trips to the gym. Mmm, my favorite kind. We enjoyed some orange-pineapple juice (which Clemence read eliminates cellulite, hmm), eggs, and delicious bread for breakfast from the sandy patio overlooking the beach, which came with a swarm of bees that made me a bit anxious (I hate beeeees — luckily there aren’t many bugs at all up here in Quito!). We were on VACATION on the Ecuadorian coast. It felt freakin’ AWESOME.

Canoa, Ecuador. Photo by Jena (from http://jenainecuador.wordpress.com)

Canoa itself is beautiful, but not in a pristine-beach sort of way. (Check out my friend Jena’s blog for another take.) There is nothing pristine about Ecuador. Beautiful yes, but not pristine. The black and beige sand mixes together into a dark brown color, which somewhat matches the tone of the water but is interrupted beautifully by brightly colored tents set up each day all along the shore for lounging all day.

Breaking up the sound of crashing waves is the constant beat of the salsa-reggaeton-merengue mix, which blasts from speakers at a beach-side restaurant. People can be found dancing literally all day and night. Surfers wander the sandy town with surfboards in tow, and spend the afternoons (when the waves are a bit bigger) catching waves and giving surf lessons. Nobody wears shoes, despite piles of trash and beer bottles being passed around on the beach all day… I could go on describing Canoa, but then I’ll never get to the rest of the weekend!

I took a 2-hr walk along the beach every day, enjoying the fishing boats perched in the sand, and crabs scurrying by our feet. once you walk about 30-minutes beyond the colorful tents, you finally hear only the ocean, and it is wonderfully refreshing.

Boats and tents, Canoa, Ecuador. Photo by Jena (from ttp://jenainecuador.wordpress.com)

On day two, my friends Mark (Canada), Chris (Ohio), Nick (NJ), Kimrey (Tennessee), Jesua (Quito), Cynthia (Quito), and Anna (Quito) had arrived. It didn’t take long before we were playing frisbee in the big waves, and getting taken down and whacked over and over again by the powerful water, which was super fun. I actually think it was the perfect activity to help snap me out of the little Quito-funk I had been in. Sometimes you just need to spend a day jumping through giant waves, ya know?

Watchin' the Waves. Canoa, Ecuador. Photo by Chris H.

After what felt like a long time playing frisbee in the waves, I was about to go lounge in the sand when Chris and Jesua decided to play soccer with some young Ecuadorian boys. I couldn’t resist! So, we played. They pretty much kicked our butts (as much as under-10-year-olds can) and it was good fun. That’s one thing about Ecuador (or Latin America, really); no matter where you go, no matter what the scene, you can pretty much be certain that there will be people playing soccer there.

It was about 3pm and we hadn’t eaten lunch yet, so when Clemence was tired of waiting for me to stop playing with the boys, I decided it was time to go wash off in the water and call it a game. I went to the water, just where the waves meet the shore, and began wiping sand off my feet. I had cracked my left big toenail in half from soccer and it was bleeding and stinging from the ocean and sand but, not too big a deal. As I was rinsing off my feet, I felt something slap against my right foot. The second it happened, I began to feel stinging and burning. I quickly looked down and saw one long blue tentacle spread across my foot…. ARGH!!!

It had to be a jellyfish. Were there even jellyfish here!? No time to think. I just started rubbing the spot that was burning with water and sand, trying to rub the sting off, but it just started burning more and more. Ah, crap. I had been stung.

I started walking back to Clemence and encountered Chris. I asked if he knew whether or not there were jellyfish and said I was pretty sure I had gotten stung (I was a little worried not knowing how dangerous the jellyfish were in these waters, but had been stung many times in my childhood so I knew the basic drill). He kindly offered to pee on it, but said he’d have to drink some water first. I didn’t have time for that! I limped back to Clemence, told her I had been stung, and we walked back to the hostel where the Dutch surfer who ran it gave me a bottle of vinegar. He told me he had been stung a couple times in the past week so he felt my pain. Heh.

All I could really do was order a delicious almuerzo of fried fish, fried salted maduros (or non-sweet plantains), eat the tomato and onion salad with a little aji on it, and enjoy the maracuya (passion fruit) juice while I dabbed my burning foot in white vinegar. Of course, right? Of course!

Canoa, Ecuador. Photo by Chris H.

Later that evening, we spent happy hour with a bunch of Ecuadorian surfers at our hostel, sipping two-for-one pina coladas while sand crunched between our toes. A luke-warm shower and a bunch of Deet later, we found ourselves shaking everything we had on a beach-side dance floor.

I was kind of a merengue slut that night, I’ve gotta be honest. I danced with every guy that asked (yes, they ask here, it’s nice) and man was it fun. But, I did find myself spending most of my time dancing with my friend Mark’s Ecuadorian surf instructor, Juan (eek… he has the same name as my parasite!), who insisted I take off my flip-flops so I could really move my feet in the sand. When I’d look around, all my friends were dancing with their own latino surfers, and it just seemed like everyone was having a fantastic time. I know I was.

The next day, we recovered quickly and headed back to the beach for more of the same. That night, however, we all met up at Surf Shack for happy hour once again. We played some drinking games, met some ex-pats, and ended up being gifted a round of aguardiente (sugar cane alcohol) shots by Peter, the owner. Man were those tasty!

A large portion of the group ended up wandering over to what my friends swear is the best restaurant in Ecuador; a Basque restaurant, where I had a taste of my friend’s grilled garlic calamari and almost passed out from the deliciousness from which I have been so deprived lately. Then, somehow, I was encouraged to arm-wrestle my friend Desiree, and everyone knows I can’t back down from a challenge! This led to arm wrestling my friend Jesua, and eventually, a crab race between Nick and Jesua and then a real wrestling match on a dirt field between me and Jesua (who encouraged me to do this?!). Here are the pre- and post- wrestling match photos, for your amusement. (Yes, I’m in the blue.)

Me (left) about to wrestle Ecuadorian friend Jesua (right) with Nick (middle) officiating. Photo by Chris H.

Me (bottom) losing my wrestling match to Jesua (top) with Nick officiating. Photo by Chris H.

I get feisty when I drink, and competitive. Despite the fact that we determined Jesua weighs 50 lbs more than me, I am a girl who has never really wrestled before, and I had already arm wrestled three times (I was le tired!), I wasn’t going to back down from the cheering. So, while this was a losing battle (and I ended up covered in dirt), I think I will be better prepared for my next match. Thank you Mark for your quick coach-like pep-talk. I’m sorry if I disappointed anyone, but I gave it my best. I’m new to this whole wrestling thing. Hehe.

Ahhh, Canoa. I guess I’ve got to stop here. Just imagine another night after the wrestling match full of dancing new friends (one of which I actually got to hang out with again last night  because he’s from Quito — woop woop!) and a nice dull hangover the next morning (or as they say in Quechua, estaba un poco chuchaqui). Oh, and me galloping alone across the Ecuadorian coast on a beautiful brown horse, barefoot.

After several weeks of being disenchanted with life in Quito, Canoa splashed some water on my face, slapped me around in all the right ways, and made me truly happy to be here again. Hopefully, there will more trips like it.

I think it’s fair to say that, Quito, I’m back.

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August 7, 2010 · 9:36 am

Purple Thread

It’s been a rough week here in Quito. Rough, because I found out the parasite I had six weeks ago most likely still lives, and I had another slashing attempt on the Ecovia last Saturday. I did get paid, but even that moment is a bit lackluster. I’d be lying if I said that this week didn’t make me think twice about what I’m doing here, and what is best for me, but don’t worry (as if one of you really is)… It takes more than that to break me.

I’ve been frustrated lately. That’s the truth. I could sit here and tell you living in Ecuador is a constant dream come true but it’s not. It certainly has its moments, but this week has been more about getting by and getting through it than dreaming. Sometimes I fantasize about buying a plane ticket home, and saying I did it, hugging my now sixteen-year-old brother (I missed his birthday last month) and getting back to life as I like it. But I’m not there yet. Maybe close, at times, but not close enough.

Beginning of a tough hike in the paramo of Papallacta. Ecuador.

I think the 2.5-month mark is one of the most difficult when you are anticipating being somewhere for a year. It’s like entering the second quarter of a race, when the adrenaline begins to settle and you can no longer count on the rush to get you through the next three quarters. It’s the time when you know you’ve got to find a comfortable place to settle; you must pace yourself, accept where you are at and how it feels, but you still want to rush through this part and get to the more thrilling home-stretch. The race always looks the longest from this vantage point. This is when it becomes mental more than physical. You can’t tell if you want the finish line to get there immediately or not, but either way it looks very far off, and it is in that space between where you are and where it ends that the race will be made, that some lesson will be learned.

I feel like the end is very far away at this point, and I want to be here, in the moment, 100%, but I keep catching myself trying to sneak a peek at the finish line. Actually, I can’t get the finish line out of my mind. That never makes for a good race. I know that much.

Last night, I decided to stay in. A couple friends went to a place called Banos (with a squiggle on the n, can’t type it) for the weekend, but since we are going to a beach town called Canoa on Wednesday night (AHHH, HOW I NEED AND WANT A BEACH GETAWAY RIGHT NOW!), I decided that two long trips that close together was a bit much. Plus, I am constantly scraping the barrel with my salary here, and it wouldn’t hurt to save a little money when I can.

Instead, I decided I would swing by the MegaMaxi, which sells everything from ellipticals to guanabanas (a sweet white fruit that looks like a melon covered in spikes), to pick up the ingredients for coconut chicken curry — something I’ve been craving lately (what I’d give to be able to order the massaman curry from Thai Market on 107th and Amsterdam… siiigh). I had the perfect night planned: I was going to do some writing, cook something delicious, and then watch a bootlegged DVD in my US Rowing sweatpants.

Of course, this ENORMOUS Wal-Mart-sized store had run out of coconut milk, and my coconut chicken curry cooking dreams had been shot. I settled for something else and went home, determined to have an incredible night by myself.

Inside the clock tower of the Cathedral in Old Town Quito.

This is the part where I could easily lie and save myself some slack, but the truth is, I had seen some New York Times article recently about the new season of the Jersey Shore starting (I know, right?), and I was kind of intrigued… So, I — a 26, almost 27 year old travel writer living in Ecuador, smart (I like to think), cultured… — went to MTV.com, and watched the first episode online.

As I watched, I ate my dinner, followed by a gooey passion fruit, and eventually a third of a bar of single origin organic Ecuadorian chocolate (75% cocoa). As unfortunate as it may be, I enjoyed every second of it.

When the first episode was over, I had a choice to make. It was about 8:15 pm on a Friday night and there was another episode available. I was in my sweats, I had a little more chocolate to go, and I didn’t really feel like writing at that point (maybe the Jersey Shore isn’t the best way to get inspired). So… I went ahead and watched another episode; it was equally delightful, in a sick, mind-numbing way.

Then I had the urge to do something I had been thinking about doing all week: I was going to sew the bag that had been slashed by a thief on the Ecovia back together. I hit some perfect mental state when “Wake Up,” by Arcade Fire, came on my random shuffle. The lyrics spoke right to me at that moment, and blasting this song while I sewed felt good. Real good.

I sewed and I sewed my big purple bag, empowered by some sort of resilience to the hits Quito has kept throwing at me. When I was done sewing and purple thread was tangled up on my table, a new song had started playing (“This Tornado Loves You,” by Neko Case, to be exact). It spoke right to the other side of stuff I’ve been feeling lately, and I just felt happy. Understood, in a strange way, better by my very own iTunes random shuffle than anyone else (even myself) lately.

When I was done sewing the big slash in my bag back together, I turned my purple bag (which I got at an artisan market in Buenos Aires) from inside-out to right-side-in, and took a look.

It was perfect. It gave me a rush. After a week full of frustrations, disappointments, friends saying “come home!” and friends saying “you can do this – stay!” I finally felt empowered again. Fuck you Quito. It was the best I had felt all week (some weeks are just like that, right?!).

And now, I have finished up my coffee, read the New York Times, and eaten some breakfast. In a few minutes, I will get back on the Ecovia and take my damaged bag with me to the gym. Damaged, but repaired. The hole has been sewn back together and I will carry it with me like a battle wound — one of the many I have accumulated by trying to do what I think is right for me.

If only everything was a bag that I could sew back together when someone slashed a hole in it. If only all it took was some purple thread…right?

Well, that’s a whole other story.

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July 29, 2010 · 10:16 pm

Quito, Slashed

I’m trying, Quito. I’m really trying to like you. Trying to love you, even. But I don’t. Not yet. And here is another reason why…

It was a matter of time. I knew that. But it doesn’t make it feel any less degrading or offensive. It doesn’t make me feel any less violated, any less angry. But, luckily, I didn’t get robbed. Not technically. However, I got slashed. My bag that is. And my good feelings about Quito. I’m not happy about it — not happy about either.

Let’s see… I’ve been here since May 17. That’s two and a half months. Already, I have been involved in two hit and runs (once I was the “hit” while riding in the back of a pick-up truck – yeah, didn’t tell you guys that one yet, the other time I was the “run” while riding in the back of a pick-up truck after a woman got hit and had her foot run over by another car). I’ve been hospitalized with a parasite AND bacterial infection (which came with three weeks of feeling like total crap). And now, I’ve been (almost) robbed. Yes, it could always be worse.

What are you supposed to do when someone who is literally pressed against you on an extremely crowded bus (or, as we call it here, the Ecovia, which is more like a tram with its own private lane) appears to be slicing your bag open with some sort of knife or blade? What do you do when you realize this and pull your bag away, but it’s too crowded to see the damage, and you are in an enclosed vehicle, inches from the thief’s face, while they do everything they can to cut through your paper-thin cloth bag with a knife, centimeters from your stomach?

You let them try, because you can’t stop them. Not with a knife that close. And what did I have to lose? A pair of spandex? Some socks? My deodorant? But, just because you’re a foreigner, you’ve got to be worth the effort, right? And because robberies of under a few hundred dollars have no penalty in Ecuador, what do they have to lose? Nothing. They have the knife. Only you have something to lose. So, you wait for those doors to open, and you wait for the moment to pass. You take it, because you have to. It is unfair, and wrong, but in Quito, it’s life.

Ecuadorian woman and her baby. Old Town Quito, Ecuador.

Luckily, I didn’t have far to go. The next stop was mine. I looked over at my French friend, Clemence, who also knew something was up. She felt the same tug at her bag. But we were sardines in a bumpy tin can. The Ecovia often stops and turns so suddenly that people literally fall on each other and bang into each other worse than any public transportation I’ve ever been on. When someone has a knife pointed at you, sawing their way through your worthless gym bag, do you call them on it? Do you grab their wrist and say HEY, GET THE FUCK OFF OF MY STUFF! Or do you hope the doors open so you can get out before you stop suddenly and they accidentally let the knife go three inches farther than they had intended?

When the doors opened, we got out and I immediately looked down. There it was, a six or seven inch slash right through my t-shirt -thin bag. I quickly checked for what little valuables I had (phone and half my cash – $7 or so – was dispersed throughout my jacket as planned, iPod was at the other end of my bag – safe – and keys were in my extra bag within the gym bag, unnoticed). I was not bleeding. I was not robbed. I had all my belongings including my most valuable – the keys to my apartment. Clemence had a hole in her bag too, but they didn’t get anything, or so she thought. She was fine. Her bag was thicker, with leather. She found out later they got her phone.

But we were ok. Pissed off, but ok. OK enough. And let me just tell you, I had an AWESOME workout after that. Couldn’t think of a better place to go with that anger surging through me than the gym.

This had to happen on a day I was missing NYC like crazy, during a week I had to stop myself from thinking about home, the bliss of summer, the time I anxiously await every freakin’ year. This comes one week after my friend who has been living here for four years got robbed TWICE, two days apart. The week two friends got engaged. The week of some really crazy dreams and a few nightmares that made me wonder about a bunch of things. A week during which I KNEW I was going to get robbed… I woke up Monday, and I just had a bad feeling that this was the week… But I didn’t say anything because I didn’t want to jinx it. And here I am. Me and my freaky instincts. And there was nothing I could do.

Sometimes, I don’t know what to make of it all. I keep trying to do what is best for me. I keep trying to find my way to that good and beautiful place where all the pieces fit (please tell me it exists!). But I keep getting bumped around. The challenges just keep on comin’! I guess that’s life, eh?

Jumping with friends (From L to R: Clemence, me, Leah, Lexie) in Old Town, Quito.

The most important thing is that I am ok. I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do with this. I’m not sure where I am supposed to be right now. Or why I’m here in Quito. But I’ve got to just keep believing that this is good, this is right, this is where I need to be. Because in all honesty, when something like this happens, it makes you want to run away — anywhere, just somewhere else. I know challenges like this comes with the territory when you’re a traveler, but I’m ready for the good stuff. It feels like I’m constantly being forced to be strong… stronger. You learn a lot about yourself when you’re forced to. I’m tired of having to be tough, and trying to be strong… but sometimes, I get tired of the challenges. And then I wake up and I know I’m ready for more.

Half the time, I’m having SO much fun! I’m having this incredible adventure and I’m loving it! REALLY! I think that comes through in the blog. And the the other half the time, I wonder why I am here and not sipping chai on the Upper West Side, where I feel safe and at home. But I guess I already know the answer to that one: I’m here because sipping chai on the Upper West Side is not enough. I learned all I could from sitting on the Upper West Side with chai. As much as I might want that right now, I didn’t come to Quito to play it safe.

My bag may have gotten slashed, but my trust in the fact that I will get something valuable out of this experience –something so valuable that a thief cannot steal it — and that maybe I already have…

Well, the thieves on the Ecovia certainly couldn’t take that from me.

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July 28, 2010 · 8:53 am

My New Normal

I’ve written about the canopy tour through the cloud forest of Mindo, the afternoon spent in hot springs at 4,000 m, the frog-eating spiders, the car that was stolen at gunpoint outside my apartment, and my trip to the emergency room, but perhaps the most interesting thing of all is my new “normal.” Finding normalcy in Quito is the real adventure.

Finally, I will try and give a snapshot of what a normal day is like for me. Not because I want to bore you to tears, but because I want you – for one blog entry – to be here with me.

I wake up. (I guess it’s always gotta start there, huh?) My mattress is supported by creaky wood, which squeaks every time I turn and twist under the purple striped alpaca blanket I bought at an artisan market my first week here. I get up, make myself some horribly disappointing coffee (don’t get me started on the irony of how bad coffee is down here… It’s the single biggest tragedy of living in Ecuador. Yes, you are correct: Ecuador is capable of producing excellent coffee… but they export all the good stuff! BAH!). I did, however, purchase a French Press over the weekend, so hopefully the days of sad, flat, coffee that only takes you about 35% of the way towards where you want to go (a real coffee buzz) are behind me… Doubtful, but a girl can hope.

Woman cleaning and mountains. View from my apartment in Quito.

I usually turn on my laptop, put on some music, and attempt to use the internet, which comes and goes like the rainclouds here. My disappointing coffee always cools too quickly.

As you can see, mornings are slightly imperfect, but I’m starting to get used to it. After being here more than two months, I’m at the point where my intense longing for certain things (coffee, Chinese food, bike rides up and down the Hudson, rows on the Harlem, salad, consistently good food, farmer’s markets… ok I have to stop!) is being countered by a slow acceptance of the fact that I’m in this for the long haul, and I won’t get to enjoy those things for some time. Man, do I love America right now! But I’m slowly learning to love Ecuador too.

After my shower, and all the blah blah blah of getting ready for my day, I grab my keys, which are on the same gold carabiner that I used for every one of my NYC apartments since graduating, and I get ready to blend into Quito. But first, I double and triple check that I have all five keys (I’m paranoid of getting locked out). I unlock the two doors to EXIT my apartment, and head down the terra-cotta colored tile staircase. Each time I exit my building, I have a moment of happiness when the sun hits my face and I notice the trees are continuously in bloom.

About 50 feet down the street, I see the sweet security guard who says good morning to be every day (he must be 5’2′”, has a pointy mustache, and always wears a large scarf wrapped around his neck and a wool sweater). I walk a little further, past the dog I have never seen who barks each time it hears footsteps, past the bus station where I’ve never seen the same person twice , then by the Honey & Honey bakery, with the Pichincha volcano constantly to my right. About ten more minutes in, there is a big black dog that sits outside an Italian restaurant, savoring the sun. I always want to pet it, but never do. I struggle with that decision every day. One day, I’ll pet him and we will become friends.

As I get farther down the hill, I hear the usual “Mandarinas, mandarinas, mandarinas!” from the indigenous Ecuadorians (did you know that 25% of Ecuadorians are indigenous?) with their fedora-looking hats, dark skirts, white tops, gold necklaces, tie up shoes, and long black braids.

It’s about a 25-minute walk to work, and during that walk I don’t see a single other “gringa.” The V!VA office is on a small street in between two larger avenues, with three little grocery stores around the corner. I’m now familiar with all the store owners, who always wave and say hi when I walk by, especially Carlos, who has the middle shop and is the V!VA office’s store of choice (he puts large beers in the freezer every Friday so that they are cold and ready for us when 5pm Beer Friday comes around). He also gives me free stuff (apparently, I am one of the chosen ones…) and sometimes whistles as me. Things were a little tense during the World Cup because boy does he hate Maradona! Most Ecuadorians (like many Central Americans) think Argentines are cocky, overly proud assholes, so I have that going for me! Most Americans seem to love NYC, but think the same about Manhattanites. Awesome. I’m apparently doomed to have no friends.

Then there is the other store, run by a few very sweet women, who the V!VA staff refers to as “The Crazy Bitches.” Hehe. I’m still not sure why, but every afternoon, when it is time for a snack run, you’ll often hear someone in the office say, “Hey guys, I’m going to run down to The Crazy Bitches. Anyone want anything from them or Carlos?” And we will get our money ready, not thinking twice about calling them The Crazy Bitches, and head down the stairs for some fresh air and cookies.

Fresh blackberry juice (jugo de mora) in the Plaza San Francisco. Old Town, Quito.

I buzz in, and walk up the stairs to my desk, which used to belong to my coworker Mark from Canada, who left just before the World Cup finals. He was sure to set the background as Paul the Octopus hugging the German flag, and he changed the name of all my Desktop icons to reflect his distaste for the Argentine soccer team, for example: My Computer = Paul’s Computer, Norton Anti-Virus = Anti-Argentina Protection, Google Earth = Google Earth, the Argentina-Free Edition, Adobe Acrobat =  Y Llora, y Llora, y Llora Maradona, Skype = Heartbroken Argentina Fan’s Hotline, and so on. Hehe. Well-played Mark. WELL-PLAYED. I have yet to change any of this.

One of these days I’ll get a few photos from the office, but it is not wise to carry anything valuable around, so I can’t just bring a camera to work whenever I want. Usually, if we have more than $40 on us, it ends up in a shoe, a bra, a secret pocket, or randomly dispersed throughout all of the above. I literally carry $5 – $20 in one pocket specifically in case I get robbed: I can either hand them all the money in my bag, and that way I still have cab money to get home if it’s late, or I can give them a $20 and they should be happy with that. Hopefully they won’t spray shit in my face like what happened to a friend of a friend. I don’t even want to tell you that story — my blog is too clean for something that awful, and I want to keep it that way.

For lunch, we have a few options. Usually we go to an almuerzo place. Almeuerzos, or lunches, are set menus that usually come with a soup (which tends to be choclo/corn-based, with potatoes and vegetables, and the occasional chicken foot or hunk of fatty mystery meat floating in it), a fresh juice (papaya, blackberry, or naranjilla, for example), one of two main course options (generally chicken, pork, or red meat in some form, with a large portion of white rice and either beans or some sort of small vegetable portion), and sometimes a slice of fruit (watermelon) or a cookie for dessert. It costs a whopping $1.75 – $2.50. During the World Cup (sorry I keep mentioning it, but you have to understand that the World Cup was a large part of my normal life here!), we would eat our almuerzos at a sports bar/almuerzo place surrounded by Ecuadorians while watching the 1pm game.

We work hard all day. I’m extremely busy, actually. But, we also take time out to joke about completely inappropriate things, and make fun of some of the writing that appears in our own books (we have one shared document called “Best Sentences” that is a hilarious list of poorly written or ironic sentences we encounter while editing). He he he. On Fridays, we sometimes play Hot or Not, and literally stop working at 5pm, bring up Hot or Not on one of the computers, and rate people on a scale of 1 to 10 while we drink our beers and make fun of each other. It’s a very healthy work environment. At least we aren’t like the last group of V!VA writers, who put their OWN photos on Hotornot.com and had a competition going for who was the hottest! Ha!

There is plenty more to say about my work environment, but maybe I should leave that for private conversations. Ha. (That’s always promising, huh?)

After work, twice a week, I have Spanish class. We all do. Not because we need it, necessarily, but because our company pays for it, so it’s free. My Spanish class consists of a man named Luis who meets me in a conference room downstairs, and it is literally 1.5 hrs of Spanish conversation. I dread it every time, but realize I want to be speaking Spanish as much as possible, so I suck it up and go. It’s good for me. We speak a lot of English in the office, although I do speak some Spanish when I’m working with the Ecuadorians in my office, also known as the Techies (which is often). The office is actually half-Ecuadorian, and the other half is currently: American, British, Irish, French, and Canadian (well, he just left). The age range is about 22 to 35 or so. It’s a great group, and we get along really well. There is a lot of laughing, and a lot of poking fun at each other. Basically, we’re becoming our own little V!VA family, and I’m sure it’s only going to get more wonderfully dysfunctional as the year goes on.

Afternoon sunlight on a street in Old Town, Quito.

If I’m not at Spanish class, I’m either going to the gym after work (where I always see someone I know pedaling to the blasting beats of salsa or reggaeton), going to dinner at one of the cheap restaurants in the Mariscal with my coworkers, or hanging out with friends before Salsa Night at one of the clubs here (every Wednesday is salsa night at El Aguijon, which literally means the stinger, as in that of a sting ray). The truth is, I NEVER get home before 730pm… and rarely do I get home before 8pm. Salsa night is basically one big salsa-fest, filled with tourists and their salsa teachers, Ecuadorians and their gringo boyfriends, or some hot mess of it all. Ecuadorians will take your hand and ask you to dance, and then you spend the next several songs whipping through the crowd, spinning, stepping on people, and occasionally getting cigarette burns from random German girls (grrrr!). It’s a lot of fun, but usually leaves you a bit chuchaqui (the Quechua word for hungover — probably my favorite word in Ecuador so far) on Thursday morning.

The weekends are different. We usually squeeze in a hike or a hot spring soak, but we have a lot of places left to visit. I’m trying to spread them out, for now, and I want to enjoy some weekends in Quito. I have finally found a favorite breakfast/brunch spot, called Colibri (hummingbird). I meet my coworkers there for Saturday brunch. We sit under these swooping trees speckled with spiky red flowers from which humming birds of all varieties feed throughout the meal. The breakfast comes with fresh squeezed juice (I usually get papaya, or maracuya as they call it here), a cappuccino, scrambled eggs with sausage, and a large fruit salad with yogurt and granola, but my friends usually get the chocolate crepes with their eggs. It also comes with the best fresh bread I’ve had in Ecuador, to date, and a different jam every time — sometimes it’s guava, sometimes blackberry, sometimes strawberry… We sit in the shade, humming birds everywhere, and enjoy the rare moment of tranquility in an otherwise loud and busy city — during an otherwise loud and busy life.

Ahh, there is so much more to say about my new “normal” in Quito, but for now, enjoy that one slice of it all.

Now it’s time for me to go get another “normal” day started… Ack! Late for work!

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