I've been in Cuenca nearly two weeks now, and in Ecuador for three. It seems like so much longer. Imagine that every day was made up of 48 hours instead of 24. I'd have been gone from home for six weeks instead of three. That's how long it seems.
Every day I ache for home, for my church, for my mom's hug. Every day I long for the feeling of driving a car again, the feeling of the lovely embrace of heat produced by my furnace and not by the sun, the feeling of running around the house barefoot if I like. Every day I look at the delectable soups and main courses my host mom makes and I long for the taste of my mom's simple cooking.
I miss being able to cook my own food. I miss being able to whisper about my day with my sister at night. I miss having a pitch-black room to sleep in. I miss having sound-reducing insulation around my window. I miss pinto beans (they're not here; the only beans here are huge and white or purple). I miss the feeling of a one-year-old settled comfortably on my hip, and the feeling of a three-year-old's hand confidingly placed in mine. I miss going on the so-called "grand adventures" I used to go on with that one-year-old and three-year-old, consisting entirely of going down one set of stairs, through the basement and up another flight of stairs before completing the circuit another twenty times.
There is so much that I miss by not being home. However, there is much I would have missed had I decided to stay home.
I would have missed fulfilling a lifelong dream of visiting the Ecuadorian jungle. Smelling the color green in all its various shades. Visiting some of the oldest cathedrals in Quito and Cuenca. The Equator. The friendships I'm developing with my group. Driving through the mountains with a driver who bus-races (I don't get it, either). Seeing all the places I've only seen in pictures. Haggling in the markets. Swimming in a waterfall's pool in the Amazonian jungle. Seeing ants an inch long. Flying over the Panama Canal, lit up in the setting sun. Going to a Catholic mass for the first time in my life. Walking to school through old and new Cuenca. Touring one of the older houses in Cuenca. Telling scary stories in the jungle.
I would have missed having a dysfunctional water tube on the Napo River. Being subjected to a wonderful hail storm at 14000 feet above sea level. Falling over while trying to walk on the Equator. Waiting at a street crossing with a guy carrying three machetes. Seeing a random banana vendor washing his hands without soap in a rain puddle on a busy street. Hearing an old gringo yelling into his cell phone about how "let's get together" (and rolling our eyes at how loud "those Americans" are). Climbing 50 uneven steps on my way to school. Taking the bus and getting off too soon. Being drenched in a sudden jungle rain storm.
There are many lessons I've learned.
I've learned that they do sell peanut butter in one place in Cuenca.
That it's not advisable to order trout at the Cafe Austria because
you'll get the entire fish, head and all. That political parades can go
by at any time of day or night. That it takes 45 minutes to get to
school walking fast. That you have to watch out for deep holes in weird
places. That you have to be on the lookout for cars when crossing
traffic circles. That they don't sell pocket folders in Cuenca. That
"empapado" can mean either "soaked" (like rain) or "drunk." That fireworks can go off at any time.
At the Equator, I learned what it means that you can't try to walk the line between obedience and disobedience. Either there is the one or the other, but not both. Like trying to serve God and something else, it's impossible.
In the jungle, I learned that, as Proverbs 24:16 says, it doesn't matter how many times you fall, as long as you get back up right away. (I fell far more times than seven.)
On my way to school, I learned that two are truly better than one, since it's so much harder to walk alone than with a friend.
And I'm still learning. After all, that's why I'm here, not at home.
Thursday, January 30, 2014
Monday, January 20, 2014
An Extremely Overdue First Day
January 11, 2014. Elk Grove Village, Illinois, USA
I leave for Ecuador today. How weird it is, that this day should have finally come! For so long it has been in the far future that the present just doesn’t seem to be really happening. But it is.
Mommy and Joy are driving me to the airport. I’m the “copilot” to direct Mommy to O’Hare. I don't cry because I want to see the map. I don’t want to be late—I’m meeting Señora, Don Rick (Senora's husband), and Alex at the terminal at 6:45. We take off at 9:05.
I have three bags: one of the carry-ons we brought to New Mexico last summer, a big greenish suitcase thingy that I got at the resale shop this week, and my black school backpack.
And, with a last check around the house, I step into the car and begin my longest and greatest adventure yet.
January 11, 2014. O’Hare International Airport, Illinois, USA
It’s real. It’s happening. It’s freaky.
I’m on the plane. It’s a really nice plane, complete with a nature slideshow on funny monitors above our heads. Alex is sitting next to me; Senora and Don Rick are behind us.
A picture just came on the monitor of what looks to be a big tree in a wilderness, and I can’t help but think of what Mr. Soen was praying on Wednesday night: that we would be like cypress trees in the wilderness.
Alex is not happy, because her carry-on was deemed too big and she had to check it. We can see it from here.
There’s been some delay in our plans. Apparently there are more passengers coming on. They all have carry-ons bigger than Alex’s, and she’s none too pleased. She’s actually about to have kittens.
And we’re off! Poor Alex does not like take-off. I really do. So she grabs onto me and we are both fine. After all, we’re going to have a completely revised version of personal space at the end of our eight weeks, so why not begin now?
January 11, 2014. Miami International Airport, Florida, USA
First time in Florida and there are birds in the waiting area. Oh, well. It’s not like we’re staying here very long. We get some stuff from Pizza Hut (chicken alfredo and bread sticks with sauce…delicious but not worth the money) and eat right here by Alex’s gate. Senora, Don Rick, and I have to go on a completely different airline, so we have to go through security again.
This time it’s a Latin American Airline, so absolutely everything is in Spanish. Everyone thinks Senora and Don Rick are my parents, which makes it kind of funny.
We finally get on the airplane. It’s huge! There are two aisles, and every seat is equipped with a game/map/music/movie/radio/tv/etc. console. I play a game of backgammon and win; lose miserably at chess, and proceed to listen to Vivaldi’s Four Seasons while watching the map of where we are. It’s pretty chévere (cool).
We fly directly over Cuba and Panama before dinner. It’s ravioli with mushroom sauce, a roll, and cheesecake. I have orange juice as well. I order in Spanish and get exactly what I wanted… que bien!
It’s a really long flight, and the sun sets en route. There is lightening in the distance, and scattered lights all over the ground. We’re getting close. I close my eyes and think of home. It seems so far away. It is so far away.
January 11, 2014. Marisol Sucre International Airport, Quito, Ecuador
There’s more English here than in the Miami Airport! We find customs without a problem. The guy is really serious, and doesn’t seem to like me. He asks everything in broken English and I answer in broken Spanish. He stamps my passport, smiles at me like he’s glad to be done with me, and I go in to get my bag.
They cut my lock. For all that I thought it was TSA-approved, it apparently wasn’t. It’s a small enough price to pay for being able to get into Ecuador.
And now we wait for Alex’s plane. I go to the bathroom and see a sign that says Please throw toilet paper in the toilet. It’s a different world here.
Alex finally arrives and we hurry through another bit of security. Somebody wants to help with our bags, but we have to say no. He’ll want a tip, and we don’t have money for that. Not now. And we’re so tired.
There’s no one here to greet us. We stick around for a while, and Senora texts Mark, the director of CEDEI (the school we’re staying at).
While we’re waiting, I call Mommy and Joy. It’s $0,95 (95 cents) a minute, but well worth hearing their voices after such a day. I hear Mommy say, “Hi baby,” and the relief is so palpable that I nearly burst into tears. We talk fast to say everything in as little time as possible. I talk to Joy and we say goodnight. It’s so very weird.
Then I go to hang out with Don Rick, who’s sitting at a deli-like place. I make a friend with the lady who runs the deli. She is wearing traditional clothing: an embroidered white shirt, a black skirt with a white underskirt, and a few strands of gold around her neck. She has a gold front tooth. She tells me that she wishes she had learned another language like I have done. She loves the idea that I am planning on teaching Spanish. She calls me “mijita,” a contraction of “mi hijita,” which means “my (little) daughter.”
Senora gets hold of Mark and we find out that a driver is outside the airport. He comes and finds us, and we get in the van. He doesn’t seem to know what Senora is talking about with CEDEI, so we are nervous that he’s not the real deal. (Incidentally, the first Ecuador license plate I ever saw begins with PUC. Just sound that out with a hard “c.”)
January 11, 2014. Quito, Ecuador
We get on really windy roads. There are bonfires at the sides of the roads, and stray dogs everywhere. There are ravines and cliffs, bridges and dips. He doesn’t drive the most carefully, and the van is a stickshift. We arrive at Hotel Quito with barely enough energy to stand.
Mark meets us at the door. He gives us the basics of orientation, consisting mainly of “don’t go anywhere alone” and “don’t put toilet paper in the toilet.” Alex and I stumble to the elevators and find our rooms.
I’m rooming with Lizz. I’m so tired that it’s such a relief to hear English. A hot shower hits the spot and I check my email and take a picture from the balcony before going to bed. The bed is so soft.
I leave for Ecuador today. How weird it is, that this day should have finally come! For so long it has been in the far future that the present just doesn’t seem to be really happening. But it is.
Mommy and Joy are driving me to the airport. I’m the “copilot” to direct Mommy to O’Hare. I don't cry because I want to see the map. I don’t want to be late—I’m meeting Señora, Don Rick (Senora's husband), and Alex at the terminal at 6:45. We take off at 9:05.
I have three bags: one of the carry-ons we brought to New Mexico last summer, a big greenish suitcase thingy that I got at the resale shop this week, and my black school backpack.
And, with a last check around the house, I step into the car and begin my longest and greatest adventure yet.
January 11, 2014. O’Hare International Airport, Illinois, USA
It’s real. It’s happening. It’s freaky.
I’m on the plane. It’s a really nice plane, complete with a nature slideshow on funny monitors above our heads. Alex is sitting next to me; Senora and Don Rick are behind us.
A picture just came on the monitor of what looks to be a big tree in a wilderness, and I can’t help but think of what Mr. Soen was praying on Wednesday night: that we would be like cypress trees in the wilderness.
Alex is not happy, because her carry-on was deemed too big and she had to check it. We can see it from here.
There’s been some delay in our plans. Apparently there are more passengers coming on. They all have carry-ons bigger than Alex’s, and she’s none too pleased. She’s actually about to have kittens.
And we’re off! Poor Alex does not like take-off. I really do. So she grabs onto me and we are both fine. After all, we’re going to have a completely revised version of personal space at the end of our eight weeks, so why not begin now?
January 11, 2014. Miami International Airport, Florida, USA
First time in Florida and there are birds in the waiting area. Oh, well. It’s not like we’re staying here very long. We get some stuff from Pizza Hut (chicken alfredo and bread sticks with sauce…delicious but not worth the money) and eat right here by Alex’s gate. Senora, Don Rick, and I have to go on a completely different airline, so we have to go through security again.
This time it’s a Latin American Airline, so absolutely everything is in Spanish. Everyone thinks Senora and Don Rick are my parents, which makes it kind of funny.
We finally get on the airplane. It’s huge! There are two aisles, and every seat is equipped with a game/map/music/movie/radio/tv/etc. console. I play a game of backgammon and win; lose miserably at chess, and proceed to listen to Vivaldi’s Four Seasons while watching the map of where we are. It’s pretty chévere (cool).
We fly directly over Cuba and Panama before dinner. It’s ravioli with mushroom sauce, a roll, and cheesecake. I have orange juice as well. I order in Spanish and get exactly what I wanted… que bien!
It’s a really long flight, and the sun sets en route. There is lightening in the distance, and scattered lights all over the ground. We’re getting close. I close my eyes and think of home. It seems so far away. It is so far away.
January 11, 2014. Marisol Sucre International Airport, Quito, Ecuador
There’s more English here than in the Miami Airport! We find customs without a problem. The guy is really serious, and doesn’t seem to like me. He asks everything in broken English and I answer in broken Spanish. He stamps my passport, smiles at me like he’s glad to be done with me, and I go in to get my bag.
They cut my lock. For all that I thought it was TSA-approved, it apparently wasn’t. It’s a small enough price to pay for being able to get into Ecuador.
And now we wait for Alex’s plane. I go to the bathroom and see a sign that says Please throw toilet paper in the toilet. It’s a different world here.
Alex finally arrives and we hurry through another bit of security. Somebody wants to help with our bags, but we have to say no. He’ll want a tip, and we don’t have money for that. Not now. And we’re so tired.
There’s no one here to greet us. We stick around for a while, and Senora texts Mark, the director of CEDEI (the school we’re staying at).
While we’re waiting, I call Mommy and Joy. It’s $0,95 (95 cents) a minute, but well worth hearing their voices after such a day. I hear Mommy say, “Hi baby,” and the relief is so palpable that I nearly burst into tears. We talk fast to say everything in as little time as possible. I talk to Joy and we say goodnight. It’s so very weird.
Then I go to hang out with Don Rick, who’s sitting at a deli-like place. I make a friend with the lady who runs the deli. She is wearing traditional clothing: an embroidered white shirt, a black skirt with a white underskirt, and a few strands of gold around her neck. She has a gold front tooth. She tells me that she wishes she had learned another language like I have done. She loves the idea that I am planning on teaching Spanish. She calls me “mijita,” a contraction of “mi hijita,” which means “my (little) daughter.”
Senora gets hold of Mark and we find out that a driver is outside the airport. He comes and finds us, and we get in the van. He doesn’t seem to know what Senora is talking about with CEDEI, so we are nervous that he’s not the real deal. (Incidentally, the first Ecuador license plate I ever saw begins with PUC. Just sound that out with a hard “c.”)
January 11, 2014. Quito, Ecuador
We get on really windy roads. There are bonfires at the sides of the roads, and stray dogs everywhere. There are ravines and cliffs, bridges and dips. He doesn’t drive the most carefully, and the van is a stickshift. We arrive at Hotel Quito with barely enough energy to stand.
Mark meets us at the door. He gives us the basics of orientation, consisting mainly of “don’t go anywhere alone” and “don’t put toilet paper in the toilet.” Alex and I stumble to the elevators and find our rooms.
I’m rooming with Lizz. I’m so tired that it’s such a relief to hear English. A hot shower hits the spot and I check my email and take a picture from the balcony before going to bed. The bed is so soft.
Saturday, January 11, 2014
Of Airplanes and Quilt Wadding
I'm currently in a plane, in the air, on my way to Miami and thence to Ecuador. It hasn't become real yet. It's still just weird. Certainly it doesn't feel like it's me actually doing all this. I'm listening to recordings of old church services and fellowship time afterward, trying to not be homesick, trying to swallow the lump in my throat, trying to not cry.
So far, it's been working. Right now, I'm just enjoying the view of tons of clouds outside the window. It's pure white as far as the eye can see. Fluffy, too. It looks like quilt wadding.
I tried to break out my book of notes, but I can't seem to concentrate on it. It seems so entirely surreal that it hasn't even begun to hit me yet. When I see jungle and monkeys, I'll believe it.
I'm over Kentucky, or so my mom tells me. We apparently went over some foothills. They looked like mounds of dirt. That's actually really scary.
So far, it's been working. Right now, I'm just enjoying the view of tons of clouds outside the window. It's pure white as far as the eye can see. Fluffy, too. It looks like quilt wadding.
I tried to break out my book of notes, but I can't seem to concentrate on it. It seems so entirely surreal that it hasn't even begun to hit me yet. When I see jungle and monkeys, I'll believe it.
I'm over Kentucky, or so my mom tells me. We apparently went over some foothills. They looked like mounds of dirt. That's actually really scary.
Thursday, January 9, 2014
Two Days
Going to Ecuador used to be so far in the future that it seemed it
would never happen. It was always "at the end of Christmas break next
year" or "at the beginning of spring semester next year" or "in less
than a year" or "at the beginning of next semester" (that was when it
started being scary) or "in two months."
Now it is "in two days." Less, even. For those who are wondering, two days is not a lot of time. I have so much to do, to get myself ready, to get my family ready, to make sure that things at home will run smoothly while I am away, and even to make sure that things at church will run smoothly while I am away.
My suitcases are currently holding an odd assortment of things that are not nearly everything that I want to bring. The living room looks for all the world like the house threw up in it. I've never packed so much for one person in my life. And seriously, how much do I need? How much will I even use?
My internal dialogue, for the past two weeks, has run something like this:
Will I really use my Hebrew textbook? (Yes, I will. I want to know Piel verbs when I get back [whatever that means])
Will I use my pocketknife? (I would, but I like it too much to potentially lose it. That goes back in my bedside drawer.)
Will I use my driver's license? (Probably not, but it would feel weird to leave it.)
Do I seriously need this many clothes?! (Yes, I do, because I'll be gone for two months.)
Could mace possibly come in handy? (It would if American Airlines would only allow it.)
Don't forget the passport. (how could I possibly forget my passport? It's the most important document I have!) Trust me, that's why I reminded you, self.
If you read that, you saw that I'm verging on schizophrenic.
Now it is "in two days." Less, even. For those who are wondering, two days is not a lot of time. I have so much to do, to get myself ready, to get my family ready, to make sure that things at home will run smoothly while I am away, and even to make sure that things at church will run smoothly while I am away.
My suitcases are currently holding an odd assortment of things that are not nearly everything that I want to bring. The living room looks for all the world like the house threw up in it. I've never packed so much for one person in my life. And seriously, how much do I need? How much will I even use?
My internal dialogue, for the past two weeks, has run something like this:
Will I really use my Hebrew textbook? (Yes, I will. I want to know Piel verbs when I get back [whatever that means])
Will I use my pocketknife? (I would, but I like it too much to potentially lose it. That goes back in my bedside drawer.)
Will I use my driver's license? (Probably not, but it would feel weird to leave it.)
Do I seriously need this many clothes?! (Yes, I do, because I'll be gone for two months.)
Could mace possibly come in handy? (It would if American Airlines would only allow it.)
Don't forget the passport. (how could I possibly forget my passport? It's the most important document I have!) Trust me, that's why I reminded you, self.
If you read that, you saw that I'm verging on schizophrenic.
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