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.
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