The Homestretch
As the days wind down here on the equator line, I’ve been spending most of my time compiling final projects, practicing for presentations, and studying for my final exams. As much as my patience is wearing thin and my mind and body are exhausted from these months so far from home, I am consciously soaking in what I know are some of my last days in the country. I won’t miss my crowded bus rides to school or the daring exits from moving vehicles, and I think I would be happy if I never had to eat rice or potatoes again. I am ready to say adios to Quito’s pollution and traffic, and some days I literally ache for a good bagel.
It’s a bittersweet feeling, however, because as much as I miss my house in the United States and the people who make it home, there are pieces of Ecua culture that I so badly want to take with me even though I know they could never translate to or survive at home. I think I will be doling out more kisses upon greeting people than I’ll receive and I apologize if I dismiss the concept of waiting in line and push straight to the front. I’ll be missing the backdrop of volcanoes on my walk to the bus stop and don’t even get me started on the price of a sandwich, haircut or taxi ride in New York.
One known distinction between Latin American culture and that of the United States is that children tend to live with their parents much longer here and families are likely to stay close together geographically. Our next door neighbors here in La Granja are my host mother’s son and grandchildren and every single Sunday without fail, all four of her children and their children are at our house at 2:15pm for a family almuerzo (lunch). It’s overwhelming for me and sometimes a little painful to be sitting at a table full of family to whom I am not truly related, sharing stories in a (somewhat) foreign language, and recalling memories of a past I do not share. When I told the table of 25 guests one Sunday that I wished I could share a meal with my extended family every week, they were shocked to learn that my cousins and even my sisters live more than walking distance from my house. “Well how far away do your aunts and uncles live?” my host sister asked me. When I replied that their homes in Connecticut and New Jersey were more than an hour away, everyone was silent. “¡Que pena! (How sad!),” they whispered as they ate their rice and potatoes. I decided not to mention my relatives in California and Tennessee or those in Germany or Israel I’ve only met once or twice.
I do wish I had the ability to walk next door to my grandma’s house or live with my sisters until we were well into our thirties. Here it wouldn’t be strange if a couple got married and never left their parent’s home, but in the US we seem to break free a little sooner, cut the cord, and try and make it on our own. I thrive off of the independence I’ve found in college but these days, as trite as it may sound, I feel like maybe I’m growing up a little too fast and that we could all take a couple pointers from these close-knit Ecuas. Everyone walks a little slower here and takes things as they come, one day at a time. I have never once heard an Ecuadorian tell me they were stressed or overwhelmed.
Maybe we need to slow down and smell the floras or spend the extra seconds to dar besos (give kisses) when we say hello. Taxi drivers, shop owners, even strangers at soccer games call me hija (daughter) or reina (queen) just as a courtesy or a manner of welcoming me into their lives. I certainly don’t live a lifestyle of royalty in Quito but for the most part, I do feel like this culture has embraced me and I will be sorry to go in two weeks. I am changed for having had these adventures, that I cannot deny. I can only wonder where I will find myself once I am back with my own familia, at my own dinner table, in my own country. Two things are certain for the near future: there will be things I will always miss from my Ecua adventures and Dios mio, there will be bagels.
Besos as always from the middle of the world,
Ariel