The Ecua Hour
I am approaching the end, my friends. In my final days and last few posts, I can’t help but keep sharing those little Ecua anomalies that make studying abroad a constant culture lesson.
When I first got to this country, I was warned about and prepped for something called “La hora ecuatoriana” or the “Ecuadorian Hour.” It doesn’t refer to the time difference (we’re only one hour behind right now) and half of the year there actually isn’t a difference between Eastern Standard Time and Quito because we’re directly under New York. The Ecua hour refers to the general rule of thumb that everything always starts 90 minutes to 2 hours after the assigned time. If someone says “Meet me at 3pm,” there’s absolutely no need to show up before four. If there’s a party or get together and the invitation says 9:30, arriving before 11 might be considered rude.
At the beginning of the semester I was invited to a host cousin’s house for a dinner at 7pm. I had spent the day traveling and told my host family I would meet them at their cousin’s place for the meal that evening. When my bus back to the city was delayed and I rang the bell at 7:45, I was embarrassed for my tardiness and nervous that I would interrupt the meal: the gringa house guest arriving on her own schedule. When my cousin answered the door, she gave me a strange look before asking, “What are you doing here, Ariel?” She had just started making the dinner and not one of my family members was there. Discúlpame (Pardon me), I thought to myself. How rude of me to arrive while she was still preparing. I should have considered that before I showed up 45 minutes late.
Even something as formal as college classes here adhere to the Ecua hour policy. There are technically no breaks between class periods like there are in the United States. If you have a class from 10 to 11:30, your next class will have an assigned start time of 11:30. It’s assumed that students will stroll in about 20 minutes late, followed by the professor who will usually arrive just shy of a half hour into the time slot.
I cannot complain that I’ve come to live in a culture that is so lax about lateness, but I’ve come to realize that living a dilatory lifestyle is frustrating and exhausting. Often I find myself killing time outside museums, at tables alone in restaurants or while clutching my bag to my chest waiting for friends in a crowded bus station. I just can’t seem to break my habits of being where I said I’ll be at the moment I said I’d be there. The rare occurrences where I myself have abided by the Ecua hour have been the few times when it wasn’t appropriate to show up late. For a meeting at my program director’s house, a date with a friend in the park, or an interview for a final project, I suddenly find myself at fault. “I told you to meet me at 6!” my friend barked at me one evening when I finally located her in a crowd outside our favorite bar. “It’s 6:09,” I replied. “And I thought we lived in Ecuador.”
I’m going to take my time packing up this week, maybe take a longer route to school or push my lunch breaks a little further into my afternoon classes. I’m sad to say my adventures are coming to an end, but beyond excited for my trip to Peru and my final journey home to the United States to see my family and friends. I’ve been pretty far away for quite a long while now and I know that when the time comes to head home, I’ll be the gringa at the airport early, hoping my flight leaves right on time.
Besos,
Ariel