Nobody Panic, it´s Just a Derrumbe
If you’re reading this and you’re a fellow Cornellian, you’re no stranger to daily downpours. Ecuador doesn’t have a spring, summer, fall and winter like we do in New York, but there are two distinct seasons here: wet and dry. Leave it to me to leave the rainiest place I’ve ever been (my beloved Ithaca) and travel to Ecuador during the wet season, which is from about January through May. Perfecto.
The only true variation in climate the country experiences is rain and lack of rain. In fact, I learned the other day that the daily variation in temperature is far greater than the annual variation. And all year round, there are exactly 12 hours of daylight and 12 hours of darkness, because the country is located on the equator. It’s a little strange to think about. Sometimes I feel as though I am propelled forward with the changing of the seasons at home. I know when summer ends, it’s time to head back to school and when it starts to snow and the days get shorter, the holidays are approaching. When I haven’t seen the sun or stepped outside without six or seven layers on in weeks, it’s February or March at Cornell, and when I can’t stand to be in the library when the quads are green again, it’s May and time for finals. If someone sent you to Ecuador for a week, the weather would be no indicator of what month it was. If it rained a lot, there’s a pretty good chance that it’s sometime between the beginning and middle of the year. No matter what, the sun will set at 6:30pm and rise again the next morning at 6:30am. Daylight savings doesn’t exist here either because we never fall behind or go too far forward.
It rains almost every afternoon and evening here. It’s quick, torrential downpours, typically occurring around the time I take my eight minute walk between buses. All that rain causes lots of ropa mojada (wet clothes), full buses, flooded streets and muddy lawns. It also causes derrumbes or mudslides that tend to wash away main roads around the country every couple weeks. On Saturday my program traveled to a city called Santo Domingo to visit an indigenous community called the Tsachila for the day. We left Quito at 7am and about 2 hours into the ride we hit a toll and were told to turn around. “No hay una calle (there isn’t a road),” the police officer told our program director. “You mean the road is closed today?” we asked. “No,” she said, “it’s gone, it doesn’t exist anymore. I guess it was washed away last night in the rain. They’re going to build a new one. Soonish.”
We were all pretty disappointed and in the United States, we might have just toughed it out and taken a longer route around the mudslide. However, here in Ecuador, a country the size of Colorado with far less infrastructure, there’s pretty much just one road that heads to each place. If you remember from a while back, I wrote a post about getting stuck in a small jungle town called Mindo. It was the same situation; a road had washed away over night. However, that time, I was already out of the city and without a way back because there is only one road connecting Mindo to the capital. If that road washes away, I guess you’re staying put.
On Saturday, after finding out we wouldn’t be making it to Santo Domingo, we wound up turning around and heading to Cotopaxi, an amazing active volcano located about an hour and a half south of and approximately 1000 kilometers above Quito. It was cold and cloudy and therefore hard to see anything more than the base of the volcano, but the beauty was spectacular and there was a great hike up a nearby mountain. We were about 20 minutes up towards the top, staring at the lake below, when it started to hail. We all looked around in awe, in part because of the incredible view, but mostly because there was something falling from the sky that wasn’t rain.
Sitting in my bed later that night, listening to the rain falling outside my window, I realized that my semester here in Ecuador is beginning to wind down. I know I still have several weeks left, but April is only days away and looking back on all I’ve done, I can’t help but feel proud that I’ve made it this far. I’m happy and for the most part, healthy, with just a few bumps and bruises along the way. Living in a different world, I’ve acquired a new mentality, more of a “que sera sera” perspective on things. I might get lost or lonely, frazzled or frustrated, but things will turn out okay in the end. If there’s a problem, I’ll fix it, if I’m confused, I’ll ask for help in Spanish (because I can do that now), and if there’s a mudslide and the road washes away, we’ll just come up with an alternate plan, pick a different sight to see, and a new path to follow.
Que te vayas bien,
Ariel
Just a little farther…
If you’ve read my latest posts you’ll know that sometimes when I’m lost here in Ecuador, things seem to work out perfectly. Someone will swoop in to play the hero, rescuing me from a sticky situation at just the right moment. Most of the time, however, things don’t seem to go quite so smoothly.
I’ve become extremely comfortable with being lost here. At first I thought I was starting to get to know the city really well, but I’ve realized that I take the wrong bus, direction, or course just as often, if not more than I did at the beginning. The difference seems to be that I’ve really started to embrace being confused and disoriented. Whereas in the beginning of the semester I may have had a small panic attack or jumped straight into a taxi when I didn’t know where I was, now I take pride in figuring out a new bus route or asking for directions on the street.
While Quiteños are generally pretty friendly, they are not very helpful when it comes to giving directions. Last week I had a fieldtrip with my Latin American art history class to visit murals and sculptures around Quito for the day. We were instructed to meet at Casa de Cultura, a museum that contains exclusively Ecuadorian art. I waited after class to ask my professor where in Quito the museum was located and she answered me by saying, “Está en el sur,” meaning “It’s in the South.” Before I could ask for a clarification, a street address or even a landmark in the vicinity, she grabbed her things and told me she was very excited and that she’d see me there on Friday.
So on Friday when I hailed a cab on the street outside my house, I told the driver to take me to Casa de Cultura. He knew exactly where it was, but out of curiosity, I asked him where it was located. Just as my professor had, he told me, “Está en el sur.” When I asked where in the south it was located, his reply was, “El sur de la ciudad (the south of the city).” I let the conversation go after that.
Often when I’m on the street here, I’ll ask someone where a certain restaurant, market, or museum is located and they’ll reply with a very typical Ecua-answer: “Un poco más allá (a little more that way).” They’ll point in one direction or another and after walking for several minutes, I’ll stop and ask someone else and receive the same answer. In a city of nearly 2 million people, thousands of restaurants and hundreds of streets, I guess the locals just assume you’ll find what you’re looking for. Most days I do.
So if anyone is looking to find me these days, or wondering exactly where it is I am located, just head to the equator and go about 15 kilometers south. You’ll find me somewhere in a park, in a museum, in a restaurant, in a bus station, in a classroom or in my bed in Quito, just un poco más allá from wherever you happen to be. If you’ve hit Peru, you’ve definitely gone too far.
Un gran beso,
Ariel
It’s a Small World After All
Hola again, all! I hope my college friends are looking forward to their time off from school next week and possibly a hiatus from the snow and cold. Here in Ecuador (and most of Latin America), our Spring Break falls at the beginning of April when the entire country gets 2 weeks off for Semana Santa. I’m already dreaming of the Galapagos Islands, where I’ll be spending the first part of my break. However, five weeks is quite a while to wait and after several Ecua tests and papers this past week, I decided I deserved a little rest and relaxation.
On Saturday morning, a friend and I bought $2 bus tickets and made our way towards Papallacta, a very small mountain getaway famous for their termas (thermal springs). After a couple of hours on the bus, we were advised by the driver to disembark on the side of the road and walk the 2km to the springs. We walked uphill through the mountains in the Ecuadorian sun for about an hour and a half before reaching a large sign telling us that the hot springs were in the opposite direction. “Termas de Papallacta: 5km,” it read. We were extremely hot and tired and our supply of water was starting to run low. Being the adventurous gringas we are, we decided to be trusting of our fellow Ecuadorians and hitch a ride back in the other direction towards the termas.
A family stopped to pick us up on the side of the road and we decided their fishing gear and small children in the backseat were good signs that they were safe. After explaining where we were from and how we’d wound up in our predicament, we got to chatting about Ecuador and where we lived in Quito. I live in a particular barrio (neighbor) in the city called la Granja. The woman driving told me that she had lived in la Granja for many years and asked for the last name of my host mother.
Here’s the thing about Ecuadorians. They’re all about connections: who you’re related to, where you’ve worked, when you arrived in the country. Everyone claims to be a distant relative of the President, have created the first recipe for this or that, or have been in the graduating class of so and so. It wasn’t any surprise that this woman thought she might know my host mother. In a city of nearly 2 million people, Quiteños will create a connection. I gave her the last name and without missing a beat, she answered with my host mother’s first name, age and marital status. She knew her and she wasn’t making it up. I was absolutely floored. We were about 3 hours from the capital, in a town of 200 residents, in the back of a truck with complete strangers who had been to my house in Quito. They were good friends for many years, she informed me, and they had gotten lunch several weeks ago in a restaurant by our house.
Despite how different and foreign Ecuador remains, I was reminded that no matter where we are, the world is a pretty small place. I can send an email in less than one second, call my friends abroad in Asia, Africa and Europe on their international cell phones, see my family in New York on a webcam, or just wait by the side of the road for a family friend to drive by and pick me up when I’m in a sticky situation.
So here I am, at the middle of a seemingly small world, surrounded by strangers to whom I am somehow connected. I feel so lucky to be here, exactly where I am, at just the right time. Saludos y besos a todos.
-Ariel
La America o Las Americas?
I clearly remember learning about the seven continents in my second grade class during a geography unit: Africa, Antarctica, Asia, Australia, Europe, and North and South America. There was a colorful map, a short quiz and maybe even a song involved, but there certainly wasn’t a discussion. There were seven undisputedly distinct continents and six of them were inhabited. However, last week in a colonialism course my professor began the class with a prompt: draw America. “Well does she mean North America or South America,” I wondered, “or maybe she’s referring to the America I always knew, the 50 United States of America.” Several gringos raised their hands hoping the professor would clarify but she simply repeated the instructions: draw America.
We went around in a circle, displaying our answers to the question and while some international students had draw only the United States, the majority of the class and every single Ecuadorian student had drawn one America: North and South joined together lengthwise on their paper. “So are there one or two Americas?” the professor asked. We took a vote and 15 to 4 voted in favor of one, big, all-encompassing America.
Some students immediately protested, refusing to accept that the foundation to their knowledge of geography had just crumbled beneath them, but I remained quiet, silently considering the possibility that I had been mistaken for so many years. If there was a clearly defined North America and South America as I had always presumed, where do our friends in Central America fall? For example, if you ask a Nicaraguan on which continent their country lies, what would they answer? And furthermore, where does that put our southern neighbors in Mexico? They border on Central America, so where does North end and South begin?
I tried to focus on the lecture for the next hour and twenty minutes but my mind started to wander. If someone here in Ecuador asks me where I am from, I do not answer “Soy americana (I’m American)” but rather, “Soy estadounidense (I’m from the United States).” I made the mistake my first week here of telling a cabdriver that I was American and he immediately retorted with, “Well, so am I.” He wasn’t wrong, was he?
The class I’m taking is titled “Norte y Sur: Procesos de Colonialismo (North and South Processes of Colonialism).” The colonialism that us estadounidenses usually think of is when the Virginia Company sent planters to Jamestown or when the Puritans came to New England. Yet when these first English arrived on American soil, they were settling an America that had already been conquered by their Spanish enemies, just a little further south in a slightly warmer, more mountainous region. We so often ignore that America was conquered in totality.
So la America o las Americas? Or maybe there are even three of them? My class couldn’t really come to a conclusion that day and I left thinking my concept of geography had been permanently atlered. Every time I say I’m American, I’ll probably be propelled back to the moment when I was drawing the picture in my notebook. Just another example of how some things from this experience will never leave me. I’ve heard there’s lots of snow at home in your America up north, so I hope you’re all enjoying that. Stay happy and healthy and if you get a chance, let me know how many Americas you believe in.
Saludos to all,
Ariel
Adventuras en la Amazonia
It’s been another long stretch without a blog post and I apologize for the wait. The only excuse I have is that this weekend was Carnaval and with a couple days off from classes and an itch to see more of the country, I traveled to the Amazon Rainforest with my program for several nights. Needless to say, I did not have internet access or hot water until Tuesday when I returned home to about four dozen emails and what I’m pretty sure was the most satisfying shower of the decade. Although I am rarely at a loss for words, the only way to describe what I saw and smelled and felt this weekend is to say that it was what I had always imagined the rainforest to be: layers of greenery, unidentifiable insects and animals, and a level of humidity I have never before experienced.
Just to share a little bit about the holiday Carnaval, it’s the Monday and Tuesday before Ash Wednesday and it’s sort of a last romp before Lent begins. People stand in the street and throw globos de agua (water balloons) at cars, buses and pedestrians and it becomes kind of like a countrywide water fight. In recent years Quiteños have taken to throwing much more than water. Flour, shaving cream and eggs fly off the grocery shelves during these days and no one is safe. You can see business men on their commute home covered in yolk and I even saw one professor drenched in class on Friday. As one friend’s 6 year-old host brother put it “Nosotros hacemos pan de personas aquí” which translates to “We make bread out of people here.”
I escaped most of the mess here in the capital and took a journey to the east of the country called el Oriente. El Oriente is one of the four ecological zones here in Ecuador along with La Sierra or the Highlands, which is the mountains where Quito is located, the Galapagos, which is part of Ecuador’s national park system and in a world all its own, and la Costa or the coast where all of Ecuador’s beaches are located. El Oriente is pretty much anywhere the Amazon touches and the university I attend has a biodiversity station on a river called Tiputini. The government has donated the space to the university for 25 years and scientists from all over come to study one of the most biodiverse environments in the world. When I say this place is in the middle of nowhere, I am not exaggerating. To get there we took a 25 minute plane flight, a two hour boat ride, a two hour truck ride, and then another 2 hour boat ride right up to the steps of the station.
We woke up at six in the morning each day to hike through the rainforest with a Spanish-speaking guide in boots up to our knees to march threw the mud. I waded through water up to my waist where the paths had washed away, climbed to a tower above the canopy to watch the sunrise, went floating down the river for a couple hours, watched monkeys swing in the trees around me, and ate exotic jungle fruits and some ants. The guide told us that the ants that lived in a certain plant tasted like lemon. I was both confused that something had gotten lost in translation and extremely hungry so I tried some. He was right. The second they hit your tongue, they tasted exactly like biting into a lemon. When in Rome…or the middle of the Amazon.
If I had any doubts about why they call it the rainforest, my questions were answered this weekend when I saw and heard the most incredible rain. It comes down like it hasn’t rained in months yet it rains several times each day. The plants are always covered in water droplets and the ground is never dry. The entire station, which at times houses more than one hundred researchers and employees, uses purified rainwater collected in buckets around the site for showering and drinking. It was like entering a biology textbook or a painting and I was completely overwhelmed knowing I would never see anything like it again. In fact, it seems to have been the cure for the frustrations I was feeling this past week. All I needed was some time off from school, a couple calming boat rides and several deep breaths of jungle air.
So I’ve seen three of the four regions and I’m off to the Galapagos in about six weeks to see the fourth. I feel unbelievably privileged and content and also a sudden urge to drop my English and history majors and make a last minute switch to ecology. As the weeks fly by here, I’m still thinking of everyone at home and my very best friends abroad and hoping that no matter the location, you are having your own adventures on the snowy slopes of Ithaca, in the South American sun or the land down under, the green hills of Ireland or the jungle of Manhattan. Stay happy, all.
Saludos,
Ariel
Foreign and Frustrated
More than a month and a half into an experience that has been largely defined by a fascination with and appreciation of the unknown and foreign, I find myself craving the familiar in a way I never expected. I wouldn’t go so far to say that I am particularly homesick and I am certainly not ready to go, but after many weeks away and lots of exploring, the daily excitement begins to fade and the frustrations start to set in.
I have spent weeks trying to familiarize myself with the language, the altitude, the weather, the food, the bus routes, that I didn’t quite realize when I stopped feeling like a tourist and starting feeling like I had moved somewhere very far away, for a very long time. I question when I will begin to dream in Spanish, when my brain won’t hurt from the constant internal translating, when my body will fully adjust to the new foods and flavors, and when I will truly feel like this is home for me. I have started to realize that while I will continue to grow more comfortable, I will probably feel “away” for as long as I am abroad.
For me, it seems that part of what makes traveling so wonderful and exhilarating is the notion that there is something familiar to return to at the end, that you are not at home. Although I think I have become pretty adventurous and fairly confident, home will always be in the United States with the first language that I learned, the people I grew up with and the smells that fill my kitchen in New York. It seems that I am somewhat of a homebody abroad. I have most definitely fallen in love with aspects of this country; the unparalleled natural beauty, incredible exotic fruits, and the satisfaction of purchasing something, introducing myself or acing a test in a new language.
It is a juxtaposition of two worlds. This world I am in right now is one that makes me think about moving abroad, becoming fluent and leaving what I know behind to start a new life in a different place. The other is a world of more familiar scents and tastes with a language in which I can say everything I want to, a world where I can feel comfortable walking alone at night, and know my stomach won’t turn on me at any moment.
However, at the end of the day, sometimes the unfamiliar is still what makes me smile. There was a strange smell coming from my kitchen a few nights ago and I went downstairs to check if maybe an appliance had been left on or someone was cooking something I had yet to smell. I snooped around for a bit and opened the oven to discover that the only things inside of it were some dishtowels and six giant melons. Just sitting on the shelf. Strange. I laughed for a good minute or two, located the unidentifiable food giving off the bizarre scent and ate it. I figure what won’t kill me will only make me stronger. Or send me to the bathroom for the night.
To my family, thanks for visiting me here in this new place, for bringing something familiar to remind me of what I have back in the States. To my friends and all readers, if you feel like leaving your home for a while and coming to visit, there’s so much to see and smell and explore, even in just a few days. I crave American foods, miss you all and love this new country, despite the fact that the novelty of being here seems to have worn off. Saludos to all. And if you come here, please bring bagels. Oh, what I wouldn’t do for a bagel right now.
Besos,
Ariel
Tranquila, tranquila
Sorry to have kept you waiting, friends and family. The last 10 days or so have been overwhelming and slightly stressful and moments with internet access are sparse. Now that I do have time to share some of the adventures I´ve been having, sit back and enjoy.
So I have chosen to adapt as my personal motto my absolute favorite/most frustrating Ecua phrase: Tranquila. At times it can be used as an endearing encouragement: “Tranquila, mi hija, todo esta bien. (Calm down, my child, don´t worry, all is well).” This is always helpful in moments of small stress or confusion. If I didn´t realize an assignment was due in a class or I accidentally got on the wrong bus, a well placed “tranquila” reminds me that things will work out, that although I am worried, I am still safe and healthy. However, Ecuadorians don´t seem to differentiate between small speed bumps and larger life crises. Last week I was eating at a lunch buffet with a friend who is highly allergic to avocado. We asked the waiter if the salad contained any avocado and after we got the green light, we dug into the first of three courses, all for $1.40. About halfway through the mountain of rice on her plate, my friend´s throat started to close. There wasn´t any avocado in the salad, as the man had told us. Just in the dressing. I tried to explain in broken Spanish and exaggerated gestures that there was an emergency regarding the meal. “Tranquila,” he told me. Not an appropriate response.
Last weekend a group of friends and I traveled to Mindo, a small adventure town about two hours outside of Quito in the jungle. We took a bus ride through the mountains to get there, 11 gringos with full backpacks and a collection of about 15 travel guides. We hiked to an incredible waterfall, went ziplining, explored some local shops and were ready to start making plans to come home on Saturday night for the following afternoon. However, we learned that the main road from Quito to Mindo had just collapsed in a mudslide. The country is only about the size of Colorado and the concept of alternative routes is pretty non-existent. I was speaking to the owner of our hostel about how I had a test on Monday and that we didn´t have enough money to stay another night and that there were no ATMs for about 30 miles. “Tranquila,” she told me smiling, “todo esta bien.”
Well, she was right. We made it home on a 7 hour bus the next morning, 11 gringos who were exhausted, broke, and far from tranquila. This past Saturday night, after braving another long bus trip to a beach called Tonsupa, we found ourselves out at night looking for a taxi in a one street town. Apparently, the only cabdriver in Tonsupa had gone home for the evening and we were about a 30 minute walk from our hotel. We searched for several minutes before being offered a ride in the back of a large truck. “No, no, necesitamos un taxi real, Senor (We need a real taxi, Sir),” we told the driver. He told us “Tranquila.” The man looked nice and the truck only smelled slightly of pigs. We were all together and had hand sanitizers back at the room. So we took the ride, for the reasonable price of $3 (Sorry, Mom).
Whether you´re feeling sick from eating exotic fruit or you´ve left your passport and identification card in a taxi, the response here to calm your nerves will be the same. So tranquila, all. My adventures have had some bumps for certain, but I am alive and happy in a place where everyone stays cool and collected, even when it´s not appropriate. Stay healthy and warm, wherever you may be. And don´t stress, all will be fine.
Saludos,
Ariel
How to Exit a Moving Bus Gracefully
While getting to Ecuador wasn´t particularly difficult (there are direct flights from most capital cities and everyone reading this should be booking tickets here right now), getting around the city of Quito has proven to be more of a challenge. There´s a large public transportation system, way too much traffic, and Quiteños rushing in all directions. Each day I take two buses to school from my house in Quito to Cumbayá where I go to school. It´s the most exhilarating and frightening part of my day and I actually give thanks when I arrive in one piece each morning.
Just a little information about Quito´s public transit system. Buses here are run in somewhat of a conglomerate, meaning that several Quiteños own the actual bus and hire a driver and a fare collector. A percentage of whatever money is made on the bus during the day goes to the government (25 cents is the price per ride), but the owners of the bus split the rest. So the more passengers, the more money. There´s no limit to how many people can fit in a vehicle in Quito. The joke here is: How many Ecuadorians can you fit on a bus? Answer: 15 more. Each bus is targeting the same customer base which means that there are always people trying to get you onto a bus. Doesn´t matter where you´re going. Last Wednesday I asked a driver if a bus went to Hospital Militar, one of my stops on the way to school. He told me yes. The true answer was no. We did not go to Hospital Militar. In fact, we were not anyway near where I needed to be.
Rather than having a very public, very loud mental breakdown, I decided to calmly exit the bus and regroup. However, exiting a bus is another adventure because they do not come to a complete stop. So with my bus fare in one hand, a bag full of books in another and one foot wrapped around a seat for stability, I managed to make it through the doors. The trick is to keep running once you hit the street so that you can slow yourself down further down the road. I had absolutely no idea where I was but saw the hospital in the skyline in the distance. So I walked. For about 40 minutes. Although I was sweaty and pretty sunburned by the time I made it there, I did make it. It´s the small daily victories that really make me proud.
I hope all is well with everyone, wherever you may be. Best of luck with the cold weather, work, and daily commutes.
Saludos,
Ariel
Land of the Free…
I am a little more than 2 weeks into my abroad experience and while I have been uncomfortable and overwhelmed at times, today was the first day that I truly wished I could be back in the United States. It was a wonderful day to be American and a very difficult day to be an American abroad.
Although I felt frustrated and slightly homesick being here in Quito, I got to watch the inauguration of President Obama on the steps of an Ecuadorian university on two TV screens, one in English and the other in Spanish. Around me were about 80 students from the school, most of which were American students studying here for a semester abroad, but several of whom were Ecuadorians who had ditched class to watch history in the making. Or maybe they had just ditched class.
The change that occurred today is a change for United States citizens that has global repercussions and reactions. When I tell someone here that I am from the United States (if they cannot immediately tell from my accent), the first question I get is “Where in the US are you from?” and the second is “How do you feel about Barack Obama?” That is not an exaggeration. It has literally happened more times that I can count and it always catches me off guard. I am ready for a change, for a new perspective and direction that I genuinely feel could affect my personal future. Those Ecuadorians I spoke to today felt similarly. One girl told me she skipped class because she felt it was one of the most important moments for the United States, as well as for Latin America. “Today he becomes the President of your country,” she told me, “but he also becomes a leader of ours.”
So this is just a quick post to let everyone at home know that I am thinking about my country today as I slowly acclimate to a new one. I am constantly aware of the fact that I am an American, a gringa among latinos, and my greatest wish is that I could just blend in, speak fluently and be part of this incredible culture. Today, however, I gladly watched the screen in English, surrounded by loud Americans, crying and clapping for something of which we can truly be proud.
Saludos to all,
Ariel
Hello…again!
Hello friends, family and all those readers out there! While I expected a hearty welcome to this new place, it seems the hellos (and the goodbyes) never really stop here in Ecuador. In the States, when we meet someone new, we might exchange pleasantries, extend our hand, or if we´re feeling especially friendly, we might even lean in for a hug. Besos or kisses when saying hello are certainly not unique to Ecuador and I know I´m not the first exchange student to feel as though they have kissed more people in their first week abroad than they can count. I have a list of new vocabulary words that is becoming pretty lengthy, but it would not be nearly as long as a list of strangers whose cheeks have come in contact with my lips recently.
But it´s more than just introductions that involve besos. In fact, every single time I leave the house or come home or even wake up in the morning, there´s a big welcome: welcome to the house again, welcome to the kitchen for breakfast, welcome back from the bathroom, Ariel! Yesterday I went to the paneria (bread shop) with my host sister. The shop was about a 2 minute drive and I was little confused why we didn´t walk there in the first place. Upon our return about 6 minutes later, I received a kiss from each member of the family. They were the same 6 people I had kissed before leaving only minutes before. Were they genuinely surprised that the gringa had made it home from the paneria? Were they just happy about the warm rolls I had with me? Or is there something I am missing that we just dont experience in the States?
I tried to talk it over with my host sister that night and through a rather tricky and broken conversation, I got some answers. She said life here is about company. Who you choose to eat with, live with, share your days with really matters, and they don´t want anyone to forget that. When I arrive or leave somewhere in the States, usually a wave will suffice. It´s a communal wave at that, to be shared among everyone present. It´s as if each time you arrive somewhere here in Ecuador people are saying, “Come here and let me show you how glad I am to have you with me.” So while the transition into this new culture has not been easy, warm welcomes and sincere goodbyes are much appreciated.
So hello to everyone back home and abroad from this beautiful place. I have been here about one week and I am sure I will have much more to share once I settle in to a routine and find my place here among this new language and new life. Besitos and love to all.
Saludos,
Ariel
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