Buen Provencho!

Imagine this, you wake up in the morning, clean yourself up and, as you are putting that last arm into your shirt, you are greeted by your house Mom asking how you slept and if you are ready for breakfast. Am I ready for breakfast?! Of course I am ready for breakfast and of course I slept well because I was dreaming of, not only breakfast but all the mouth watering foods I will encounter in the coming day. And if breakfast continues to have freshly squeezed juices from fruits with names I can not pronounce nor spell I may just have to give you repeated hugs in addition to the many “muy buenos” and “me gustos” I give you throughout the meal, even if that makes you think I am an even crazier American.

Then, as you are sitting through a training on no sé cuanto, you start to ponder your options for lunch, almuerzo de Indian, de Cubano, de Italiano, and most importantly de tipico all of which include a sumptuous sopa, meat, rice, and plantains, and all of which are generally under $3.00. This is heaven, pure unadulterated heaven. And if you want to go even cheaper than $3.00 you can get an Empanada de Argentina oozing with the creamiest of cheeses and slices of succulent jamon for just $1. One freaking dollar! And the restaurant is located just a hop skip and a jump from your afternoon Spanish class leaving you with a few minutes to catch up on some emails before being slammed with verb after verb after irregular verb.

As you wrap up your 10 hour day you realize that no matter if you go out with your fellow volunteers for drinks or you hop straight onto the Trans Planeta bus you will have a hot plate of food prepared for you the second you put the key in the lock of your new home. Not one day has gone by without a new dish to be had. From Muchines (fried yucca w/ cheese in the middle) to shrimp frittatas, or the most amazing ceviche, to a plain old plate of rice and lentils, you eat it all. Your favorites are the sopas. Personally you have barely mastered the making of one soup, Piedad, on the other hand, has at least ten under her belt. Man, the smells alone make your mouth water more than Marmaduke the dog.

And if by chance you are not home for weekend desayuno or almuerzo, you still know that this country will not let your foodie cravings down. It will surprise you with a fresh out of the oven creamy chocolate brownie, better than any you have ever had before. Then it will bring you a plate of ox tail that you can not eat fast enough. Oh the life, the life.

Now, this friends is what we call being food spoiled. There are no if’s and’s or but’s about it. To clear my conscious of any guilt associated with being food spoiled I offer to do the dishes every meal. It’s my hope that if I do enough of them that maybe just maybe I’ll be invited into Piedad’s kitchen and she will teach me how to make these foods that I know will haunt my taste buds for the rest of my life.

Once Upon Banos…

Wake up. Eat. Miss the bus. Catch the next bus. Attend teacher training for three hours. Have lunch. Scramble to finish Spanish homework. Attend Spanish class. Attend second teacher training, this time only two hours. Take taxi home. Eat dinner. Prepare for the next day. Sleep. Rinse and repeat for two weeks.

Then comes four days in Banos. Four girls, with their weekend packs strapped securely to their backs run for the last day bus to Banos, a gem of a city about three hours south of Quito. Their first trip on their own. All the travel warnings and security talks of the past two weeks in the back of their minds but not holding them back from immersing themselves in a new place and new people.

The bus stops at every small town on the way. Picking up and dropping off people at places that make no sense to the girls but all the sense to those that do it on a regular basis. Then there are the sellers of goods that screech out, “Helado” “Cola y agua” “Mandarins” “Pollo Caliente” “Empenadas” Up and down the bus they go, back and forth, the notion of the girls catching up on sleep hindered by their persistent voices and the smells of freshly made goodies.

Flat town upon flat town blend together into fields of fruits and vegetables that eventually turn into mountains filled with the same fields of fruits and vegetables climbing up their sides. Then, as they turn a sharp corner, they come upon it. A valley amidst mountains that touch the clouds. A dream come true. A loss of breath. Banos.

As the bus arrives in the 7, or so, blocks of a city the girls immediately feel a peace about them. The constant crashing sounds and ever present pollution of Quito will not be missed on this long weekend. Replaced instead by a terrace on the rooftop of their hostal that gives them a view of the mountains they will climb, the waterfalls they will ponder over and a place to drink beers with new friends from around as far away as Australia and as close as Banos itself.

The clouds start to pour over the railing of the terrace and the possibility of rain is now a fact the four girls make plans for the next four days: horseback riding, hiking, jumping off bridges, eating, dancing, singing, staying out late, pushing limits that they did not know were ever set. Plain and simple exploring at its finest and cheapest. And they do it all. Not slowing down for a second until they return to the bus terminal on the fourth day. 

And as they return to a new and busier schedule - wake up, eat, try to workout, catch the bus, attend teacher training, eat lunch, finish Spanish homework, attend Spanish class, attend teacher training, teach two hour English class, take taxi home, eat dinner, plan lesson for next day, prepare for next day, sleep, rinse and repeat - they now have a place to escape to when the big city gets too much.

Upon committing the ultimate sin in Ecuador, maybe even all of Latin America.

The day started early, we grabbed a bus up to Papallachta, a small tourist town, about two hours out of Quito. About a half hour in the scenery changed from the most extremes of urban settings to the greenest of rural mountains. Mountains within mountains with eucalyptus trees flowing back and forth with the wind. The standard brick house turning into the sparse thatched house within minutes.

As we reach Papallachta and turn down a dirt road, we pass a small town, the actual town of Papallachta, then an out of place hotel that will come into play later and into a parking lot for the hot springs the town is known for. Almost immediately a group of us head straight back down to the town, where one of the three restaurants is serving almuerzo de trucha (trout). I imagine that most of you would turn right back around once you entered the shack of a restaurant but, as I am learning, the shabbier the building and the more kids running around the better the food. I opted for the grilled trout rather than the fried most others chose. The fish mesmerizing me by its ability to melt in my mouth and the only thought going through my mind is that it could only be better if I had caught it, hook line and sinker, myself. No sin but eating too much was committed on this part of the journey.

From there we head out on a hike through a small farming valley with llamas and cows as our companions. California poppies, bright green plants and small subsistence farms along with small puddles on the driven road are our setting for the initial hike up. Upon a few missed turns we realize we have missed the actual hiking path and back track to the path down. It is here we understand the true beauty of where we were. A fast running river with waterfalls pouring into it accompanied by a group of new friends and ton’s of places to stop and take pictures made this my favorite part of the day. There was no way any sins could be committed amongst this type of beauty (minus the oil pipes running along one of the mountains and the two llamas who were getting a little too cozy with each other).

By now we were all tired and ready to join the group who had gone straight to the hot springs. In the States hot springs consist of pools of water that you can barely stand because of the sulphor smell. Not true here. The pool we were at was surrounded by rocks with small amounts of warm clean smelling water flowing in at several places. In addition the aforementioned river flowed along one side of the pool and served as a challenge to many, including myself, who wanted to test their limits of jumping from calm and warm to shocking and ice cold. Many “hace frios” plus some additional choice words were screamed out by all who attempted the challenge yet still no known sin was committed as a soft mist started to come down on us.

Here we return to the out of place hotel that charges way too much for Ecuadorean standards but would be considered a find in the United States. Said hotel has a bar, at which many of us have plopped down to watch our first in-country futbol game of Ecuador versus Columbia on the flat screen television. As the game progresses the bar seems to bulge with more and more people. The American tourists, the rich Ecuadorean families on vacation, the locals that work at the hotel all vying for Ecuador’s win over Columbia, as a win would put Ecuador in a qualifying position for the World Cup. If you haven’t figured it out the place was packed. Couches were pushed up against the walls and the bar to fit us all in. People were sitting on each others laps, the cook leaning over the bar to see the T.V. and I am sitting at the very front of this mess of people. With ten minutes left in the game I can’t hold it any more I must go to the bathroom. I have to navigate my way through several people and then shrink myself to about three inches to get through the small space between the couch and bar. I think I’ve got it down until all of a sudden I hear click and the crowd lets out a load sigh. What has happened? Did Columbia score again? Did another Ecuadorian get a red card? Why is the entire room looking at me?  It seems I and my klutzy nature, amplified by a few beers, has managed to turn the power of the TV off with my rear end. Shit! There is no dodging this one, I have committed the ultimate of sins and there is no amount of Our Fathers or Hail Mary’s that can get me out of this one. Luckily it only takes a few minutes for the TV to power up again, during which time I swear the cook put a hex on me and numerous Spanish expletives were thrown my way, possibly even some food. I am certain as Ecuador’s 2-0 loss seems immanent the entire room blames me and I keep my head low until we board the bus back home.

As the bus jumps along the highway and the sun sets on what has been a good day I say mea culpa Ecuador. Mea culpa for all known and unknown sins I have committed and will most likely commit during my year long stay in this most beautiful of countries.