Reality

I fear I have been painting the roses a bit too red of late. In fact I think I may have led a few of you to believe that Ecuador is nothing but roses (yes, roses are their 3^rd largest export and cost only $2.50 for 2 dozen here, but that is beside the point). My point is, that you, my friends, have failed by allowing me to get away with the past two sugary blogs without at least one sarcastic jibe towards the silliness of the whole matter.  I wrote about my love for a movie theater for god’s sake. Are you not American? Have you lost the ability to make fun of someone?  The fact is Ecuador is far from being all roses.

I have been here for three months, chump change in the grand scheme of things, but enough time to set up a daily routine, start acclimating to my new surroundings and develop opinions about what I see.  Now we all know I am an optimist. I dream big, live passionately and find the good in all people, sometimes to my own detriment. What you all don’t know is that I am also a realist. The realist in me is purely introverted and keeps me humble as well as serves to gently and continuously remind me that, although I might be having a good day, there are many people who are not. In the past I felt guilty about this and poured all my energy, fruitlessly, into trying to fix as many problems as I could. As I have learned more and more about the world, myself and human nature in general I have realized that I don’t have what it takes to change the world. What I do have is a gift for facilitating learning in those that I meet. So, although my calling may not be to change the world, I live everyday having faith in the fact that I have many opportunities to awaken the calling in someone who will, and that is enough for me.

That being said I have created a list of the top three realities that will most likely wilt the roses I have previously made blossom for some of you. DO NOT misconstrue any of this to think that I am having a hard time or doubts about coming, I am not. This is the reality of Ecuador and it would be extremely selfish of me to continue sharing stories of my own personal gains without including what underlies daily living here.

Number 1) Asi es la vida is not necessarily a good thing. Yes, at one point I said I liked that people don’t complain but then I realized why they don’t complain and have changed my mind. As of last week Ecuador was rated the third most corrupt country in all of the Americas, behind Venezuela and Paraguay. Although the measure itself may be questionable, corruption IS rampant here. Corruption can be as small as nepotism in the government to large debt inducing oil contracts. There is too much money in too few hands and the working people are the ones that suffer to a point of learned helplessness, i.e. not complaining. History tells us, especially the history of Ecuador who has had no president, except for the current one, last longer than two years, that this type of living by the masses leads to revolt. The signs of revolt are starting to show again with a few groups continuously protesting issues such as water privatization, the general lack of social services, and the influence of large drug and oil companies on the lands natural resources.

Number 2) Mucha gente...The urban cities are over populated and the rural areas are ignored. Transportation is horrendous, poverty is more than obvious and the average person struggles everyday to pay rent with most people working two to three jobs to survive. Yet somehow there is still a large portion of people that own iphones and Blackberries…interesting to say the least. Rules are written to maintain a certain level of living standards yet no one follows them nor is there a governing body large enough or void of corruption to enforce them.

Number 3) Muy Peligroso. Corruption plus poverty plus over population=dangerous situations. Simple Maslows Hierarchy of Needs here…if you don’t have what you need to live (food, clothing, water, shelter) you will find a way to get it. I have found out that when the Tienda lady closes shop early and Piedad has me lock myself into the house during the day something violent has happened in the neighborhood. Daily stories involving taxi drivers, robbers, ATM machines and guns are commonplace amongst my students and to ignore these, as some volunteers do, would be a grim mistake. You do not need be scared at a conscious level at all times but you sure as hell better have that stress in your unconscious or something is bound to happen to you. Learning to live with this has been one of the hardest things for me and has made me appreciate the United States even more.

So next time I write about falling in love with an Andean blackberry or how wonderful my life is, remember this list. And know that I purposefully did not write about each item in the detailed capacity that I am capable of as I didn’t want to put a damper on anyone's otherwise good day.

Do not stop thinking of life as an adventure. You have no security unless you can live bravely, excitingly, imaginatively, unless you can choose a challenge instead of a competence. --Eleanor Roosevelt

Upon Falling In Love

There have been times in the past three months where I have found myself in situations that I do not want to be in, where I have been thrust into the throngs of a lifestyle that is not me. Most of these situations stem from my saying yes, as I should be doing, to most invitations from the few Quiteños that I know. The following is not one of those situations; in fact it is quite the opposite. I said yes to a last minute invitation that, at nights end, had me feeling tinglies in a silly place...

An Ecuatoriana friend asked me to accompany her to watch her Tango teacher perform at a small theater. The theater is one of my favorites. Walking in the atmosphere is that of a local coffee-shop with solitary candles on top of teak tables, hip waitresses running around serving mocha’s and wine, and posters of classic actresses headlining the movies of their haydays. Downstairs is one of two modern movie theaters that also doubles as a small concert venue. It was here that I spent the evening falling in love.

As I drank a glass of Argentinean wine and listened to the wonderful non-traditional Tango music in the small theater that sat no more than 40, I watched people all around me be in love. There was the new couple whispering sweet nothings and gently holding and caressing each others hands. The older couple, obviously still as much in love as the day they married. The wife of the guitarist knowing every movement of her husbands hands as he set the tone of the concert. The two German girls dreaming of the life they would have with the young, hip, long-haired Cellist. The Tango dancers, partners of nine years, that knew every curve and every movement of each others bodies. The singer, so in love with his craft that you couldn’t help but lean forward to hear every sing-song word that came out of his mouth.

And then there was me and I was in love as well.

Not with a person, nor a fantasy, or finally having a good glass of wine. It was the moment, the unexpected and new nature of my surroundings, the life and energy in the small theater. The realization that I did not want to be anywhere else in the world than watching the song and dance of passion take hold of the hearts of the rooms occupants. And I was happy and most likely glowing, as my friends back home would probably point out. But I was also content with the fact that the night would inevitably end, as it did, and I would return to the normal day-to-day routine of city living the following morning. Because, after having the realization that I did, I knew the next morning would be better, brighter and maybe even safer than the ones that had preceded it. That my insights into the hearts of others would keep me saying yes to invitations that may otherwise put me in situations that I would rather not be in.

An Ode to Dad...

For those of you that know my Pops you probably know that every morning he wakes up and repeatedly says to himself, “I feel great today”. Growing up he would come into the room that I shared with my sister and have us exclaim the same mantra at the top of our young lungs until we collapsed into giggles or screamed for him to let us stop. As I moved into my tumultuous teenage years and developed a monstrous chip on my shoulder I refused to partake in what I deemed a pointless and corny ritual. Now, as an adult, I find myself returning to my Dad’s optimistic philosophies and muttering “I feel great today”, at the very least, twice a week. I attribute my many good days of late solely to this and even more so to the days that are not just good but absolutely and unequivocally great. These types of days are ones where I feel life rushing through my blood, where possibilities and opportunities are endless. I just so happened to have one of these great days last week..

On my way to work, I realized something was off, different if you will, as I stepped onto the TroleBus. Key word being stepped, as there was actually room to step into the Trole, as in there was not 100 people packed liked sardines in this particular bus and no one around to stare at my body parts, what was I to do? This was strange but I took it as a good sign for the day to come and left it at that.

Upon entering SECAP I realized the electricity was out again (here's an article about the current Ecua energy crisis) and I would have to walk up five flights of stairs. It’s here that some may say I’m crazy, might question my sanity but I must beg to differ. The thing is I’m enjoying teaching with limited resources, including not having lights. It has sparked a creative and spontaneous flair in me that I did not know I had and I look forward to the daily challenge. It also helps that not one of my students, or any Ecuatoriano that I know, has complained about the looming few months of rolling blackouts. They may have a whining type of tone of voice but they rarely complain, as complaining gets them no where. Asi es la vida. I like this.

After class I head down to Plaza Foch, Quito’s Time Square, for what is supposed to be a quick meeting with my Field Director, Kate. Instead her, myself and a 2^nd year WT volunteer visiting from Ambato end up having 8 quite fantastic mochachino’s between the three of us while talking as if we have been friends for life. We have the kind of conversation you can only have once every couple months, it’s deep and real. Over the three hours questions are asked, advice is thrown, pasts are shared, and futures are pondered. We realize how lucky we are and although all three of us may have taken different and more difficult paths than our parents or friends or both, we are happy and we all agree, quite egotistically, that we are better people for it.

From there I grab a quick bite to eat before heading to my two hour Spanish class. Here Carla, my teacher, pushes me hard. I’m writing, I’m reading, I’m asking and answering questions for two hours straight, all in Spanish. She pushes me well past my comfort zone and trust me every last bit of teaching karma comes back to bite me in my behind but it’s good and I am learning, a lot.

Then I head over to the South American Explorers Club where I meet one of my night students, and now a friend for a few hours of tutoring (English for her, Spanish for me). I first realized that I wanted to be friends with Isabel when she told my night class about her families’ tradition of playing chess. I’ve always been intrigued by chess and asked her to teach me how to play. We have been meeting every weekday since then, although we haven’t gotten to playing Chess just yet. Isabel is one of the two Ecua friends I have and she represents one side of me that not many people recognize nor appreciate. She is intelligent, educated, independent (especially for an Ecua woman) and mostly curious. She is my link to Latin America culture, sharing books and movies, inviting me to the Indi movie theater and her Tango classes. It is good to have a friend like this. It is on this particular day that she tells me she has received a scholarship to get her MBA in Italy and will be leaving in late December. I know what this type of decision takes and I am more than happy for her, not to mention the fact that I will now have a friend in Italy (riding bikes through a small Tuscan village here I come). As the hour of our night class approaches we hop on the bus together and it is here that the best part of the day happens. After five minutes of talking I realize that I have just had my first real conversation in Spanish. I didn’t have to think about what to say next, it just came. Of course it disappeared the second I realized what was going on but something I never thought would happen did and I was so excited that I almost made us miss our bus stop.

As is the norm in my night class, I put my students right to work. While they were working and I strolling through the room helping I was able to catch glimpses of the yellow, orange and pink rays of the sun setting over Pichincha and briefly casting a glow into my classroom. Only in one other place has a sunset and landscape such as this created a calming, reflective happiness in me and I hope that when I leave Quito I will be able to find that place on the coast of California again.

If this were an average day, my writing would end here. But you must remember this was a great day and great days rarely end after work. I meet up with Kate again and we head to the Mariscal, where the lights are frighteningly out but the restaurants and bars are lit by candle light, quite the romantic feel. We grab some sushi and some mojitos as we celebrate another friends birthday and I once again find myself deep in conversation. As the small group heads to Salsa I decide to return home as I haven't seen Piedad in a couple of days and I want to savor the day rather than drink it away.

While I'm getting comfy in my wool blankets I think about my Pops and how happy he would be to hear about my day. And if he were to ask me right at this moment how I feel, as he did when we were little, I would have no reservations in screaming back at him, "I FEEL GREAT TODAY, Daddy-O!"

Who are you? Who, who, who, who?

Decided to share, what I hope, is a funny one with you as I’ve got a few long rants coming up on the brewing debate on the US education system and I thought I’d entertain you at least one last time before I got all serious and philosophical.***

As I race to finish up my Friday night class I pause for a moment to give myself a quick pep talk about the coming roar of reggaton, drinking and general debauchery that my young friends Tara, Sarah and Tara will no doubt have us partaking in.

The typical night out starts with me tackling the streets of the Mariscal toting my teaching backpack and ignoring men, if you can call them that, that shout statements I would not dare repeat here. I meet up with the ladies at some side bar where they have either brought along some of their students (strange I know, but their students are the same age as them) or have already met “new” friends for the night. We have a round of Pilsners along with some nachos, also known as a plane old plate of tortilla chips and share the weeks stories with each other. At moments, I am thoroughly engrossed by the things these girls seem to get themselves involved in on a daily basis, at others I find myself daydreaming about home, wanting a nice glass of California wine, the company of my friends and the humm of a small restaurant. As my normal bed time of eleven o’clock approaches I think about at least five excuses, all admittedly lame, to get out of the impending storm that is about to erupt in front of me and will have me questioning just who I am. I pick the best one, voice it to them and am immediately shot down -they know me to well already, I will almost always stay.

Moving from the bar to a dance club usually involves a loud discussion between one of the three girls, one of their “new” local friends or students and the bouncer, always ending with our group being ushered in as celebrities. With the Tara’s and Sarah you become the party, people flock to you, drinks are bought for you; new “friends” are made as “old” ones are thrown out. This type of attention I am not used to and I’m not sure I will ever get used to nor want to..

I make it through the night by dancing and hopefully finding at least one normal soul to talk with. The first of which is the norm and the later extremely rare but preferred. Let me preface by saying that I am not a dancer, I sometimes pretend to be but I am not. I get uncharacteristically self-conscious with my body, even more so when dancing with someone that I like or am attracted to. So I typically only dance when I’ve had a couple of shots of liquid courage and with strangers that I hold no attraction to. That being said there are two types of people that will dance with you here. One is the local who feels sorry for you and will make you their dancing cause of the night the other is the local who wants to sleep with the gringa disguised as the local who feels sorry for you and will make you their dancing cause of the night. To differentiate between the two is, luckily, fairly simple. Clue number one, you are repeatedly and insistently told you are a good dancer rather than being taught the steps to the song. Clue number two, somehow you are no longer doing salsa or Machala moves and all the other men in the club (again not sure if the label of man works here, especially since it seems as if there is an age LIMIT of 20 to be at these Clubs), are staring at the two of you with their jealous mouths gaping. It takes about one point fives seconds of seeing gaping mouths before excusing myself to the bathroom. Looking in the mirror I do a quick rendition of MJ’s Man in the Mirror just for kicks, wipe the sweat from brow and start to plan my escape home. It will take convincing the girls to switch clubs and in route, exactly as we are passing a hot dog stand, strategically mentioning the fact that we have not eaten yet. As we are eating our hot dogs with pineapple sauce, potato chips and pickled onions (another guard against unwanted moves) we will discuss the happenings of the night thus far. If I am lucky I can convince one of them to go grab a cab with me, if not, I am stuck out until one of them remembers they have a boyfriend and wants to go home to pull the late night US drunk dial. Either way I have to wait until I can convince someone to walk with me to the taxi’s, as walking through the Mariscal by yourself, after 9:00, is equivalent to walking through a lions den that has 10 new baby cubs in it. You just don’t do it.

Eventually I get home and race the suns rays to bed as I try to answer The Who’s question, just who am I right now? The answer doesn’t take long and I'm happy with it. I’m a soon to be 32 year old, living it up in Ecuador, putting myself in situations that I otherwise wouldn’t put myself in at home, doing what I am meant to do, teaching, exploring and learning, and loving every minute of the challenges that those things bring.

P.S. Comments on age, especially regarding extremely young dance partners and soon to be 32 year olds, will not be tolerated! I know, trust me I know...