Recorrido Barrial - May 1, 2007

Tuesdays are "Neighborhood Walk" days, known here in Spanish as "Recorrido Barrial". Before we leave the house, to visit our neighbors, we begin with oracion, praying for the vecinos that we know and will chat with, and for any new neighbors we will meet this day on our walk through Barrio San Roque/San Diego. In an attempt to literally love our actual neighbors, we dedicate each Tuesday to getting to know the barrio a bit better.
Gerardo doesn't come with us today. Too much coffee yesterday left him with an unagreeable stomach. That leaves 6 of us in our group: Lenin, Matt, Andres, Bill, Esteban and I. We head out, unsure of who we will talk with today, but confident that whoever it may be, that we will do our best to love them well.
Our first encounter, laughably, is discovering Matt's flip-flop, lying face down on the other side of the street. "Wait a minute...how did THAT get THERE?" We momentarily marvel at how his shoe ended up outside, across the street, without its partner, and then Matt goes to return it to his room. ONWARD! We go up Calle Imbabura, intending to visit Engma and her husband Pablo, on Calle Perez Quinozen. We take a left on Quinozen and ring the bell. After a few moments of wildly barking dogs, Engma pokes her head over the high balcony. "Hola, como estas?...Do you have time to chat?," we ask. "Lo siento, no, I don't, but could you come back later?", Engma wants to know. No problem, we answer and continue on our way.
We stop on the corner and watch a truck filled with angry squealing swine, careen around the bend, the truck bed filled with people who are tyring to corale the pigs and keep them somewhat under control.
We continue on up the road that heads to the Panecillo. We take a right on Calle Maranon. Down the street, past the tunnels, past the Monestary of San Diego, its front arches filled with flower vendors. Roses, mostly, are being sold.
We make our way down Calle Chimborazo, and come upon our friend, Marisol Congo, in her newly opened tienda located on the corner of Chimborazo and Almeida streets. The sign above her store tells us "Aborrotes y Tercena. Odal y Munoz." There she is, selling everything from raw meat to toilet paper. She has just recently moved to this location, previously having owned a cevicheria, a few streets down. She offers us all a glass of coke, from the same cup, so we all must wait for our turn. Once one person is done, she pours another glass, and we pass it to the next person, and on down the line. I decline the soda, so she offers me an orange instead. We thank her for her hospitality, for the coke, and move on.
Onward we head, in search of the next neighbor to catch up with, or meet for the first time. We pass a man selling sliced watermelon. He is holding a huge silver platter above his head, which is loaded with thick slices of the juicy red fruit. "Sandia, sandia, sandia..." he cries. We also pass a woman cooking cui on a grill. Cui, pronounced "kwee", is guinnea pig, and is a local delicacy. The teeth and claws are still intact, only now they are a crispy brown.
Solomon is our next stop. He owns a carpenter workshop around the corner from where we live. His wife, his senora, owns and runs a cone shop across from our front door. Not ice cream, just the cones. Solomon, like always, has much to say. His raspy voice rambles on about politics, his family, and what do we think of Ecuador, while small bits of food fly out of his mouth. Dear Solomon. Next stop: Rosita.
Rosita prides herself on the few English phrases she knows, and uses them confidently and boldly, belting them out as we approach. "Hello!", she bellows. "Good-day!" We hear, (again) how she had lived in London for five years, but how they didn't teach her any English there! She sits on a red plastic stool, next to an old man that is with her today. I don't recognize him. He is fiddling with an aged cast that is on his right hand. "How long have you lived here, Rosita?", I ask. "Veinte anos", comes the reply. 20 years. Everyday she sits in her driveway, hoping to sell something from her bizarre collection of items that are displayed in her entry way. There are about 6 pairs of pants, hanging by hangers from the top of the door; an assortment of tools; a box of dirty plastic dolls; some skirts and scarves; some plates and cups; nails and screws; hard hats; old radios.. the list goes on and on. We say "Adios" to Rosita as she booms "BYE-BYE!" to our little group.
We turn right on Calle Loja, then right again on Imbabura, approaching Casa Victoria. Maestro Angel is working on restoring the large front entrance doors, and lets us pass. We are back at Casa Victoria, back at home.
We are done for today. Done visiting our neighbors. We met no one new today, just visited old pals. But that's just how it goes sometimes on the Recorrido Barrial. Viva San Roque!

$8.00...Not Too Shabby

While we were in Ipiales, Colombia, back in February we had to watch our money and how much we were spending, as we were not quite sure how long we would actually end up being there! We tried to be consistent about writing down our expenditures for meals, hotels, waters, internet, etc. This made our job easier when we got home in entering it all into our Excel Spreadsheet for the Y.F.B. (Young Family Budget).
Our most triumphant day of pinching pennies, occured our second to last day there. At the end of the day, after dinner, we sat down to calculate Wednesday´s costs. We were delighted to find, that after both eating breakfast, lunch and dinner, the meal part of our day had cost just under $8.00. WE BOTH ATE ALL THREE MEALS FOR UNDER EIGHT DOLLARS. This felt like a huge accomplishment.
Breakfast consisted of bunuelos and coffee. Bunuelos are round pastries, that remind me of abble skievers. They are usually filled with a type of cheese. So, coffee and our little pastries cost us $1.75
For lunch, we found a typical "platos fuertes" type place. We each were served: a bowl of soup, a cup of juice and a "plato fuerte" consisting of chicken, rice, beans, salad and a fried banana. Each meal was a whopping $1.00. We left lunch $2.25 poorer.
The dinner hour arrived. We decided on a place that among many other options, served hamburgers. Hamburger-like, I should say. We each got a burger, which came with some fries, and a beverage. This meal for the both of us cost $3.50.
Now, if my calculations are correct, Wednesdays total came to $7.50. I love that both of us ate all three meals yesterday for under $8.00. Not too shabby. This may never happen to us again!

Wait a minute...I know that guy! or It only takes four days

As some of you may know, we have had to spend more days than we anticipated, here in Ipiales, Colombia, on the border of Ecuador and Colombia. We are here trying to complete the complicated process of receiving volunteer visas. We are happy to report, that we are closer today than we have been, and it is looking very positive that we will be on a bus back to Quito and in our beds by tonight, visas in hand!
Due to the amount of time we have been here and the same streets and restuarants we have continued to frequent, our time here has begun to feel somewhat like the movie "Terminal" starring Tom Hanks. For those of you who have not seen the movie, Hanks plays an eastern european traveler, who has flown to New York to complete a collection of famous jazz players autographs, started by his late father. Hanks flies to New York to collect the last needed autograph and complete his father´s collection and dream. Due to complications with his visa and passport, Hanks is stuck in the airport, waiting for all the red tape to be cut and mess to be cleaned up. During this nine month period of time, without ever being allowed to leave the airport, Hanks makes friends with store owners, janitors, has favorite restaurants and even falls in love with a stewardess. He creates quite a following of people who are cheering him on in his quest. The airport has become his whole world while he waits for his visa to be approved, and for his mission to be completed.
While we already have the falling in love thing covered, we have found that we have our favorite coffee shop and researched our favorite internet places, where the people now know our faces. Today, the waiter at "Capri" panaderia, knew our order, and recited it to us before we had a chance to! "Dos cafés con leche, y dos buñuelos?"....."Si señor. Gracias.!"
We have also become friendly with the pharmacist at a local drugstore. He was the first person we really spoke with upon our arrival to Ipiales, and he suggested a hotel, that we ended up staying in. We saw him on the street the next day, and visited him again to buy chapstick the following day. We entered the store to find his shiny bald head, glittering in the afternoon sun, feet propped up on the glass counter, strumming a guitar. And it sounded really good! We chatted a bit, and he showed us some pictures of a mountain he had climbed earlier that day. We were making friends.
One of the requirements of the visa included having to go to the Red Cross to acquire medical exams and a report that the doctor would sign. There was a young woman in the waiting room, there with her toddler. They were so sweet together, giggling, touching foreheads and giving each other kisses on the lips. Later that day, who should I see, but cute little mommy walkin´down the street!
It is a funny thing to begin to recognize some of the guys on the corner, with black leather fanny packs, bulging with bills, waiting to get your business by changing your dollars into pesos. We have walked down that particular street, so many times, on our way to the Consul/Visa office, that I am sure they are at the point of rolling their eyes and sighing, "There goes those two gringos again.....what are they DOING?"
Unlike Tom, we have only been trapped in our little world for just short of a week. However, the favorite coffee places and familiar faces have already been found. But, in keeping with the end of the film, I do project, that like Hanks, we will get a rousing cheer as we leave the Consul Office, for the last time, just like he did as he was finally allowed to leave the airport for good.
I can just imagine Maria Lorena and William closing their eyes and slumping back in their chairs after finally sending the persistent gringos on their way, visas approved, and sighing, "Thank goodness we´re done with THAT!" And outside, in the fresh air, Jon and I, on our way in a little red van, back to the border, giving each other high fives, proclaiming, "Thank goodness we´re done with THAT!"
As for our friends in Ipiales, Colombia, I am not sure we will ever see them again. But I do know where to go for aspirin, or chapstick and know I have a musical pharmacist waiting to seranade us back into his store, shiny head and all, always ready to be "a la orden." (At your service.)
Thanks for the hospitality and friendships, Ipiales, but we hope we never have to come back again!

Hoods Up

We have a slug problem at our house. In Spanish, they are called "babosas". They are everywhere in the garden patios at Casa Ambato and quite frequently, especially in the past month, we have woken up to slimy silver trails on our rugs, clothes, and now, walls! (How do they DO that?) The artwork on our bulletin board even has evidence of babosa activity. We have found trails on Jon´s soccer socks and along the edge of our brown floor rug. The silver path really shows up quite nicely against the coffee color, I must admit. I have even found fat slugs in mid-slime, crawling slowly towards our chest of drawers, to do who knows what, once they got there. In addition, I have also salted a few trying to make their way into the kitchen. They dissolve into a slippery yellow and green pile of mush and slime, once the salt has been administered. A small, small part of me feels sort of bad, but the entire rest of me feels very glad to have one less slug in the world.
The climax to all this babosa business came yesterday morning at 6 a.m., when I awoke to Jon exclaiming, "Sick!!!", in a very disgusted sounding voice.
I turned over to see him holding a slug in his hand that he had just pulled out of his hair. Yes, that´s right, out of his hair.
He explained to me that he had felt something wet at the back of his neck, and had thought at first that maybe I had been sucking on his curls during the night, which was completely not true. Uncomfortable with the thought of something damp in that region, he reached back and pulled out a nice fat babosa, who had apparently been nestled quite comfortably in his ever growing locks.... How did it get there? Were there more waiting in the folds of the sheets, in position to slither into MY hair? Would there be further attacks in the nights to come?
I was thoroughly grossed out and took the slimy mass outside wrapped in toilet paper and put it in the trash. I had a hard time falling back asleep and found myself grabbing at the back of my neck and hair to feel for slugs.
The next night before going to bed, I was ready to wage war. I could not fathom the idea of being woken by a slimy mass crawling around in my hair. So, I got the jar of salt from the kitchen and lined the most frequently used slug-route-wall with salt. I also secured the back entrance with salt that I drizzled on the inside and outside baseboards of the door, in hopes of warding off any new nighttime visitors. I then proceded to try and fall asleep, with the hood of my babyblue terrycloth sweatshirt pulled secure and tight over my head. I also slid the bed away from the wall, thinking that we could all use a little space from one another.
I slept better but definately dreamt heavily of slugs and in the dream Jon was telling me that we had found a cardboard box that was infested with the little guys. I woke in the morning and carefully peered over the edge of the bed to locate and put on my shoes....no slugs. I checked my own hair...no slugs. The salt was still there, with no dead creatures amidst the pile and Jon´s hair seemed untouched and dry. VICTORY!
Later that morning while I was making our bed, I looked up on the wall and just behind the headboard discovered a very silvery trail that started strong then abruptly stopped a good four feet or so up the pale yellow plastered wall. What happened? Had the trip suddenly been aborted? Had the slug jumped ship, or wall, for that matter?
I showed the guys and we decided that Jon´s little night-time-hair-friend must have been headed for some cool destination, the ceiling perhaps, but then, just as we suspected, "jumped wall" and fell, mid-slither, onto Jon´s pillow below, and later made his way into his curly locks.
So while I feel relieved that no babosas have yet to slither their way into my hair, I am still keeping the salt handy, and my hood on.

Grocery Shopping in a Hailstorm (October 23, 2006)

I am cooking tomorrow. And from past experiences, I know that any food I can buy the day before, makes the cooking day go so much more smoothly. So, list in hand, emtpty backback, umbrella and $20.00 from the "caja chica", I headed out to make my way to Supermaxi, the local chain grocery store. I caught the bus on Occidental at the top of Calle Loja. I had to wait a bit for the bus I needed,which states "Plaza Artigas" on a big wooden sign in the front window, among other places as well. This particular bus does not come along often, and I had to wait about 15 minutes. As I left the house, thunder began cracking overhead and dark clouds filled the sky and lightening could be seen in the distance. But storm or no, I was determined to buy what I needed!
A few drops fell while I was waiting for "Plaza Artigas", but not enough to pull out the umbrella. My bus finally arrived, and I made my way to the back looking for an empty seat. Not wanting to crawl over people for the last seat in the corner, I opted to stand. Not 30 seconds later, more thunder, lightening and the strongest hail storm I have ever been in, ensued. The sound of the hail pummeling the roof of the bus was deafening. I closed my eyes and sighed, thankful to be inside. I hoped the storm would calm down by the time I got to Supermaxi. I stood patiently for the 20 minute ride.
As this was the first time to be getting off at this particular stop, Supermaxi on Calle Gasca, I was extra careful to watch where we were going. To clarify, in Quito, there are 3 or 4 main public bus lines. The "Ecovia" runs more or less on one main avenue, "6 de Deciembre" and has regular stops with particular names. The blue bus line, which was the one I was on, stops where-ever and whenever you want it to. When you see where you want to get off, you walk to the front and say, "Aqui por favor", or the name of where you want to get off. This is the same bus I take on Mondays and Thursdays to get to school. I just ask for "Teleferico" and they let me off on the side of the highway! With that said, back to the story: I could see Supermaxi coming up, so I made my way to the front of the bus to indicate that I wanted to get off. With light rain overhead, I crossed the street and entered the grocery store, ready to shop, ready to be ready for tomorrow!!!!
Normally, at larger stores here, bags and backpacks must be checked in at the front of the store and collected on your way out. For some reason the man waved me through, without the bag check. One less step. Supermaxi might be compared to Vons on Chapala Street in Santa Barbara or like Safeway on the Mesa: not huge or super nice, but plenty of choices to get the job done. I made my way up and down the aisles, happy to be inside, out of the rain, and have time to myselft to think and shop. Having just received a wonderful care-package from my sister Molly, I was exited to use a recipe from the "Real Simple- Food issue" magazine she included. Without an oven, and a tempermental toaster oven, coming up with tasty, fairly easy meals is challenging to say the least. It is easy to get into the habit of the same meals over and over: rice, potatoes, soup, salchichas, rice, soup, potatoes, salchichas, rice....you get the picture. I was determined to make something new and different. Humorously, I decided on a "hamburger-helper-mac-and-cheese" type dish for dinner and blueberry pancakes for breakfast. Certainly, they would not have tried these before. I was right!
I searched and found onion powder, something similar to sour cream, and the other ingredients for the meal: mustard, ground beef, and the mac and cheese boxes. Plus, syrup and blueberries for breakfast. I decided to buy the green onions and tomatoes at Supermaxi as well. (Fruit and vegetables are usually bought at the local outdoor "Mercado San Roque" near our house, but sometimes it´s nice to not make 5 separate trips to 5 different places to get all we need for one meal!!!) I also shopped for house items including salsa (aji)and syran wrap. Lastly I found the things that Jon and I needed: clothespins, a new sponge, spray bottle and a Maracuya flavored Gatorade for me! (Maracuya is similar to passion fruit). I paid for the items and found a spot near the entrance to load up my backpack with the bags. Everything fit wonderfully, except the long green onions which poked out the top. Lista. Ready.
I went out to the street, umbrella overhead, into the pouring rain and waited for my return bus stating, "Tuneles", Tunnels. These buses were coming every couple of minutes, and I jumped on the second bus that I saw, paid my $.25 cents and found a seat. "That was super fast!", I thought. "I´ll be home really soon." Not so. An hour plus later, I finally arrived at my stop, incredulous that it had taken that long to get home! We started out in the direction of home, initially. Then we turned off and meandered way way way way up on little tiny streets with cobble stones, in little communities that were in the opposite direction of where I needed to go. I am now familiar enough with general directions and bus routes, that I wasn´t really worried, more frustrated that we were taking so long getting home. At one point, way up the mountain, I asked another passenger about our final destination and she reassured me that we would eventually return to the "tuneles". When, I didn´t know, but at least I was on the right bus.
At the top of the route, the young bus driver with the missing tooth, dropped his friend off at a CD store. This friend was also the guy who takes your bus fare when you get on or off the bus. All bus drivers have a buddy who takes money. Then we did a big bus length 3 point turn where 2 roads come together at a "V" and we began our trek back down the hill. We picked up the amigo, who had purchased a new disc for the driver, and the music was changed to sample the newly bought goods. I was one of three passenger for the majority of the trip (extremely rare!) and with an unclear idea of what was to happen next or where exactly we were headed, I decided to simply enjoy the scenery and new neighborhoods.
Winding down the hill, one little one way street at a time, buildings and roads began looking familiar. So familiar, in fact, that I found myself looking at Supermaxi, once again, across the street, where I had left from 30 minutes earlier! !!@~$%&$·!!? Then we headed for Avenida America, turned right, finally in the direction of Los Tuneles, on roads that I knew well. Sure enough, we made our way into thick traffic, with the millions of other trucks, cars and buses, headed for the tunnels as well. We curved around and up and waited our turn in line. Finally after the second tunnel, my stop appeared: the bridge by the San Roque market. It felt like a small miracle. I stood and made my way to the front, to indicate that I wanted to get off. The CD buying friend extended his palm, indicating that I needed to pay. "Ya pague", (I already paid), I said, and slowly a look of recognition spread across his face, with raised eyebrows, as if to say, "You´re STILL here?". I smiled as if to say, "Yes I am and I definately got my $.25 worth, and thank you for the tour of Quito." I hopped off the slightly moving bus and started home.
Backpack on, umbrella in hand and onions sticking our the top, I climbed the blue metal stairs to the bridge over the highway to Casa Victoria. One block down Calle Loja. Turn right, and one block down Calle Chimborazo, then left one block on Ambato. HOME! I saw Maria at the tienda three doors up from ours. I saw the man who sells ice cream cones, across the street...just cones, no ice cream.
I was exhausted from my excursion to the store and very glad to be home. I dumped my bags on the floor,flopped down on the bed, closed my eyes and enjoyed my Maracuya Gatorade. Man, I thought, all that for a few food items.
Cooking is always an adventure here, but buying the food is half the battle.

On My Way To School Today

On my way to school today, there was a man sleeping on the sidewalk, just outside our front door. It was 9:45 am. There was some sort of liquid on the bricks below him....water, urine, (his?) juice, soda? Who knows. He was sound asleep, and possibly, most likely, drunk or hungover. He was on top of a white burlap sack. I could see his bare ankle.
On my way to school today, I saw a woman arguing, yelling and pleading with an empty street. Cane in hand, her voice was loud, floating over the rooftops, wanting to be HEARD. Her eyebrows knit together with anger and pain. She had short hair that hung around her face, a long skirt, sandals. Her left foot badly wounded. Dry, cracked, bloody skin beneath a poorly wrapped bandage that was attempting to hold the heel together, but was slipping off. Old feet. Feet that have walked a lot of miles. Terribly worn, old feet.
On my way to school today, I noticed a man get off the bus. He had crutches clenched between both hands, wearing army green pants. One pant leg hung limp, with no leg inside. He made his way, slowly, across the street, past a huge pile of trash from the day before.
Only three blocks to the bus from my house. Three blocks of sad things. Things that made my heart hurt. All this on my way to school today.

Massacre in the Patio and the Night I Got Sick

Last Thursday, Jon and I headed out for, what ended up being, a lengthy session at our local internet establishment. We have come to love "Flavio´s" for its cheap price (.70 cents per hour) and for how close it is to our house (about two and a half blocks away). We ended up spending close to two hours checking and sending emails and and getting more or less caught up.
Upon returning to the house, Gaston informed us that we had "missed the whole thing" and that "blood had been shed". We were puzzled and inquired further: You can imagine our surprise in finding out that a massacre had taken place and that so much action had occured while we were gone and our disappointment that we had missed the excitment. However, thanks to today´s technology, video had captured the event.The victims were three rats who lost their lives late that afternoon.
An important piece of information that I must not leave out, is the location of the scene of the massacre. The bloodshed took place in the little stone patio directly behind our room. One of the sets of doors in our room (we have five) leads out onto this patio, through which we access our bathroom, a little stone lavadaria, (wash basin and sink to wash clothes), the clothes line, and a back door into the kitchen. Next to the lavandaria was a huge pile of large stones stacked against the basin. This mound made the perfect hiding place for varmits, and we were sure this was where they hid during the day. The boys were planning to remove the pile of rocks within the next couple days.
For the past few nights, we had all been hearing scratching at the kitchen door and sqeaking noises coming from the patio and would find holes in the garbage bags in the morning. We knew we had a rat problem and the current discussion was centered around buying traps in an attempt to try and catch these creatures. So, Thursday afternoon, Gaston, who is seriously not okay with mice and rats, was in the kitchen drinking some tea. Something caught his eye, scurrying through the patio. He ran through the house to get Bill and the rest of the guys. And boy did THEY come running. A day-light-rat-sighting like this was to be taken seriously and acted upon FAST! This was all out war.
In watching the video clips afterwards, compliments of Bill´s digital camera, it was very interesting to see who took what roles in the rat war. Gaston, who you remember, HATES rats with all his heart, soul and mind, took refuge on a white plastic chair in the corner of the patio, but bravely recorded the slaughter from his post, all the while verbally encouraging the soldiers who were in the thick of the fight. Andres, quite not afraid of rats, was crawling all over the rock pile, trying to get a better look, and providing intel from the lair . He was unarmed, and held no broom, stick, or dust pan. He was in his element. Bill sported a broom stick, was very animated and was teamed up with Andres in trying to poke and prod the rock pile in hopes of scooping out a rat into the open area of the patio. Ricardo was armed with a broom but definately hung back against the doors to our room. He was content to give a few whaps of the broom stick here and there, and it must be noted that he gave the rats the business, however, after they were dead. David watched a bit from the window and played an important role in flushing a frantic rat, back down the rainspout with a huge bucket of water. He(the rat)had tried to escape, but to no avail. It crawled up as far as it could, but was met with David´s bucket. And last, but not least, was dear Esteban, who came to life during this episode, armed with a broom stick and a firey spirit. It was Esteban who killed all three rats(!) with the end of a broom stick. What a brave soul.... Horrifying, yet sort of impressive somehow.
Watching this craziness via video clips was exciting enough, so I can not imagine actually being there. After hearing more details, I had mixed feeling about having missed the war. On one hand, it certainly was high adventure, but on the other hand, that patio is small, and I don´t know how many more people really could have fit comfortably to watch the insanity. I was slightly disturbed to find out the last victim was actually killed in our bathroom. Yes, I know it sounds horrific. And, it is. The video revealed blood on the floor and part of the wall. But brave Bill cleaned the whole thing and then went back over with bleach for one last disinfecting session. I inquired whether or not we should buy new toothbrushes, and was reassured that nothing of the kind would be necessary. Thank goodness for the small blessings.
So. There you have it. Three rats were brought to their end in our patio, and there is video to prove it. The last part of the story is also unpleasant, but it is our reality and must be shared. The massacre took place at around 5 pm Thursday afternoon. At 2 am. Friday morning, I woke up with a grumbly, upset stomach, and knew immediately that something was wrong. Sure enough, about 30 minutes later, an on-the-hour-vomiting-following-followed-by-diarrhea pattern began and did not end for 12 hours. It was awful. Awful. I believe that it may have been food poisoning. When we did the visitation of students houses for the school I am teaching at, a few of the houses offered, so hospitably, food and drink. But, as was revealed in the interviews, many of the homes do not have regular clean water to cook with and drink. Who knows for sure, but I think this was the reason for my sickness. Soup and juice made with water one is not used to, is sure to wreak havoc on the digestive system. So each time I dragged my exhausted body to the patio bathroom, with a tin roof over my head, and knelt on the cold yellow tile in front of the mint green toilet, I could not help but visualize the blood that had been shed just hours earlier on the very floor that I was crumpled upon. However, I did take comfort in knowing that, as unbelievably sick as I felt during those dark morning hours, my life would not end with the end of a broom stick.

Michelangels Peluqueria - Megan´s First Haircut

As many of you know, the "what to do with my hair" discussion was an ongoing one as the time for our departure grew near. Should I grow it out, or go for it and find a place to get it cut? What if it´s a bad cut? "It´s only hair, it´ll grow, right?" Right, but it could look funky in the meantime! September 7 marked our one month anniversary of living in Quito, and my last haircut with my beloved stylist, Michelle Pintor of Goleta, who many of you know well, was on July 22, before we left for Washington DC. My hair was long and crazy and really starting to bother me. It was time.
I discussed my somewhat urgent need to find a hair stylist with our friend Caro who suggested two places in Cumbaya, a half hour north of Quito, where she lives. Jon and I made plans to come out to Cumbaya on Saturday and spend the day there, getting hairs cut and spending time with our friends Jose Luis and Caro, their baby Julia Isabelle, and Caro´s brother and wife, Esteban and Vanessa. Caro and I were going to meet and both get a hair cut and spend some girl time together, then return to the house for lunch all together and relaxing.
Upon our arrival in Cumbaya it became clear that plans had changed, as plans often do here. Jose Luis picked us up in front of Helados Amazonas, instead of Caro as I had assumed and I began to realize that I would be completing a solo (sola) mission to get my first hair-cut in South America. Caro wasn´t able to come as she needed to get ready for the meal and prepare for the other company that was coming and the guys were going to buy some beverages and ice-cream for the lunch. We pulled up quickly in front of a peluqeria (hair salon) and without really knowing the plan in full, I hopped out of the car, without cell phone or book, and with $10 in my purse. I said a quick, confused good-bye to Jon, who was waiting in the car. "Here we go!", I thought.
As Jose Luis walked me in, I quickly inquired of him, whether or not anyone spoke English in the salon, how much a cut was and did he think $10 was enough. He was´n´t sure, but thought it would be. And no English. I had counted on the fact that I would be with Caro, so I felt a bit apprehensive! The owner was an Argentinian man named Michelangel, which I later came to find out is the name of the salon as well. Jose Luis walked me in and asked the owner if there was room for me to get a haircut, and apparently the answer was yes, becuase before I knew it, Jose Luis was out the door and I was alone, in the room surrounded by Ecuatorian woman with strips of foil wrapped around their hair and towels on their heads. In my flustered state, I had forgotten to make arrangements for the guys to pick me up. It all happened so fast and the plans were a bit unclear. But here I was, another adventure ahead of me!
I frantically searched the room for someone to guide me to a chair. Luckily, right away, a young Colombian man caught my eye and escorted me to a chair in the back. I tried to explain in the Spanish that I know, before he began washing my hair, that I wanted the same cut, only shorter, and that the front should be a bit longer and the back should be really short. At this time, I also asked how much a cut was, praying that I would have enough: "$6" came the reply. Phew.
He washed my hair and during this time, I asked him his name: Camilo. Perfect. Camilo finished the shampoo and, calling me by my name, took me to a chair in front a huge mirror. Again, we reviewed what I wanted, and he began cutting away. He used a similar tool that Michelle always uses, so I began to feel more at ease. I don´t know the name, but it is some sort of razor that you pull through the hair to make it less heavy and give it a lighter feel. I had to ask 2 times for him to cut it a bit shorter, and he did. I asked him to put some gel in my hair and he did. Camilo was very pleasant and attentive and had long curly hair himself. As always, it was a bit hard to tell how the final outcome would be, without washing and styling my hair myself, but it looked shorter and felt lighter and that was about right.
I had to pay up front and was again frustrated at my lack of Spanish. I don´t know if I was taken advantage of or not, but I gave the woman the ten dollars which apparently was just perfect. I asked for change, as I was planning on leaving a $2-3 dollar tip, but she took the ten and smiled and said thank-you. Sometimes, they charge separately for cuts, washes and styling. I think this may be what happened.
Relieved to be out into the open air, I remembered that I had not made arrangements to be picked up. I waited in the hot Cumbaya sun for Jon and Jose Luis. Eventually they arrived and I was still there, waiting with short, short hair. I had a few moments of panic about the cut. But after we got home to Quito, and I had time to shower, fix it myself with my product of choice, MacDaddy Bedhead Manipulator, and have Jon trims the ends off of a would-be mullet, I think all in all, it´s just fine.
I believe I would like to try a few other places before I settle on Camilo at Michelangels. Perhaps closer, and a bit cheaper. But, I made it through, sola, and came out okay on the other end of the shears.

Sangolqui con los Jacomes

Last Saturday, we were invited by our friends Gustavo and Maria Jose Jacome, to join their extended family at their "quinta", which is sort of like a ranch home, in the country. Of course we took them up on their offer and happily awaited their arrival to pick us up at Casa Ambato. The drive to Sangolqui takes about 45 minutes through various towns and ends on a bumpy cobblestone road that leads into their driveway. The view was beautiful: mountains, trees and lots of green fields.
Recently, Gustavo and his family lost their father to Alzheimers, a disease which he had been battling for 10 years. His mother had been the primary care giver. The funeral for his father, Gustavo Jacome, was on the Monday after we arrived here. Jon and I and a few friends were able to attend the mass for him. I believe this was the first time the family had been back to Sangolqui since his death. The Jacomes come out to la quinta every Saturday and hang out, play soccer, and have an awesome BBQ. If felt like an honor to be invited this particular time.
We arrived around 12:30 pm and lounged around. The BBQ was going and various tasty meats kept arriving on the table for us to try, as pre-lunch appetizers. One that we enjoyed a lot is called salchipan: sausage cooked on the barbeque, then placed in some french bread. Very tasty and addicting. Lunch was various meat choices, potatoes, salad, chips and beverages. As is customary, lunch is immediately followed by dessert, usually helado de fruta o pasteles. ( Some type of fruit flavored ice-cream, or a cake of some kind). And, as is customary, dessert is immediately followed by the invitation to partake in tea or coffee. As you can imagine, meal-time, especially lunch, can be long and luxurious affair.
We had a great time sharing stories and getting to know Gustavo´s family. We enjoyed talking with one of his younger brothers, Santiago, and his wife Juana. Both very sweet and interested in us. We lounged a bit longer at the table, then took a walk around the edge of the property with Gustavo. He showed us the trees they had planted, that are intended to be a barrier of sorts, blocking the view of a not-so-friendly neighbor. We checked out the soccer field and the fruit trees he hopes his children will climb in one day.
We ended our time by sitting around the fire inside, eating snacks and telling stories ranging from how Jon and I got engaged to how Gustavo took piano lessons for the sole purpose of learning ONE Billy Joel song (She´s Always A Woman..)to be able to play for a girl he was in love with. (More on this later, as is is a great story). It was wonderful to get away, to be in a place that was quiet and green, void of city noises and just relax. We are thankful for friends like Gustavo and Maria Jose and will gladly take up any future invitations.

Sonidos en la Casa

We have quickly come to find out that the alarm clocks that we purchased at a travel store in Santa Barbara, are really not needed here. We are daily awoken by the multitude of sounds that pierce the early morning air compliments of our upstairs neighbors who rent the second floor. Alarm clock number one is the cocker spaniel named Pipo who has a variety of barks and whines that ring out over the balcony and into our room. I feel 10% sorry for him and 90% like I would like to get rid of him personally. The 10% is because I don't think he EVER gets out and spends his days peering down into our courtyard, head poking through the rungs, waiting for something to bark at. But at 6:30 in the morning, the 90% is the part that I am focused on. Alarm clock number two is a small child, sex unknown, who cries, loudly, every morning as well. I don't know what the problem is, everyday, but apparently there are crying sessions as routine as getting dressed and eating breakfast. Alarm clock number three is same crying child, but now-turned comforted, happy child blowing a piercing whistle over and over again (apparently practicing to be a traffic cop here in Quito...more on that later). Lately, there have been other sounds and noises that float through the air. These include Spanish musicals from the TV of the family in the room next to ours, the radio on in the kitchen cranking loudly for the person cooking breakfast, and the more recent, more pleasant melody of cooing doves somewhere on the roof, which I first believed to be someone breathing (possibly a heart-attack victim). City noises have become part of our daily lives here and as frustrating as the early morning sounds can be, there are also those that calm my spirit. Sundays I have come to listen for the music of a nearby church, the choir singing out songs of praise. The notes float up and over our roof, through our patio and into our room bring me peace and tranquility. I would gladly trade "early-morning-Pipo" alarm, for "choir-music" alarm, but I don't believe Pipo to be a reasonable type of dog. So, we go to sleep each night, alarms un-set, praying for a pair of really good earplugs from Solid Rock Construction.

First Night

We arrived in Quito on Monday, August 7, around 10:30 pm. We made it through customs without any trouble or much of a wait. Our luggage was already waiting for us after we made it through customs, which was a relief. We were met by our friend Jose Luis Viteri who took us to Casa Victoria. After about a 30 minute drive into the historic old part of Quito, we arrived at our new home on Calle Ambato. We were warmly greeted by Gaston, Bill and Esteban and showed to our room. It was dreamlike to be walking through the open-air corridor, past all the shutter-like doors to our room, where we would be living for the next year. Our room had been furnished with a bed, chair, little bedside table, and desk. On the bedside table was a vase of 2 dozen long-stem red roses, so sweetly purchased by the guys to welcome us to Casa Victoria. Laying on the bed was a hand-drawn flower on white paper from David declaring: "Bienvenidos a Casa Victoria Megan y Juanito" It felt so good to be welcomed so warmly!! It felt strange to plop our luggage down and realize they weren't going to be going anywhere for a while! Almost too tired to sleep well, Jon and I climbed into our full-sized bed, with interesting feeling pillows (mine could best be described as "sack-covered-tapioca-pudding" and Jon's was more like "rock-covered-with-sheet") and began the first of many nights of sleep in our South American abode.