First Days in Ecuador

MY FIRST DAYS I ECUADOR HAVE BEEN A ROLLER COASTER RIDE. I arrived in the middle of the night to discover that I was scheduled to begin Spanish classes at 8:00 AM the next morning! I am taking two weeks of one-on-one tutoring to brush up my very rusty Spanish skills. I’m amazed at how quickly things are coming back to me; at times I say things without realizing I know how, at others I struggle to convey the simplest of thoughts.

I am staying with a wonderful family while attending language school. Susana, my host “mother,” is a Spanish teacher herself. Ironically, she is taking English lessons right now, so we are able to help each other out. We periodically switch languages to help one another practice. Susana’s daughter, Dani, is nine years old and packed with energy. I have secretly been borrowing her Dr. Seuss books (in Spanish) while she’s not looking, though I’m not sure Dr. Seuess is the best author from which to absorb proper grammar. Either way, it’s a kick to read The Cat in the Hat in another language.

Their housekeeper, Mercedes, is a fiery woman from a town on the Ecuadorian coast whose Spanish I don’t understand. Mercedes says it’s because on the coast people “eat letters” when they talk. Apparently they drop certain letters from words as they speak, making it especially difficult for non-native speakers (i.e. me) to understand. Every time I turn around Mercedes is trying to feed me, and constantly scolds me for eating food anywhere outside of her kitchen.

My typical day starts with tea, fresh juice, and bread spread with a sugary substance called Arequipe. It’s basically dulce de leche, though it seems quite popular as a breakfast staple here. I gave up drinking coffee shortly after arriving because coffee here usually means instant Nescafé, which somehow doesn’t quite do it for me. I’m still on the lookout for a good coffee shop in Quito, though it’s proving elusive.

My 30-minute walk across downtown to get to school is an adventure in its own right. In Quito the concept of pedestrian right of way does not exist. There are major intersections where one must cross several lanes of traffic, but where no crosswalks exist. During breaks in traffic groups of people make a run for it, clutching everything from shopping bags to children, in a desperate attempt to reach the other side before being run down. It looks like people fleeing an oncoming army. Cars and buses don’t actually stop if you are in their path, but they do honk incessantly so you at least know which of them is aiming for you. The experience is a bit like a real-life version of the game Frogger. (Sorry you under-30 types… look it up on the internet.) One of the first questions many tourists ask is the significance of the blue hearts painted on the roads here. They paint a heart everywhere someone is killed in a traffic accident. There are a lot of blue hearts on the roads of Quito.

I spend several hours each morning practicing Spanish with my profesora, Sylvia. She is assisted by her son David, my profesorcito, though he doesn't say much (see photo). This isn’t school in the strictest sense; typically we sit in the garden under the equatorial sun, alternating between grammar lessons and casual conversation on topics ranging from economics to sports. It’s all useful in developing language proficiency. During breaks over coffee (Nescafé!) or tea I am getting to know other students from Switzerland, Australia, Germany, Canada, the U.K. Afternoons are usually occupied by a school-sponsored activity such as a museum tour, salsa lessons, or the much-anticipated professors vs. students fútbol match.


Then it’s back home for dinner, where Mercedes is doing her best to make sure I don’t lose weight during my visit. The meal starts with soup that has been on the stove all afternoon. It has potatoes or yuca, important staples of the South American diet, along with some type of meat. The main course includes chicken or beef mixed with green vegetables, rice, and beans or corn. My favorite is choclo, a South American corn with kernels as big as coins. Everything is fresh, and nothing comes from a can.

One of the ever-present dangers of travel to a place like South America is illness, and despite my vigilance I ingested the wrong food or water at some point because I got sick. Really sick. Mercedes took it upon herself to cure me, and marched into my room with a giant pitcher of horchata. Horchata is a drink made by blending together water, rice, sugar and salt. In theory it should be easy on the stomach while replenishing your body of salt and water. I’m sure it can be quite enjoyable depending on how it is prepared. Unfortunately, Mercedes’ rendition of horchata was particularly heavy on rice and salt and served warm. She stood over me grinning as I forced myself to drink a tall glass of the warm liquid. When I finished she decreed that if I simply drank another glass every hour for the next two days it would cure all my ills. Even the ones I didn't know I had. I didn't have the heart to tell her that simply looking at a four-liter pitcher of warm horchata made me sicker than I already was, so every hour I snuck into the bathroom and quietly emptied a glass of horchata down the sink.

Thankfully my friend Annie, a travel medicine specialist, had written me a prescription for ciprofloxacin and insisted that I bring it with me. When Susana began threatening to take me to the hospital I start taking cipro, and a couple of days later I felt almost normal. Mercedes attributed my miraculous recovery to the many pitchers of warm horchata I had dutifully consumed over the previous days. Deciding not to give her any reason to doubt that theory I quietly nodded in agreement.

By the way, if anyone has a line on a good coffee shop down here, drop me an email.