Meli's Quinceañera

A week before coming home for Christmas, I had the opportunity to experience yet another Ecuadorian (and Latin) tradition: a Quinceañera. The most special part of this celebration was that it was Ana's niece who was turning 15, so I was once again invited to Mascarilla, where Ana grew up during her summers home in Ecuador. Knowing Michelle digs these unique experiences as much as I do, Ana invited her to come along to see how the Borja Minda's celebrate with Melissa in style. My sleepy brain (blamed at least in part on the big plate of ravioli I've just consumed...and the torta...and the Argentinian wine NieNie brought over in celebration of our holiday) isn't coming up with the words to describe the event with the articulation it deserves, but I'm excited to share it with you through the following photos...

Ane, the shoe bearer. The birthday girl wears flats until she's been blessed by the priest. Heels seem to be a right of passage. 

Walking to church for the Quinceañera bendición.

Ladies looking lovely. 

And the kings of cool. Really, I was taking notes this night. 

About the walk down the isle.

Hermosas at the dance and dinner following the blessing.

Choreographed dances -- part of our pre-dinner entertainment.

That's a lot of dudes who look like they're about the propose...

...maybe in a couple more years.

Seriously just exuding coolness.

The arch for the angel of the evening.

Belle of the ball.

So many thanks to Ana and her family for their hospitality and the invitation to be part of such a special event.

Now, Merry Christmas to all, and to all a goodnight. 

Amor,

Jame

Bacichx in Quito, the Sequel: Choose Your Own Adventure

They came back, they saw more than Quito, and they conquered some fears of perishing on the switchback roads of Ecuador. Ha, who am I kidding...we all feel like we might have used up one or two of our nine lives this past weekend. Conquering fears not so much; uttering words of gratitude for surviving crazy car rides is closer to the truth.

A mere three weeks ago I was sitting in my classroom when an email appeared on my screen. Linds had sent me the confirmation of her ticket to come and visit again. Cass quickly followed suit. I was immediately giddy, and I immediately began plotting how I was going to get the hermanas outside of the city this time to experience something more authentic of Ecuador. Mindo came to mind, but chocolate is more my passion than theirs. As far as favorite past-times go, these ladies will take you on a killer shopping spree (in fact, Linds did for my 30th birthday), so without further ado I booked a room at La Luna in Otavalo for the three of us and Ana. They were going to be hard-pressed to turn down a stay near the biggest artisanal market in the country, and a quick jaunt to some inexpensive leather goods in Cotacachi.

My sister sense was right on. The hermanas arrived late Thursday night and by Friday afternoon we were piled in Fanny's car with Ana, trying to beat traffic out of the city. Unfortunately we didn't. If all goes as planned--and having now spent 15 months in South America you'd think I would have banished that word from my vocabulary altogether--the drive is two hours. After four hours of fighting traffic, and then asking five people how to find La Luna, we had arrived to our rustic and quaint hostel, more than ready for vino and pizza.

We rose rather early Saturday morning to get our shop on.

Bacichx in Ecuador: keeping the economy alive since 2014

After a number of hours at the market, and then dropping plenty of dolla dolla bills in Cotacachi, we met Fanny back at La Luna to begin the drive back to Quito. I had made reservations at Rumiloma for some fine dining and a great view of the city. Departing Otavala at 3 pm, I felt certain the drive home would be less eventful and we would arrive back at 5:30 to prep and primp.

The real fun starts here, folks. It was smooth sailing for maybe 45 minutes. Then we ran into pilgrims returning to Quito after having walked the 60 km from the big city to Quinche to pay homage to la virgen there. What do you think happened next?

                          Adventure #1: Saved by Ecuadorian Bomberos                        

Adventure #2: Motorcycle Diaries

Adventure #3: The Indy 500 in Ecuador

Adventure #2

Our hearts all sank as the car exhales our heavy groans. I feel somehow responsible as I'd put out into the universe a desire for my sisters to experience Ecuador in a truer, more bona fide manner. And here we have it.

Initially we find a bit of humor in the devils and grim reapers at the back of the pack that were supposedly protecting the rest of the pilgrims. After crawling behind the good Christians--who were sprawled across the entire two-lane road--for nearly an hour, our patience wanes. As I am looking at my watch, acknowledging that we aren't going to make it back in time to make our dinner reservation, four motorcycles surround the car. Irritation quickly gives way to a feeling of excitement as this guy peers down into my open window:

Am I dreaming here?!

I come up short for words but bat my eyelashes and gave him my best "damsel in distress" look. As my Spanish vocabulary is utterly inaccessible here, Ana swiftly begins conversing with my McDreamy. As luck would have it, Buenaventura and his compadres are also heading towards Quito. They offer up their shuttle services, assuring us that they will get us back to the city at the speed of light, but safely too, of course.

Before I know it, my arms are gleefully wrapped around my newfound friend. The wind is whipping through my hair and we swerve through the throng of pilgrims. and this moment is oh so much sexier than when I was hurtling down the beach on that crazy horse mere weeks ago. The grin on my face grows as I throw my head back and laugh.

Ahh, alas, this is merely a daydream I imagined as I was squirming in my seat, antsy to get home. Here's the truth of it...

Adventure #1

Our hearts all sank as the car exhaled our heavy groans. I felt somehow responsible as I'd put out into the universe a desire for my sisters to experience Ecuador in a truer, more bona fide manner. And here we had it.

Initially we found a bit of humor in the devils and grim reapers at the back of the pack that were supposedly protecting the rest of the pilgrims. After crawling behind the good Christians--who were sprawled across the entire two-lane road--for nearly an hour, our patience waned. Suddenly, we heard the wailing of sirens behind us. A firetruck was barreling towards us. I began frantically looking around, trying to locate the fire that had clearly prompted the truck's rapid arrival. As I was whipping my head from side to side, craning to see out all of the windows, the truck screeched to a halt...right behind Fanny's car. Before we could put together what was happening, the firefighters were hopping down from the truck and knocking on the doors to the car. Feeling quite perplexed and somewhat alarmed, we all began to gingerly open our doors. Any hesitation and confusion I felt swiftly turned into something more thrilling when my eyes fell upon the faces and bods of these fine firefighters.

I was too flustered to ask for a photo at the time, but essentially our saviors looked like this.

Any greetings I may have offered these hombres never managed to materialize in my scrambled brain. Ana took the reigns here and asked the gentlemen why they had come hammering on our doors. Clearly there was no smoke coming out of Fanny´s car´s engine. The guapo I will liken to Rodrigo Santoro (from my favorite holiday movie, Love Actually) explained that the men had gotten a call that there were cinco mujeres looking quite distressed in a grey Oldsmobile ´89. There was nothing for them to do but to come to our rescue. De ley. I was swooning by this point. Finally, finally a good story featuring Latin men to write home about. A story that has potential to end up on the other blog.

My memory is a bit foggy, but somehow in the next minutes the following transpired:
Cass, Ana, Linds and I end up riding in the firetruck as the bomberos have promised to transport us back to Quito in their big, red, powerful firetruck. Trying to keep together an air of sophistication and composure, the four of us can't help but let out school girl giggles as the driver turns on the siren. The pilgrims part like the Red Sea for Moses and we began sailing towards Quito in style.

Bwahahaha. Jejejeje. I so wish this would have been the case, but it's merely the fiction I was writing while we were enduring the following...

Adventure #3

The Truth. So much less exhilarating than the fantasies I was fabricating in my mind for the five hours it took before we, thankfully, safely arrived en mi casa. 

As soon as we came up to the sea of pilgrims, we halted to a stop. We proceeded to creep forward at a snail's pace of about three kilometers per hour. After about 90 minutes, Linds and I concluded that since we couldn't beat this, we'd make like pilgrims ourselves. In addition to being able to stretch our legs as we walked alongside Grim the Reaper, as Linds called the darkly dressed dude, this would also prove to be wise, I believe, as la virgen del Quinche keeps souls safe from serious accidents. She's a popular woman amongst taxi and truck drivers. We'd soon be needing her protection.

After walking for some time, it seemed the pilgrims were stopping to gather in a pueblecito para festejar. Hopping back into the car, we grew hopeful, but the police truck that pulled in front of us and parked sideways to block traffic from proceeding dashed those hopes in a jiffy. By this point there is a cacophony of horns honking. Behind us something is about to go down, it seems, as several police officers rush to a group of angry men who have gotten out of their vehicles. Suddenly Ana is speaking to Fanny frantically. ¡Vaya! ¡Vaya! ¡Con confianza, Fanny, con confianza! Ana bellows as she directs Fanny to go around the parked police truck and make a break for it. Without hesitation, Fanny whips around the truck and we're yipping for joy, cheering her on. Hearts a-racing, we glance backwards to see if we're being followed, but all of the officers are busy trying to calm the angry mob from rioting.

So here we are having something of a celebratory dance party in the car for the next 30 kilometers. Around 6 pm, actually 6:03 to be exact, we are nearing the city limits, and we can nearly see the lights of the city beckoning us home. But what do we happen upon? Police officers shutting down the main autopista into Quito...because the pilgrims will eventually be making their way down that road. The road shut down at 6 pm sharp and wouldn't you know that this is the one thing that runs on time here. The police officer points us in the opposite direction and explains we will have to enter the city through Mitad del Mundo. Unbeknownst to us at this time, this will cost us another hour and a half. A collective groan is once again expelled from the car as we turn around, the city lights now turning into merely a mirage.

Fanny chooses this time to begin training for some big Nascar races. Actually, Cass aptly articulates that it's like we've been unwillingly transported into a game of Mario Kart.

Maybe this is fun if you're in your basement with one hand in a bowl of popcorn,
but it's really not that cool to be in Mario's kart. 

By this time it is dark, we're on the most winding roads I have experienced in Ecuador, and there aren't any roadside lights. Cass, sitting shotgun, is repeatedly uttering, "I just want to live...I just want to live." The three of us in back grip hands.

Yes, la virgen de Quinche is surely with us because we do arrive in one piece, at 8 pm, to my door. We've missed our original reservation, but I've got another nice Ecuadorian restaurant in mind and at 9 pm we are, joined by Michelle and short one Ana, walking down a street in La Mariscal towards Achiote. I reach to open the door, but it is locked. The lights are on in the restaurant, and many people are dining, but after speaking to a woman on the intercom, it is closed to any additional diners.

In a fit of exasperation, I whip around and see Cats, a restaurant I've never eaten at, but it's going to do at this time or else my nickname Jaws is gonna get real. Sipping our beverages, we decide that the only way to further cleanse ourselves of the built-up tension is to shake our booties at Bungalow.

Yep, dancing always does it. We returned to my apartment several hours later much saner sisters.

The rest of the trip was much less eventful and there were no complaints about that. Linds and Cass came with me to school on Monday; objections the students did not utter as they welcomed mis hermanas guapas into the classroom with flowers and big grins.

The sisters returned to the States this morning, in time to celebrate Thanksgiving back home. I'm off to Mindo to celebrate with my fellow extranjeros this weekend.

I turn to the words of Thoreau here:
“I am grateful for what I am and have. My thanksgiving is perpetual. It is surprising how contented one can be with nothing definite - only a sense of existence. Well, anything for variety. I am ready to try this for the next ten thousand years, and exhaust it. How sweet to think of! my extremities well charred, and my intellectual part too, so that there is no danger of worm or rot for a long while. My breath is sweet to me. O how I laugh when I think of my vague indefinite riches. No run on my bank can drain it, for my wealth is not possession but enjoyment.” 

Mi amor a ti.

Jame

Riding bareback en la playa

This week's post is brought to you in part by photographer Charles Denson.

Last weekend a group of us escaped the rainy season here in the highlands of Ecuador as we road-tripped it to Mompiche, playa numero cuatro for me.

When I was in Puerto Lopez last June (la playa que yo prefiero mas que las otras) I was reflecting on the contrasts between the beaches of Ecuador and the beaches of my adolescence, which were spent in Mexico. This latest vaca allowed me to further ponder how these playas, or my experiences at them, are really quite divergent.

First, arrival to the spring break Mexican beaches was uneventful, at least as far as my memory serves me. Arrival to Ecuadorian beaches, not so much. We stayed at Cabañas del Mar in Mompiche, a lovely hostal with delicious seafood...

which also happens to be tide-locked several times a day. Wouldn't you know that we arrived on Friday evening after the tide had come in and wouldn't be retreating for some four odd hours. The owner of the hostal (an incredibly dreamy hombre who unfortunately had five children) met us in the town so that we could swim and walk the two miles to the hostal. I am a bit embarrassed to admit that rather than stuffing my things in a hiking pack, I had my heavier, clunkier carry-on suitcase. (And I'm the most low-maintenance Baci sister.) Priapus was sweet enough to carry my suitcase over his head while I paddled behind him.

So that's that. Now let's talk del mar. From my experience, Mexico's turquoise ocean is teeming with tropical fishes that awe you with their brilliant colors...and the occasional barracuda that chases you out of the water and forces you to flop down on the sand with some chips and guac and a Corona. In contrast, Mompiche's beach is brimming with jellyfish. Thousands and thousands of little jellyfish. And flopping down on the sand with an ice cold Pilsener doesn't prove a refuge from the terrible tentacles; even the dead jellyfish that litter the sand can sting you and leave you itching for hours. Unless of course one of your friends is kind enough to Rossify you. You are now left with one option: engage in a competitive game of Beersbie.

While the frisbee may hurtle into your shins, at least you will have escaped the need to ask your friend to pee on your various sting spots.

We move on to beachside activities. While nursing beersbie bruises, we ponder what other diversions we might engage in at this secluded beach. Michelle, quite the caballera, has checked into horseback riding. Images of paseo a caballo on the beach in Cozumel surface. It was a beautiful experience as my dad, Linds and our friend Joey meandered along the ocean. On well-trained horses. With a guide. These are important details. Musing on this pleasant experience, I sign on for another horseback riding excursion, as do Charles, Alli, Prissy, Justin and Matt. Rebecca--20-some weeks pregnant-- Patrick, Chris, Greg, Luke and Cait deem sipping piña coladas out of pineapples a better option. Wise folk, they are.

On this I expound further...

Come Saturday morning, our adventurous group treks back down the beach into town. No swimming necessary as we have timed this much better than our arrival into Mompiche. After a welcome 30-minute walk, we find ourselves at Lucia's little outdoor tienda. She is taking us to the finca where we will choose our horses. First, we count seven dogs and a number more cats. Justin and Pris are already scratching their eyes. As we march behind Lucia, she explains that none of the guides wanted to work on this holiday weekend, so we'll be free to guide ourselves. A slight sense of foreboding creeps into my chest. Michelle reassures the group that her work on various Canadian ranches fully qualifies her to be our escort. I've seen Michelle on a horse. She has good command and control, but still my anxiety increases.

When we enter the little ranch area where the horses are housed, the situation becomes laughable in a #thisSouthAmericanlife kind of way. We come to find that we aren't just choosing our horses, but we are also rounding them up.

As Michelle and Lucia work on cornering and lassoing the horses, the rest of us are left with a bucket of their food, which entices the horses to nuzzle up to those of us with little caballo experience, those of us who may or may not be a bit timid when the horses come sniffing our ears and noses.

After about 45 minutes of this scene, we have enough horses for the whole group. What we don't have are saddles. Here begins my first bareback riding experience. As we make our way from finca to la playa, I grip my horse's short mane like a child hanging on to her first lollipop. Except with less excitement.

By the time we finally reach the beach, the sun is going down. We begin this part of the ride by sauntering towards the east and as I look back towards the west, I catch a glimpse of a stunning cotton candy sunset.

I breath into this moment and it's good that I appreciate it because it lasts all of 30 seconds. Soon, Michelle is suggesting we try a little trotting. I am apprehensive but all of my other amigos are game and Michelle reassures me that, while I may feel nervous, I am projecting confidence. I wonder what the horse senses. After explaining that we should trot single file so that the horses do not feel inclined to race, Michelle gives her horse a signal to kick it up a notch. As a former track girl, I get the need for speed. I understand the desire to compete. So does my horse. It doesn't matter that we began behind Michelle, my horse immediately begins to gallop. Suppressing shrieks of "¡¡Ayúdame!!," I manage to slow my horse, turn abruptly to Michelle and explain that I am about ready to walk my horse back to Lucia. How this conversation turns into an agreement to canter (because galloping is easier than trotting), I am not sure. I think it was a silly moment of "this could make for a good story for the blog" which, to be clear, is nothing like "if I do this, then I can post it on Facebook."

Like good primary teachers, we get our horses back in a single file line. At this point Alli and her horse are behind me. I have not yet mentioned that, euphemistically speaking, Alli's horse is a bit ornery and anti-social. We begin slowly. I'm practicing my yoga breathing. I can sense Alli and her horse creeping up. Tailgating is not desirable here. We've been instructed to keep our horses a horse length apart, so my apprehension increases. Without warning, Alli's horse bites my horse's ass and without further ado my horse takes off. I didn't sign up to participate in the the Kentucky Derby, but it seems my horse believes her training starts now. Hanging on for my life, I am now. audibly. shrieking. My heart is racing and, just as I did on a mountain in Montana, thoughts of not saying my final goodbyes to friends and family fly through my mind. The wind is whipping through my hair--though not in a sexy or exhilarating way--as I contemplate fight or flight. My horse clearly chose flight. Does that mean I go fight? Before I make any final decisions, Michelle is racing up on my right as the ocean is on my left. She begins to cut my horse off poco a poco and push us towards the water. Soon, water is splashing up my legs. My horse's velocidad has significantly decreased and I essentially throw myself into el mar. At this point, bring on the jelly fish because they are a better alternative than death by horse hooves. As I am submerged in water, the others come a-cantering into the ocean as well. Alli's night in shining armor bursts onto the scene wielding the machete. (Right, I forgot to mention Lucia handed Charles the cleaver when we entered the finca. Yes, bushwhacking was also part of the roundup.)

Do I laugh here? Do I cry? I compromised with both as Charles valiantly delivers the following: If a shark writes himself into this story, I´ve got your back!

To cut to the chase now, we've just passed the climax. The falling action? In the oscuridad of this noche loca we manage to get all of the horses back to Lucia, me dripping wet, soppily walking next to my horse the whole way back. The sea and sky gods are kind enough to keep the tide out long enough for us to return to our hostal without any swimming. We indulge in all manner of seafood and tropical drinks as we recount the story to our happy and dry friends who have spent the day sunbathing on the beach.

The clincher: As we are enjoying our final breakfast the next morning, I find a horse tick on my hand, its head embedded in the webbing between my fingers.

I start inspecting the rest of my exposed body to find that another tick has nestled its way into the skin behind my knee. I leave you with this final image: Michelle, Justin and I running toward the ocean, stripping down as we go, to dive into the salty sea water in order to dislodge any of these terrible vermin that have hidden themselves in our piel. Not so much the resolution I was hoping for, but certainly an experience that will lend itself to many laughs in the future.

As I write this latest post with humor, I must sign off here on a more serious note. Returning from the jungle last weekend, four of our friends were in a terrible bus accident. Please send your good energy and prayers the way of Brenda, David, Mallory and Josh. Josh was the most severely injured and was flown back to the States. Please visit Josh's fund in order to support his recovery.

Sending love out to you all,

Jame

Narcolepsy: A Beachside State of Being

I thought I was altogether aware of the conditions, disorders, and quirks that ran in my family, but no one has ever told me about the narcoleptic gene, but time and again the beach seems to induce this funny little affliction. Though maybe I should put a more positive spin on it. It's actually quite fortunate that 1) I am able to jet off to the beach on a long weekend, and 2) sleep like a little leaden angel while there.

A year ago this past weekend was my first Ecuadorian beach vacation, and now I have ventured to and enjoyed three beaches here in this sweet South American country. Thursday after school I hopped in a van with Celeste, Greg and Michelle and we high-tailed it out of town to Canoa. As leagues of people head to the coast on holiday weekends, I braced myself for quite the car ride, but, aside from some slight nausea as we wound down to sea level on switch back roads, the 6 hours to the surf town and fishing village was uneventful and altogether quite pleasant. Again, Ecuador, I am so happy we have discovered this Zen place together; it'd be wicked cool if we could continue to harness such a centered space. (Truth be told, I'm not holding my breath, but I do continue to savor the ease that has so far defined this year...)

Michelle: Well, Jamie, you didn't think that your fate was tied up with mine, but this situation seems to argue otherwise...that should at least slow you down a bit, enough so that Greg could grab you before you went through the windshield...

Once arriving in Canoa, Michelle and I checked into our hostal, Bambú, located right on the beach, and right next to the beachfront bars. Blaring music, though, was no match for the heavy, salty air and the sandman. You know when you feel like your limbs have become actual sandbags? That defined the first 24 hours of this little getaway. I had good intentions to do yoga on the beach, and then on a surfboard in the water. I couldn't even muster mountain pose (That is, to stand tall with your hands at your side.) I also thought I'd dig into some good beach reads, but 3 pages into The Pearl that Broke Its Shell and my head was bobbing like an apple on Halloween. Really, lifting my right eyelid was incredibly taxing. 

Nonetheless, after keeping it horizontal for the better part of the first day, I rallied by the evening to check out the nightlife on an Ecuadorian beach for the first time. Canoa didn't disappoint. Shakin' my groove thang alongside my friends in the soft sand certainly helped to shake my sleepy state, at least temporarily. 

Mmmm, watermelon with a splash of leche at the Surf Shak. 

Enjoying a good game of Jenga before hitting up the beachside bars. 

(Seeing as I just had to Google "game that topples wood pieces" to come up with Jenga, it seems I haven't escaped the grips of my beachside state of being just yet...)

Saturday proved to be a more fruitful day than did Friday, at least when it came to reading, as I made it through about three chapters rather than three pages of the book I cracked open. We enjoyed more ceviche, more fruity drinks, and capped it off with more seafood for dinner.

Friends here have noted my skepticism at sharing food. I do have runt-of-the-litter syndrome when it comes to others sticking their forks in my cuisine, and here is Exhibit A: Michelle, you only saved two patacones for me?! My response: two pieces of chocolate cake for dessert.

I do miss autumn immensely. The smell of the air turning, the brilliant colors, curling up with a blanket and cup of tea while the first fire is flaming...it's delicious. But, this is pretty cool too. #thisSouthAmericanlife...I'm loving it. 

Un abrazo fuerte a todos. Buenas noches, queridos amigos y mi familia.

Jame

There is something to be said for the predictability of a pattern...

...and something quite refreshing about breaking a pattern as well. Or at least fracturing it.

El tiempo had some mercy on us today as Alli, Gaby, Tiago and I, along with the Paypahuasi crew, climbed Rumiñahui, the volcano located in Cotopaxi National Park that rises 15, 459 feet above my lovely hometown.

You see, the rain did not start to fall until nearly the last 2 miles of our hike. And the pelting hail? Not until the last mile. As the previous 3 mountains we have hiked have offered 4-8 hours of soggy... no, soaking misery, this is progress I can appreciate, change in which I delight.

I think part of the deal today was I learned how to play the weather's game. As we were climbing, making our way into the final, rocky ascent, I saw rain drops splattering on the pierdras around me. I ignored them. This is every teacher's and parent's trick. Do not reward unwanted behavior with attention. It worked. We reached the summit without our socks squishing in our boots, without being fearful the wind was going to whip us right off the rocks we were scrambling up, without sleet slashing at our eyes and without frozen arthritic claws for hands.

Those smiles are authentic because it feels nearly balmy up there on that summit.

I'll eat chocolate to that! Salud, indeed.

This was actually a very peaky summit, and another group was on its way to the cumbre as well, so we spent little time up near the sky and began our descent perhaps 10 minutes after we had arrived. (Still, plenty of time to polish off most of the chocolate.) As I was butt scooting my way down the steep and somewhat slippery rocks, I saw la lluvia start to splash around me once again. Well, don't cha know, I had another trick up my sleeve: a big, yellow poncho. As soon as I was at an appropriate place for a little parada, I donned that rain slicker and continued on my merry way. Not more than five minutes later the rain let up de nuevo. Getting the hang of this, I thought to myself. It's all about not playing the game, or knowing just which card to throw down at the right moment. Clearly, it is time I pick up poker. (Clearly, also, I should have used that poncho on previous climbs. It occurred to me that while I have some kick-ass super powers, I am also a little slow on the uptake from time to time. No need to dwell on that now, though.)

The four trekkers were nearly skipping to the finish line as we entered the last hour of our hike. Then the rain came. For real. But at this point it seemed nearly inconsequential (until we reached the bus and I realized I had left my dry clothes sitting on my desk...mmm, again no point in dwelling on such faltitas...so I have some areas for growth, I'm really enjoying working on my evolution as a climber here...). As I realized my poncho was more rain resistant than rain proof, I still took great pleasure in the fact that my feet were in working order. 

Altogether, today's climb was full of more pleasure than pain, and that puts us on the right track. I have an inkling that on our next climb--Pichi and her four cumbres in October--el sol may peak out from between the clouds and grace us with his presence.   

I will leave you with my favorite photo from the trek. Thank you, David Weaver, for informing me that, no, I was not looking at Cayambe, but rather Cotopaxi, that ominous, but majestic volcano that haunts men's dreams and calls us forth to take on the challenge of its more than 19,000 foot summit. 

una paz al dentro

Just finished my yoga practice for the day. I continue to find this view from my covered "yoga" patio so beautiful, and inspiring of peace. Most days I practice as the sun is setting on the horizon, melting behind the mountains. I really missed yoga last year. Spin classes at Lift Gym served a purpose, but the flow of vinyasa while listening to the soft chirping of birds is far superior.

Not just today, but these past weeks I have been keenly aware of the centered space I have entered. For now, I have set aside exploring the dark side of my moon, for which I have a propensity. I do not believe I have ever felt such inner strength before; it is delicious and gratifying.

There was a great deal of beauty in my first year abroad, and there was purpose in feeling and exploring the acute pain of missing home, of having to adjust myself and expectations to a new world, but I am deeply happy to finally be experiencing a sounder state of mind that has come with a real sense of place in Quito.

I know there will come a day, maybe tomorrow, maybe in 6 months, where I will again experience restlessness or deeper discontentment or great sadness, but I also know my capacity to return myself to this peaceful state increases as I continue to embrace change and continue to keep pushing myself outside of my comfort zone.

I suppose I could go on here, articulating further reflections, but I'd rather sit and soak in la paz de este momento. I hope you might do the same.

Fiestas de Guápulo: Sponsored by this South American Life

Nestled down some 247 stairs from Gonzalez Suarez is the quaint neighborhood of Guápulo. Coined "artsy and bohemian"  this cool barrio is rumored to have the best ceviche in Quito, along with a number of cozy cafés and restaurants. Generally un lugar tranquilo, each 7th of September Guápulo kicks it up a notch as canelazo drinking, crazy masked dancing and fireworks shooting ensue. 

This, mi familia y amigos, is the Fiestas de Guápulo...

Que suerte that I now live 5 minutes walking distance from all these crazy cats.

Entering the scene. Shenanigans will begin shortly... 

...but food comes first. Choclo con queso...by far my favorite Ecuadorian food.

Luke, Cait (my new vecinos), Patrick and Charles are ready for the show.

Chris, Alli and Mark displaying their enthusiasm as well. 

This is just the beginning.

Lighting up the night.

Big structures are set a-sparkling and a-spinning.

This would never fly in the States...perhaps for good reason, but all of the pyrotechnics sure make for a jolly good time. 

While I did enjoy the show, I am still something of a cautious woman and so I stayed out of the dancing ring around the sparkling structures. The unfortunate piece of this is I was not able to capture the people dressed up as animals snapping whips, or those donning crazy masks, but I also left the scene with all of my hair and possessions. Tradeoffs. 

As mentioned above, one must walk down a number of stairs to reach las fiestas, which means one must also climb back up...after more choclos con queso for good energy.

Yep, it was quite the enjoyable weekend here in Quito, also thanks in part to Michelle and her apple pancakes with Canadian maple syrup, a working DVD player where I can view my favorite films, and a Sunday walk around La Carolina with Alli. Now off to make some creamy veggie curry for Ana...

Abrazos from abroad,

Jame

Un gran viaje a Argentina con mi abuela

My second year at Americano begins tomorrow. Whew. Wow. I am feeling a great deal more comfortable and centered than I was at this time last year, expectedly so. The summer was fantastic and was capped off with a wonderful trip to Argentina with NieNie. I'm going to recount our viaje mostly with photos here as I am momentarily short on words...

We began our 8-day stay in my 2nd South American country in Buenos Aires. Our 3 days in the Paris of South America was something like this...

A trip to el Museo de Arte Latinamericano

a leisurely walk in a Japanese garden...
                     we found Buenos Aires to be a beautifully green city...

We had meals that looked like this. La Cabrera gets 5 stars from me!!

Then we arrived in Mendoza for another 3-day stay. Lares de Chacras offered a very comfortable reprieve with another lovely view just outside our door...

Our first day in wine country was spent at a winery with a wonderful spa. We were greeted into this entrance with glasses of delicious vinco blanco. After 90-minute massages, we were quite refreshed.

We dined one evening in our hotel's wine cellar. The ambiance was quite lovely.

Our 2nd day in Mendoza was spent exploring two vineyards. One smaller family owned, and the other larger, but both with tantalizing Malbecs and more. As it turns out, I am a definite fan of dessert wine. Who would have thought?

Felipe hosted our 2nd tour. Quite the salesman was he. And equally adorable. 

NieNie and I both agreed that the highlight of the trip was our 8-hour cooking class with Jose. The menu included empanadas, plenty of carne, the best veggies of my life and flan with dulce de leche ice cream...and various wines for each course!

While I've been known to put down a good deal of food, Jose was multi-tasking as he was instructing NieNie and me and making the comida for the winery's restaurant, so all of that meat is not just for us.

Really, the best vegetales de mi vida. The rabbit stock and white wine that the veggies simmered in added dynamite sabor. 

Mmmm, I'd like to find that rewind button about now...

Our time in Argentina ended with a one night stay at an estancia se llama El Ombu.

Here a famous gaucho strums his guitar while we dine.

This was followed by a bit of a show by a handsome ranch hand.

Good looking trio.

NieNie returned with me to Ecuador to see some sites in Quito and help me get settled into my new apartment. She also got to see Ana!

I'll sign off this evening with a glimpse into the new abode. Loving the view and how cozy it already feels. 

Life is good. No, life is great.

Abrazos a todos from Quito.

Jame