La Vida Ecuatoriana

In an effort to keep the blog lighter from time to time, here is a look at some scenes from my daily life...and 10 things I am ADORING about Quito:

Before I left, my second cousin Michael suggested that I take pictures of what I see out my windows so that I could look back someday and remember the vistas of my life here. I thought it was sound advice.

Angle #1 from my bedroom window.

Angle #2 from  my bedroom window. A room with a view, just not a very appealing one. I've come to see past the "blemishes" of the city, though.

If you look down the street in the previous photo, you can make out Parque Carolina. Here is one of the landmarks of the park, which is totally bustling on weekends.

I am not David Letterman, so these next "loves" are in no particular order:
1. Flowers, such as roses, for $2 a bouquet

I always have at least one bouquet in the house at all times. 

2. Farmers' markets and super fresh produce (Broccoli tastes different here, I swear. I often eat it cooked and cold with no butter or salt because it is naturally DELICIOUS. I won't even start talking about the avocados and mangos...)

Some of the homemade options at the organic market. (Kelley Conley Reiter, I need a photo lesson at Christmas. I am not doing this food justice.)

3. I can afford a maid. It's amazing. I love her.

I come home on a Monday to a spic and span room and laundry that is folded much more neatly than I take the time for. 

4. I can drink coffee without it increasing my neurotic behaviors. They say it's the altitude.
5. Hot chocolate
6. Artesian chocolate bars such as Kallari (My dad will be getting a stockingful for Christmas.)
7. Easy travel to places such as the OCEAN
8. A classroom with a whole wall of windows
9. $6 pedicures--I am certain my sisters will pay $800 for a plane ticket to get a $6 pedicure. Absolutely certain.
10. It's light outside when I go to work. All school year.
I'm on a role. Let's make this a Baker's Dozen.
11. No. Winters.
12. My feet have no issues with raynaud's here--this means that they aren't turning purple and donning attractive sores
13. Markets where they don't sell food, but they sell great anillos and other beautiful treasures

My new little elephant ring. It was going to be one of Cass's Christmas gifts, but he really likes hanging out on my hand. Sorry sister. 

And just for good measure...
(See, Gram, despite the weekly tears, there is a lot I am appreciating about my new life.)
14. Yoga and spinning in Spanish--it's like happy hour; I get two for one: exercise and a Spanish lesson

My last blog was a little sad. That's life and that's the growing pains of change, I suppose, but today was a better day in the classroom. I brought cookies for all of my kiddos. They were grateful and suggested perhaps I bring them every Monday. I think maybe we should all switch off bringing treats. I mean, I'm not teaching in Dubai, I'm teaching in South America; the cost of living is lower than the States, and so is my salary. Anyway, today the students were presenting songs they had put on their soundtrack for The Crucible. These kids have great taste in music, and it was clear they had spent time coming up with songs to connect to characters, themes, tone, mood, and scenes from the play. To my students' delight, it was a pretty "chill" day, and Jamie (as they call their teachers by their first names) was quite tranquila. I don't know what tomorrow will bring, but I will sleep soundly after today's progress.

Buenas noche a todos, mi queridos amigos and familia.

Jame

Sleepless in the Southern Hemisphere

I am incredibly close to both of my grandmothers. I extend endless gratitude and love to both of them for countless conversations on love, life, food, and Dear Caroline columns. They have taught me to cook, knit, appreciate art fairs and wine and ice cream (mmmm, didn't need much help there). I strive to be like both of them in dozens of ways. One thing I inherited from them, though, that isn't always pleasant, is sleeplessness. I got two great nights of sleep this week, but I hit a road block tonight. Bummer, dude. My room is warm, my bed is cozy, but I am tossing and turning. School's on my mind.

Fall is one of my favorite times of year. While the spring, seasonally, symbolizes a new beginning, being a teacher, autumn has always been when I feel freshest. My energy and excitement for a new school year has been rejuvenated over the summer, and I generally begin school in September feeling I have acquired new insights after a summer of reflection. The beginning to this school year has been tougher than the last several. It is no real surprise given most everything about my world changed. I'm the new girl again, to the administrators, to the other teachers, and to my students. No reputation precedes me. No norms or routines were already in place when September 4th arrived.

The students at Americano are some of the friendliest I have taught. Muy amables we say in Spanish. They are also some of the most social. I thought having 12-16 students in a class would be a breeze; I sheepishly admit it still feels pretty tough...and when I have 28 students for a new research class I was gifted, uffff da. I am imagining the other teachers out there, and my peers at Jefferson, a bit astonished as I admit this. Most teachers would give their right foot for these numbers. I imagined these class sizes to feel like a gift from the Heavens.

So I'm struggling. My students are telling me I need to relax more. Some are also keen on wanting to tell me how to put together lessons. Others are expressing their appreciation for feeling challenged. I'm seeking a balance. It's taking time. Every so often I go through periods of questioning my career choice. Can I do this for several more decades? Maybe I'm just not cut out for this? How am I going to keep my passion? Each time I've been here, I am eventually buoyed by something, whether it is one of those rare magical moments you have with your students where the angels practically sing as each student is keyed in to the discussion and new depths are reached, or I am finally able to make a connection with a student with whom I am struggling to connect. Eventually I come back to reside in the belief that teaching is not my career, it is my vocation. Right now, I'm just not feeling that. Kind of like I imagine some days one doesn't feel like parenting. Or feel like being married. So I'm reminding myself that anything worth anything is hard work. And I'm picking up books from the library entitled When Teaching Gets Tough and Teaching Class Clowns (And What They Can Teach Us). As I'm reading Allen Mendler's introduction to the former, I'm nodding my head as he asks, "Do you often feel like a battered boxer, struggling to survive..." and "Have you gotten to a point where you are fed up and think about quitting?" Mendler, dude, you got my number. So I keep reading, and Al reminds me that "Nobody in the midst of stress wants to think about how there are still six months left to the school year or 25 years to go until retirement..." so he advices "Live each day as if there is no tomorrow" and "Understand that change is a roller-coaster ride." While a bit cliche, I find some comfort in his words. I'm intense. I have high expectations. I also know I have to regularly remind myself that change, in myself and my students, takes time. Even when we move forward, there are days we fall back.

I've always believed I have an abundance to learn from my students. In the midst of my angst right now, I also know by the end of the year....or even the end of this month, they will have taught me about culture, about myself, about being a better teacher, about teenagers. Some of my anxiety stems from the fear that I won't teach them as much as they teach me, actually. I don't want to be good enough. I want to really support them. I suppose I have some sense of failure right now, but I'm trying to be compassionate towards myself because I think that comes before the ability to be compassionate towards others, and compassion, an abundance of it, is needed in the classroom every day.

So, cookies. I think next week we begin with cookies. Chocolate chip cookies. My first attempt at baking at this altitude looks a bit flat, but they are still altogether tasty galletas. I'm hoping that the chocolate and butter and sugar will lead my students to forgive me the poor aesthetics. And I'm not trying to bribe them, but I think some peace agreements are needed, and I don't think I can bring, like, peyote to school. I don't have any anyways.

My inspiration comes from two old dead white guys tonight (sounds kind of like the American cannon, eh?):

“[Kids] don't remember what you try to teach them. They remember what you are,” comes the wisdom from Jim Henson.

William Arthur Ward argues that “The mediocre teacher tells. The good teacher explains. The superior teacher demonstrates. The great teacher inspires.” 

I'm working on it, mis estudiantes.

la playa se llama Same

I had a typical Ecuadorian moment last Tuesday. I was with Amanda and Michelle, two other teachers from Americano, and we had taken a taxi from school to the bus station to buy tickets for the beach for last weekend. Michelle had called ahead and was told that we could only buy tickets 48 hours in advance, hence our Tuesday trip to the station. So, we walk up to the ticket window and ask to buy 4 tickets to Same (Saa-may) for Thursday after school (the three of us plus my friend Vale, another teacher at Americano, my new Quiteña amiga, were planning to travel together). Well, as it turns out, there were only two seats left on the bus. Big groan. Okay, here comes Ecuadorian moment #2 (which is much sweeter than moment #1): I call Vale to tell her about our conundrum. Her response: buy the two tickets and then one of you can ride with me and my parents. While South America and its ever-changing rules can be mind-boggling at times, I have been so fortunate to be meeting and spending time with such wonderful people.

In addition to packing me in her parents' car, Vale also gave us a great recommendation for accommodations in Same. Vale's friend Jaime runs beach cabañas at a place called El Rampiral. It was serendipitous that I ran into Vale in the teacher's lounge before booking a place in Atacames, a beach close to Same, because Atacames would have been a lot more action, when what the chicas needed this weekend was some good R&R. El Rampiral is a bit rustic, but we fell asleep to the sound of the ocean waves each night and our cabin had an ocean front view. Serendipity is one of my favorite words. So is tranquility.

Though, before the tranquilo life of the coast, one must drive to the coast, which was less tranquilo y mas loco. With Vale's padre in the driver's seat, the best way I can describe the drive is to compare it to being in one of those racing video arcade games. Most of the way to Same from Quito is a two lane highway with little light; the roads are winding with plenty of blind curves. It's just standard for cars to zoom in front of one another, and Vale's dad is an expert car weaver. I did my best to take my cues from Vale and her madre. They dozed in and out of sleep much of the way, and if they trusted our driver this much, who was I to question his methods?

We did make one pit stop on the way to the very green province of Esmereldas: a little roadside restaurant that serves fritada, or fried pork. This is a popular Ecuadorian dish that my students have been encouraging me to try. I wasn't disappointed. From time to time I'll be okay to put down some of that salty, fatty, fried meat.

Moving along here, about 6 hours after leaving Carcelen, where school is located, we arrived in Same. Vale's parents dropped me off at El Rampiral to wait for mis amigas who were still en route via the bus. When they arrived around 11 pm, they did have a story to tell of course. About an hour outside of Same, they heard a noise that Amanda describes as a necklace breaking and all the beads tumbling to the floor. Turns out it was a window shattering. Someone had thrown a rock from outside of the bus in order to create a diversion. The hope is that the bus would then stop and bandits could board to rob the riders. Fortunately the bus did not stop until a bit later to clean up the mess. So, all in all, they arrived safely and with a bit of a story for my blog.

After sleeping quite soundly Thursday night, I woke up at 7 and took a run down the beach. Yes, hello, tranquility, there you are. It was a pretty cloudy day, and so there didn´t seem much purpose in putting on our swimsuits. Instead we donned t-shirts and jeans for some horseback riding. Jaime had only to walk us across the street to have a bit of adventure in the Esmereldan forest. Amanda pointed out the machete hanging from his belt, and I shrugged curiously at the sight of the long sword.

My little pony. Not the one I rode.

After I mounted the mare (who was in heat), and the others mounted the two colts and a stallion (who were quite aware of my horse´s state), I better understood why Jaime carried the machete. Bush-wacking. We were traveling on a trail, mas o menos, but it seemed not to be a trail much traveled. Throughout our ride, I was both in awe of the beauty around me, and quite aware of the way fear works within me. While I have ridden horses before, this environment was new for me, and my horse was being a bit moody. The unknown of how the experience would turn out--whether I would spend the whole time on my mare´s back, or whether I would have to plan an escape--detracted some from a deeper enjoyment of the experience. This is standard for me; apprehension holds me back from fully immersing myself. I say this with a bit of humor: I have found myself often wondering here, "Will I survive this experience?" At its root, anxiety is a fear of death. Death is a reality with which I have yet to come to terms. I am not trying to morbid, but I feel I need to make peace with this reality to cut down my anxieties and fears. I find myself appreciating an experience after it is over sometimes because, well, I lived through it, so now it is less scary and more cool. I want all the coolness during the experience, not afterwards.

Just starting out. Such a lush landscape.

Well, after living to tell about the horseback riding adventure, we needed to find a restaurant to dine at, of course. Another of Vale´s friends recommended this awesome, eclectic place that looks like this:

As you can see, eating at 7:30 is a bit early for the South Americans.

And the drinks looked like this:

The perfect piña colada.

And the food looked like this:

I love art that you eat.

So we looked like this:

Michelle and Amanda.

Michelle and Jamie.

After dinner, we retired to our beachside cabin, happy as clams. Reading and more sleeping ensued.

Our second beach day was no disappointment either. I started the day with another run down the beach. What struck me about Same is that the sound of the waves mutes all else. While you can see children playing and families enjoying each other's company, the waves crashing into shore was the soundtrack for the whole weekend. In her young adult novel, Tithe, Holly black writes, "She loves the serene brutality of the ocean, loves the electric power she felt with each breath of wet, briny air." The words that strike me most are "serene brutality." Let´s speak of oxymorons for a moment, mis estudiantes. There is a definite truth to this on the beach of Same. The waves crashed hard, almost violently against the shore all day and all night, but they were serene in their ability to mesmerize the woman watching their continual motion.

You know what brings deeper serenity? A massage on the beach, next to those constant waves. Yep, we all signed up for one of those. You know you´re in South America when the massuese comes to your beach and pushes around your swimsuit to kneed your booty with no hint of a shade or cover for your body. You also know you´re not in Kansas anymore when the massage costs a mere $20.

Despues de los masajes, we were invited to meet up with Vale and her family down the beach at Casa Blanca. The sun peaked in and out of the clouds all afternoon, and 30 spf sunscreen did not protect the gringita from a bit of a sunburn. Not to worry, though, it was nothing like the 2nd degree sunburn I got in Big Sky, Montana one summer years ago.

Around 4:00 pm Amanda, Michelle, and I followed the Izquerido family to their gorgeous flat overlooking the beach for a traditional almuerzo. Their cook served ceviche, pulpa (octopus), potato soup and for dessert Magnum ice cream bars. ¿Cómo se dice "I´m stuffed like a pig on Easter"? Do you ever get motion sickness from walking? Sometimes I almost do after such a delicious meal as that. We all needed to get horizontal to let our tummies rest, and then the plan was to go out with the rest of the locals for a seafood dinner around 10 pm. We never made it out of our beds that night. It was all good, though. A weekend of sleeping, eating, and reading is pretty perfect in my book.

We capped off the weekend with Vale and her family coming to the rescue once again (a good story will often end in a similar fashion to how it began). We were waiting for Jaime´s driver to pick us up and bring us to the bus station for our ride back to Quito and the clock was beginning to tick. After trying to call our driver and being thoroughly confused by his rapid speaking, I called Vale. She called the hombre and even she struggled to make out what he was trying to communicate, so she said she and her family would come and bring us to the station. When they arrived, Vale´s dad decided we would pile into the two cars (Vale´s brother and sister-in-law were with us now too) and head back to the city together. My gratitude towards her family is quite endless at this point, and then my heart is about to burst when we stop not once, but twice, on the way home in order to try some new, sweet foods: pan de yuca y yogurt and a tasty ice cream from an adorable little roadside shop. It´s a wonder my pants still zip.

This weekend I´ll be chilling in Quito, eating sushi, painting the living room and kitchen (well, repainting some), hopefully heading to the opening of a brewery, and hitting up the organic market. All good things.

How is Minnesota? or the States? or Europe? How is Jefferson? How are your beautiful children? Hearing from you is so wonderful, so please keep me updated.

Mucho amor,

Jame

The Goldilocks Effect

Well, the home makeover continues. I am taking a break from the painting the entryway here. I am on a mission, but losing some steam; I'm putting the paint away for a couple of weeks after I finish up today. To be honest, I am a little weary of the color for the kitchen/living area. I thought I had bought a light green, but it turns out to be more of a creamy yellow, which warms up the house and goes well with the bedroom color, but does not accent the gray and white granite in the kitchen the way I had imagined. Sigh and deep breath. It is still much better than florescent white walls.

This weekend has been altogether quite lovely. Something has happened in the past week and a half that leads me to feel much more settled and at home in Quito now. I think it's called the passing of time. Robert Frost says that "nothing gold can stay," but on that same token, the tough stuff does get easier. I am feeling much more like my spunky, fun-loving self than a few weeks ago. My students have been looking at me with some amused expressions on their faces because I have a bit more pep in the classroom. Buckle up, kiddos.

So, Friday night I painted the 2nd bedroom. Check it out.

Sooner than later I need to get a bed for the room. I have a number of guests that begin arriving in December, starting with Mrs. Hannah Julien and her husband Eric Antonson. I can't wait to have some others in my home spreading their good energy around the place. Someone to cook with and for also just tickles my fancy.

Anyway, I woke up at 6 am on Saturday morning to go with our school librarian Jeanette and her husband Bacil to a sleepy little town called Atahualpa, which is about 2 hours outside of Quito. The bus ride was actually quite enjoyable. I have come to realize that Americans really are much louder than many other peoples. Ecuadorians can get rowdy with the best of 'em, I think, but altogether, people talk more softly. While the bus was full, it was not loud. The Spanish music provided a soft ambient background as well.

When we arrived in Atahualpa, we got off the bus and ended up quickly finding a large hill/small montaña to climb. On the way up, we saw plenty of hens, dogs, and it seems everyone in town was helping build a house. A couple of children scampered up behind us, laughing sweetly when they would catch up to us. It seemed they were playing a sort of game with us. After an hour of steep trekking, we arrived at the top to have quite the vista of the entire little town. We didn't have much time at the top because the bus back to Quito left Atahualpa at 1 pm (well, we thought 1 at the time, but as it turned out, it was 1:25, which meant really 1:35).

As we were making our way through town back to the bus stop, I stopped and got some fresh bread for .35 and then bought a banana for .05 from a fruit and vegetable truck that was going around. I cannot stop gaping at the prices for delicious, fresh food here.

Speaking of food, the girl who thinks about lunch as soon as she finishes breakfast, and dinner as soon as she finishes lunch had a fantastic dinner last night in the central historico. It was my friend Celeste's 26th birthday. A group of us from school met up at a restaurant called Vista Hermosa and beautiful view it did have! It was a little too chilly to dine on the rooftop, but we did take in the breathtaking site before sitting down inside. I ordered shrimp in a garlic sauce and was then introduced to the best drink of my life: a Pisco Sour. O.M.G. I just know the glass is rimmed with sugar and it has a fluffy, beaten egg white mixed into some smooth liquor.

Continuing with my food trend, I finally located the organic market that is open every other Sunday in Parque Carolina, right across from my apartment. Score. I bought some fresh produce for the week, and a homemade chocolate, pumpkin spread that reminds me of fall back home. I could spoon the whole jar into my mouth right now. Thoughts of a beach getaway next weekend are the only thing holding me back. Swimsuit time.

I am currently debating hard core about the color of my living room. Here's what I've got so far:

I'll live with it for a week and see where I am at. Ms. Independent would love if her female family members were here now to give their opinions....and help repaint if need be. 

To close today, I've been thinking about this new place I am in, feeling more at ease and comfortable with my new life. While life in Minnesota was beautiful for dozens of reasons, it felt something like when Goldilocks lays on the bed that is too soft. The first weeks of being in Quito I could compare to Goldilocks finding the bed that is too hard. Now, happily, Goldilocks is snuggled into the bed that is just right. She's relishing in that feeling while it lasts. 

I hope that at least part of your day felt like that, just right. 

Mucho amor,

Jame