When shit hits the fan, there's still chocolate

I am sitting here this Friday night, not so much wallowing, but perhaps sulking a bit in the silence that has been left behind after Mom and Gram have left for the airport. As long as I am doing this international gig, I conclude that see you this summer and see you at Christmas will put a wrench in my heart and a rock in my stomach. It doesn't get easier.

And so, since that is what it is, I think it best to entertain myself by reminiscing about the last two weeks, which have been filled with memorable moments that I might neatly put in the following categories: Ready-Set-Carnival, Toots That Make You Laugh, Only in Ecuador, Damn the Altitude, and Shit ... Shit is Running Down My Leg Again.

We begin with Ready-Set-Carnival:

Dad, Mom and Gram hadn't even been in Ecuador 24 hours yet and I had them on a chiva, which this article coins "A Fiesta on Wheels." This is a good description. Often a night on a chiva leads to a morning trying to hook yourself up to an IV that drips Gatorade or Pedialyte. This is because on a chiva you may consume large amounts of canelazo, and perhaps aguardiente too. My friend Maria set up this particular open-air party trolley to celebrate her mom's visit to Ecuador, so it was more of a family affair and we all woke up without feeling too chuchaqui, or hungover, which is more than can be said for my students during the week we celebrated Carnival at school, but more on that momentarily.

During Carnival it is customary to either throw water on people or cover them in sticky foam. You can imagine that the children have a hay day with this, and indeed they do. At some point during the chiva ride, we all looked like this:

Photo credit: chuckdphotography

Honestly, I had little idea of what Carnival was really celebrating until I just took a peak at wikipedia. Historically, Carnival was a pagan holiday that merged with Catholicism. While some historians "tell of a Bishop in 1867 who threatened excommunication for the sin of playing Carnival games," rambunctious games have continued throughout the centuries. At Americano, Carnival is a long-held tradition and right of passage that the high school students look forward to all year. During the week of Carnival at school, which is the week after our Carnival break, the students in 10th, 11th and 12th grade campaign to get their elected queen to be crowned. There is a lot (quite understated) of drum beating and chanting and screaming throughout the week. 
The students look like this at times ...

Photo credit: Maria Gribensk

Photo obtained through Pris Gc

And then like this ...

Photo credit

For students, Carnival is the most anticipated week of the year, for teachers ... less so. As it turned out, Mom and Gram's stay was extended and I ended up with a one-day respite from the hullabaloo. More on that extension momentarily.

Moving on to Toots That Make You Laugh:

After the chiva ride (and a brunch with my friends and watching the SuperBowl at a new friend's house, complete with kick-ass halftime nacho bowls), we wound our way up the mountain roads to an ecolodge named The Black Sheep Inn. Before moving to Ecuador, I was unaware of ecolodges, and more about these earth friendly abodes in a forthcoming post, but, in sum, ecolodges often serve vegetarian meals, compost both your food and your poop and repurpose "trash". While Gram was experiencing a blast to her past when using the non-flushing toilets, the bathrooms were pretty cool as the showers were largely built from wine and liquor bottles, allowing the natural light to shine in through blue and green glass. 

While at the Black Sheep, we entertained ourselves by reading and playing a lot of Oh, Hell, a card game we introduced Alli and Charles to. Dad, Alli, Charles and I also utilized the outdoor workout space to get some TRX reps in. 

Photo credit: chuckdphotography
Yes, Charles can pump out the reps at the same time as taking photos, with the help of his lovely assistant Anne Bacigalupo.

Photo credit: chuckdphotography
Take a look in the mirror ... behind Alli you get a glimpse of the view we had while getting our sweat on ...

Photo credit: chuckdphotography
Now this is fresh inspiration.

So, the food was tasty, the views boasted more of Ecuador's beauty and the games were competitive, but still light-hearted, though the most notable, perhaps more memorable, moments at the Black Sheep Inn were those spent walking up the 2,189 stairs from the dining area to our room (that had a triple-decker bunk bed!). In reality, there were 99 stairs--Gram counted twice--but keep in mind that we were over 10,000 feet above seawater. That is no joke or exaggeration. So it was something about the altitude and the stairs that induced some gastrointestinal gassiness. I won't name names, but as we were making our way up those stairs, lungs and legs burning, someone was throwing farts. They weren't shaking the Earth, per se, but they did register on the fart-o-meter, and they had the Baci-Marquart quartet doubled-over, gasping for breath as we tried to stop laughing. This is how you make memories, folks. Once we caught our breath, and had stopped clenching our stomachs (this is really how we got our abs in), the toots propelled us up the remaining 37 steps to snuggle into our beds, warmed by the cozy wood stove fire.

Our time at The Black Sheep Inn is not yet done, but we do now mosey on to Only in Ecuador:

While staying at The Black Sheep, Dad and I set out on our first hike together in the Andes. Moving at a good clip, we made our way around Quilotoa. It seems to me that only in Ecuador is one able to trek the circumference of a "a water filled caldera" which is a "special sort of volcanic crater". At its highest point, Quilotoa rises to 12,841 feet. It is about 10 kilometers around, and I was happy to be hiking that day, rather than participating in the race around the perimeter, which the winner completed in under an hour. Perhaps the most notable, certainly the most beautiful, thing about the caldera is the color of her water. There is no filter on this photo:

photo credit: chuckdphotography

Additional unique Ecuadorian experiences:

Visiting the home of an indigenous family outside of Chugchilán, the city that Quilotoa is nestled within.
photo credit: chuckdphotography

The family raises cuy, or guinea pigs, to sell for the dinner table.
Cuy tastes a bit like chicken, but you've really got to work for your meat.
photo credit: chuckdphotography

Three little pigs that, rather than hiding from the big bad wolf, came running to see how reliable our guard dog really was. They raced back down the hill as soon as they realized Scout meant business and would certainly protect us from their sniffly snouts.

Llamas. Llamas outside your bathroom window, mooning you, and then munching on the hierbas and then making for the window to give you a smooch.

And so speaking of llamas, after The Black Sheep Inn, we wound our way back down the mountain roads--with a few deep breaths and prayers, at least on my part--through Quito and into Otavalo where we unpacked our bags at Hacienda Cusin. This was Gram's favorite spot, and this was where we met Larry, or just Lar as I like to call him; as you can see, we got friendly:

As it hasn't been a country of eligible bachelors banging down my door, I bide my time with besitos from furry friends. Hakuna Matata.

Cusin did share more than its animals with us. Originally purchased by Spanish king Phillip III in 1602, it has changed hands a number of times throughout the centuries, and it has been the site of some important happenings, such as the signing of Ecuador's constitution in 2001 and the marriage ceremony of Alli and Charles Denson in 2015. We can say that it shared a great deal of history with us ... and very beautiful grounds ...

photo credit: Hacienda Cusin

While staying at Cusin, we ventured to Otavalo--more about that momentarily--as well as Mascarilla, the town from which Ana hails. This photo series gives you a glimpse into another lovely afternoon with her family ...

That is Ana up there, picking mangoes. Ecuador's Got Talent.

We just made guacamole ... on the ground. Where are those tortilla chips now?

Ana's nephew carrying our loot: mangoes, lemons and avocados.

I love that the children are free to run and play throughout the town in Mascarilla.

Ana handing out the candy.

mis sweet padres 

We were hanging with the cool kids ...

and the littles too. <3

We've covered a lot of ground so far, and I've got a few more tales to tell, so grab your Friday night cocktail and get comfy again. Next up, stories from our chapter entitled Damn the Altitude:

After meeting up with Alli and making our way up the Teléferico (where I had to close my eyes and request that Alli time the ride so that I would know how many minutes of lamaze breathing to practice when we were heading back down), we began our hike.

Mom and Dad have been to Ecuador twice, once to Quito and then to the Galapagos, but as previously mentioned, Dad and I had yet to scale any mountains here together. Quilotoa was really the warm-up for Rucu Pichincha, one of four cumbres on the active volcano that I gaze at during my yoga practice each day. At 15,413 feet, Rucu would be the highest that Dad had ever climbed before.

Alli, Dad and I on our ascent.

We were fortunate to have buen tiempo for the climb.

Our favorite volcano, Cayambe, popped out. I was especially delighted to be able to show Dad what Alli and I had summited. I feel that he was extra impressed after she presented herself like this.

At some point on our way up Rucu I became aware that Dad was feeling the exertion of climbing at such an altitude quite a bit. We'd left without breakfast, though I had a number of snacks on hand. I reminded him that I had packed him some homemade chocolate cookies, which he generally devours by the dozen. As he took one out of his pack, he more or less nibbled on it, which seemed odd. We plodded on, though, running into some study abroad students, one of whom was keen on Dad's alma mater, Montana State Bozeman, and this reenergized him for a bit.

Nearly three hours into our ascent we reached the rock scramble, the part of the mountain where you can see the other climbers giving each other high fives at the summit. Dad had started stopping each step to catch his breath. Now, I knew it had been a number of years, but last we had been climbing together, in Estes Park, Colorado, he had kicked my butt. I had huffed and puffed my way behind him and joined him on the top of the mountain not feeling too cheery. As my padre turned towards me, I could see that his lips were turning blue. Stones began falling in my stomach. He looked towards the summit, then back at Alli and I and uttered I don't think I am going on. This from a triathlete who does CrossFit routines with his gym buddies. It's true I say Damn the Altitude here, but this was also a result of Ecuadorian Surprise. During the night, Dad had made his South American experience real. He'd abstained from eating or drinking much during the climb to avoid saying Shit ... shit's running down my leg again ... because that had already happened amongst the Baci-Marquart clan a bit earlier in the trip. Before we go there, finish your dinner ... and enjoy a few more fresh photos ...

Dad and I descending.

Oh, hey there selfie cam.

Dad was utterly surprised to find so little for wildlife on our treks, but then we did have a staring contest with a Curiquingue.

Alright, this final chapter should provide you with your evening entertainment. Shit ... shit is running down my leg again:

To read the conclusion of this longest post ever, we will first have to back it up a bit. While at Hacienda Cusin, Gram had been the first hit with Ecuadorian Surprise, and if you haven't yet drawn an appropriate inference here, this is an euphemism for super shitty South American diarrhea. We've all been victims. It hits you when you least expect it. And it hits you hard.

If you know my grandmother (and my mother and my sisters), you are well aware of what a super shopper she is. The second day at Cusin we had planned to go to the market in Otavalo. E.S. was wreaking havoc on her intestines, perhaps in an attempt to protect her pocketbook, but Gram was not surrendering. The flag she was waving was not white, it was green, for GO. So, Mom, Dad, Ana, Gram and I piled into a taxi to see what artisanal goods we could find.

Perrrhaps twenty minutes into our exploring of the market area, a panicked expression crossed Gram's face as she sternly said Ana, I need a bathroom. I was downwind. I knew it wasn't good ... but, I didn't know quite how bad just yet. Gram and Ana walked across the street to go into a nearby restaurant. When Ana inquired if Gram could use the restroom, the proprietor turned them down. Mi abuelita left him a shitty gift for his unkindness. The thing is, leaving out further raw or runny details, we'd had a Bridesmaid's moment on our hands.

Eventually, Ana found a kind woman who allowed us to get our shit together again. It was fortunate that there were many vendors selling pants at the market. As I am recounting this, I am still reflecting in awe at the aplomb with which Gram handled the whole situation. My favorite line from her: Well, I don't know anyone else at this market, and you all already love me. True story, and good lesson for the attitude to hone when shit hits the fan ... or the floor.

To further marvel at this woman, after getting cleaned up, she still wanted to go to Cotacachi, the nearby town where leather goods are sold. At this point I think we all figured that her bowels had been emptied, so we shopped on, Gram all decked out in her new navy capris. We did make it through Cotacachi and back to Quito without further incident.

But then shit kept happening. And I grew pretty concerned. Finally, on Friday night, three days after E.S. first struck, Mom and I took Gram into the hospital. While I had assumed they would admit Gram, and we would spend one night there so she could get some fluids going, and perhaps get on some medication, Friday night was the first of four nights that my dear abuelita would shack up at Chateau Metropolitano. It would be here, at the five star hospital, that she would meet a handsome Doctor Jimenez, do the tango with Alfred, the IV machine, play many card games with Ana and laugh aloud to some great Bill Bryson tales.

While I am certain there were some questionable moments for Gram, she kept a brave face on, complete with a pretty great smile. I've known her spirit to be full of verve and sass and spice, and she whipped these all up together to kick some bacteria and parasite ass.

On the fourth day, when we knew she'd be breaking free, we were sad to say our goodbye to the sweet smelling doctor, but we were quite happy when he said that chocolate could be part of her diet that had so many other limitations. There was a prompt run to Supermaxi to purchase Pacari's dark chocolate and Himalayan sea salt bar.

Usually men are apt to take their parts with them, but not Alfred. He was just too attached to mi abuelita.

This is mere hours after we broke out of the hospital. 

At lunch after the hospital break there was also decadent chocolate shot-sized desserts consumed. And, in truth, they made the formerly shitty situation sweeter. But sweeter still was the time I got to spend with Mom and Gram for the last two days that Gram was ordered by Dr. Jimenez to stay in Quito recovering before boarding an overnight plane to fly back home. 

Mom and Gram in front of one of many churches in Old Town.

Eating dinner at Pim's near the Panecillo...

which offered this spectacular view.

So here we are back to pondering the unexpected nature of life; there always are delights and disappointments, great happiness and deep sadness in this vein. We did not think that Gram would make it to Ecuador, but the unexpected timing of Grandpa's passing opened up a space, both physically and emotionally, for her to join Mom and Dad and see a new world abroad. I did not expect for my two worlds to combine as wholly as they did in their time here, but we ended up spending a good deal of time with my friends, which led to so much laughter and bridging of spaces. And we certainly did not expect the trip for Mom and Gram to be extended because of a hospital stay, but then even that led to more abrazos fuertes and dinners and time just being in the presence of each other. Who can predict what will happen in the last months here? Clearly not I, and I would not choose it another way.

Sending love to you all from south of the equator.

Always, 

Jame

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“Would you like to know your future?

If your answer is yes, think again. Not knowing is the greatest life motivator.

So enjoy, endure, survive each moment as it comes to you in its proper sequence -- a surprise.” 
Vera Nazarian, The Perpetual Calendar of Inspiration

时刻在心中水性杨花, or Moments in a Skittish Mind

I am not a fan of flying. (Did we discuss that in mere months I am moving to China?)

In a two hour and twenty minute flight between Boston and Atlanta, it's a wonder all of the places my mind can go. 

Take-off is the worst. Really, those first thirty minutes are all

Well goodbye little mouse heart and hello big-elephant-who-just-saw-the-mouse heart. I feel you thundering all erratically in there, making your presence really known. Have I told you that I like you best when you make like Gus-Gus when he's lying by the fire? 

Breathe in for 1, 2, 3 ... hold 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7 ... and out 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8 ... and repeat ...

Now why didn't I give the other passengers my survey before boarding the plane? Question 1: Are you a doctor? Question 2: Do you know CPR? Question 3: On a scale of 1 to 5, how comfortable are you holding a stranger's hand? Question 4: Do you have the capability to act as a flotation device in the event of a water landing?

Where, oh where is the handsome Canadian who will become my good friend to distract me with new tunes and book chats? 

I feel like a bobble body. Is it normal for the plane to move in such a way that my being jiggles from side to side in this fashion? 

Jamie, get your shit together. Look around and find your Zen-Air Model. Right ... right, that woman across the aisle looks very ... well she at least looks to be breathing. So, if I take out my book, and turn my pages at just that rate, and shift just every 4 minutes, I will appear a bit more ... normal ...

And then there are seven, short, glorious chapters of Michael Levy's Kosher Chinese: Living, Teaching and Eating With China's Other Billion. I'm smiling and chuckling and getting even more excited for the adventure to come. For the 7, 459 mile trek to that part of the Eastern world ...

Wait, 7, 459 miles, that's like, what, twice the air time as Quito?! ... No, don't go there. Don't. Go. There. The man beside you did not take your survey, did not tell you that he was looking forward to holding a frantic woman's hand ... and anyway, that man is hoveling like a champ right now, that is he is hovering over his tray and shoveling notable quantities of nuts and cheese and crackers into his mouth. 

Now take a look out the window and note the gorgeous cotton candy cumulus clouds. You love clouds. You've been obsessed all January with clouds ... Do you think clouds can clog an airplane engine? No ... no, obviously not. But I've heard about birds ... Ma'am? Umm, excuse me, Ms. Tranquility sitting across the aisle from me, I'm going to need you to open your window shade and check for birds ... 

You've got to distract yourself again, Jamie. Food. It works. Jamie Oliver. He's brilliant and Delta's got his specials available on the screen in front of you. Tune in and take out your spicy pumpkin seeds and new Trader Joe's chile spiced mangoes ... Oh, that's nice. Yes, I always like a good tingle on my tongue. Well done, me, pairing the chewy mango with the crunchy nuts. Jamie, paging Jamie Oliver. I think your next assistant is Atlanta bound on flight 2301. You'll want to meet her at the gate ... and speaking of the gate, consider the Earl Grey Tea Latte with just a hint of vanilla that will be in your hands in 43 minutes and 37 seconds. I do feel it will be precisely 37 seconds. 

For these last forty-some minutes, I think I'll just lay my head down on my tray and rest ... Oh, whoa, just a little dip there, huh, Pilot? Oh, heeyyy, did you really want to be a roller coaster driver? ... Ufff, if we crash land, I am going crown first into the back of the person in front of me. Sit up. Yes, I think it's best if I just sit up. 

Good afternoon, Delta passengers. We have now begun our initial descent into the Hartsfield-Jackson International Airport. Please make sure your tray tables and seats are in their original upright positions. Flight attendants, prepare for landing.

Sigh. Breathe. and pray. Breathe and pray ... bobble body, bobble body, bobble body ...

and ask Gram about how to get hooked up with the good stuff in July ... 

From Mexico City to ... a city far, far away: The short story of a plot twist

So, here I am, sitting in the Marriott in Boston-Cambridge with Cass flipping through HGTV and Food Network by my side, snacking on a chilled Justin's Peanut Butter Cup. We've just returned from dinner with my new future administration. Yes, today I signed a contract with a school I had not heard of, located in a town I did not know existed, in a country I was not considering two weeks ago. The past days have brought about one of those unforeseen turns. A true plot twist. 

Since September there has been a file folder on my desktop computer labeled "Mexico City Docs." There is a school in Mexico City where three of my friends teach. My eyes had been set on it quite intensely since the summer. It seemed perfect. Closer to home, more space to practice and improve my Spanish, a great art and food scene. So, in my head, it was a done deal. I just needed an English position to open up. All of September I faithfully checked the school's website each day to see if they had listed that position that was essentially already mine. Finally, in October, it popped up on my screen. I skipped into our department head's office, announcing that it was game on. 

To cut to the chase, the only game I was playing was with myself. After weeks of waiting, and after David speaking to the director of the school on my behalf, there was only silence. As I moped around about this for a bit, I decided I would expand my search. So I turned to the world and said, "Okay, I'll also consider Chile and Argentina." And the world turned to me and replied, "You're cute. Think broader."

Right before heading home for Christmas, Carmela, a seasoned international teacher, suggested that I cast my net much further. I smiled and nodded on the outside, and proceeded to frown and sigh on the inside. And then I really sat with what she said. I started to check out and email schools in Denmark, Belgium, Austria, Thailand, Malaysia, and Morocco. 

In the midst of all of this, one day I was gchatting with my friend Lindsay, and, after detailing my latest leads in Costa Rica, Kuala Lumpur and the Dominican Republic, she responded with, "I think you're going to go to the job fair and come back with something totally unexpected. And you're going to love it." And this is as much foreshadowing as this story seems to offer.

Less than two weeks ago I opened my email to find a message that just caught me. After perusing the links attached, I was further intrigued by the school and the city it resides within, so I emailed back and scheduled a Skype interview for the next day. 

Michelle and I have had an ongoing analogy, relating job searching to dating. The interviews I'd had leading up to the interview had been akin to the dates where you either wonder how you can politely be back in your car as soon as possible, or you later tell your friends, "He was really nice, but there just wasn't any chemistry." 

And then I spoke with Mike. I couldn't keep myself from smiling, at times perhaps a little foolishly, throughout the entire interview. I was flushed with the prospect of being part of this new team. I was sweating with excitement. Literally. It seemed that I had finally met my professional match. That night I went to bed, but slept little.

I woke the next morning with a rapidly beating heart, the one my old friend Jake had coined my little mouse heart, and came face to face with rising doubts. Was it really that great? How crazy is this to consider a place so far away? And the language...Spanish won't serve me well at all. 

So I spent several days sorting through the pros and cons, reflecting, talking with wise friends, doing pretty extensive research, interviewing with the director, and chatting with a current teacher...and the feeling that stuck, the intuitive sentiment that kept rising, was that this was it for me. 

On Sunday, less than a week after my first interview with Mike, I awoke to the offer from Shekou International School in Shenzhen, China, in my email. I squealed and jumped out of bed, reminding myself that doing cartwheels indoors would be detrimental to my health. 

And then I thought of one of my favorite Rumi quotes: What you seek is seeking you. For months I had been pushing for Latin America, trying to work every angle, feeling so frustrated by the crickets on the other side of so many emails. And then I finally let go of the original plan. And a new plan sought me, and, as it turns out, what the new plan brought was what I had been seeking all along. 

One of the tabs open on my computer right now is to an article from The Atlantic entitled, "Why are Hundreds of Harvard Students Studying Ancient Chinese Philosophy?" It strikes me as particularly cool right now as I am a short distance from Harvard University, having just signed on with my next school in China. I read the article earlier this week and really dug it. Perhaps the part I connected to best is what follows: Puett (a Harvard professor of Chinese history) tells his students that being calculating and rationally deciding on plans is precisely the wrong way to make any sort of important life decision. The Chinese philosophers [the students] are reading would say that this strategy makes it harder to remain open to other possibilities that don't fit into that plan.

And this idea of a plan is a notion I keep returning to. During one of my interviews with a school in Costa Rica, the interviewer asked me where I saw myself in 5 years. My reply: I will be wherever I need to be in order to be growing. Right now that place is Quito, and starting at the end of July that place will be Shenzhen. 

With that news, my dear family and friends, it is time to cuddle up with Cass and a good cooking show.

All my love,

Jame

"[Into] the thinning fog the [sun beamed], almost without sound, like a thought trying to form itself on the edge of consciousness.” 
― Raymond Chandler, The Big Sleep

 

Grandpa Art, our breath from heaven

If you walked into Arthur and Dianna's home some years ago, you may have spotted the chips and candy bars that Grandpa had hidden beneath his favorite chair. While his Pepsi was no secret, he'd sometimes try to be sneaky with his junk food so that Gram wouldn't switch out his Snickers for a carrot stick. If Art had any vices, these were it. He was known for being a man of moderation.

What was most prominent about Arthur Emerson Marquart, really, was his gentleness. He exuded this, and it was indeed one of the qualities that drew the vivacious and beautiful Dianna Amys to him as she accepted a ride home from a party over 57 years ago, a ride that led into a courtship that led to a wedding and then to the creation of a family of three girls. It was his kindness that would win the affection of Abby as she remembers his quiet support throughout her adolescent years. It was this patience that would lead him to respond so calmly to Anne when she called him one winter day to tell him that she'd crashed Grandma Shirley's Dodge Dart into a tree in Central Park. And it was this even-temperedness that would save Kris's life on a number of occasions when her mother's fury would rise up as she would come home after curfew, three sheets to the wind.

Arthur's sweetness came from his own mother. He was born on June 18th, 1929, in Tomah, Wisconsin, to Ted and Shirley Marquart. Growing up, he loved playing sports and scouting, earning the top honors of becoming an Eagle Scout. After graduating from high school in Perry, Iowa, Art attended Marquette University, receiving his Doctor of Dentistry and opening his own practice in Superior, Wisconsin, after serving two years in the Korean War. Some 30 years after his wedding day on July 12th, 1958, Art's first grandchildren would crawl into his dental chair. Gazing at him with adoring eyes, Jamie and Lindsay would one by one prop open their mouths, looking forward to the piece of candy Grandpa would hand them after gently counting their teeth. With the heart of a servant of Christ, every week, Art would drive to Middle River Health and Rehab center to offer his dental services to the residents there.

Art's commitment to doing good was evident in all of the activities to which he dedicated his time. Passionate about his career, he was a devoted member of the Wisconsin Dental Association, receiving the President's Award of Honor in 1996, while also active in the Duluth Dental Forum, serving as President from 1985-1986. Faith was always a focus in Art's life. He and Dianna were married at Pilgrim Lutheran Church in Superior. At Pilgrim their girls were baptized, confirmed and married, and here Art served as the treasurer and president of church council numerous times.

Amidst these chosen responsibilities, Art also enthusiastically participated in certain social activities. Being a long time member of the Elks Club, Art would regularly join other men to play Poker, and sip a Pepsi while they sipped their whiskey. Some weekends he and Di would join other friends for dinner at the Elks club, these date nights being one part of the secret to their happy marriage. Aside from his family, one of his favorite pastimes was spending time at the bowling alley. Several times a week, Art would meet up with different leagues at different alleys, showing off fierce bowling skills while sporting his leagues' jerseys. Years later, his granddaughters would turn these bowling shirts into their favorite pajamas.

Whether in the office, at the bowling alley or gathered at his home with friends and family, what we also remember fondly about Art was his sense of humor, which he retained, even into years of dementia. This was another part of his successful marriage. It's difficult to stay irritated or mad at a man who could have you giggling, and then be chuckling right alongside you until that was all you could remember, that after years together, life was full of laughter.

We all have so many memories of laughing with Art, of attending sports games with Art, and of being loved by and loving Art. Those blue eyes, that smile and his sweet heart remains with us, now not in an earthly form, but a heavenly one. Grandpa Art, you are that star that sparkles so brightly in the clear night's sky, and you are our breath from heaven.

A sojournista's open letter to her parents

We ran towards the ocean as the waves crashed towards the shore as the tide was coming in and then the waves crashed into our bodies and I heard myself laugh in that free and genuine way, when your soul is so spirited and I felt so alive that in that moment I had to wonder if I would someday think about this day and believe that it was a dream. As I pondered this, the sun, mostly obscured by a blanket of clouds, revealed itself in its orange and pink fiery brilliance, drawing closer to the horizon. And I once again asked myself, "Is this my life?" and the reply came, "This is your life." And it was a moment when I knew I was just where I was supposed to be...

For many months I have been struggling to find an eloquent way to explain what my time abroad has really been, why I decided to stay a third year in Quito, and why I am contemplating other international posts.

I've become quite articulate with some of my sentiments, and in describing many of my experiences, but here I still struggle. Most of my tales are of trips to Mindo, doing yoga in (mostly) peaceful places with scenic views of the mountains, and having all sorts of adventures as I climb these mountains. Through narrating these accounts, I seek to share quirky and cool episodes, and, hopefully to entertain a reader or two. With the reflections embedded in the posts, I also strive to share wisdom...but still, the real depth of life abroad is not wholly present. Because it's really not about chocolatey and beachy adventures at its heart, it's about digging down deep into myself.

I sometimes talk of my wanderlust, but what lies within is so much greater and deeper than lust, which is fickle and founded on impermanence and fleeting desire. No, this is not about lust, it is about a true love for new lands and the mysteries one may begin to uncover living within their borders.

I've spent some time in the past wishing I was someone different to some extent. I have envied Linds' self-assuredness in making swift decisions and Cass' confidence in speaking her mind, especially when it's laced with a bit of sassiness. This, in part, was why I felt drawn abroad. The strength I have uncovered within myself does not surprise me, but it was buried beneath a surface that needed a distance to reveal itself. I am a Baci-Marquart through and through, so proud and grateful to be so, but I have needed such an experience that would push my ability to be independent to discern who, really, is Jamie.

Why I couldn't have done this growing and evolving in Minnesota I may still not be answering so clearly; one can challenge herself whatever her geographic location, of course, but the draw was something bigger than me. When listening to that intuitive voice, when feeling the magnetic force of it, it is something beyond myself that guides me. This I have come to recognize as God's energy.

And intuition is a fascinating feeling. When following it, one may be able to articulate some of where the sense arises from, but so much is initially unseen, bringing clarity in hindsight, but still, perhaps, only partly so. When I signed that contract nearly three years ago, I could explain in part why I was drawing my name on that dotted line, but what this epoca de mi vida has been is so much more than I could have wondered at at the moment I accepted the position to teach at Americano.

This time abroad has brought me to be who I am meant to be; it is who I always was, but parts of me were buried under insecurity and doubt, and perhaps, for me, just not having the right space to push myself so profoundly.

During my nights of sleeplessness, I have done a good deal of soul-searching. Wanting to be most honest with myself, the revolving questions being Am I being selfish in making this decision? Is this life about indulgence? While I will not call it completely selfless, my motivations for being abroad are not altogether self-serving. I want to better myself. The more you evolve yourself, the more you are able to give to others and the world at large. This is how I have been called to evolve.

So in these past few years, but especially within the months of this third year, whatever sand that had been shifting within the foundation of my self has turned to smooth and solid marble. Never have I felt so sure-footed and confident. I am certain it was only by pushing my boundaries this far that I have come to build such a strength within myself. This woman that I am now, I am more capable of being what the world needs of me. I can't define that, I still might not even know what that is, but I have a deeper capacity to be that. 

I know whatever my struggles in reading a map and knowing east from west, and north from south, my heart makes up in being my keen compass. I don't know which direction I walk next year, but I am not lost. I trust in my wisdom to follow what my heart speaks. Whatever my choice, there are difficult tradeoffs, but whatever my choice, as Dad told me in the midst of a tumultuous time, the best times still lie ahead.

Still sometimes the conviction in my rather newfound poise and confidence does not buffer the pain of being so far from home. Missing milestone events, and just the everyday...dinners, Bocceball tournaments, evenings in front of the fireplace watching Modern Family. And this, I learn time and again, is life. Beauty mixed with heartache. Tears mixed with laughter.

As I am curled up on my couch in Quito, my resounding feeling tonight is one of gratitude. For the life you have blessed me with, for the privileges, of which I am so much more aware, you have granted me, and for your unending support and unconditional love. And here I will always fall short in saying my love for you, but I hope you feel the profoundness of that love across the continental lines.

So precious are our days, especially as we live them with such love and good health. And so priceless is the time I am home, cooking for my favorite people, spending nights with dominoes on the table, and hearing my laugh mingle with yours. I cannot wait to hug you and be hugged by you.

Les amo a la luna y lejos, Mom and Dad. <3 <3 <3

Your Jame

P.S. I think it is time for more South American adventures.

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God speaks to each of us as he makes us,

then walks with us silently out of the night.

These are the words we dimly hear:

You, sent out beyond your recall,

go to the limits of your longing.

Embody me.

Flare up like a flame

and make big shadows I can move in.

Let everything happen to you: beauty and terror.

Just keep going. No feeling is final.

Don't let yourself lose me.

Nearby is the country they call life.

You will know it by its seriousness.

Give me your hand.

Rainer Maria Rilke
Book of Hours, I 59

Summiting a Snowcapped Volcano, A How-To Guide

In the summer of 2002, Dad took Jenn, Jake and me on a camping trip to Montana. During our week stay, we swam in some hot springs, and that was cool -- or, rather, quite warm -- we hung out with Dad's old college buddies a bit, which was also a lovely time, and then we hiked to the ridge of the mountain on which we were camping. And that was scary. Really scary. I kept sliding down the shale, certain I was going to fall to sudden death. I distinctly remember thinking how I hadn't gotten a chance to say goodbye and I love you to all of my people. This is how my mind rolls sometimes, deep, and dark, and anxious. Clearly we made if off the mountain without the sort of drama I had whipped up in my brain; Dad would never have taken us on any real dangerous treks. No...no, only I would take myself on the riskier climbs...13 years later.  I do not know what has happened to me since that summer...except, you know what, I do. I've buckled down and determined that I rule my roost here. Fears do not control me and worry does not win. So, (within reason, Mom) I take calculated risks. This past weekend, Alli and I set out to summit Cayambe, a really big-ass, snowcapped volcano here in Ecuador. 

Cayambe had begun to call to use this autumn, in a way that Vikram Oberoi articulates: “When the wind calls, you know, that somewhere in the mountains, it has found the answers that you were looking for. The pull of the horizon overcomes the inertia of reason…And you just have to go.”

The following is our advice for how to commence such a mission...

Step 1: Join a climbing club
While one could plausibly climb some of the Ecuadorian Andes with merely a map and a couple of adventurous amigos, to avoid getting lost in the descending fog, or getting struck by lightning on Rucu Pichincha, it is wisest to join a climbing club. To save you the time and effort it takes to research a reputable empresa, I will tell you there is only one sensible choice: Paypahuasi.
The benefits of this group are as follows:
1. Security:
The knowledgeable (y guapos y fuertes) guides will be willing to lend their hand (and legs and encouragement) on sketchy rock scrambles (note: You can simultaneously be a badass, independent woman and not too proud to say yes to a manly mano), they will be willing to put you on a leash to get your booty to the cumbre, and they will know the shortcuts to take when thunderstorms break out on the mountain
2. Transportation:
While you will need to arise long before the sun to embark on the climbs leading up to the Big Kahuna, you will still be able to count some (mis)fit sheep while someone else navigates the road. This also ensures that you will not end up in Cuenca when trying to reach the base of Corazón.
3. Camaraderie: 
Even if you are one of two, three or four trekking gringos, you will be warmly welcomed into the community of Ecuadorian climbers. They will offer their hands when a guide is not nearby, their snacks at mountain rest stops, and big abrazos at the cumbres. In union there is strength, said the Ancient Greek story-teller Aesop, and this union is built through enduring wind, rain, sleet and snow together.  
4. Celebratory Toast: While Pilsener may not be your drink of choice when out for an elegant dinner, it proves to satiate your thirst in the jungle, on the beach, and when saying ¡Salud! in a celebratory toast after a successful summit. Paypahuasi is always up for a pit stop on the way home.

Note: You may find this time of enlistment the approriate time to assure your parents that you will only climb with Paypahuasi so far into their mountain cycle. No one needs to push beyond the four cumbres of Pichincha, and it would be downright silly to consider summiting Cotopaxi, one of Ecuador's snowcapped, active volcanoes. 

Step 2: Locate your mountain-climbing soulie
It is useful to establish a criteria for your adventure-seeking, pain-embracing partner in crime. The following are recommended qualities:

• encouraging, especially when you are hanging on to a rock while looking down the drop-off
• positive in the face of rain, sleet and snow
• baker of many endurance snacks, and eager to share with you
• physically strong, perhaps having completed many fierce Ironman competitions
• being something of a morning person, willing to rise at ridiculous hours 

Alli, exhibiting quality #2, on the Pichincha trek.

Not a mandatory quality, but a welcome one is a mountain-climbing soulmate with a cigar-smoking husband who will offer you a Cuban and a chair on their balcony where he will talk you off the ledge of anxiety induced by his wife's idea to climb the snowcapped volcano to begin with...which brings us to the next step...

Step 3: Choose your challenge
After summiting a number of Andean mountains, you will likely find your sights are set higher and higher. As high as 18,996 feet, in fact. As Cotopaxi has come back to life and is blowing a great deal of ash into the atmosphere, your previous parental reassurance not to scale those snowy slopes was no falsehood. Instead a wiser choice is Cayambe. The abysmal and beautiful crevasses that lace the mountain make this choice even more exciting, and will prove to inspire a great deal of anxiety, as previously mentioned, making this challenge that much more purposeful because it will become about more than a summit, but also about personal growth.

One of many crevasses that you may encounter. You'll need a running start to fly over some of them,
but be weary not to run too quickly, lest you run right off of the mountain.

Step 4: Secure Supplies
Now that you have named your challenge, it is important to acquire the appropriate gear and buy, or bake, the best food for your belly so that you may increase the comfort and enjoyment of the climbs that prepare you for Cayambe. A stop at the local climbing shop will prove fruitful (for your body, less so for your bank account) as it is recommended you purchase 1. compression socks, especially important if you have problems with circulation and prefer to avoid amputation of your toes,             2. waterproof pants (because someone in a region experiencing a draught has clearly done a rain dance on the day of nearly every climb and the dark clouds will pass over your path on the way to wherever they are really needed), 3. a buff (you may think you're cute when you sing "I can´t feel my face when I'm with you, and I love it, and I love it" at the cumbres, but it's actually more fun if you can feel your face)

In addition to the gear, you'll need to pack fuel to keep from looking like a neglected flower wilting in the sun on a certain Quiteño terrace. In a hurry, you may grab dried fruit and nuts from the nearby grocery store, but if you are feeling more ambitious, the following treats have proven to aid in helping climbers endure and enjoy long treks: 1. cinnamon pecan granola, 2. gingersnaps, and 3. quinoa coconut bars. It is also strongly suggested that you pack 2-3 dark chocolate bars to share with your soulie at the summit.

Step 5: Face down your fears
If Step 3 has you feeling a little queazy as you come to terms with the significance of what you have verbally signed up for, you are not alone. It is entirely normal to dream about Cayambe, wake up each morning feeling as if you have spent the night hyperventilating, and to daily question your student who moonlights--and yes, moonlights is the appropriate term here as you begin snowcapped mountain treks in the middle of the night--as a guide how dangerous he thinks this particular mountain is, really. There are a couple of things that you can do here to ease some of the tension. First, make up a mantra. Repeat the mantra during workouts, on the bus, and in between sentences when speaking with your soulie. It is most useful to use a mantra that has a rhythm as you'll need to use it when methodically mounting the mountain. If you can add in some alliteration, that's fun too.
You'll find it especially amusing if you are of a literary liking. An example of such a mantra may be Climb Cayambe, to the cumbre. Now, the next step is to post this mantra all over social media, really for the sake of holding yourself accountable. You can't put those words out there for weeks on end just to back down. That would be foolish and embarrassing. Your friends may tire of you filling their feeds with your motto, in addition to inspirational mountain quotes, photos of overstuffed packs and countdowns, but no matter, you have chosen good friends who love you in spite of your quirks, goofiness and obsessive mountain posts; they (most of them) will not unfollow you, but rather supportively like all of your output and offer a great deal of heartening encouragement.

Step 6: Become accustomed to the equipment
As you approach the day of the Cayambe ascent, you will no longer refer to what you are doing as hiking or trekking, but rather high altitude climbing. When summiting a snowcapped mountain, you will need to use a pickaxe, and mountaineering boots with crampons attached. It is highly recommended that you attend Escuela de Hielo, or Ice School, in order to learn how to appropriately use the equipment and become acquainted with how these clumsy boots feel on your feet. What this is largely about is becoming accustomed to the pain the boots will induce in your shins, but hey, you'll have battle wounds to bare when you're detailing the experience to others. To keep things positive, though, Ice School does lend itself to more bonding and stunning views, which will remind you of why your insanity is acceptable. 

The sun may be so intense you wish that you had packed your bikini, but avoid the desire to strip down
in the face of the scorching rays. Second degree burns will not make for good sleep in the following days. 

This...this will inspire your hopes and dreams of that big summit.
This induces quick amnesia of fear and pain, at least momentarily.

Step 7: Let go of modesty
To be frank, you are going to have to come to terms with bearing your bum in public. The training you do to prepare for the snowcapped summit will start to predispose you for this reality as you will begin by having to pee publicly, at first behind a boulder or large tree on earlier hikes, and then you will graduate to sticking your butt out of a tent as the refugio may be full when your posse shows up for Ice School. 

Despite the close proximity of the tents, this will feel like a safe space to pee in retrospect.

As you're echando de aguas, praying no one steps out of their tent to spotlight you with their flashlight, you may begin to worry about...pooping. And the thoughts begin to spin: What if I have to take a dump on this big climb? Altitude can do funny things to my tummy. Should I try Smooth Move tea the day before the climb to just cleanse....oh, but the last time I drank that... But the deal is, everybody poops. Though not everybody poops in front of their headlamp bearing peers, which is realistically what you may end up doing. Thus, an important note: Considering these immodest situations that are bound to arise, it is wise to mindfully consider who you entreat to be your fearless leader. It may seem exciting to ask one of the most handsome guias to guide you, until this moment. And then you will mortifyingly wonder at your lack of foresight, so head this warning now. 

Step 8: Find your fight song
The final 7-14 days before you embark on scaling the snowy (and very steep) slope are crucial for keeping up your moral. Similar to many other transformative experiences--such as getting married, having a child, or moving abroad--as the date approaches, the emotional pendulum will swing more severely in both directions, so that your heart will race with excitement and then you will sweat with the fear of regret. This is where the fight song comes in handy. You want something you can play in the moments that you aren't repeating your mantra to get you pumped. up. A song that makes you feel fierce. And a song that drives your determination. That song may just be Eminem's Lose Yourself. But remember not to take the title literally. Lose yourself, but not on the mountain, or in the mountain. Here, visualize losing yourself in the moment because "You own it, you better never let it go you only get one shot, do not miss your chance to blow. This opportunity comes once in a lifetime." 

And then, before you know it, it's go time ...

Step 9: Establish a ritmo and get gritty
As the day of the climb has arrived, you will join up with your fellow trekkers (crazy-mad-gambling peoples) to leave the city in the late morning, to arrive to the refugio by afternoon, to "sleep" until 10:30 pm, to get up and start climbing by 11:30 pm, a charming and eery moonlit hour on the mountain. You now don your favorite blue helmet, equipped with a headlamp, do your best to quell the nerves, and get your march on. It is best not to project more than the next step into the future as this could lead to losing the will to live. You didn't pack the white flag for a reason; there is no surrender. Make use of that mantra and match your steps to that of your guide's. Remember Kerouac's words: In the end, you won't remember the time you spent working in the office or mowing your lawn. Climb that goddamn mountain. 

Step 10: Accept that summits are not always glamorous, but pride and glory are
On a number of other climbs, you likely arrived at the summit still looking stylish and triumphant. Endorphins began pumping through your veins almost instantaneously, so that even if it was raining and windy, you could grin and bear it without having to employ your acting skills too deeply. Well, forget that. This summit will be something quite different. It is best to launch off from the refugio expecting to indeed arrive at the cumbre, which will be less about the good luck your friends and family wished you when you departed from the city, and more about the fortitude you have found within yourself. But expect to arrive a disheveled, icy mess. It is possible, and more, likely, that your face will be too frozen to smile. You may be surprised at the speed at which you want to end the stay at the summit and just get back down the damn mountain. No Emmy worthy performance is even within conjuring distance at this point. Looking down at yourself, you may wonder why your mother never told you that you are a near relative to the Abominable Snowman, but then, she keeps almost telling you that you're adopted, because that is the only explanation for why you're at the top of a mountain, freezing your pants off, and she and the family are chillin' by a fireplace, sipping hot toddies, so it's probable that she didn't know to tell you about your sharing genes with a yeti-like creature because she didn't know of the relation. 

“It’s not the mountain we conquer, but ourselves.” ~Sir Edmund Hillary

The thing is, you may not wholly comprehend what you have just done until much later than the usual mountain high. And that's okay. You've managed to take a few photos, and you'll be able to stare at these memories for long moments, mesmerized by the crevasses, reminded of your beautiful mistake to look down one before leaping over it. You'll laugh at the fake, goofy, I don't know, do we even call those grins, that you and your best climbing amiga are wearing in the photo from the top. And the next day, and for days and weeks to come, you'll marvel at yourself, your friend, and the majesty of that mountain. 

"And the point is to live everything. Live the questions now. Perhaps then, someday far into the future, you will gradually, without even noticing it, live your way into the answer." ~Rainer Maria Rilke

Afterward: 
Some people walk into this climb blind. Sometimes they summit, sometimes they don't. Sometimes you prepare for months, and sometimes you summit and sometimes you don't. For me, though, to have skipped the weeks of training--visualizing, chatting out my fears with Alli and Charles, Zening my disquietude with a good deal of yoga--this would have been missing the mark. Cayambe was much more than a grand summit. It was an exercise in facing down my fears and looking anxiety in the eye...and not backing down. I have begun to write for the Chicago-based blog aSweatLife. My latest post on this empowering and positive fitness blog was about the process of overcoming this anxiety. 

So now, how about some Christmas shopping?? I am not wishing the time away, but I am looking forward to curling up on some couches, sipping some wine and catching up with my dear friends and family. 

So much love from the south.

Jame

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You were born with wings, why do you prefer to crawl through life?

~Rumi

and then our stay in the Land of Longevity got longer

Outside the terminal doors a cone-shaped, orange flag was blowing against a mountainous backdrop. The wind indicator was only on the periphery of my attention, though, as I was focused on the perfect ratio of grated ginger, cinnamon, cayenne pepper and number of 100% cacao squares I was going to whisk together before even unpacking when I walked back into my apartment. I was vaguely aware of the absence of any plane that would charter me back home to enjoy dessert for dinner...until muffled, staticky Spanish prompted Michelle to turn towards me with an eyebrow raised. Cancelado, Guayaquil and avion crackled through the microphone, though the message in its entirety was quite unclear. My Ecua Older Sis, as I like to call Miche, walked over to the desk to gain some clarity and came back guffawing at the news. Well, it's too windy for the incoming plane to land here right now, so they've sent it to Guayaquil to hang out for a bit. I sighed heavily because this meant postponing my chocolate consumption. After twiddling our thumbs for 20-odd minutes, the news man came on the microphone again. While our fluency in crackle-Spanish had not improved in this time, the collective groan from the other passengers was an indication of the situation having gone further awry. Michelle marched back over to the desk and reported that There are no lights on this runway (though the airport had just been renovated) and as we are approaching dusk the plane will not be able to land this evening. Also, there is no room on another flight until Tuesday. The voiceover in my head then went something like This pickle brought to you by This South American Life. I stared blankly at Michelle for a few moments, unable to conjure Plan B. She, on the other hand, had already whipped together our next move. Before too long, well, before kind of long as we had to wait in line to confirm our place on the Tuesday flight, we were making our way back from the airport in Loja to the tranquil town of Vilcabamba.

Michelle and I had landed in Vilcabamba on Friday morning as she'd read about its mystère. Known by the Incas as the Sacred Valley, a number of Vilcabambans have lived to see the turning of a century, making "the balmy air synonymous with longevity." So, in truth, while a longer stay had not been scheduled, the Absent Airplane had now made for an unfortunately fortunate turn of events.

As the taxi pulled back into Izhcayluma, I waved at my nos vemos that still hung in the air from all of five hours ago. So, here we were, getting cozy in the Land of Longevity, settling in to Round Deux.

This following is most definitely a plug for this pueblito...

While mountain climbing is my thing here in Ecuador, Michelle's thing everywhere is horseback riding. My last experience with her and her mane-y friends was in Monpiche last fall. That experience was not desirous of repeating, so when Michelle threw out the equestrian card I was a bit hesitant. Vilcabamba's cabello aficionado happened to be around our hosteria on Friday morning, so we had the opportunity to chat him up a bit. By his appearance, it did not seem that he would likely own horses with ticks and flees, nor would it be suggested that we corral the horses ourselves or ride bareback, so I felt fairly sound in a decision to give it another shot. This was a wise decision. The morning looked like this...

Cass gets coined the trendiest Baci sister, but I think I may be on to her style here...#readytoride.

Cowgirl at heart

More of breathtaking Ecuador

Holgar. The fresh air and views and horses-que estan bien educados-and organic coffee that his tour offers will certainly add years, or at the very least, memorable moments to your life.

Now, if being in the saddle has one a little sore, Izhcayluma has some yoga for that. (And a kick-ass spa where you can score a 75-minute massage for $22...this may be precisely why there is an expanding expat population.)

Here is the Yoga Shala, the beautiful space and vista for aligning your chakras. Photo credit: Izhcayluma.

After the aforementioned activities, and a good meal (or two), Michelle and I felt keen to check out whatever night life Vilcabamba offered. I didn't have high expectations, per se, but one of the women working the check-in at Izhcayluma had talked up an event at the church across the street. It seems we had arrived on a weekend that celebrates the Virgin of Fatima. She enthusiastically talked about a night including a choreographed dance and music and general merry-making, so Michelle and I trekked the short distance a la iglesia to find...this...

There is music coming from that stage, and difficult to depict the whole scene in this photo, there are loads of townspeople gathered here. Staring at one another. Then staring at the empty space...a void these niños finally decided to fill with some cartwheels and games. I, the rule-obliging hermanita, kept silently willing my hips to lie, lie still that is, while Michelle, a bit more of the line-pushing rebel, was just trying to decide which note would be the best to break out her first move and see what party she could get started. Before she set out on this solo endeavor, we ran into our friend from the hostería, who was with a group of other gringas. We joined forces and started moving our groove things, but to no avail. After several songs of being the only objects of interest, a scenario that just generally makes me feel awkward, Michelle and I decided our beds and our books would be a more interesting scene. Perhaps this is another key to the valley's longevity. More rest, and more sleep. Except...except the music played until 2 am. And then played all the next day. An eclectic mix of hip-hop, bachata and new age Christian songs. And then this continued for three more nights. So much for the land of little noise pollution as Michelle had read. The last night of our stay, which was the 2nd extra night, the music was punctuated by very intermittent...bombs? shot guns firing? No, it turned out they were fireworks, but all of the extra life we had gained from the fresh air, organic food and activity in nature seemed to evaporate with each spasmodic BOOM, causing our hearts to palpitate and thrash against our ribs. 

This, my friends, is quintessential Ecuador. You're standing in tree pose, listening to the chickadees chirp, breathing in the freshest mountain air, working on aligning your chakras...while the refrain of LMFAO's "I'm Sexy and I Know It" blares in the near distance. You've just finished a fine meal of locro con queso and hornado, which has gone down the pipe deliciously...but will soon awake you from your slumber with gastronomical Ecuadorian surprise. You're immersed in Michael Pollan's latest, greatest read, nestled in a cozy bed with wine by your side...when people start playing with pyrotechnics outside your door. 

And herein lies the life lesson: choose what enters your consciousness. Or perhaps allow it all into your consciousness, welcome it all in even, but choose where to put your focus. Our departure, which did take place on Tuesday evening, was an excellent time to put into practice this wisdom. You could center yourself on the unsteady angle of the plane's wing...or you could observe the patchwork beauty below...

...and just as I'm finishing up here, fireworks are going off outside my window. Because this is Quito. En punto, Quito. En punto. 

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 “If you are irritated by every rub, how will your mirror be polished?” 

― Rumi