I awoke this morning to the sounds of classic Christmas songs and the rare occurrence of a warm December sun filtering through the ironwork of the bedroom window. Any other year, I would grab my sister's hand and jump on my parents' bed to wake my dad up. Yes, at the age of 27 and my sister 24, we still do this. Her boyfriend joined us last year when we were in Southern Utah at my Granparents' home. I don't wanna grow up... I'm a Toys-R-Us kid...
This year, I spend my first Holiday Season on the equator and 9,000 feet up in the atmosphere. Christmas Eve was spent sipping Jack Daniels (a rare treat here due to the incredible liquor taxes) and dancing with my bar mates. As we all know, teachers are tremendously underpaid; so I took a job bartending a few nights a week to put a little plata (money) in my pocket. The Irish owner and Scottish manager have taken me under their wings and I am well on my way to, well... Probably becoming a certified alcoholic. With all of my fellow teachers being back at their respective homes with their families, I joined my kilt-wearing boss (yep, you read that right. It's awesome.) and our motley crew of bar owners and we inhabited one of their bars in La Mariscal (the bar & club district).
Not my typical Christmas Eve. I have grown accustomed to drinking wine and Irish Coffees, watching "White Christmas", reading Twas The Night Before Christmas, sitting around the Christmas tree, and opening a single present, per tradition. Instead I drank Jack Daniels on the rocks, danced to Flogging Molly, took vodka shooters with a Texan and an OU fan (sorry, Dallas folk), and ate salchipapas (garlicky french fries with mayonesa and Ecuadorian ketchup, a fruity red sauce).
With Mariah Carey's "All I Want For Christmas" (the most debated Christmas song of all time) drifting through the halls of my apartment, I began to futz around, dabbling in a little bit of everything on my list of things to do before I leave for the coast tomorrow: packing bikinis and flip flops, cleaning the kitchen, facebooking my friends and family, dancing in my underwear... Hey, I live with two guys, this is the only chance I have. Don't judge me.
My stomach decided that Jack Daniels is not a suitable dinner, nor does it carry over for breakfast, and I grabbed my keys and shuffled down my empty street to find the one place in Quito that might have a person manning the stove or a counter. The insanely empty streets were only occupied by the warm, equator sun and this gringa with a rumbly tummy. Even Jerry, the local tienda German Shepherd, was probably lying underneath the family table waiting for the 10 year old son to drop some pavo (turkey) or papas (potatoes). Only the guard halfway down Echeverria, who always calls me niña or mija, was around to greet me warmly as I wandered to Ave. America. Crossing the massive intersection was remarkably easy with everyone being occupied with families, and the absence of the unrelenting horn-honking was the best Christmas preset ever.
As I handed over my $1.50 for a large bowl of pork, mote, mice (corn), avocado, tomatoes, tostada (roasted corn), onions, potatoes and plantains and smiled at the thirty-something woman who stood proudly as the lone vendor in the streets of Quito. As I walked back to my apartment to once again bask in my favorite Christmas songs, no longer blinded by hunger, I started noticing there were a few stragglers making their ways here and there. A small girl of probably 7 and her mother, presumably, ate the same sustenance that I carried, but out of small, yellow, plastic baggies (fairly common when eating in the streets, as it creates less waste) and sat silently on a half wall in front of the closed farmacia. This is their Christmas.
I thought back to running down the stairs at 7:00 in the morning, though I'd been up since before dawn out of pure excitement, and my parents video taping my sister and I freak out over packages and stocking stuffers. I remembered the huge turkey dinners and endless amounts of sides surrounding the grand bird. I sifted through my Christmas memories, even those with past loves and their families, and I was filled to the brim with gratitude. I have been so fortunate in not just my holidays, but in my life.
The smirk I had on my face as I giggled to myself about having fritadas on Christmas morning quickly disappeared, and for the first time in a long time, I gave thanks to the universe for my $1.50 styrofoam bowl and little green plastic spoon. I walked home silently, no longer humming "O Come All Ye Faithful" and waited until I was in my home to properly appreciate every delicious bite of my Christmas breakfast. Yes, I miss the traditional cinnamon rolls (I CALL MIDDLE!) but, I must admit, this was one of the best meals I have ever had. When I finished, "Carol of the Bells" rang through my ears and my heart, and out of gratitude and understanding, I wept. I smell like cilantro (and probably a little whiskey), my alarm won't stop beeping, I am alone in a foreign country, and I couldn't be happier with knowing this is where I am supposed to be and yo tengo mucho suerte... I am so very fortunate.
Wherever you are, whatever iPad 2 or Kindle you unwrap, be sure to hug those that surround you for just a few more seconds. Hug them for me. Give extra kisses to parents and grandparents. Kiss them for me. Bask in the sunshine, sip a Bloody Mary (another Christmas morning tradition in my family) and actually feel the sun. Stand in the snow a bit longer, so your hot chocolate or Baileys & coffee (love you, Mom) tastes that much sweeter and warms you to your core. Raise a glass of Egg Nog and appreciate your family, your life, and the simple, beautiful things.
From Ecuador, I send my love and best wishes. My 2012 be the year you finally say "Yes" to your heart and to helping others find theirs. To my family, both blood and acquired by living, you are missed, you are loved, you are appreciated.
Suerte y amor para todos....
xx.a
This year, I spend my first Holiday Season on the equator and 9,000 feet up in the atmosphere. Christmas Eve was spent sipping Jack Daniels (a rare treat here due to the incredible liquor taxes) and dancing with my bar mates. As we all know, teachers are tremendously underpaid; so I took a job bartending a few nights a week to put a little plata (money) in my pocket. The Irish owner and Scottish manager have taken me under their wings and I am well on my way to, well... Probably becoming a certified alcoholic. With all of my fellow teachers being back at their respective homes with their families, I joined my kilt-wearing boss (yep, you read that right. It's awesome.) and our motley crew of bar owners and we inhabited one of their bars in La Mariscal (the bar & club district).
Not my typical Christmas Eve. I have grown accustomed to drinking wine and Irish Coffees, watching "White Christmas", reading Twas The Night Before Christmas, sitting around the Christmas tree, and opening a single present, per tradition. Instead I drank Jack Daniels on the rocks, danced to Flogging Molly, took vodka shooters with a Texan and an OU fan (sorry, Dallas folk), and ate salchipapas (garlicky french fries with mayonesa and Ecuadorian ketchup, a fruity red sauce).
With Mariah Carey's "All I Want For Christmas" (the most debated Christmas song of all time) drifting through the halls of my apartment, I began to futz around, dabbling in a little bit of everything on my list of things to do before I leave for the coast tomorrow: packing bikinis and flip flops, cleaning the kitchen, facebooking my friends and family, dancing in my underwear... Hey, I live with two guys, this is the only chance I have. Don't judge me.
My stomach decided that Jack Daniels is not a suitable dinner, nor does it carry over for breakfast, and I grabbed my keys and shuffled down my empty street to find the one place in Quito that might have a person manning the stove or a counter. The insanely empty streets were only occupied by the warm, equator sun and this gringa with a rumbly tummy. Even Jerry, the local tienda German Shepherd, was probably lying underneath the family table waiting for the 10 year old son to drop some pavo (turkey) or papas (potatoes). Only the guard halfway down Echeverria, who always calls me niña or mija, was around to greet me warmly as I wandered to Ave. America. Crossing the massive intersection was remarkably easy with everyone being occupied with families, and the absence of the unrelenting horn-honking was the best Christmas preset ever.
As I handed over my $1.50 for a large bowl of pork, mote, mice (corn), avocado, tomatoes, tostada (roasted corn), onions, potatoes and plantains and smiled at the thirty-something woman who stood proudly as the lone vendor in the streets of Quito. As I walked back to my apartment to once again bask in my favorite Christmas songs, no longer blinded by hunger, I started noticing there were a few stragglers making their ways here and there. A small girl of probably 7 and her mother, presumably, ate the same sustenance that I carried, but out of small, yellow, plastic baggies (fairly common when eating in the streets, as it creates less waste) and sat silently on a half wall in front of the closed farmacia. This is their Christmas.
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| Christmas Breakfast |
The smirk I had on my face as I giggled to myself about having fritadas on Christmas morning quickly disappeared, and for the first time in a long time, I gave thanks to the universe for my $1.50 styrofoam bowl and little green plastic spoon. I walked home silently, no longer humming "O Come All Ye Faithful" and waited until I was in my home to properly appreciate every delicious bite of my Christmas breakfast. Yes, I miss the traditional cinnamon rolls (I CALL MIDDLE!) but, I must admit, this was one of the best meals I have ever had. When I finished, "Carol of the Bells" rang through my ears and my heart, and out of gratitude and understanding, I wept. I smell like cilantro (and probably a little whiskey), my alarm won't stop beeping, I am alone in a foreign country, and I couldn't be happier with knowing this is where I am supposed to be and yo tengo mucho suerte... I am so very fortunate.
Wherever you are, whatever iPad 2 or Kindle you unwrap, be sure to hug those that surround you for just a few more seconds. Hug them for me. Give extra kisses to parents and grandparents. Kiss them for me. Bask in the sunshine, sip a Bloody Mary (another Christmas morning tradition in my family) and actually feel the sun. Stand in the snow a bit longer, so your hot chocolate or Baileys & coffee (love you, Mom) tastes that much sweeter and warms you to your core. Raise a glass of Egg Nog and appreciate your family, your life, and the simple, beautiful things.
From Ecuador, I send my love and best wishes. My 2012 be the year you finally say "Yes" to your heart and to helping others find theirs. To my family, both blood and acquired by living, you are missed, you are loved, you are appreciated.
xx.a
Enjoying a bottle of wine, ok gonna start bottle 2, and watching Whte Christmas! Miss and love you bunches!!hope your Christmas was all you wished for!
ReplyDeleteMissed you as well. Had a different & unique experience this Christmas as well. And as always well written. Merry Christmas & Happy New Year.
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