Sunday, January 29, 2012

i fell in love with a girl named quito

Quito. When I was looking to move abroad, all of these amazing places sprung into consideration. I imagined myself sipping Argentine wine in a romantically lit cobblestone courtyard in Buenos Aires while I watched locals and foreigners alike Tango and twirl. I saw myself bowing slightly to pass through the noren that hang in every restaurant throughout Japan, removing my shoes, and sitting amongst countless locals to eat the freshest sushi on earth while I practice my formal tea pouring and regional diction Japanese in Kyoto. I pictured myself eating tapas and viewing Gaudi's architecture along the streets of Barcelona before headed to the beach to sip Sangria and chat with the locals. Never did I think, "Hey, perhaps I will head to the Andes and try and build a life in a city I have never even seen a photo of", but therein lies the adventure.

I hadn't taken a Spanish class since Sra. Gallardo's Spanish class at Corona High School my sophomore year, and seeing as a solid decade had passed since then, I knew I was in for a challenge when I accepted a position in the capital of Ecuador. My sweet mother gifted me the South American and Ecuadorian Lonely Planet books (I live by these books) and I got started planning my new life... My new life in Quito. My mother and I popped open an ice cold bottle of champagne, poured two glasses worth into her fancy-schmancy crystal flutes, and opened the fresh, virgin pages of the travel guides to see what was in store for me.

On a side note: Admittedly, I am a bit of a planner. Ok, that is an understatement. I am a certified professional organizer and I love to plan, organize and make sense of things. I did do some research on Quito prior to my interview and my departure, but I found my gypsy spirit whispering, "Let go..." and so, for once, I did.

Back to the champagne. We drank, we read, we laughed, we dreamed. A short month later, I was sipping coffee with my father on the way to LAX as the sun seemingly chased us westward in the early November morning. Luggage in tow, containing carefully chosen articles, I sent vibes to this foreign city that would become my dwelling place for the next year. Would it become my home? Flash forward to the three month mark of my journey and I can say without hesitation that this city has become my home, my friend, and my lover.

My feet have grown accustom to the often jagged terrain of the streets and sidewalks that aid my navigation of Quito. I find that I need match my eyes to my steps less and less with each passing step and each passing day. The sounds of airplanes in the distance blend naturally with the clamor of honking taxis, buses shifting gears, and the symphony of car alarms that sound off endlessly throughout the city.
It is amazing to ride the blue city buses and watch contently out whichever window sports that day's adventure. Seeing something new every time, it allows the association of times passed to be connected with new sights, inciting, "I've been there before..." as connections are made. I am truly beginning to know this city. I am falling in love with her curves- both those soft and seductive, as well as those dangerous and elusive- as she allows me to explore them with the curiosity of a child. I have grown accustomed to the temperamental and fickle weather, just as women are perceived to be. As I leave my home some mornings, drenched by the time I reach the bus and taxi hub at the bottom of my hill, only to find myself peeling my coat and scarf off under the intense equator sun as I exit my class just a few hours later. The altitude, around 9,000 feet, depending on your location, offers a hospitable home for rolling, white clouds and constantly changing views in every direction. At night, when the sun rests, the fog rolls in like a team of bandits in the Wild West, occupying street corners and slowing traffic to a cautious roll. Quiteños fear not this timid fog, still linking arms and wandering the streets of La Mariscal in search of cuba libres and reggaeton music.

My ears have ceased searching for English in the sea of Spanish palabras (words) and have sat back in the hammock next to my brain and begun enjoying the challenge that has thus become a game: Learning Spanish. Reggaeton, Salsa, and Meringue music please my inner musician and songs have become familiar, just as in the States.

The incredible preservation and restoration of Centro Historico (Old Town) Quito has helped it quickly become one of my favorite areas to pass the time. Classic Colonial buildings are flanked by the soft, golden lights that guide locals and tourists alike down the streets towards canelazo and empanadas. Massive churches with ornate entrances remind us all that there is something greater than us, and we should all remember to not outgrow out britches. Street performers and beggars alike cast hopeful eyes in the direction of those who pass by and handfuls of plata (change) become the sought after treasure battled for by all.

Parque la Carolina, Quito's answer to Central Park, beckons to all who must pass by on their way to work or school. Flanked on the North side by an art exhibit of massive hummingbirds that have been decorated by local artists, Parque la Carolina hosts jungle gyms, museums, paddle boats, islands, bridges, a skate park, grassy knolls, basketball courts, soccer fields, shady trees, and all sorts of guests who use the park for their own benefit.

My legs have grown accustomed to the countless hills that are to be climbed on my daily rounds and I have found that my daily retirement upon my pillow is always truly welcomed. It has never failed, however, that my mind and body rejoice in venturing out again into my city when it calls upon me.

When I am sick, she lulls me to sleep with her many voices. When I am weary, she reminds me of the incredible, bustling life going on around me. When I grow lonesome, she provides me thousands of people to listen to and watch. When I find myself lost, she shows me a sliver of curving mountaintop or a peak at a street sign, and I have once again found my way. When I feel like dancing, sweet Quito delivers me music to entice my soul and my hips.
She is a good lover, this Quito, and I seek to enjoy every last day with her...

Wednesday, January 4, 2012

feliz año

Montañita, Ecuador, a coastal town whose reputation far precedes the beautiful blue waters and inviting hammocks, had become a place of interest for me as soon as I learned of my friend Holly's migration to its neighboring town, San Jose. I agreed to venture westward for the remaining days of the best year of my life: The Year of the Yes. I truly had to end the year in a spectacular way. Honestly, I love to celebrate in general. Birthdays, holidays, accomplishments, people, Wednesdays... My birthday is one thing that I always want to celebrate and it wasn't until my 27th birthday that I had a stellar birthday as an adult. Christmas and New Years Eve are the highlight of my year... At least until they get here. Christmas of 2010 was the best Christmas to date, hands down. I was with my parents, siblings and extended family at my Grantparents' home in St. George, Utah and we were all together and blissfully happy for a week. Every tradition was carried out with endless joy, every present meant something special, every moment was treasured.

New Years Eve, on the other hand, has had an endless tradition of sucking beyond belief. Yes, I realize that statement makes me sound like I wear a "Twilight" shirt and listen to Ke$ha while I bitch about how unfair life is, but I assure you that I am not 13, nor am I ungrateful. I have had everything happen boyfriends creating drama to people going to jail. This year was going to be different. This year was going to be mejor. Better. Best.

A student of mine and I had been discussing our plans for the holidays after class and she extended an invitation to ride along with her and her husband to Guayaquil, where I could take a bus the rest of the way to Montañita. I arrived at her beautiful, modern condo in the North end of Quito early on the morning of the 27th, my big black and royal blue backpacker's backpack strapped to me and my gypsy spirit in tow. She sliced papayas and bananas, cut some Pan de Navidad for us, and poured peach tea. They whole-heartedly recited their Catholic prayers of thanks and protection (which are beautiful, especially in Spanish) and and we ate, talked and laughed in English and Spanish until it was time to depart for the coast.

We piled in their royal blue Honda Civic and we were off. The winding jungle roads headed south out of Quito were peligrio to say the least, but they were paved, and I trusted her husband- after all, he grew up in Bogota, Colombia where they have the worst traffic in South America. We briefly stopped at a little place off one of the countless curvas peligrosas, where half a pig (the left half, if you must know) was strung up next to a table of the fixings for fritadas and where random dogs waited patiently for scraps and bones from locals and travelers alike. The break from centrifugal force alone was a breath of fresh air, but the sweet pork and fresh mote with ahí were the best I have had yet.

As we traveled along the now less stomach-clenching roads to Guayaquil, I snapped photos where I was able and learned as much Spanish as I could. The vegetation changed from mountainous to tropical, boasting coconuts, plantains and cocoa beans along the two-lane roads. The smell of burning wood filled the air, changing only when some almuerzo place replaced it with Seco de Pollo or when the flower patches overwhelmed the charring of natural products. The warm, tropical air of the equator seeped through the backseat window and greeted my Quito-accustomed skin with tingles of excitement for what was to come: One week on a tropical beach with amazing people. Oh, and checking off yet another item on my bucket list: Ring in the New Year in a foreign country. More tingles.

Arriving in Guayaquil, we jumped out of the car (after a ten minute parking session, Latin American style) and I was to try my first ceviche. I may move to the coast after Quito just for the seafood! We finished our ice cold beers and marisco rico and I bid farewell to my travel companions. Note to all travelers: When buying a ticket on a train or bus from anywhere, to anywhere, figure out if it includes a seat or if it is an additional charge and never bring a bag too large to fit overhead or in your lap. The ticket agent informed me there just weren't any buses headed to Montañita that particular day, so I could just go to Salinas and figure it out from there. Super. Fortunately, I managed to select the right bus chain and had an assigned seat in a clean, air conditioned bus and was headed for the coast. I figured once I got to the coast, I'd just catch a bus north until I saw bamboo bars and the raging parties of Montañita. The gentleman checking tickets assured me, without me asking, that I needed to exit the bus in Santa Elena, not Salinas. ¿Segura? Are you sure? After the third time I asked him, his pink button up shirt, clean kahkis, and clean shaven face maintained its charm and patience, but looked deeply into mis ojos and said, "Si, señorita, te lo premeto." I promise. Good enough for me.
Arriving in Santa Elena, Ecuador after sunset as a gringa in a sundress is like being a piece of filet mignon being thrown in a pit of hungry dogs. I wasn't even off the bus before a half dozen men were surrounding me telling me they would take me to Montañita in a "taxi seguridad" (safe taxi transport) for $20. Apparently, any gringos rolling through that area are destined for Montañita. I asked a few questions, determined they were legit, but decided to arrive to my destination by public bus instead. $1.50 and an hour and a half later, I was almost alone on the very bus that was packed to the brim in Santa Elena and the gentleman at the front of the bus waved me up and informed me Montañita was calling my name. How did he know? Ah, but it was....

It was absolutely everything I'd heard and imagined. Tiki themed stands made of bamboo and booze stood side by side lining the streets that seemed to stem straight from the fine sand of the beach. The bars behind said stands stood tall and loud, requesting you come in for the best everything in Montañita. Speakers in front of the stands clashed with the booming music from the clubs... Don Omar, Jennifer Lopez, Black Eyed Peas, and others seemed to be on repeat, though at different times. Piña Coladas, Cuba Libres and cervezas flowed endlessly. The cobble stones of the streets were almost non-existent due to the tracked-in sand that filled the cracks until the road found its paved brother about a block up. Restaurants, hostels, bars, shops and more bars we're packed into the few streets that comprised Montañita, each with their own flavor and special mark they'd leave on you. Local artisans expressed themselves via various mediums and performers wandered the calles (streets) attempting to entertain and make a few dollars. I found my friends and we dined on the street at an Argentine-owned meat spot before we wandered the streets and drank one of everything, it seemed.

The go-to place down in Montañita, and for good reason, is Cana Grill. A wooden stage towards the back of the room was flanked by the soft, golden sand of the coast which was sandwiched in by another wooden platform filled with tables and chairs for the borrachos and weary. Three bars, tons of drunk people, and countless bad decisions make this place a massive draw. One thing I will say is that Ecuador does not encourage checking the time when out and about. It is always interesting when I glance down at my cell phone and it reads 5:30 am... Shit.

A few friends that I met in Baños a few weeks back happened to be in Montañita for the New Years festivities as well, and they met up to have a few laughs, a lot of drinks and make new memories. The beats of Don Omar fueled our elated and slightly drunken bodies and, sweat drenched, we lived it up.

Each day was different, but each day had the essentials: beach, ocean, delicious food, sun, a few showers, drinks, dancing, and as little sleep as possible.
Conche Negro Ceviche
I was fortunate to grow up near enough to the beaches of Southern California to become accustomed to the way of life of the coastal people, as well as to know I am happiest when I am near the beach. The excitement I felt when I first caught a glimpse of the gentle waves by moonlight of a small, no-name beach town just outside Santa Elena was that of a child on Christmas. However, those butterflies were nothing compared to those when I awoke the following morning and the beautiful blue waters were greeting me with the emotion of an old lover. I missed you, too. The warm, sweet, salty waves seemed to hug my calves as I entered the water like a reunion between old friends. The salt in air filled my lungs just as I'd remembered it, but better. No pollution, no trash wrapping around my legs, no dead animals floating up on shore... Just clear water inviting me to come in further and the sun above me seeming an angel, watching over me like a parent enjoying watching their child play.
My days of drinking coco helado straight from a coconut in a hammock on the sand were numbered, but it seemed perfectly numbered. By the time New Years Eve rolled around, I was ready to (briefly) trade in my bikini for the tradition of wearing white, symbolizing new beginnings. I threw on a few shiny items to feel extra festive and was ready to dine with my Baños boys and their Chilean and Argentinian lady friends. Dammit all to hell if I wasn't feeling like death due to my endometriosis. (Bite me, disease, this is not your night. It's mine. It's ours.) I rested a bit, rallied, and strolled the beach from my friends' hostel towards the incredible celebrations occurring on and in front of the all too familiar streets of the last week.

It's tradition in Ecuador to abandon and destroy the old year while embracing the new. Paper mâché figures ranging from politicians to cartoon characters are made and sold. These "Años Viejos" are loaded with fireworks and strapped to cars for the week preceding NYE. Grown men carry them around, dressed as widows in women's clothing, crying about their lost loves. You give them a few cents and they cry louder and run away in their dresses and try to find others to find solace in. On New Years Eve, at midnight, each person or family takes their Año Viejo and burns it, signifying burning the old year. Some do it in solitary in the middle of their street, however, not in Montañita.

Traditionally, in Montañita, several small bonfires are lit along the sandy beaches to light the waters for the surfers. People drink together, passing drinks and singing their favorite songs as loudly as possible. We stood around the main bonfire, five times the size as the rest, and watched people load their Años Viejos onto the massive shoots of bamboo propped up against each other on the sand like a teepee. As midnight approached, a large circle formed around the bonfire and the surfers returned from their ritual surf session to cheers and salutations. The main bonfire was lit and the surfers thrust their boards in the air and began running around the inside of the bonfire communal circle, cheering the approach of the coming Año Nuevo. As the fire grew, as did the circle, as hundreds of people joined us and the moments became seconds. Happy New Year.

Everyone greeted everyone. Hugs, kisses, pictures, drinks, more hugs, more kisses... People from all over the world joined the surfers in their victory laps around the bonfire. Some were without shirts, most were without shoes, all we're without cares. People clambered on to the shoulders of their friends, couples kissed passionately, champagne bottles sprayed into the air and fell like sweet rain upon us, and fireworks exploded directly above our heads. The Años Viejos burst spontaneously, each pushing the group back a few steps in whichever relative direction was required. Some took a moment to pray, some took a moment to smoke a joint, some, like myself, we're just happy to be alive and exactly where I was at that moment.

I had initially planned to make or purchase an Año Viejo, as I love to be a part of cultural traditions and this one was perfect. However, the day before NYE, I realized that I have nothing I want to rid myself of. Every struggle of 2011 was an educational one, and it was the most incredible year of my life. I have never been happier, nor have I ever been more at peace with everything. One of the Argentinian girls wrote to herself and burned the letter in the bonfire. We chatted about it in Spanish for a bit at dinner, and from what I understood, she blamed herself for the shortcomings and disappointments of 2011. I applauded her honesty with herself and told her, "Nunca regresas"... Never return to that. I also briefly explained YOTY to her the best I could and, with tears in her eyes, she thanked me and hugged the pain out of me. Her sweet demeanor and naivety seemed to remind me that I have truly experienced a lot in my twenty seven years and it is my turn to help others, especially where I wasn't aided in my journey.

As I stood in front of the bonfire sharing a bottle of champagne with my South American friends, not having spoken a word of English in hours, and watching people rejoice endlessly... I exhaled. YOTY isn't over, though the official year is, I plan on living YOTY for life. LOTY: Life of the Yes. I just sent any negativity and sickness into that bonfire and we walked arm in arm to the streets of Montañita, dodging wayward fireworks, wasted stragglers who think people are trees, and the immense amount of trash left by party goers. We again would dance, drink, sing, translate for each other, and allow the language of life to bond us where words couldn't.

This was the first year where I truly hope this year is as good as the last. I spent NYE day floating in the turquoise water of a virgin beach, Los Frailes, Ecuador and the night arm in arm with spectacular people who honestly appreciate me, regardless of language barriers and cultural differences. My friend Tato, originally from Argentina, put his arm around me and stated, "Vos y yo... Nosotros estamos amigos muy bueno. Estamos cariños." where "Vos" is used, it is a term of closeness and respect instead of "tu". Cariños is a very close friend without romantic or sexual intent, which is very sweet.

The next day I cured my illness with more ceviche and a hamaca (hammock) on the beach. I'll never be cured completely, but I know i will never let it control my life. I love my life. I love the people I share it with.
Our NYE group: Ecuador, Argentina,Chile, USA
Now comes the time where I continue my adventures and step it up again. There are a lot of things I have yet to do, and the time is now, so my Bucket List is about to get rocked. Please take a moment and determine if you are actively participating in your life...

I wish you all a Happy & Prosperous New Year... I hope 2012 is your Year of the Yes.

¡Feliz Año Nuevo!

xx.a