Day 1

My arrival in Ecuador yesterday did not go as planned, and, as with most adventures, I'm thankful for that. 

At the airport, the line for COPA airline's checkin was heavily populated by a large gang of young people whose green shirts proudly proclaimed that their destination was ECUADOR, with the name of their ministry in small print underneath. I was glad for the hope of layover buddies, with whom I was sure interesting conversations would follow. And they did. The group was going to spend 8 days in Ambato, a not-quite-nearby city which I believe I visited with a friend on my first trip. They'd be helping with the construction of a new community school. I got a chance to chat with them about my trip, land myself on several personal prayer lists, and fill them in on some of the finer points of Ecuadorian culture, from the religious landscape (predominant Catholic with a strong and consciously-contending Protestant presence, with a smattering of sects and indigenous spiritualities), to the expressions (“chao” at least as common as “adios”), to must-stop places (mercados artesenales, etc). It was a timely opportunity to reflect on my first trip and to get a little confidence boost as far as my cultural know-how. I had a similar but more condensed experience with two Quito-bound Germans I met at the layover, and even got one of their email addresses, hoping to stay in contact and maybe even meet up during our stay.

When I arrived in Quito, I didn't see Andrea in the line of smiling faces that awaited their internationally-traveling guests and family members. When I called her, she told me that there was car trouble, and I was to get on a shuttle to el antiguo aeropuerto, the old airport, which was closer to her house and therefore a better meeting place. After confirming with an information desk, the bus ticket salesman, and the bus driver that it was going to the correct destination, I was aboard a large and well-equipped bus, by myself, my first day in Quito. The bus had wifi, so I was able to send a few messages to the universe:

I'm in Quito! :) My ride had some car troubles, so I'm taking the shuttle to meet them where they are. Adventures already abound. :)

"When I get off the bus down there, my children, they all are going to greet me at the station. Like gypsies they will dance around me, and the choral droning sound their voices make will saturate the evening." ~A song called Quito, by The Mountain Goats. Free wifi on this bus means I get to listen to freakily thematically appropriate music, as I look out the windows over the city and over the landscapes that evoke all kinds of homey nostalgic feelings in me. I love this place. I love this place. I love this place.

When I arrived at the old airport, whose tarmac had been converted to a fair-slash-theme park and whose buildings were now a bus station, I met Andrea exchanged hugs and besitos, and headed back to the house in the taxi. In-person communication immediately proved infinitely easier than either online or phone, but I still believe that many people in Ecuador are so unused to hearing broken or accented Spanish that they're simply confused by it. However, they generally try to be friendly and accommodating, as is the case with my host family. Driving through the city, I realized that I'd forgotten how many things I missed about this place-- the crowded streets lined with little storefront shops of a particular character that some would be quick to characterize as ghetto, but which filled me with an incredible nostalgia, the murals that lined many of the city walls (courtesy of Urban artists who may or may not have had permission to do so), the vendors that sold chicle and cigarettes along the streets from the type of boxes that might have been used to sell popcorn at a sports game in the US, and so much more-- the food, the buses, the Internet cafes, the language, the beautiful faces of los indigenos that made up a significant part of the Urban population. All of it.

Neither Andrea's sister or her mom (the other two members of the host family) were home when we arrived at the little urban-looking town house, which I recognized from my first trip. I unpacked in the room that Andrea has so graciously leant me (she'll bunk with her sister during my stay, which she doesn't seem to mind at all). She fluttered between the room and the kitchen, where she was preparing shrimp with mushrooms and rice. Over the meal, we talked about daily life our different cultures, boys, Disneyland, and other things of this sort. Already my Spanish was in overdrive; I often guessed words and asked her if these were correct. An abundance of cognates meant that I was usually in the ballpark, enough for her to repeat the correct form of the word to me, though sometimes we still got hung up and simply changed topics. More often we changed topics because I couldn't understand what she was saying, and she's still learning to explain things in simpler language for me.

After that, it was naptime for me (I'd gotten very little sleep both on the overnight flight and the night before), and then I got dressed and ready to find out what the heck Andrea was talking about earlier when she tried to explain a church event to me. Soon, young people (mainly teens) began showing up at the house, followed by the the youth pastor, whom I recognized from my visit to the reunion de jovenes (youth group) last time I was here. The latter brought hot chocolate and bread, which we began preparing in the kitchen, evidently to give to the patrons of a free medical clinic for the poor in the city. Andrea, her sister, and I flittered between this prep work in the kitchen and the meeting that the pastor was running in the living room. First there was worship, then a game of charades in which a representative of the losing team had to drink tea that had been strained through a sock which the pastor took off of Andrea's foot for the purpose (youth groups-- pretty much the same antics everywhere!), then the Bible study, which focused on our identity in Christ. After that, we all piled into the little church van and headed to the hospital, where many of the poor were thankful for the food as they waited for their sick relatives to come out of the treatment rooms. There was quite a bit of leftover food, so we headed to the city and began distributing it out of the bus windows to the poor on the streets, like some kind of reverse drive-through. Eligible candidates for the food included the obviously homeless, the street vendors selling chicle, and people doing menial (but official) work such as trash collecting and street cleaning. It is a sad testament to the injustices of human society (everywhere) that so many of the poor were indijinos, distinguished by their facial features and (especially for the women) their clothing, which includes fedora-type hats, woven wraps, beautifully embroidered tops, and long skirts. Our search for these people involved a canvasing of the seedier parts of town, in which all types of people crowded the sidewalks and club music boomed from buildings-- from Andrea I understand that these are not inherently sinful places, but the locations coincided with other misfortunes, such as the dozens of prostitutes that waited on corners, about half of which appeared to be males in drag. I was very happy to see that the church was living out what they taught, valuing the needs of the poor above the maintenance of a sense of personal security. I was happy that they weren't afraid to do what God had asked them to do. And I don't know if Urban ministry is my lifelong career-type calling, but I'm definitely happy to be a part of it. I think Buzzy would be happy to learn about this.

Most of the youth group kids, including myself and Andrea, were falling asleep by the time we started dropping off kids, and by the time we got home, I was ready to flop into bed and go to sleep. Which I did.

This morning I discovered that I'm the earliest riser in the family, so the mornings should be a perfect time for daily writing. God (and my friends) hold me to it. :)

~Ely