The next two posts are excerpts from the journal entry that I wrote while getting on the plane, and while on the plane to the States on my recent "vacation."
In the posts I am trying (not sure that I accomplished it) to figure out what "culture shock" means for me....is it acknowledging the difference between two places? Does it mean that you have to pick a favorite? Why does everyone seem to want me to pick a favorite??
Anyhow, I hope no one takes offense to my back and forth thoughts about Americans, America, Ecuadorians, and Ecuador. None of it is meant to offend, so just enjoy.
Peace,
Theresa
Thursday, June 12, 2008
Wednesday, June 11, 2008
Leaving on a Jet Plane: Pt 1- A Love Story
My alarm woke me up at 5am, I think I only half realized why I had set it. Quickly I jumped to attention and realized: I leave today. I fumbled to turn it off and called the cab company. They must have had my number registered since the last time I used them, because they already had all my information ready (which was good, since I had only .31 cents of saldo left on my phone). He asked me something really fast…If I’m at the puerta principal (main door of the house)? I was like, What, what, what? And he says something else—I’m groggy and confused. He says something about confirmation and hangs up. You would think that after a year in this country, I would have learned how to carry a conversation on the phone. You would think that, but you would be wrong in most cases.
I jump out of bed and use the bathroom, then get a text that the taxi will be at my house in 9 minutes! Ahhhh! Kelly Clarkson! I will NOT be ready in 9 minutes, what kind of Ecuadorian service is so quick, anyhow?!?! I text back and tell them I need at least 30 minutes. No response. I hear beeping outside; I decide to ignore it and continue racing around the house trying to stay calm but quick. I get a text (in all capital letters which I hate because it makes me feel like the person is yelling at me) that the taxi is waiting for me outside. I race around the house to find my glasses, but am so frantic and totally blind that my search is unsuccessful. I go outside, there’s a car near the scary guard guy the next block over. I ask my guard (who is slightly less scary) if a taxi came. “No…,” he says; he’s barely listening to me. I ask if maybe it’s that car parked over there. He doesn’t know. He asks if I leave him today? “Yes,” I say, “and I called a taxi and I think they are here already, but I am not ready!” He takes my hand and is gazing me in that creepy way he does sometimes and is muttering something about how he’s going to miss me and gets jealous of my being away with other people. I ask AGAIN about the taxi, finally he starts listening to me. I pull my hand from his, go into the street and wave the taxi over. I explain to the driver that I need another 15 minutes, he looks irritated and asks where we’re going. To the airport. Okay, now he’s willing to wait because that’s a good distance and he wants the fare.
Racing again--thank goodness I had the presence of mind last night to have all my stuff ready to go. I check, double check and recheck that I have my passport and E-Ticket in my purse, zip up the suitcase, take a few breaths, turn off all the lights. Shit! There’s milk in the fridge! I grab it and dump it in the drain outside, making a mental note to text the landlord to ask his maid to wash it down the drain for me so I don’t have nasty curtly milkness growing out of the drain when I get back. How do you say drain in Spanish…? I wonder to myself as I head out the door. I lock the doors, did I double check that the front door was locked? I had to slam it, right?…so that means its locked, I hope…
I get out to the taxi and dude is fast asleep! Dammit! If I knew he didn’t mind waiting, I wouldn’t have rushed and woulda washed the milk down the drain myself!
I get in the cab, he barely speaks the whole ride. He changes the radio from the good reaggaeton station to Radio Disney. Weird for an adult to listen to Radio Disney, I think. My mind is racing, I don’t even realize that I should be, like, taking in the view or something, right? Yesterday I saw a guy in a suit peeing on the side of the road. I’m gonna “miss” that sort of stuff these next three weeks. I know that my passport, E-Ticket and Ids are in my purse, the rest is arbitrary. I look around as we pass through my city. Normally I kinda hate chatty taxistas, but I feel like chatting! I’m nervous! Doesn’t he want to know why I’m going to the airport?? Where I’m going, and for what? I guess not… We get there, the total is $4.83. Yikes, that’s an expensive taxi! I give him a $20 bill; “Waaauw” he says, “Hopefully I have change to break that!” I watch him pop open his money area up front and there a shit ton of change in there! Why do they always do that?? Like the dude who stopped at 2 gas stations AND asked another taxista for change during a 10 minute taxi ride, only for me to later see that dude has about $50 in singles in his back pocket! Honestly!
I go into the airport, there a short line formed with lots of gringos. I ask which desk is American Airlines? The short line. I get in line, and a guy with a young lady come up behind me. They open the elastic-expandy-gate thing to let themselves through rather than just going through the line the gates form. Must be Ecuadorians, I figure, take the ‘shortcut’ instead of doing what’s most obvious and logical. Its about 6am now, maybe 6:15. The guy asks the dude setting up the gates what time the desk opens. “…Seven…or I mean six,” dude says. Crap!
The couple gets in line behind me, he asks in timid English if I have been waiting long. The girl looks off with an annoyed expression on her face. DEFINITELY Ecuadorian, ‘cuz she’s tossing me attitude just because her man asks me a simple question. “No,” I respond, “I have not been waiting long.” He starts chatting with me, we are talking in English and Spanish because I never know if when Ecuadorians talk to me in English if I should answer in Spanish or English. I know they do it because they want to practice their English, but usually its easier to follow the conversation if we just talk in Spanish. He lives in Miami, but is Ecuadorian. He asks where I am from more than once. I ask if his girlfriend speaks English as well? “No,” he says, “she speaks French.” She laughs. He tells her about how I am a volunteer here in Ecuador. I offer her my hand and introduce myself. She mutters to him how she’s always wanted to work with street kids. I nod and raise my eyebrows to show interest. He tells her to talk with me, so I ask her about what she was saying. We exchange EcuaFormalties about how I speak Spanish, and speak it well, “and you’re not timid about it like other gringos!” I explain that I live here, so its speak Spanish or don’t speak. We talk about my work, more than once he says, “I want to tell you something. You have my respect.” She’s 23 years old, he doesn’t offer his age but looks about 40. I tell them love knows no age and smile. They met 12 years ago but just recently started dating because she was really young back then. She doesn’t want him to leave. I smell the whiskey on his breath—before or after he told me that he was drinking last night?? He hasn’t slept. At the party last night he decided he didn’t want to leave. “Great!” she says, “Let’s go!” and grabs his bags making like she’s leaving. Haha, they’re cute. I get these romantic thoughts about how they are the Ecuadorian Greg and Tara Mortenson. Except he works in “imports and exports”…which, when in Ecuador and said without more elaboration, I generally assume to mean drugs.
There is staff milling around behind the desk, but not doing much of anything, and the line is not moving. He says he’s surprised the line is so long, he thought he would be the first one here. I say its ‘cuz its an American Airlines flight with tons of gringos. We joke about la hora ecuatoriana (Ecuadorian concept of time). He says he was gonna get here at 8:40 (the flight is at 9:10!), but she insisted that they come earlier. She says he should know better because he lives in the States. I say la hora ecuatoriana is always with an Ecuadorian, its permanently in their mind. We laugh and he says he will always be an Ecuadorian. We joke about EcuaSayings like ya mismito, bien prontitio, un ratito (all of which mean “in a minute” but really in an hour, a month, a year…maybe never…). He asks the gate guy again when they open. “Ehhhheeeemmmm…?” responds the guy. He’s not wearing a watch, I am sure he doesn’t want to accidentally offer a time that has already passed. “Ya mismito…” he finally responds. The girl and I exchange smiled glances. He asks for a time, a specific time. Ecuadorians crack me up! Everything here takes SO LONG, but the people can be so freaking impatient! The line starts moving, he immediately cuts the line and goes to an open desk and starts asking about changing his ticket. She says she thinks he might stay, she wants him to stay, but she knows that he can’t. He owns his own business, and when he’s not there the workers don’t do their jobs. She says he’s coming back in 15 days. I tell her that’s not all THAT long to wait. She smiles but looks sad. She has to go to the bathroom and asks if I will move their bags if the line moves. I say sure, while thinking about American airports automated warning messages about not touching bags that aren’t yours. Especially bags of a guy who works in “imports and exports,” I think. Man I can be paranoid sometimes! He comes back and says they can’t guarantee him a spot on a plane tomorrow (now that I am no a near-empty, freaking huge plane to Miami, I cannot see why not!). He says he loves her, wants to stay, but knows he can’t because he has to work. I tell him she told me the say thing. He says she’s a great girl, but what can he do? I tell him to do whatever he’s thinking, that’s the right thing to do. He clutches his left chest and says that’s easier said than done. He says I’m using my psychology on him (I told them that I’m a social worker, somehow that always means that I am also a psychologist…). As she comes back to the line, I get called up to the desk.
The ticket desk dude is taking forever! I hear the couple asking a few desks over about flights for tomorrow again. What’s the holdup with my freaking tickets? I’m getting nervous! “Is there a problem?” I ask. He cannot find my flights. He asks where I am going, he says my flights were either cancelled of the numbers changed. He ends up rebooking all of my flights, which I have no problem with because his new flights have me home hours before my initial flights did.
“He staying!!!” I hear the girl call out. “Congratulations!” I respond. She rushes over to me, thanks me, asks what I said to him. I say I told him to follow his heart. She smiles, “Gracias.”
I jump out of bed and use the bathroom, then get a text that the taxi will be at my house in 9 minutes! Ahhhh! Kelly Clarkson! I will NOT be ready in 9 minutes, what kind of Ecuadorian service is so quick, anyhow?!?! I text back and tell them I need at least 30 minutes. No response. I hear beeping outside; I decide to ignore it and continue racing around the house trying to stay calm but quick. I get a text (in all capital letters which I hate because it makes me feel like the person is yelling at me) that the taxi is waiting for me outside. I race around the house to find my glasses, but am so frantic and totally blind that my search is unsuccessful. I go outside, there’s a car near the scary guard guy the next block over. I ask my guard (who is slightly less scary) if a taxi came. “No…,” he says; he’s barely listening to me. I ask if maybe it’s that car parked over there. He doesn’t know. He asks if I leave him today? “Yes,” I say, “and I called a taxi and I think they are here already, but I am not ready!” He takes my hand and is gazing me in that creepy way he does sometimes and is muttering something about how he’s going to miss me and gets jealous of my being away with other people. I ask AGAIN about the taxi, finally he starts listening to me. I pull my hand from his, go into the street and wave the taxi over. I explain to the driver that I need another 15 minutes, he looks irritated and asks where we’re going. To the airport. Okay, now he’s willing to wait because that’s a good distance and he wants the fare.
Racing again--thank goodness I had the presence of mind last night to have all my stuff ready to go. I check, double check and recheck that I have my passport and E-Ticket in my purse, zip up the suitcase, take a few breaths, turn off all the lights. Shit! There’s milk in the fridge! I grab it and dump it in the drain outside, making a mental note to text the landlord to ask his maid to wash it down the drain for me so I don’t have nasty curtly milkness growing out of the drain when I get back. How do you say drain in Spanish…? I wonder to myself as I head out the door. I lock the doors, did I double check that the front door was locked? I had to slam it, right?…so that means its locked, I hope…
I get out to the taxi and dude is fast asleep! Dammit! If I knew he didn’t mind waiting, I wouldn’t have rushed and woulda washed the milk down the drain myself!
I get in the cab, he barely speaks the whole ride. He changes the radio from the good reaggaeton station to Radio Disney. Weird for an adult to listen to Radio Disney, I think. My mind is racing, I don’t even realize that I should be, like, taking in the view or something, right? Yesterday I saw a guy in a suit peeing on the side of the road. I’m gonna “miss” that sort of stuff these next three weeks. I know that my passport, E-Ticket and Ids are in my purse, the rest is arbitrary. I look around as we pass through my city. Normally I kinda hate chatty taxistas, but I feel like chatting! I’m nervous! Doesn’t he want to know why I’m going to the airport?? Where I’m going, and for what? I guess not… We get there, the total is $4.83. Yikes, that’s an expensive taxi! I give him a $20 bill; “Waaauw” he says, “Hopefully I have change to break that!” I watch him pop open his money area up front and there a shit ton of change in there! Why do they always do that?? Like the dude who stopped at 2 gas stations AND asked another taxista for change during a 10 minute taxi ride, only for me to later see that dude has about $50 in singles in his back pocket! Honestly!
I go into the airport, there a short line formed with lots of gringos. I ask which desk is American Airlines? The short line. I get in line, and a guy with a young lady come up behind me. They open the elastic-expandy-gate thing to let themselves through rather than just going through the line the gates form. Must be Ecuadorians, I figure, take the ‘shortcut’ instead of doing what’s most obvious and logical. Its about 6am now, maybe 6:15. The guy asks the dude setting up the gates what time the desk opens. “…Seven…or I mean six,” dude says. Crap!
The couple gets in line behind me, he asks in timid English if I have been waiting long. The girl looks off with an annoyed expression on her face. DEFINITELY Ecuadorian, ‘cuz she’s tossing me attitude just because her man asks me a simple question. “No,” I respond, “I have not been waiting long.” He starts chatting with me, we are talking in English and Spanish because I never know if when Ecuadorians talk to me in English if I should answer in Spanish or English. I know they do it because they want to practice their English, but usually its easier to follow the conversation if we just talk in Spanish. He lives in Miami, but is Ecuadorian. He asks where I am from more than once. I ask if his girlfriend speaks English as well? “No,” he says, “she speaks French.” She laughs. He tells her about how I am a volunteer here in Ecuador. I offer her my hand and introduce myself. She mutters to him how she’s always wanted to work with street kids. I nod and raise my eyebrows to show interest. He tells her to talk with me, so I ask her about what she was saying. We exchange EcuaFormalties about how I speak Spanish, and speak it well, “and you’re not timid about it like other gringos!” I explain that I live here, so its speak Spanish or don’t speak. We talk about my work, more than once he says, “I want to tell you something. You have my respect.” She’s 23 years old, he doesn’t offer his age but looks about 40. I tell them love knows no age and smile. They met 12 years ago but just recently started dating because she was really young back then. She doesn’t want him to leave. I smell the whiskey on his breath—before or after he told me that he was drinking last night?? He hasn’t slept. At the party last night he decided he didn’t want to leave. “Great!” she says, “Let’s go!” and grabs his bags making like she’s leaving. Haha, they’re cute. I get these romantic thoughts about how they are the Ecuadorian Greg and Tara Mortenson. Except he works in “imports and exports”…which, when in Ecuador and said without more elaboration, I generally assume to mean drugs.
There is staff milling around behind the desk, but not doing much of anything, and the line is not moving. He says he’s surprised the line is so long, he thought he would be the first one here. I say its ‘cuz its an American Airlines flight with tons of gringos. We joke about la hora ecuatoriana (Ecuadorian concept of time). He says he was gonna get here at 8:40 (the flight is at 9:10!), but she insisted that they come earlier. She says he should know better because he lives in the States. I say la hora ecuatoriana is always with an Ecuadorian, its permanently in their mind. We laugh and he says he will always be an Ecuadorian. We joke about EcuaSayings like ya mismito, bien prontitio, un ratito (all of which mean “in a minute” but really in an hour, a month, a year…maybe never…). He asks the gate guy again when they open. “Ehhhheeeemmmm…?” responds the guy. He’s not wearing a watch, I am sure he doesn’t want to accidentally offer a time that has already passed. “Ya mismito…” he finally responds. The girl and I exchange smiled glances. He asks for a time, a specific time. Ecuadorians crack me up! Everything here takes SO LONG, but the people can be so freaking impatient! The line starts moving, he immediately cuts the line and goes to an open desk and starts asking about changing his ticket. She says she thinks he might stay, she wants him to stay, but she knows that he can’t. He owns his own business, and when he’s not there the workers don’t do their jobs. She says he’s coming back in 15 days. I tell her that’s not all THAT long to wait. She smiles but looks sad. She has to go to the bathroom and asks if I will move their bags if the line moves. I say sure, while thinking about American airports automated warning messages about not touching bags that aren’t yours. Especially bags of a guy who works in “imports and exports,” I think. Man I can be paranoid sometimes! He comes back and says they can’t guarantee him a spot on a plane tomorrow (now that I am no a near-empty, freaking huge plane to Miami, I cannot see why not!). He says he loves her, wants to stay, but knows he can’t because he has to work. I tell him she told me the say thing. He says she’s a great girl, but what can he do? I tell him to do whatever he’s thinking, that’s the right thing to do. He clutches his left chest and says that’s easier said than done. He says I’m using my psychology on him (I told them that I’m a social worker, somehow that always means that I am also a psychologist…). As she comes back to the line, I get called up to the desk.
The ticket desk dude is taking forever! I hear the couple asking a few desks over about flights for tomorrow again. What’s the holdup with my freaking tickets? I’m getting nervous! “Is there a problem?” I ask. He cannot find my flights. He asks where I am going, he says my flights were either cancelled of the numbers changed. He ends up rebooking all of my flights, which I have no problem with because his new flights have me home hours before my initial flights did.
“He staying!!!” I hear the girl call out. “Congratulations!” I respond. She rushes over to me, thanks me, asks what I said to him. I say I told him to follow his heart. She smiles, “Gracias.”
Leaving on a Jet Plane: Pt 2- Culture Shock?
I go through check in, its so much faster than it ever is in the States! I call my mom with the new plane information. I put on a (3rd in 3 days !! That’s what happens when stupid boys at the club don’t tell me that they use a different cell company than I do!) $3 saldo card on my phone so I can text all the people who asked me to let them know when I am getting on the plane. I go to the coffee shop near the gate. $3.95 for a white chocolate mocha, $3.00 for a humita de queso?!? Ouch! Is that pain in my side what they call culture shock? ‘Cuz it hurts me to pay so much for a freaking coffee and humita! Is this how much things cost there? It’s only been a year and I already cannot remember. I buy it anyhow: hey, I’m hungry AND I’m on vacation, right? And besides, the servers are polite, listen to what I am ordering without interrupting, don’t try to extra-grande-size my drink, and bring the food to me even though I’m sitting just a few feet from the register. I go to the bookstore, they don’t ask me to check my bag when I walk in. Weird. There’s a photo book there called “Un Dia Como Hoy en el Ecuador” (A Day Like Today in Ecuador). I want that book! But I am too afraid to even ask how much it costs. I go to the bathroom-do we still throw the paper out, or do we flush here? I’m struggling (not with bowel movements, don’t worry), should I act like I am in Ecuador, or should I act like I am in the States since we seem to have switched to American pricing standards and social rituals? Or am I just confused because its airport prices and standards? There’s a basket by the wall, I toss the TP in there.
There are gringos everywhere! They’re those (no offense) annoying, crunchy granola eating, wearing shoes that are meant to look rugged but cost a fortune (like those shameful, waste-of-freaking-money Chacos of mine!), Panama Hat, wrinkle free pants, Galapagos Islands and Mitad del Mundo t-shirt kind of gringos. They’re laughing, Ahahahaha!. Talking, Oh! It was so nice to meet you! Oh we will see you again! Oh you must come and visit us in New York!
I cannot stand the sound of their voices. I think I got just got shocked again.
The airline is boarding my flight now. I send the mandatory Emergency Contact text messages, text a couple PCV friends, the landlord (and remind him to have his maid wash down that milk outside!). I text an Ecuadorian friend, I text the Mujeres. I turn off my cell phone (sad face). The safety warnings are starting, the plane starts moving, I can see a bus leaving the terminal across the way (my usual mode of transportation) and I frown. In seconds we are in the air. I forgot gum; I never remember those kinds of things for flights. We are passing the city, I peer out the window: Where’s the Malecon? Where’s my house? I always hear planes passing over my roof. We pass cloud cover. Its just clouds and the plane wing thing in my view now. God, I hope this plane doesn’t burst into flames, I think. I imagine those little death gremlins running out on the wing like on that show ‘Dead Like Me.’ The clouds break, I can see the city again. God, I love Ecuador, I think. There are tears in my eyes, but its just becauseI forced a yawn to keep my ears from popping.
Its cold on this plane! Like there’s an air conditioner or something. We are in the air now, they turn off the seatbelt light. They are coming with the food. I will be in Miami in 3 and a half hours. It feels too easy. Life is always anti-climatic when I am expecting drama. There’s no one sitting next to me. Good, I don’t really feel like chatting more right now. I am wearing my “Peace on Earth” shirt. God, how cliché: a Peace Corps Volunteer wearing a “Peace on Earth” shirt. I don’t want to sit next to any gringos who will ask me about what I am doing in Ecuador, then look at my shirt and smile and laugh to themselves. The flight attendant just gave me a turkey sandwich and a ginger ale. Turkey?? In a sandwich?? And I didn’t even have to pay extra? Now that’s a shock I like getting jolted with! I pick up the “American Way” airline magazine. The cover story is about some Will Ferrell basketball movie. I have never heard of it. I look at the date: June 1, 2008! That was like, 10 days ago! I haven’t read a magazine this current in months! I read an article about Nanny 911 and the likelihood of other TV nannies like Fran Drescher and Charles in Charge. I think I will switch to my month-old, Peace Corps-issued Newsweek about the worldwide hunger crisis. It may be old, but hey, it’s still relevant. (Yeah, that’s right, I said it! I LIKE Newsweek! Take that all you whiney PCVs who made the subscription get cancelled!)
In Miami the arrival gate is THE farthest possible gate from my next departure gate. I decide not to hurry, I am gonna miss the plane and will just deal with it when I get there. The customs line is ridiculous. There is some lady rushing her way through, getting a guard to let her skip. I do NOT want to be that lady. Maybe wherever she’s going is temporary, urgent; but I am going home, and home doesn’t move and will wait ‘til I get there. The customs guy looks at my passport, looks at me, smiles at my shirt and says, “Yeah, that’ll never happen.” Ass, I don’t even validate his comment with a response. Pessimist. I missed my plane, I swear I got to the gate on time, but whatever. The lady who was rushing through customs was supposed to be on my flight, too. She’s ranting and raving about missing the plane, wanting to call the manager (the manager of American Airlines? Come on lady!) and yelling at the desk staff that its THEIR fault she missed the plane. The check-in staff told her she would make it if she ran, and she RAN! When she leaves one of the gate-staff says in a timid-English not as his first language-tone that they are not there to abused and he does not understand why people act that way. He asks if I was on the flight from Guayaquil. “Si,” I respond-realizing that I am speaking in Spanish and should probably switch to English. He asks if my plane was late. “No,” I say, “but the gates were super far apart, and I just didn’t make it in time, no big deal as long as I can get on another flight.” He tells me that the lady wasn’t even transferring flights, she checked in here in Miami, late on her own accord, and is now pissed at the staff for her own mistake. As if gate-staff has any control over what check-in staff says, as if it’s anyone’s fault but her own that she missed her flight! Immediately I think, God, I hate America. Then I remind myself that someone of any nationality could have been just as much as a jerk as that lady, right?
I get a new flight to Chicago. Almost home, except, oops: Planes are not leaving Indiana because of rain, so the plane my flight is supposed to load onto is stuck in Bloomington. Whatever, I think as I make my way over to the magazine stand, buy an Elle magazine and a bag of Lays chips (chips that don’t taste like peanut butter! Yum!). I take a seat and get to waiting. The gate gets changed, SIGHS from everyone waiting. What’s the matter? Isn’t them changing the gate a good thing? Doesn’t that mean that they are trying to arrange a new plane for us? Whatever. At the new gate I take some time off from the Elle magazine to do some people watching. There are countless men in business attire and argyle socks. Most people are intently starting at their Blackberry thingys, poking at ‘em with that little plastic pencil thingy. Others are rearranging meetings with someone on their cell phones. My cell phone does not work now that I am not in Ecuador, so I cannot even text my friends. Not like I have anything important to say, but still, texting is fun: just look at everyone else doing it! I get all panicky realizing that my ex could be getting on this very plane, back from some very important business trip. I bet he has one of those Blackberry things with the plastic pencil thingy. I mentally promise myself that I will never own a Blackberry (it’s not the first time—I used to make that same promise in court rooms when snotty lawyers busted theirs out to rearrange hearings, as I frantically scribbled things out in my dayplanner). There is a young couple in post-vacation clothing, the girl is sighing loudly about once every 5 seconds, as though that’s going to change anything. No one is striking up random conversations with strangers next to them about how they work in imports and exports and don’t want to leave their girlfriend who is several years their junior. I’m sad. I miss Ecuador already. I miss social rules where you share your life story with strangers. Its so annoying to me sometimes when I am there, but right now I just want to tell some random person all about the Mujeres de Lucha and my youth group. No one asks, no one cares.
The plane finally leaves, about 3 hours behind schedule for a 30 minute flight. Asi es la vida. My luggage is late, its on the next plane coming in (hopefully) and will be here (hopefully) in an hour. I call my mom, and get to waiting. I overhear some lady and her grandson complaining to the baggage claim lady about how their baggage is late, too. Like she has any control over it! She walks past me and rolls her eyes in their direction. I take a seat and start chatting (finally!…wait, didn’t I NOT want to be chatting?) with an older couple sitting next to me about what they are doing in Milwaukee, what I am doing there, where we started our journeys today. Their daughter comes to pick them up. She tells me she has “always wanted to do something like the Peace Corps.” My mom comes, she does this funny-excited-speed walky thing when she sees me. We hug. Finally, I am happy to be home.
We go to the grocery store to get tortilla chips for Mexican dinner (my favorite!). “What kind of tortilla chips do you want?” my mom asks. What?!? There’s at LEAST 25-30 different kinds. I’m struggling again. I’m overwhelmed. This is going to be a long 3 weeks.
There are gringos everywhere! They’re those (no offense) annoying, crunchy granola eating, wearing shoes that are meant to look rugged but cost a fortune (like those shameful, waste-of-freaking-money Chacos of mine!), Panama Hat, wrinkle free pants, Galapagos Islands and Mitad del Mundo t-shirt kind of gringos. They’re laughing, Ahahahaha!. Talking, Oh! It was so nice to meet you! Oh we will see you again! Oh you must come and visit us in New York!
I cannot stand the sound of their voices. I think I got just got shocked again.
The airline is boarding my flight now. I send the mandatory Emergency Contact text messages, text a couple PCV friends, the landlord (and remind him to have his maid wash down that milk outside!). I text an Ecuadorian friend, I text the Mujeres. I turn off my cell phone (sad face). The safety warnings are starting, the plane starts moving, I can see a bus leaving the terminal across the way (my usual mode of transportation) and I frown. In seconds we are in the air. I forgot gum; I never remember those kinds of things for flights. We are passing the city, I peer out the window: Where’s the Malecon? Where’s my house? I always hear planes passing over my roof. We pass cloud cover. Its just clouds and the plane wing thing in my view now. God, I hope this plane doesn’t burst into flames, I think. I imagine those little death gremlins running out on the wing like on that show ‘Dead Like Me.’ The clouds break, I can see the city again. God, I love Ecuador, I think. There are tears in my eyes, but its just becauseI forced a yawn to keep my ears from popping.
Its cold on this plane! Like there’s an air conditioner or something. We are in the air now, they turn off the seatbelt light. They are coming with the food. I will be in Miami in 3 and a half hours. It feels too easy. Life is always anti-climatic when I am expecting drama. There’s no one sitting next to me. Good, I don’t really feel like chatting more right now. I am wearing my “Peace on Earth” shirt. God, how cliché: a Peace Corps Volunteer wearing a “Peace on Earth” shirt. I don’t want to sit next to any gringos who will ask me about what I am doing in Ecuador, then look at my shirt and smile and laugh to themselves. The flight attendant just gave me a turkey sandwich and a ginger ale. Turkey?? In a sandwich?? And I didn’t even have to pay extra? Now that’s a shock I like getting jolted with! I pick up the “American Way” airline magazine. The cover story is about some Will Ferrell basketball movie. I have never heard of it. I look at the date: June 1, 2008! That was like, 10 days ago! I haven’t read a magazine this current in months! I read an article about Nanny 911 and the likelihood of other TV nannies like Fran Drescher and Charles in Charge. I think I will switch to my month-old, Peace Corps-issued Newsweek about the worldwide hunger crisis. It may be old, but hey, it’s still relevant. (Yeah, that’s right, I said it! I LIKE Newsweek! Take that all you whiney PCVs who made the subscription get cancelled!)
In Miami the arrival gate is THE farthest possible gate from my next departure gate. I decide not to hurry, I am gonna miss the plane and will just deal with it when I get there. The customs line is ridiculous. There is some lady rushing her way through, getting a guard to let her skip. I do NOT want to be that lady. Maybe wherever she’s going is temporary, urgent; but I am going home, and home doesn’t move and will wait ‘til I get there. The customs guy looks at my passport, looks at me, smiles at my shirt and says, “Yeah, that’ll never happen.” Ass, I don’t even validate his comment with a response. Pessimist. I missed my plane, I swear I got to the gate on time, but whatever. The lady who was rushing through customs was supposed to be on my flight, too. She’s ranting and raving about missing the plane, wanting to call the manager (the manager of American Airlines? Come on lady!) and yelling at the desk staff that its THEIR fault she missed the plane. The check-in staff told her she would make it if she ran, and she RAN! When she leaves one of the gate-staff says in a timid-English not as his first language-tone that they are not there to abused and he does not understand why people act that way. He asks if I was on the flight from Guayaquil. “Si,” I respond-realizing that I am speaking in Spanish and should probably switch to English. He asks if my plane was late. “No,” I say, “but the gates were super far apart, and I just didn’t make it in time, no big deal as long as I can get on another flight.” He tells me that the lady wasn’t even transferring flights, she checked in here in Miami, late on her own accord, and is now pissed at the staff for her own mistake. As if gate-staff has any control over what check-in staff says, as if it’s anyone’s fault but her own that she missed her flight! Immediately I think, God, I hate America. Then I remind myself that someone of any nationality could have been just as much as a jerk as that lady, right?
I get a new flight to Chicago. Almost home, except, oops: Planes are not leaving Indiana because of rain, so the plane my flight is supposed to load onto is stuck in Bloomington. Whatever, I think as I make my way over to the magazine stand, buy an Elle magazine and a bag of Lays chips (chips that don’t taste like peanut butter! Yum!). I take a seat and get to waiting. The gate gets changed, SIGHS from everyone waiting. What’s the matter? Isn’t them changing the gate a good thing? Doesn’t that mean that they are trying to arrange a new plane for us? Whatever. At the new gate I take some time off from the Elle magazine to do some people watching. There are countless men in business attire and argyle socks. Most people are intently starting at their Blackberry thingys, poking at ‘em with that little plastic pencil thingy. Others are rearranging meetings with someone on their cell phones. My cell phone does not work now that I am not in Ecuador, so I cannot even text my friends. Not like I have anything important to say, but still, texting is fun: just look at everyone else doing it! I get all panicky realizing that my ex could be getting on this very plane, back from some very important business trip. I bet he has one of those Blackberry things with the plastic pencil thingy. I mentally promise myself that I will never own a Blackberry (it’s not the first time—I used to make that same promise in court rooms when snotty lawyers busted theirs out to rearrange hearings, as I frantically scribbled things out in my dayplanner). There is a young couple in post-vacation clothing, the girl is sighing loudly about once every 5 seconds, as though that’s going to change anything. No one is striking up random conversations with strangers next to them about how they work in imports and exports and don’t want to leave their girlfriend who is several years their junior. I’m sad. I miss Ecuador already. I miss social rules where you share your life story with strangers. Its so annoying to me sometimes when I am there, but right now I just want to tell some random person all about the Mujeres de Lucha and my youth group. No one asks, no one cares.
The plane finally leaves, about 3 hours behind schedule for a 30 minute flight. Asi es la vida. My luggage is late, its on the next plane coming in (hopefully) and will be here (hopefully) in an hour. I call my mom, and get to waiting. I overhear some lady and her grandson complaining to the baggage claim lady about how their baggage is late, too. Like she has any control over it! She walks past me and rolls her eyes in their direction. I take a seat and start chatting (finally!…wait, didn’t I NOT want to be chatting?) with an older couple sitting next to me about what they are doing in Milwaukee, what I am doing there, where we started our journeys today. Their daughter comes to pick them up. She tells me she has “always wanted to do something like the Peace Corps.” My mom comes, she does this funny-excited-speed walky thing when she sees me. We hug. Finally, I am happy to be home.
We go to the grocery store to get tortilla chips for Mexican dinner (my favorite!). “What kind of tortilla chips do you want?” my mom asks. What?!? There’s at LEAST 25-30 different kinds. I’m struggling again. I’m overwhelmed. This is going to be a long 3 weeks.
Saturday, June 7, 2008
People, Projects and Things
I have been in Ecuador for almost one year. My one year mark will actually be spent in the United States, because I am going there shortly for a "vacation." That being said, I feel like how most Peace Corps Volunteers probably feel at this first-one year anniversary (first because we have 2 anniversaries, 1 year in country and then 1 year at site). I feel analytical. I travelled up north recently for my one year medical exam. While there I learned that I have lost at least 30 pounds since I arrived in country, and have managed to avoid any serious ailments (including cavaties, parasites and STDs...not like I'm promiscuous or anything, but I am human, and 50% of people living with HIV in Ecuador live in my city, so you know).
I was, however, sick with food-something-yuckyness the day I left for my medical exam(Friday). I ate some bad crab meat, went to work in the barrio the next day, and left about an hour later (after 2 trips to the baño...). The Mujeres sent me home with Alka-Seltzer and lemons to make me feel better. I took the Alka-Seltzer only because they were so worried about me, otherwise I'm anti-meds on those kinds of things and would rather just wait it out. Anyhow, the Mujeres called me that afternoon to check up on me, and again the next morning to make sure I was feeling 100% better. The next Wednesday when I returned, they told me that they were super worried about me because they have never seen me sick before. Not like I have never had a case of the food-something-yuckyness before, but I usually stay home for the day and am back the next day so they know I am okay. On that Wednesday I also reminded them that I would be leaving for the States in about a week. They were bummed, but excited for me to get to see my family and friends. Their number one concern was when my plane back to Ecuador was getting in so that they could meet me at the airport, "With balloons! And a big sign that says 'Welcome Tere!'"
Anyhow, that side tangent will make sense in a minute, just bear with me...
While on my trip I met a volunteer who is completing his 2 years of service, but has decided to extend service to a new site for the next year. He proclaimed shortly upon meeting me and a bunch of my other PCV friends that he as "the best site in Ecuador." Well, congratulations to you, buddy, but my site is pretty cool, too. He works on a community garden project at his site, and appearantly it is a very big garden and very well recieved by the community. He informed us that said garden project won a national award, and that he plans on winning an international award also about this fantastical garden project he has going. His major concern is that he is leaving, but he has requested a volunteer to take his place. He is, however, beyond concerned that this new volunteer will not live up to his expectations. He wants a volunteer who will keep the garden going (he, of course, will train this volunteer on how to do just that); a volunteer who always takes initiative to start new things; who sees a room full of dusty books as not just that, but rather as a youth reading group just waiting to happen. How will he ensure that the new volunteer is living up to his expectations? Well, besides his plan to hand-pick this volunteer from the new training group and to train this new volunteer himself, he also plans to make near-weekly phone calls to his community to check up on the new volunteer. He followed all this up by saying, "Not like I want to scare off the new volunteer, but I just want to make sure they are doing a good job." I said, "Thank God I already have a site, because I would kill myself if I got assigned to your site." "Well, you are not the kind of volunteer I am looking for, then."
Thats right, I most certainly am not.
This volunteer had lots of ideas about what makes a good volunteer. Number one on his list appeared to be a willingness to purchase things for people in the community. He has fully funded 2 families with gas stoves during his service, and paid to do so out of his PC allowance. He also believes that a good volunteer would never have money left at the end of the month and would never spend their money on frivolous, personal things, but would rather donate all extra money to random people on the street who ask for handouts. Finally, he shared with us his theory of what is messed up about Peace Corps: the priorities. He was outraged that a high-up administration person in PC Ecuador had recently admitted that, ultimately, PC service is about making the US look good, not about the success of projects that the volunteer does. I tried to remind this volunteer that all three of the major PC goals are, essentially, about image: showing other countries what well meaning Americans can do to help them; other countries learning about Americans; Americans learning about other countries. No where does it say that the point it to make a community garden (or help with a lunch program). Well, he informed me, thats just wrong.
Is it? For me its not. I'll be honest with you: if the lunch program failed I would be devestated. I worry endlessly about how much money we are and are not making in that program, and wait in fear for the day that the Padrinos drop out again. I constantly wonder what I can do to help the program more (outside of tossing money at it, because I personally dont believe in tossing money at people as form of helping them). I am a bit bummed right now because school is back in session, therefore my art class with kids has pretty much fizzled out. I get bummed when I plan a charla and it doesnt work out. Thats because I take pride in the work that I do. However, I know that at the end of the day, at the end of my 2 years, all those things are just a song and dance that I am doing while I am doing the "real work." A big part of the reason why I wanted to come to Ecuador (outside of the inner reasons about "finding myself"), was because I really dont like the way that America and Americans are seen by the global society. Its an image we have brought upon ourselves, obviously, but its reality. People think Americans are greedy, selfish, violent, uncaring, rich and war-driven. And some Americans are, but this one is not (well, I can be quite greedy and selfish, but not in the way that I am getting at here...). I wanted to show people that there are Americans that go to other countries not to spy on them, not to sell them things, not to bomb them, not to hurt them in any way. Just to hang out, get to know them and help them out with whatever they are doing. Thats why I am here, I am just helping out...if it doesnt work out, that really sucks, but the people I work with will still remember that there was this American chick here once, and she helped us just for the sake of helping.
So, getting back to the side story about me getting sick....thats what I want at the end of my service (and I am not taking about food-something-yuckyness, cuz I have had enough of that!). I would love for another PCV to take over my site when I leave, I think that would be really beneficial to the Mujeres and the community. I dont, however, really care if that PCV is down with giving art classes, charlas on self esteem, and helping to manage the lunch program. In fact, I think it would be cool if the PCV was into repairing TVs, gardening, and environmental education. Or whatever! I love my community, and I want them to see that there are good Americans out there...some of them like to teach art to kids and really care about food insecurity, but some of them are totally unlike this American Tere they know. What I want at the end of my service is to have a group of people in Ecuador that care when I eat bad crab and am not feeling good. I want people that want to pick me up at the airport when I get into the country. I want people who will say, "This one time, this American came out of the blue and she really helped us." Thats what I want, project success or not, thats what Peace Corps is about to me.
(In the other volunteer's defense, I should note that he was drunk at the time. Hopefully hes a cooler person when sober...)
(I will also take this time to remind you to read this page's disclaimer about these thoughts being my own personally, and in no way reflecting the view of the Peace Corps...yaddayaddayadda)
See you soon...
Tere
I was, however, sick with food-something-yuckyness the day I left for my medical exam(Friday). I ate some bad crab meat, went to work in the barrio the next day, and left about an hour later (after 2 trips to the baño...). The Mujeres sent me home with Alka-Seltzer and lemons to make me feel better. I took the Alka-Seltzer only because they were so worried about me, otherwise I'm anti-meds on those kinds of things and would rather just wait it out. Anyhow, the Mujeres called me that afternoon to check up on me, and again the next morning to make sure I was feeling 100% better. The next Wednesday when I returned, they told me that they were super worried about me because they have never seen me sick before. Not like I have never had a case of the food-something-yuckyness before, but I usually stay home for the day and am back the next day so they know I am okay. On that Wednesday I also reminded them that I would be leaving for the States in about a week. They were bummed, but excited for me to get to see my family and friends. Their number one concern was when my plane back to Ecuador was getting in so that they could meet me at the airport, "With balloons! And a big sign that says 'Welcome Tere!'"
Anyhow, that side tangent will make sense in a minute, just bear with me...
While on my trip I met a volunteer who is completing his 2 years of service, but has decided to extend service to a new site for the next year. He proclaimed shortly upon meeting me and a bunch of my other PCV friends that he as "the best site in Ecuador." Well, congratulations to you, buddy, but my site is pretty cool, too. He works on a community garden project at his site, and appearantly it is a very big garden and very well recieved by the community. He informed us that said garden project won a national award, and that he plans on winning an international award also about this fantastical garden project he has going. His major concern is that he is leaving, but he has requested a volunteer to take his place. He is, however, beyond concerned that this new volunteer will not live up to his expectations. He wants a volunteer who will keep the garden going (he, of course, will train this volunteer on how to do just that); a volunteer who always takes initiative to start new things; who sees a room full of dusty books as not just that, but rather as a youth reading group just waiting to happen. How will he ensure that the new volunteer is living up to his expectations? Well, besides his plan to hand-pick this volunteer from the new training group and to train this new volunteer himself, he also plans to make near-weekly phone calls to his community to check up on the new volunteer. He followed all this up by saying, "Not like I want to scare off the new volunteer, but I just want to make sure they are doing a good job." I said, "Thank God I already have a site, because I would kill myself if I got assigned to your site." "Well, you are not the kind of volunteer I am looking for, then."
Thats right, I most certainly am not.
This volunteer had lots of ideas about what makes a good volunteer. Number one on his list appeared to be a willingness to purchase things for people in the community. He has fully funded 2 families with gas stoves during his service, and paid to do so out of his PC allowance. He also believes that a good volunteer would never have money left at the end of the month and would never spend their money on frivolous, personal things, but would rather donate all extra money to random people on the street who ask for handouts. Finally, he shared with us his theory of what is messed up about Peace Corps: the priorities. He was outraged that a high-up administration person in PC Ecuador had recently admitted that, ultimately, PC service is about making the US look good, not about the success of projects that the volunteer does. I tried to remind this volunteer that all three of the major PC goals are, essentially, about image: showing other countries what well meaning Americans can do to help them; other countries learning about Americans; Americans learning about other countries. No where does it say that the point it to make a community garden (or help with a lunch program). Well, he informed me, thats just wrong.
Is it? For me its not. I'll be honest with you: if the lunch program failed I would be devestated. I worry endlessly about how much money we are and are not making in that program, and wait in fear for the day that the Padrinos drop out again. I constantly wonder what I can do to help the program more (outside of tossing money at it, because I personally dont believe in tossing money at people as form of helping them). I am a bit bummed right now because school is back in session, therefore my art class with kids has pretty much fizzled out. I get bummed when I plan a charla and it doesnt work out. Thats because I take pride in the work that I do. However, I know that at the end of the day, at the end of my 2 years, all those things are just a song and dance that I am doing while I am doing the "real work." A big part of the reason why I wanted to come to Ecuador (outside of the inner reasons about "finding myself"), was because I really dont like the way that America and Americans are seen by the global society. Its an image we have brought upon ourselves, obviously, but its reality. People think Americans are greedy, selfish, violent, uncaring, rich and war-driven. And some Americans are, but this one is not (well, I can be quite greedy and selfish, but not in the way that I am getting at here...). I wanted to show people that there are Americans that go to other countries not to spy on them, not to sell them things, not to bomb them, not to hurt them in any way. Just to hang out, get to know them and help them out with whatever they are doing. Thats why I am here, I am just helping out...if it doesnt work out, that really sucks, but the people I work with will still remember that there was this American chick here once, and she helped us just for the sake of helping.
So, getting back to the side story about me getting sick....thats what I want at the end of my service (and I am not taking about food-something-yuckyness, cuz I have had enough of that!). I would love for another PCV to take over my site when I leave, I think that would be really beneficial to the Mujeres and the community. I dont, however, really care if that PCV is down with giving art classes, charlas on self esteem, and helping to manage the lunch program. In fact, I think it would be cool if the PCV was into repairing TVs, gardening, and environmental education. Or whatever! I love my community, and I want them to see that there are good Americans out there...some of them like to teach art to kids and really care about food insecurity, but some of them are totally unlike this American Tere they know. What I want at the end of my service is to have a group of people in Ecuador that care when I eat bad crab and am not feeling good. I want people that want to pick me up at the airport when I get into the country. I want people who will say, "This one time, this American came out of the blue and she really helped us." Thats what I want, project success or not, thats what Peace Corps is about to me.
(In the other volunteer's defense, I should note that he was drunk at the time. Hopefully hes a cooler person when sober...)
(I will also take this time to remind you to read this page's disclaimer about these thoughts being my own personally, and in no way reflecting the view of the Peace Corps...yaddayaddayadda)
See you soon...
Tere
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