Moments and Pictures

There haven't been many situations where I've been afraid for my life, but now was one of those moments. "Don't look down, don't look down, don't look down," I muttered to myself. "You'll be fine--millions of people have done this before," Anna's voice chimed from behind, encouraging me onward. "I know they have," I wailed, "and that's what terrifies me!"We were standing on a rickety wooden bridge; below was the concrete ceiling of La Basilica, sloping dangerously downward on both sides. I gripped the ropes on either side of me and tried to continue as fast as my irrational fears would allow. Little did I know that this was only the beginning of a dizzying ascent awaiting us ahead....

Anna and I arrived at La Basilica a bit after 11am, and thankfully this was before most of the crowds invaded the historic stone building. La Basilica is the most awe-inspiring gargantuan, solid chunk of stone I've ever beheld in my short, sweet lifetime. I've never felt more minuscule, more fragile more temporary. I've stood next to the Sears Tower before, but that's a sleek, modern feel and La Basilica holds all the mystery and grandeur of years' worth of time and history. To me, this is far more impressive than just another mundane skyscraper, no matter how tall it is. And when I traipsed the floors of the Sears Tower Skydeck, I had reached the towering heights by means of an elevator. There were walls and panes of glass to enclose the area as well, giving me a sense of safety and security. No such luxury here. If I was freaked out by the wooden bridge, the black almost-vertical stairs ahead of me presented a much scarier scenario. The worst part--there were three flights. Somehow, I made it to the top, trying only to look upwards, going a quickly as safety would allow. I was practically knocked off my feet when I got to the top--not just because of the wind and incredible view of the city, but because I spotted a woman in 6-inch stilettos right across the viewing deck. "How on earth did she get up here and not die?!" I whispered to Anna, "I had a hard enough time and I wasn't even in heels!". "No idea," she laughed and shook her head. We watched as the young woman's boyfriend chivalrously led the way back down the stairs-like-ladder. I wanted to see if she would take her shoes off for the descent; but no, she kept them on. Somehow she also made it down alive; we saw them again at the bottom. The abundance of high heels here astounds me. It seems to make no sense--the hills around every turn, and standing on public buses and the need to walk everywhere--I don't understand it, but I see women in heels practically everywhere.

I was glad that Anna and I had walked around the outside of La Basilica before going up. We marveled at the European/Gothic-style architecture and Galapagos Island-inspired gargoyles. Each gargoyle is a different species of animal found in the Galapagos. I've never been to Notre Dame or gawked over the splendor of European cathedrals, but now I'm beginning to understand the allure. I've heard multiple friends of mine exclaim over and gush about fabulous churches and cathedrals in other countries, and I can finally relate. What stature! What magnificence! I was in awe.

This is not the only awe-inspiring view, though. I have the opportunity to relate one final snapshot of my life here before it's time for cafecito (the bread and coffee dinner we have here in Ecuador. Lunch is the main meal here). A few nights ago, I had cafecito at my host aunt's house. Her apartment complex is perched on the western side of the city, and offers an incredible glimpse of the main snow-capped mountains visible from Quito--Cayambe to the north, Cotopaxi to the south, and the Illinizas trio to the south-east. Quito is SUCH a beautiful city. I am struck by that revelation almost every day when I wake up. From the heights of my host aunt's dining room, I was graced with the most beautiful sight yet. Twilight slowly descended upon the city. The colors on the eastern horizon, reflecting the sun's fading light, changed colors slowly; orange melted into pink and pink slowly faded into purple. The lull of Spanish conversation in the dining room behind me, occasionally punctured by a child's squeal of joy sounded like a sweet melody to my ears. My hands embraced my comfortably warm coffee mug; its steam curled up in the fading light and disappeared into the air.

I sighed contentedly at the richness of this moment. I will never grow weary of watching the magic of the evening unfold. Lights in the houses, buildings and apartments flickered on as the city allowed night to spread its soft cloak of darkness over her. Lights shimmered, the city glittered, unveiling her captivating beauty. I don't know how to explain it--I couldn't turn my eyes from the sight--it was too ethereal, too enthralling. Like all perfect moments though, this one too had to end. But not before I'd gotten the chance to pause and thank God for His grace in allowing me to experience it. If there's one thing I'm learning to appreciate here, it's life. Moments. Seconds. Minutes. Time spent in company with others, days where I learn much Spanish and others, little. Days where I come home from school exhausted and wishing I was back home, and days where I'm yelling for joy on the mountain-tops, thrilling in freedom and perspective, glorious sun and wind. I appreciate life more here. In the States, I am too busy, too rushed, overworked and constantly tired; I am too exhausted and preoccupied to be able to savor moments like this one. Or moments like those last Saturday, on the top of La Basilica, where I could relish the freedom of having a day to myself just to exclaim in awe over churches, plazas and the gold-overlaid interior of La Camponia. So, though I only have a month left, I am determined to soak in all I can, travel all I can, experience all I can. The truth is, I may never have the chance to again.

Beauty comes in all shapes and sizes...and smells....

Saturday, November 1st, 2014, el Dia de los Muertos

"Errr-ooor-errrrr-oooorr-eeeeeerrrrrr!" I tossed in my bed, trying to drown out the crowing of the obnoxious rooster that was strutting around outside of our hostel room. "I want to kill that dumb bird," Emily muttered. I laughed. Being here at Loma Wasi is almost like being back on my farm in Wisconsin. Our hostel is teeming with chickens, dogs and cats; it's not the usual hostel experience. Emily (a fellow student teacher) and I were up late on Thursday night, trying to get plans laid for the long weekend. Everything on the beach and in Mindo, Banos and Cuenca was filled up. Lesson learned: Prepare welllll in advance before going anywhere on a holiday weekend. Thousands of people pour out of Quito to get away and party. Not Emily. Not me. Instead, we decided to rough it for the weekend and chose to stay at Luma Wasi--a collection of hostel rooms renovated by a local indigenous family. The family is extremely kind and has cooked delicious food for us and made us teas containing herbs fresh from their own garden. Luma Wasi is located high up on a mountain-side, offering visitors breath-taking views of nearby cities: Imbabura, Cotacachi, and Otavalo. After a delicious breakfast, Emily and I carefully pick our way down the washed out, bumpy dirt and rock road, bound for Otavalo's famed Saturday market.

Emily and I arrived the day before in Otavalo, hot and tired from our two-hour bus ride. Immediately upon stepping off the bus, my eyes, ears and nose were assaulted by unfamiliar sights, sounds and smells. Quito is considered by many as "trying to be a first world city in a third world country." Now I understand that this is why I've felt very little culture shock up until this point, since I've stayed only in Quito. Being in Otavalo and the surrounding area reminds me that I'm not in a first world country anymore. After the initial shock of hearing the clamor of sellers hawking their wares, the smell of rotting food and garbage, and the sight of numerous dogs lying, walking, or pooping on the road, my eyes were opened to see the beauty of the city.

Since we had arrived in the early afternoon and didn't have to be to our hostel until 6 o'clock, Emily and I had plenty of time to explore. We wandered around the city, aided by a guidebook loaned from a fellow student teacher, and were able to see most of the city in just a few hours. Some of the most notable and striking sights were the entirely gold-overlaid alter inside of El Jordin church, the colorful market square, and the unique food market. It was difficult to breathe in the food market though, because  of the strength of the odors of freshly-butchered meat, unfamiliar vegetables, and other unknown things. Everything was closely packed together, and it was difficult to maneuver the cramped aisles. We found ourselves staring at severed pig heads, pig feet, and plucked chickens everywhere we turned. There were numerous food stands that were crowded with locals sampling rice, meats, and vegetables of all different smells and colors. Bits of Quichua and Spanish were flung back and forth, adding to the din of clanging pans and sizzling food. It reminded me of Asia, and I was struck by the thought that this is probably how most people in the world live.

On Saturday, Emily and I avoided the pungent food market and instead meandered through the city's festive array of booths stocked with tools, weapons, clothes, blankets, trinkets, bags, and jewelry of every color and pattern imaginable. It was truly a feast for the eyes. In the four hours that we were there, Emily and I still didn't see everything offered in the market; it had to have been at least a full square mile's worth of merchandise, if not more. It was a thrilling experience. In retropect, I would have spent more time figuring out which booths offered the lowest prices on goods; we spent $18 at one booth, but a mere $11 at another booth for the same exact piece of merchandise. It was an education, for sure, and I'm far more confident about my bargaining skills now than I was before this trip. Still, the prices we settled on were very fair compared to anything similar in the States.

My favorite part of our Otavalo experience was the feeling of being in a time-warp. At our hostel, life seemed to operate in a different era. It's a simple, farming life. I saw people hand-washing clothes, making bread in brick ovens, and plowing the fields with a team of oxen. Nothing fancy, nothing extravagant. And there's such joy. It was surprisingly easy to relate with our host family. We survived through Spanglish, and Emily and I now joke that between the two of us, we'll be able to figure out anything on this trip. It's definitely been a joint effort, between communicating with the locals (bargaining always in Spanish), and directing our cab driver back to our hostel from Cotacachi. We had navigated that route only once previously, and that one time was at night, in the dark. We felt pretty accomplished after that. We'll have to see how tomorrow goes, though, because we're planning on taking a few different buses in order to get to Lago Cuicocha, a lake several kilometers away from Cotacachi and anything even semi-familiar.....



Sunday, November 2, 2014

This view is breath-taking, in every sense of the word. Emily and I are standing at the peak of our hike around Lago Cuicocha, a lake named for the two islands in its middle that look like guinea pigs. It's taken us an hour and a half to get this far, and since we are hiking at over 10,000 in elevation, I've never felt more out of shape in my entire life. It's a good thing I've been in the country for two and a half weeks, or this hike would have been near impossible. Regardless, it's DEFinitely worth the view. Up high in the mountains, we can look over the valley where the cities of Otavalo, Cotacachi and Quiroga sprawl below at the foot of Imbabura, the mountain directly to our east. The dark peak of Imbabura towers even higher than Lago Cuicocha, and is obscured by clouds. Later on in the afternoon as the clouds blow away, the moutaintop will become visible; right now it remains cloaked in its white garments, shrouded and mysterious in the distance.

Emily and I remain at our spot for a solid 10-15 minutes, soaking in the sun, the deliciously cool mountain breezes, and the refreshing sights and sounds around us. Birds occasionally enter our peripheral vision, diving into the depths of the bone-chilling lake below. All around us are plants and flowers and shrubs of numerous varieties. I'm sure this would be any horticulturalist's version of heaven; to us it serves as a delightful respite from the crowds, the smells, the pollution and the noise that accompany living in a city. All too soon, we descend from the glorious beauty back down to reality and a taxi ride to Cotacachi. Our journey back to the hostel is much less adventurous than our ride to Lago Cuicocha and the reserve. We caught a bus from the indigenous community to Cotacachi, then took a bus to Otavalo, then to Quirogo. In Quiroga, we hopped into the back of a pickup truck (owned and operated by the Lago Cuicocha ecological reserve), and sped up winding roads, the wind whipping our hair into tangles around our faces. There's almost no greater bliss than the feeling of sun, wind, and speed with the incredible beauty of nature visible on all sides.

In contrast, our bus ride back to the community was cramped; there was barely room to move. There was heat, and only some wind, and there were mixed smells of food and people jammed together. The jolts pulled at my arms, which grasped the overhead bars so that I would not fall back onto the elderly lady and her baskets behind me, nor onto the young gentleman in front of me. Somehow, I couldn't help smiling and laughing at the experience. It was so full of life, of reality, of motion. That's the way I prefer life to be, and so far, that's how I would describe life in Ecuador--full of life, color, motion, love and beauty.