The Quest for the Fountain of Youth: Or...The Day Justin Confronted 3 Alpacas

9/27/2014

St. Augustine and the Quest for the Fountain of Youth

Or…

The Day Justin Confronted 3 Alpacas On Our Way to a Paintball Field to Refill His Co2 Cans for His SodaStream

If you aren’t a fan of seltzer water, you probably won’t appreciate this. But allow me to let you in on a little secret. Seltzer water is the fountain of youth. If you don’t believe me, look at my parents. They are strong, healthy, and youthful. They look much younger than their years. And I attribute this largely to their devoted consumption of seltzer water. That, and yard work, and not smoking cigarettes.

My parents have been drinking seltzer since I can remember. No trip to the grocery store was complete without dad picking up four 2-liters of Publix seltzer water (preferably raspberry), equivalent to about a week’s supply (less so if the weekend involves yard work or other handyman projects).

Flash forward to recent times. My mom gave my dad a SodaStream a few birthday’s back. Do you remember the scene in Breaking Bad when Gus Fring unveils the Superlab he built for Walt and Jesse? Well this was kinda like that. Now my dad orders exotic fruit extracts online, programs the digital screen to maximum bubbleage and creates flavored seltzer concoctions that would even make Heisenberg proud.

Justin has also developed this penchant for seltzer water, by mere association with my family. SBA – seltzer by association. And he too received a SodaStream for his birthday. And you can be sure that his SodaStream machine, along with a bootleg cartridge adapter (My dad found this on the seltzer water black market. Seriously, it’s a real thing. http://co2doctor.com/), and two empty Co2 cartridges had to be included in our 400lb shipment to Ecuador. Now, we had to get them filled somewhere. 

It's Father Than It Looks

Justin found a paintball field in Quito. (For those of you not hip to the bootleg seltzer water game, you don’t just go buy SodaStream brand name Co2 cartridges at the store for $13.99. That’s for chumps. What the real guys do is buy a plain old Co2 cartridge, like the kind you use in paintball guns. Then you go to the Co2 doctor and buy one of his custom-made adapters so you can retrofit it your SodaStream machine. Now, you can simply take this cartridge when it’s empty to your local sporting goods store or paintball field and get it refilled for a couple bucks. BOOM. You just saved $12 AND stuck it to the man.)

So anyway, Justin found a paintball field that looked like it was fairly close to Parque Inaquito. This morning we loaded up his FHS Patriots Basketball backpack with the two empty cartridges and embarked on our quest to obtain Co2 so that we might once again enjoy the Fountain of Youth that is carbonated water. Side note: Carbonated water is available in Quito. It’s simply called ‘agua con gas’ and is found in every grocery store and restaurant. A 3-liter will cost you around $0.90. But who am I to deter Walter White from one of his favorite pastimes?

Necesito Dos CO2 Por Favor

The taxi dropped us off near the Universidad de los Hemisferios, the closest recognizable landmark to the paintball field (By the way, as I’m typing this I can hear Justin in the kitchen making a fresh batch of seltzer. Spoiler alert – the trip was successful).  Sadly for us, this meant that we still had about a 15 minute uphill hike across a rural cobblestone road through the woods. I am heaving and gasping for air and having flashback of climbing Pichincha. Justin is merrily strolling along. Finally we make it to the paintball field. Justin presents his Co2 tanks to the friendly man working the desk and is told that they do not have Co2. At least that’s what we thought he said at first. I think he was telling us that he didn’t have the identical size tank that we brought. But he did in fact have a large tank of Co2 and was able to fill up our tanks for $3.00 each.

Our mission complete, we began descending back down the hill with visions of cold, bubbly

The Alpacas Approach

beverages in our heads. All of a sudden, our path was blocked by three formidably sized and dauntless alpacas. We moved to the shoulder of the road to give them room to pass, in a “Hey guys, we don’t want in any trouble” kind of way. Then the largest of the alpacas, the leader of the pack, (the Alpaca Pack) loped across the street, coming straight for Justin. If you ask me, I think he was probably looking for food. If you ask Justin, the alpaca wanted a fight to the death. The alpaca showed no signs of slowing and even dipped his head a little bit as he moved closer to Justin, much like a bull approaching a matador. Impact was merely seconds away when Justin, employing a graceful jiu-jitsu strong arm, was able to push the alpaca by its furry neck, diverting his course harmlessly into the grass.

Man vs. Beast

(Editor’s Note: Don’t let Shannon’s dismissive account frame your opinion of what went down. She is merely trying to make her friends and family not worry. It is by a sheer stroke of luck that we survived and Shannon was able to make this post tonight. As the Alpaca made his way towards me a rush of adrenaline and self-preservation for myself and Shannon flowed through me with the intensity of the very volcano we were standing upon. As he came towards me I saw rage and fury in his eyes. He was out for blood. His lady Alpacas moseyed on down the road but he was there for a fight. 

Here we were, the men of our packs wanting nothing more than to defend our families, and we were

Talking Trash

at a crossroads. He stopped a few feet short of me to size me up like a bull. Then, he made his move and charged me. For those of you who are unaware, Jujitsu is the martial art concerned with defense and using your opponents’ aggressive maneuvers and momentum against them by redirecting it. I have studied this art form extensively (I saw a Kung Fu movie once) and my training is what saved my life. As he charged me I reacted, swiping his face and neck away with my left hand. He turned back to me and made another pass. He got another swipe, this time with the strong right hand. Some might call it a redirection. Some might call it a slap in the llama’s face. Others may call it an open-handed blunt force MMA strike. I call it survival. As I followed through with my right hand swipe I whispered in his ear, “Save that llama drama for yo’ mama.” He then looked back at me with the eyes of a defeated warrior and in his eyes I could tell he meant, “You win this round, but I’ll be back…”)

Back In Business

Confrontation averted, we continued down the path and made it to the highway unscathed. The only other wildlife we encountered was a chicken crossing the road. Soon, we were back in the taxi and headed home, ready to toast our victory with some delicious, homemade, life giving agua con gas.

You Fought Well Human.Until We Meet Again...

Snow Days?! Nah....

Well this one is going to be a brief post for lack of information. We were at lunch yesterday and a teacher who is on the administrative team told us that they were discussing whether or not to close school for the following day, have a half day, or go about business as usual.

Apparently, there was a very large scale protest planned in Old Town today. It was rumored to potentially move to Monteserrin, where we live as well. The leaders of 8 various activist groups were planning on combining forces to show their dislike for certain policies of Ecuador's President. I don't know the specific nature of their complaints, nor do I know what groups the organizations were representing.

What I do know is that there is also apparently a counter protest planned. Supporters of the President are expected to show up from within Quito as well as from outside of Quito to...counter protest? All I know is the school decided for safety reasons, and also for potential traffic and busing reasons to have a half day at school.

We were told that we are not in any danger but that it would be a good idea to steer clear of any protests or crowded parts of the city for tonight. We plan on doing just that.

I hope things don't get violent in any way today for anyone involved, and I'm just glad to have a half day.

Also, Shannon and I would love to hear from the people who are reading the blog. Please feel free to comment in the comment section. We hope all is well in the States.

Empleadas

When the job in Ecuador was offered to us, we almost immediately accepted. The school, country, and package were a great option for us. Since then, it has largely been a steady stream of benefits we weren’t aware of when we signed up.

Our newest is named Olguita. Before moving here, we spoke with school staff, people who had lived in South America, and the internet. We were trying to get a gauge on what it would be like culturally in South America. We found out a lot of stuff about poverty, transportation, religion, and a myriad of other facets of Quito life. One thing that struck me however, was that every single person/thread/opinion that came out of this search was the fact that almost everyone in Ecuador who lived at or above the “middle class” had an empleada, or maid.

To me, the idea of a teacher with student loans having a maid was laughable. It truly was something that had never occurred to me. As I continued having these conversations, I found out that it was almost a cultural insult to have disposable income and not hire an empleada. Their services were cheap and you could help out a local family. It seemed like a very…how do I say this politely…”trickle-down economics” mindset. It seemed like a justification to be snobby in some way. Yet, I continued to look into the idea and apparently it really is a social norm and not a snobby thing to have an empleada help with household things.

I was raised in a family with blue collar humble means. It may sound corny and maybe even a little farm boy-ish, but I have always taken great pride in working hard, providing for myself, and not depending on anyone else for what I need. The idea of a maid struck me as unsettling at first.

However, the longer I thought about it, and the more research I did the more convenience and price won me over. Apparently it is very common practice while teaching overseas in almost any location for the teachers to hire a maid. As it happens, Shannon and I heard about a trustworthy empleada of another teacher at our school who had been with her family for over 17 years. She was looking for an extra day of work. Shannon and I decided to hire her to help us for one day per week.

The going rate for an empleada is about $25 per day for an 8 hour day, however since we were getting such an experienced on, her rate was $31.50 per day which breaks down to just over $3 per hour. On top of that, the employer is expected to pay into the empleadas retirement account once per month at a rate of $10. We found a trustworthy woman who was willing to work for us, and who loved dogs so we wanted to give it a shot.

When we got back from school on her first day, she had done the following:

•          Deep cleaned the bathrooms
•          Swept and mopped all of the hardwood floors in the house
•          Dusted every surface and thing we owned
•          Arranged for the guard/maintenance guy to get us some new gas (Jorge Lopez!)
•          Deep cleaned the kitchen
•          Ironed about 6 pairs of pants and about 13 shirts
•          Made homemade sopa de papas (Ecuadorian potato and onion soup)
•          Swept our back courtyard patio area AND wiped down all of our outside furniture
•     Washed, dried, and put away all of the dishes

She was remarkably efficient, the house smelled and looked great, and we had to do literally nothing when we got home from school. We were also told that if we ever need it, she can take a shopping list and cab fare and go grocery shopping for us, or make bank deposits and other similar errands.

She was just finishing up when I got home and she was so grateful for the opportunity to work for us. She was so sweet and polite as well; not to mention patient with my…developing Spanish. We have her scheduled to come tomorrow and I can’t help but feel like this is going to be the beginning of a beautiful friendship.

Pink No More

When we first settled on this apartment, we were thrilled with a lot of things. We liked that we were close enough to walk to work. We liked that we were near a pretty significant landmark so even without one of those pesky addresses that they don’t really have here, we could still find out way home. We liked that it was furnished, so we wouldn’t have to spend $6,000 on tables, chairs, couches, beds, etc. We liked that it was close to stuff like restaurants and roads out of town, but still relatively quiet for being in a city. The one thing that I hated despised abhorred about the apartment was the master bedroom. It had a great big beautiful window overlooking the park and a distant mountain range. It had a little nook for doing school work that could double as a tiny personal office space. It had plenty of clothing space for Shannon so she wouldn’t have to go all manifest destiny on my closet. It even had enough space for a big bed, which was a must. The only thing that ruined that bedroom for me was the Pepto-Bismol colored room.

The master bedroom was clearly inhabited previously by the Ecuadorian version of some Tiger Beat, N*Sync following teenie bopper. I imagine the room was painted pink to match this imaginary child’s toenails. At least she had 43% of the hideous colors covered up in Teen Vogue magazine cutouts. (probably)

Either way, it was clear to Shannon and I that while we loved almost everything about the apartment, this Carebear thing was going to have to go.

It would have to wait however as we had priorities. We had to get our home some hot water, some food, our clothing and other stuff, and as soon as we had that school started.  So we toiled away for almost a month. We lived in a Barbie Dream House room out of convenience until we could get it taken care of. It eventually got to a point where I didn’t consciously notice the room. I would only even remember the color when I woke up in the middle of the night in a cold shivering sweat having My Little Pony themed nightmares.

We were complaining about it one day when a school employee overheard us, and in typical school employee fashion offered to find a solution for us. She said she would find us a painter for $30 to do the work, we would just have to get the supplies. I have painted many a room in my life and I am perfectly capable of doing the manual labor but shoot, close to 9 hours of aggravation, light-headed nausea, and ruined jeans all spared in the name of about $3 per hour for labor? I signed up.

Shannon agreed it would have to be changed and asked what color I wanted to paint it. I told her literally any other color would suffice and she settled on buying a nice sky blue/green color that I was fine with.

We got the supplies and then waited. When she found someone for us and setup an appointment we realized that it was the sweet elderly man who works as a messenger for our school. (Side note: how cool is it that the school has a not one, but two messengers to run basic errands for staff like getting keys copied, or trips to the bank? Free of charge?) Well anyway our initial meeting time came and passed with no painting. We later found out that he was sick and we rescheduled. It was close to a month now and I was getting antsy. I was about to start doing it myself but we were able to setup our other meeting with him and he showed up to that one.

When he got there, he opened the primer we got for $30 and found that it was dark silver. Clearly, darker than our new choice of paint color. We were faced with the choice of buying another gallon of paint for three coats, or using our primer and buying another gallon of paint for three coats. We decided to skip the extra step and speed along the process.

After three days of work, our room was saved. We obviously paid him more than the $30 since he was so great. We  can finally move  back into our room tonight and chances are, I won’t have any Rainbow colored, candy coated nightmares. Hot water, normal colored room, tv, internet, furniture, food, and good location. We can finally start living our lives without tinkering. Well…we will when Howie the dog gets here.

The Poo Goes in the Blue

So, this story goes back a few weeks. During our orientation we were made aware that all workers who work in Ecuador have to, by Federal Law, get a full medical examination prior to working. It is meant to determine whether or not you are indeed fit to work. They mandate the employer sets up arrangements for said examination as a protection for all local workers as well. This seems like a logical plan in theory and even in practice, it’s probably for the best. However…they’re a little more thorough with some things than I would have anticipated.

When we were told of this requirement, we all seemed to nod and a few concerned potential stoners teachers seemed worried about what would be found in this exam. We were assured all test results would remain confidential and would be held secret in accordance with the Ecuadorian Hypocratic Oath and full Dr./Patient Confidentiality. This settled a few people down until the school doctor took out a bag of sample collectors. We each got one clear cup and one blue cup. We were told “The poo goes in the blue, the clear goes in the clear.” After the realization and further explanation that they would indeed be collecting stool, urine, and blood samples, the room got a little more tense. There were worried looks. There may have been a “If ‘dis were ‘Merica this would never happen. My blood is my privacy!” grumblings but I think the vast majority of people were just worried about acquiring and then transporting their stool samples.

We were scheduled for a Monday during orientation but that was rescheduled for today once our visa appointment trumped that. If you are squeamish and would rather avoid some of the finer details do not read any further.

After discussing proper strategy points with some of the teachers who had already completed their testing we found out the following advice:

1.       The cups and their strength are not to be trusted in a bag with school things. Double bag the sample cups or suffer the consequences.

2.       There are a few options for stool sample collecting.

a.       Saran wrap the toilet top and scoop.

b.      Go for the airplane refueling method

c.       Bob for apples


We ended up collecting our stuff without many complications and turned it all in today and it was fine. We were in and out in less than 5 minutes. The worst part of the whole thing was the fasting from our breakfast, water, and coffee so we didn’t mess up our glucose levels. It was weird, but yet another example of how you need to adjust to your surroundings, no matter what that entrails…

Pichinch-Me-I'm Dreaming

9/9/2014

Ecuador's Volcanoes

Last weekend we climbed a volcano. Yep, that’s what I said. Picture Quito as a city in a cereal bowl. Then place volcanoes all around the edges of the bowl. The country of Ecuador has 25 volcanoes, active and inactive, with almost half of them situated in and around Quito. To name a few, there are Cotopaxi, Cayambe, Pichincha. This last volcano, Pichincha is the closest and most accessible to Quito. Pichincha is also the name of the region, or state of Ecuador where Quito lies, and one of the biggest national banks is named Banco Pichincha.

Rucu Pichincha is 4,698 meters (15,413 feet) high and 10 kilometers west of Quito. It is within the Andes mountain range and its name, Rucu means “old” in the indigenous language of Quichua.

We learned of an attraction named the Teleferico, and decided to make this our very first Ecuador excursion. For the price of $4.50, you can take a gondola lift up 8,900 feet into the air, along the east side of Pichincha Volcano, showing you unbelievable views of the city. The ride takes under 10 minutes. It then drops you off at a sort of base camp. From there, you can either board the gondola again and ride back down, or you can decide to keep hiking up. And up and up and up.

View from Teleferico Lift

Justin and I are not experienced hikers or climbers. And while we have neither the knowledge, experience, skill, or essential gear required, we embarked on the hike. Our destination: Rucu Pichincha, one of the three peaks of the volcano, sitting at an altitude of just under 15,000 feet, with high temperatures only creeping into the mid 40s. Estimated time of hike from base camp to peak: just under 4-5 hours. Total distance of hike: 11 kilometers.

The Easy Part of the Hike

I’ve had a rough time adjusting to the altitude in the city and so I found this hike to be particularly arduous. In fact, I only got about an hour into the hike when my breathing changed from normal to gulping like a goldfish that jumped out of the fish tank. The higher we hiked, the thinner the oxygen. And oxygen is one of those funny little elements that your

Justin the Explorer

body just insists on having. Now the hike turned from a lively jaunt to a slower, focused march. Everything in your body needs oxygen – your muscles need it to move, your heart needs it to pump blood, your lungs need it to breath, your brain needs it to think and to send important signals throughout your body, like: “Don’t fall off the cliff.” So the combined effect of moderate to difficult exercise in an oxygen-poor environment feels a little something like this: You take 4 normal steps and all of a sudden your quads are burning as if you’ve been doing a leg extension drop set. Your breathing turns to quick, shallow, audible gasps and your lungs feel like they’re being freeze dried. Your heart goes into overdrive and pounds frantically in your chest. You frequently double over with your hands on your knees, just trying to slow down your heart and get in a full, deep breath. And oh, don’t let me forget to mention the mental cloudiness and lack of coordination caused by lack of oxygen to the brain that can cause you trip, slip, and stumble on sand and loose rocks and send you spilling over the edge of the mountain to your early demise.

Approaching the Peak

The Top

Or at least that’s what it felt like for me. I don’t think any of the other climbers had nearly the difficulty I did. (I was the last one to the top). I don’t know if my asthma had something to do with it, or perhaps the fact that Justin and I are virtually the only two teachers coming from sea level, but I really struggled. There were about 3 times that I thought, “That’s it. I can’t do this. This is far enough. Climbing volcanoes is stupid anyway.” But I persevered. (Did I perhaps pretend once in a while to be Bilbo Baggins on an unexpected journey to Mordor accompanied by a wizard and some jovial dwarves? Yeah, sure, maybe once or twice. Just to take my mind off of the pain. Whatever gets you through it, right?) I was so glad that I was able to tough it out. 

Rucu

Once we all made it to the top, there was cheering and high-fiving, and picture taking. It was so unimaginably quiet (and cold!) at the top. I celebrated by eating a few of the emergency food gummy worms I packed in my CamelBak – a task made immensely hard given my clumsy, swollen sausage fingers, made numb by the cold.

King of the Mountain

Now it was time to get off the mountain. “Oh shit. How DO we get off this mountain??” We can’t simply go down the same way we came up – which was basically a vertical and treacherous rock climb. So we found another way down that was mostly coarse sand and loose rocks, otherwise known as “boulders of impending doom and brain injury.” Imagine skiing. Except you’re on dry sand instead of snow and you have no ski poles, and there’s no clear trail marked, and instead of skis on your feet you’re wearing Nike running shoes. Then imagine the boulders of doom are randomly dislodging and chasing you down the slope like a twisted Wylie Coyote cartoon. Then imagine the wind is whipping grains of sand into your eyes rendering you blind so that your decent amounts to a blind slide-stumble-roll down a slope of 40 degrees. The sheer velocity of your body careening down the mountain propels you down the slope faster and faster so that the only way you can slow down or stop is to let your shoes fill up with sand and act as anchors which inevitably leads to a face plant in the rocky sand. Once I got over the initial fear of dying, it was fun!

Bilbo Goes Home

After surviving the sand avalanche we reached the more navigable part of the trail and enjoyed a relatively easy hike back to camp. The group of us celebrated with a round of Pilsners which we drank in line to get back on the Teleferico and back to a much more reasonable elevation, all in one piece.

Space Jam

9/7/14

Our first week in Ecuador, a few of the new teachers were invited to join a regular Thursday basketball game. I was all about it. Apparently, somewhere between 5-10 teachers from our school, 10 or so from other American International Schools, 5 or so locals, and 5-10 workers from the US and Canadian Embassy show up to our school at around 6:00pm and get some serious pickup games going.

The games move fast since they’re full court, and the wide variety of skills and experience make for a good time. We take turns playing to 12, but to all of my friends from the States, that’s quite a game.

We heard about the altitude before we moved to Ecuador. Apparently the oxygen content in the air is very light. There is less oxygen per breath, so at times it feels like you are breathing through a straw. This is something that your body adjusts to but it can take a while. On top of that, until you fully adjust you are supposed to avoid strenuous activities. Well…nah, I’m more of a trial by fire kind of guy.

During the first week I went to go play and had a blast. The guys (and girl) were great, the competition was great, and the exercise felt awesome. Until it didn’t…After about my second game I felt like I was playing basketball in space with no oxygen. I felt like Bugs Bunny, if things went a little differently in Space Jam and he had to go entertain people in space.

I pushed through it assuming it would correct itself with a little toughness and effort. I got to a point where I was actually doing alright. In my first exercise since I got to Ecuador, I was having fun, making a couple plays, and meeting some new people. It was great. I made one play where I caught an outlet pass and went up for a layup and BOOM! I crumpled to the floor as if there was an assassin in the bleachers. My calf muscle in my left leg just completely gave out. It wasn’t the kind of cramp that hurts a little bit and requires some water. It was the kind of cramp that renders your limbs about as useless as a Raggedy Anne Doll.

At this point, I couldn’t give up as we were in the middle of a battle. 8-8. Our team was on a run. I decided to play it through. On the way back, I stole the ball and started running the other way. I passed to a guy in front of me and both of my quads gave out. I couldn’t bend my legs at all. I looked like a peg-legged pirate run/waddling up the court. I tried not to show my body’s lack of control and faked it through the last couple scores of the game.

Also in the middle of the game, I accidentally elbowed a woman who happened to be THE Ambassador for her country. Not a good person to elbow. It was all good though, she was about as hardcore out there as anyone. It was a great time.

The next week went a little better and I was able to hold my own without my bones and muscles giving way.  I think having the chance to meet so many Embassy workers, and other Expats is a great way to socialize with some people outside of the school.

I also heard about a Spring league that happens where each of the international schools has their own team, a group of local gringos has a team, and the different Embassies have teams. I think that’ll be a good deal, I just hope they take my recommendation and call our team the Monstars.

Sweet Dreams are Made of This

9/7/2014

This will be a short post, but it seems to be a relevant one if one of the goals of this blog is to share some of the cultural differences we’ve been experiencing.

Ecuador LOVES the 80’s. For real. Unironically. It’s great! The first time we noticed, we were in a taxi and a cab driver was playing Love Shack. I started cracking up and assumed perhaps he just wanted to appease his gringo customers with some English music. Wrong! Every taxi, supermarket, and restaurant we go to is a mix of music from the early 80’s to the early 90’s. I don’t know if it’s a matter of the popular culture taking longer to travel or not but EVERYONE is rocking old school Michael Jackson, Ace of Base, Def Leopard, Poison, Guns N Roses, and the Eurythmics. 

It was a little bizarre to go to a fancy restaurant overlooking the city. I’m talking about white tablecloth, forty different spoons and forks; that kind of fancy. In the background the whole time, when you’d be expecting a light jazz or some kind of subtle blues, instead they’re rocking some “Hungry Like the Wolf.”

They don’t wear the legwarmers or acid washed jeans but I’m not sure if that’s a trend that will be coming or one that they just finished. Either way, one thing is for sure, in Ecuador, the 80’s influence is certainly “In the Air Tonight.”

Yes Good Good

9/5/2014

To some people, joy is the smiling face of a newborn discovering something for the first time.  For others, it’s the satisfaction of a long day of hard work followed by a cold beer and a seat on the couch. For us, Yes Good Good is joy.

Many of you who have been following on the blog, or emailing directly with us know that we were without hot water in our home from August 17 until, well today. When we first moved in and noticed the issue, we asked if we could speak with the landlord. Apparently she’s living large sippin’ maple syrup living in Canada and cannot be reached by us common folk paying her money every month. So we spoke with our real estate agent who brokered the deal for the apartment. She said she would talk to the guard/maintenance guy…the infamous Jorge Lopez to take a look at it and fix it. Well that took about a week. When Jorge finally came to our rescue like a caramel knight riding his horse of Levi Jeans, black work boots, and enough hair gel to sufficiently keep his hair in place until our next rent payment, he tinkered with the hot water heater and turned some nozzles that allowed more gas and more water to flow through our system. This was unsuccessful as I tried this a few times on my own, but we applauded the effort and thanked our friend Jorge Lopez.

Jorge told us our gas tank was empty. I don’t remember if I mentioned this or not in a previous post but all of our gas comes from two small tanks in our storage unit. Some tubes run through to our apartment to our hot water heater which connects to our water pipes and bam we have hot water. In theory. Jorge told us to change our tanks, which judging by the weight of one of the tanks in comparison to the other, needed to be done. We gave him our $3.50 and after another 5 days or so the tanks were changed. (Note: now that we have figured out the system, it should be a same day change in the future)

On the day our tanks came, Shannon and I practically sprinted home from work choking down some of Quito’s finest pollution as we went. It’s a beautiful place, but in certain areas the industrial diesel trucks spew out enough black exhaust to make anyone breathing feel like they are sucking on the dirty sock of a coal miner. Anyway, we ran home and found that our gas had finally arrived…and we still didn't have hot water.  This was a low point for us. There may have been some tears shed on one of our parts and the discouragement was overwhelming.

When we regrouped we called the real estate woman again and she arranged for an electrician to come and see if he could fix our hot water heater. He was scheduled to come in a few days and all the while Shannon and I are boiling water, putting it in a bowl, carrying said bowl to the side of the shower and doing the cold water hokey pokey. You put your right leg in you take your right leg out, you lather it all up, and you shiver until you pout, etc…

When the electrician finally came, we recognized him as the same guy who fixed our door, our toilets, and every other problem we’ve had so far. Juan was back baby! Sweater vest and all! Juan looked at our hot water heater from about 5 feet away, turned on the water in the bathroom, walked back and looked again and proclaimed that we needed a new hot water heater. We called the real estate agent again and told her the news. She contacted the landlord and purchased a new hot water heater. Only, it would be a few days until someone could come in and install it. By now, our “few days” of being without hot water was about 3 weeks, but again it’s part of the culture. Problems can take a while to fix. You just have to be willing to roll with the punches when you are living in another country.

When the day came for our scheduled install of our hot water heater, a man arrived at the door carrying his small box and when I greeted him at the door and asked him in Spanish what his name was, he said “Si, bien bien.” My Spanish certainly needs work and I’ve been doing everything in my power to work on it, and it’s been largely successful. As a result, I feel confident in saying that I properly greeted him, introduced myself, and asked his name. He said, Yes Good Good. This is not in question. The only logical conclusion one can draw is that this man’s name was in fact Yes Good Good.

Well Yes Good Good installed the new hot water heater and there was still no hot water. He said it must be the valve cap on the gas tank and it would only cost another $37 since he already had the part in his truck. Yes Good Good went to his truck and got a new valve and surprise surprise, still no hot water. Let’s recap:

·        

       Move in, no hot water

·         Maintenance guy comes after about a week and tinkers with the knobs, no hot water

·         We get gas delivered, no hot water

·         We get an electrician to come fix our heater, no hot water

·         We get a new hot water heater, no one to install it, no hot water

·         We finally get someone to install it, no hot water

·         We get a new valve for the gas tank, no hot water

That brings us to the point where Yes Good Good goes out to our storage bodega and brings the gas tank to our patio. He hooked it up to the heater and…no hot water. Are you *&^&^$^#^%$&^%&*% kidding me? It was an inconvenience, then a frustration, then we resigned to it and it became a point of depression, then it became a point of hope, then a point of resolution, and STILL no hot water?!

Shannon and I were about ready to break at this point. We were imagining the next two years spent huddled together on the couch for warmth with dirt stained cheeks and stink lines coming from our bodies like Pig-Pen from Peanuts breathing out frost air.

Luckily for us Yes Good Good chuckled to himself, cut the existing gas line, fed some new tubing from the tank to the heater and presto! There was an obstruction in the pipe the whole time. We now had hot water. We would have paid Yes Good Good anything. I would have promised him my first born child like in Rumpelstiltskin. He waved us off and told us our total would be $2.45 and then he was on his way.

Tonight I took my first hot shower in our apartment. It was glorious. It was the best shower I have ever taken in my life. People are so busy with their jobs, lives, social lives, families, iPads, phones, games, tv shows, movies, and life to realize how the smallest things in their lives make the biggest difference in happiness and morale. Having water hot enough to create a tiny bit of steam on the shower felt like a life changing experience for me. I actually just got out of the shower, got dressed, and immediately picked up my laptop to type this story. It seems corny but this whole ordeal made me just a little bit more perceptive about the little things. You can take your cold beer and a couch, take your birthday cake, take your shopping trip or whatever else makes you happy. All I need is a little hot water, Shannon, and my man Yes Good Good. 

The First Day of School! 9/01/2014

While our counterparts back in the states are taking the day off to celebrate Labor Day today, Justin and I are headed back to school. We got to school an hour early (because, of course we did, we’re running on Mr. Muenker time now) and we brought our lunches from home – leftover chicken tacos from last night. I made Justin take some obligatory First Day of School photos, and then I left him to his final preparations.

Our school is Pre-K through 12^th grade and this morning they set up a lovely welcome banner and hospitality tent for the parents with warm pastries, fresh fruit, coffee, and hot tea. Today is what’s called a “Visit Day’ for Pre-K and Kindergarten, which means the parents come (and stay) with their little ones, helping them get acquainted with the school, the classroom, the teacher, and the other students. It was an adorable swarming of tiny children, dwarfed by their enormous backpacks (do Kindergartener’s even need backpacks?), clinging for dear life onto their mother’s hand or father’s belt loops. The expressions these wee ones wore on their faces was an even mix of smiles and wide eyes, but also tears and little whimpers as they took in the unfamiliar atmosphere. There is nothing that will quite melt your heart like a little three-year old with a furrow in his brow and a serious grimace of uncertainty as he reluctantly drags his racecar backpack behind him on his way, (at his mother’s gentle prodding and cooing) to his new Pre-K classroom.

I think the welcome breakfast was a wonderful idea. It allowed parents to socialize with one another and gave the young children a little more comfort as they eased their way back into school. I busied myself in the middle of the courtyard with a homeroom class list, directing students and parents to their morning classes.

My own schedule remains nebulous at the moment so until I acquire my own case load of reading interventions I’m busying myself with brainstorming possible projects for myself. One idea is to form a literacy committee on campus and to undertake monthly literacy events that can involve our entire school, parents included. Another one is to get Howie the dog some volunteer hours spending time with struggling readers. One of my graduate professors trained her greyhounds to come into the public library and read with students. The idea, apart from the emotional support that animals can provide humans, is that if a child is too shy to read to an adult, they can read to a nice, happy dog. I see this being a mutually beneficial arrangement, since Howie himself is a struggling reader.

I immediately notice that students (and teachers for that matter) have a lot more freedom at this school. Students all the way up to high school get a 15-minute “break” mid-morning where they’re allowed to roam the campus like free-range chickens. Lunch is almost 40 minutes long, and again they can sit inside or outside the cafeteria, at whatever table they choose. And there doesn’t seem to be much adult supervision during these break times. This is how riots break out in public schools. But, maybe they know something here that we don’t back home. Maybe affording kids a few freedoms here and there teach them to be more responsible and less likely to skip class and break rules. The public school teacher in me is twitching at the thought, but it will be interesting to see how young people can cope with added freedoms. Coming from an environment that is so micromanaged into one that encourages daily breaks for rest and play is going to be a hard adjustment for us pair of workaholics. Maybe that will translate into more time for blog writing!