An Hour in the Life

A few minutes before the noon checkout time, I stumble out of bed and then stumble out into the rain; here in Ecuador, more than anywhere else, has the summer rainy season made itself known. Fortunately (?) my clothes are still mainly wet from the rain last night. I have dry clothes packed away somewhere, but the closer I get to going home the more unorganized my pack gets. I probably won´t find those dry socks until after my flight-- not that it matters, since my shoes are wet too. The downside of waterproof shoes is that once water gets in, it can´t find its way out.

I stand in the street, thinking ¨I´m not supposed to be here¨. In Quito that is, not Ecuador. My tour to the jungle was supposed to leave this morning, but was pushed back a day, throwing my mainly improvised plans into even more disarray. I contemplated paying for another night at my hotel so I could sit in bed and read all day; two and half months of travelling, plus the lousy weather, has worn me down a bit. But since I´d need to get out of bed to eat something, I figured I might as well wander around town.

¨Old Town¨ would be my destination for the morning (or rather early afternoon); so called because all the old colonial buildings here, but also because it lacks all the new luxuries of ¨New Town¨like donut shops and internet cafes. I´d spent the past few days in New Town, and was a bit spoiled by all the sweetbread shops there-- walking past window display after window display of the most delicate and delicious looking pastries. I figured a sugar rush was just what I needed to get this day started out right. But although I walked up and down countless streets, the only stores I passed were printing shops and tailors. Finally I spot a sign saying ¨confecciones¨and my stomach rumbles with anticipation; I look in and see a pile of clothes and a sewing machine. Sigh.

A few minutes later I see another sign that looks promising, and head up a very steep hill to investigate. As I get closer I see the store is exactly what I want... and closed. Of course. But right behind me at this point is a store with giant trays piled high with bread and pastries. For 80 cents I settle on something resembling lasagna crossed with a brick. It has at least six layers of flaky bread, white cream, some kind of orange fruit paste (peach? I can´t tell through all the sugar) caramel and more flaky bread. And it was seriously the size of a brick; I picked the biggest one since there was no telling when I´d find another breadshop. Outside, the store I´d seen originally was open now. Of course.

Several blocks and half a sugarbrick later, I think I can feel diabetes setting in. Maybe it´s the altitude I tell myself and keep eating. By the next block I wrap the pastry up and set it down on a ledge; earlier I´d seen the guy walking in front of me pick up a cup of soda off the sidewalk, and figured maybe somebody would want the rest of my sugarbread. It was like an offering to the street urchins.

Now I was turning onto America Avenue, and, right on cue, was a KFC. I figured some grease would be helpful in sopping up the sugar in my stomach, but opted for the chinese restaurant across the street. On wandering days, eating and walking go hand in hand. Mainly I walk because the bus systems are so complicated, but also because its so much easier to stop at a nice restaurant if you´re not on a bus. And after a nice meal I usually waddle out into the street feeling like a walk would do me good; it´s a vicious cycle.

The chinese restaurant has a large banner offering a lunch special for $1.50-- the menu inside has nothing for $1.50. I´m used to these false claims by now. I get a different lunch special for under two bucks and of course it´s a heaping plateful. Somethings must be the same everywhere.

Watching the news in the restaurant, I notice it´s only been an hour since I got up. A story about Fidel Castro is followed by one about people somewhere, hopefully not Ecuador, trying to catch a treed tiger by pulling on his tail. Remember the nursery rhyme, ¨catch a tiger by its toe¨? I think something got lost in translation. The tiger promptly mauled the man and then jumped frightened into a river. The next story was about the proliferance of counterfeit cigarettes in Quito. Somebody was putting off brand cigs into Marlboro boxes.

It only took an hour to realize that as long as I´ve been here in South America, I still just don´t get it.