Advertisement
Published: September 24th 2005
Edit Blog Post
Rose
La Basilica's rose window It's strange, but even in my own native tongue I have become mute. I thought perhaps if I gave myself a few days to absorb my surroundings I would be better able to describe them, to explain them in such a way as to share a piece of my life here with you and to understand it better myself. But my English is as poor as my Spanish, it seems, and while I wish I could bestow enlightening observations and tidbits of wit and wisdom I have only these fragmented thoughts instead.
From the moment I decided to come to Ecuador this trip has been a challenge. Between leaving most of my stuff in Pittsburgh and coming to a country where I cannot speak the language I must depend upon others to look out for me, provide for me, speak for me. It drives me utterly mad. Somewhere between Pittsburgh and California I finally acknowledged that this is simply the way my life is going right now. And while swallowing my pride is like swallowing my own bile, I am trying to conduct myself with as much grace and good humor as I possibly can. I am grateful to the
Nave
La Basilica's interior Pittsburgh crew for housing my stuff and my car, and for picking up whatever pieces I left behind, and to Ami for all the translating and speaking he has done for Brenna and me these past several days. I cannot express how indebted I am to these people; again, my English fails me.
But even with Ami translating it is still frustrating to not understand the simplest sentences; to not express my thoughts, wishes, desires; to not even be able to read the graffiti on the walls. I am trapped within myself, seeking desperately to understand and be understood, but feel as though my mouth is sewn shut.
But fortunately this is really only one small piece of the whole picture. When my brain is not struggling to comprehend the spoken and written word it is soaking up everything else -- the clouds unfolding like blankets on the distant mountains; the street vendors, their ancient eyes peering out from yards of fabric; bus and automobile exhaust coating my lungs; the
policia in their riot gear outside the President's Palace; viewing Quito with weakened knees and trembling hands from the near-top of the Basilica's belfry; children with vacant stares
trying to sell candy to the
gringos. If I could capture Quito in a bubble and send it to you I would send a city stretched out in an Andean valley, its buildings bleached by the equatorial sun yet colorful all the same, smog hovering above the streets by day, swept away by cool breezes and rain by night. You would hear Spanish flowing off every tongue like the
jugos naturales sold in the corner cafes. Half the streets would overwhelm you with their clutter and clatter; the other half would convince you that the city had vanished.
I believe one of two things happens to a person as they wander foreign soil -- either they become more self-absorbed or less. I am striving for the latter but find myself caught somewhere between the two.
******* We're still residing in the Posada del Maple, a homey hostal located on a quiet, tree-lined street in the heart of La Mariscal. The women who work here are patient and kind, (and seem amused that it takes me 30 seconds to answer when they ask if I would like eggs) and every morning serve us fresh-squeezed
jugo with our breakfast.
The attic
Ami and Brenna cross the creaky wooden plankway above the Basilica's nave. I have no idea what liquefied fruit I drank this morning, but it was delicious.
We're in the process of finding a place to live. Ami's cousin's inlaw's apartment is really nice, but during the day it takes an hour to get there from La Mariscal (where most of the language schools are located) and it only has one bedroom (meaning I would end up on the couch). During the last couple days we've searched for a furnished apartment where we could live for at least a month. This has led to several phone calls on Ami's part and a great deal of walking for all of us. Two days ago we ended up on a hill in the eastern part of the city overlooking Old Town. The view was breathtaking (and not just because the altitude was kicking our butts). At one point we were at eye level with the clocks on the Basilica's bell tower (where we stood the day before) which provided an interesting change of perspective. (Visiting the Basilica on Wednesday was an exhilarting experience, and one that would require pages and pages to describe. I'll try to upload some pictures soon so I can
Up into the Tower
Brave Brenna scales the ladder up into the Basilica's tower, while wussy Emily and Ami watch from below. at least show you the great heights we explored.)
Well, it's 2 pm here, so I think it's about time for a siesta 😊 Thanks for all the emails, everyone. I love hearing from all of you!
Ciao,
em
Advertisement
Tot: 0.124s; Tpl: 0.011s; cc: 9; qc: 48; dbt: 0.0516s; 1; m:domysql w:travelblog (10.17.0.13); sld: 1;
; mem: 1.1mb
J.U
non-member comment
.
lovely description of the city, without actually describing it, but being from there, getting all the imagery and filling up blanks.