A Perfect Quito Send-Off

Thursday, my last day in Ecuador, though not what you'd call a *typical* day from my research, was a day that decidedly captured, in concentrated form, the experience of my research trip. Allow me to present an annotated schedule:

7:10am: Went walking at the nearly vertical Parque de la Mujer with my friends Martha and X (MV couldn't join us, unfortunately). Going on Thursday was unusual, but since we hadn't been able to go on Wednesday morning and this was my last day, we made an exception.

9:00am: Caught to bus to the Banco Central... except, the bus couldn't go directly to the Banco Central because there was a rally in favor of the new constitution taking place and it was completely blocking the road. So, traffic was going the wrong way up a merging lane and then doing a u-turn onto the one-way street on the other end to go around. However, my bus driver didn't want to do a u-turn because that would have taken us way off our route. So, the bus driver's assistant ran ahead of the bus, waving on-coming cars out of the way, so that we could drive three blocks in the wrong direction and then go back to our route.

9:30am: Spent an hour and a half at the Historical Archive of the Banco Central, working in their database to write down complete information for the photographs that I had requested copies of. However, I wasn't able to get the information for several of the images because no matter what word or combination of words I typed in, the database *refused* to pull up the record. Even when I typed words that I *knew* were in the title of the image. I pointed this out to the exceedingly helpful archivist (the archivist who had opened the archive, just for me, in the last week of August even though it was supposed to be closed that week). He smile, apologized, and shrugged. "Sometimes that's just how databases are" he told me. "You contract someone to make them and maybe that person isn't quite as good as he said he was. Plus, it's an old database."

11:00am: I book it up the hill and a mile north to get to a meeting with the head editor of one of Ecuador's presses. This meeting had been scheduled the day before after I had lunch with my friend Maria. I borrowed Maria's cell phone to call the editor's office and he, once again, wasn't in. Maria, hearing the editor's last name said, "oh. I work with his niece. Let me call her and see if she has his cell phone number." Armed with the cell phone number, I finally got through to the editor and ended up with a meeting the next morning.

11:30am: I arrive at the meeting and proceed to have a lovely chat with the knowledgeable and interested editor. In the course of the meeting, he hands me, for free and out-of-the-blue, copies of two beautiful and expensive books that the press had published (and that I had been coveting). He also, quite directly, opens the door to the possibility of them taking my dissertation/book for publication. This is an amazing door opening (though only a door opening. He has, of course, only heard my description of my work and may not actually be interested in the final product). I had no idea it was even possible to publish a non-commissioned book with this press, but if I had known, this would have been the press, in all of Ecuador, that I would have dreamed of working with. They make beautiful books.

1:00pm: I have flitted and danced (or, would have flitted and danced, were not my new books so. darn. heavy.) away from the meeting with the editor to join some friends for an Almuerzo at one of my favorite little cafes (though I avoid ordering one of their excellent Americanos since I want to sleep tonight). Almuerzo is lovely, conversation is good (though sad, since this is my last almuerzo with these friends for awhile), and the day is beautiful. Despite having been in Ecuador for four months, I've managed to get myself a good start on a sunburn because I was careless about sunblock this morning.

3:00pm: I stop by the book store at the museum of the Banco Central to buy three volumes of a series of re-printed periodicals. I've been trying to buy these periodicals for the last several days, but the book store clerk has been sick (according to the sign on the door) and so the book store has been closed. While checking out, I politely inquire about the clerk's health and we have a short and pleasant conversation about her work.

between 3:30 and 4:14pm: I head home to drop of the now enormously heavy load of books that I have collected. The bus driver, who has stopped for every person who flapped his or her hand for the bus, no matter where in the block (or in relation to the nominally marked bus stops) that person is, cannot be convinced to stop right at my corner to let me off because there is no bus stop there.

4:30pm: I catch the bus to Pilates and wonder, for the 25th time, if slamming into the seat in front of me, should the insanely accelerating and braking bus driver actually hit someone, will break my kneecaps and/or jaw. I am relieved that no jaw or knee breaking happens, since that would be an unpleasant and inconvenient end to my trip.

5:00-6:00pm: My last Ecuadorian Pilates class. I wonder if Pilates will feel different if I take a class given in my native language. I'm pretty sure there could be no sweeter instructor than N.

Sometime during Pilates: It *pours* in parts of Quito. When I get out of class cars are dripping and streets are filled with water. People either hold rolled up umbrellas or have sad faces and soggy clothes. For *once* I've missed being caught in the downpour. I am usually one of those sad, soggy people.

6:00 - 7:15pm: I make my way to a restaurant to have my final dinner in the company of a welcoming dinner for a group of US students taught by my friends Martha and Maria (they've invited me to come help introduce the group to Ecuador). Of course, getting there is not straight-forward. My first bus ride goes relatively smoothly. The line to get on the "Trole," though long, moves quickly, and I even get a seat on the Trole, an unheard of event. However, then things get complicated. First, a see a few people walking past holding red posters emblazoned with "Si!" (in Ecuador right now, any time you see "Si" or "No" written somewhere, you can be 98% sure it's a reference to the upcoming vote on the new constitution). Then, all of a sudden, we are at a dead stop along with the rest of traffic. Looking out the window, I see a mass of people ahead of us, lit in profile by the burning torches and (possibly) oil drums they have set up. We sit still for awhile, and then the massive, articulated-bus of a Trole starts up its diesel engine (usually Troles run on electric wires) and does a u-turn, heading back the way we came and then snaking around to join the route of the Eco-via, taking us well out of our way on a detour that skips several stops (interestingly, there is no complaint. There is barely remark from the passengers. We all take this as something relatively normal). When I get off at my stop, I realize that the Trole system is closed. There's a line of people waiting outside the stop, but they aren't allowed in. No one appears to be complaining, but they are pressed firmly against the entry, ready to rush in, falling over each other, whenever the doors do open.

7:15 - 8:15: I arrive at the restaurant, on the roof of a building in the midst of the historic center of Quito. The view is spectacular and the rain has cleared away. Brightly lit churches surround us. Quito at night is incredible. The gathering started at 6:30pm. Martha doesn't arrive until 7:30. We don't order until 7:45. Food arrives at 8:15.

9:30pm: Martha drives me home and we say goodbye. It's bittersweet. I'm so excited to go home and be with my family. But, this is a longer goodbye. I won't be back to Quito for awhile - probably two years - and I will miss the city, the mountains, the people.

9:40pm: I get up to my apartment. The phone is dead again. Much finagleing ensues so that I can reserve a taxi for 4:30 the next morning for my ride to the airport.

12:20pm: I finally get to bed, having started packing at 10:00pm. My research files are backed up, my bags are, miraculously, zipped. And I have only left behind two books, neither of which I had actually needed in the first place (thanks, random guy in the archive who handed me a signed copy of your book on the universe complete with professions of undying friendship after talking with me for 20 seconds, but I think I'll leave your book for my landlord's rather impressive[ly random] collection).