Schedler took this from the plane while flying back from the Galapagos. The circle is around our apartment building, and we're on the top floor. The big white complex to the right is Quicentro (a local mall) and the stadium above is where all major soccer games are held.

I wake up to the sound of an ominous incoming text message:

“If you don’t get here in 30 minutes, we’re taking Machine Gun out the jukebox”

It’s a fate worse than another Bonnie Tyler singalong, but not a fate worth getting me out of bed.  The sickness has gripped me for over two weeks now, and I’m likely a bit hungover too.  I return to ignoring the currently hyperactive cell phone ring.

All three of the girls have been ringing me all night; there’s not a hint of romantic entanglement with any of them, but feeling in such high demand’s almost enough to rouse me from bed.  Almost.  I worked hard to bring “Machine Gun” south of the border, but I definitely need a hiatus from multiple nights of bi-lingual self-destruction, so I call their bluff — they like the song enough by now that I’m not too worried about its removal.  The expatriate crowd — a smooth mix of English, Irish and Americans with some French and Israelis I’ve met recently thrown in for good measure — work hard down here, but they clearly play hard as well.  When I’m not off doing the stoic walkabout thing, it’s nice to know my nights here’ll never be too uninteresting.

The Regulars

Kathleen and I cooking shrimp, with the indirect help of champagne

My hostel experiment put on hold now until Peru, I’ve been here now in my “penthouse apartment” for over two months.  The roommates are all packed up and back in merry ol’ England for the holidays, but I fell right back into playing nicely with roommates without much of a hitch.  British roommates are just about the same, in terms of cleanliness and compatibility, as their American counterparts — they just use words like “bloody” and “blimey” without a hint of irony.  They make the words sound so enticing, yet my few experiments with them left me feeling like a douchebag.  Or “wanker,” as the British translation seems to be.  My first night here, I was warned about the shortage of “bog paper,” but didn’t really take note of it until an extended visit to the bathroom ended with an unpleasant surprise.  “Crackin’!” is a good thing.  “Crisps” are chips, and “chips” are fries.  It’s still been easier to pick up than Spanish thus far…

Tom’s the one that talked me into moving in initially, and he’s also the one with the vision behind The Ecuador Reporter.  It was a bold and semi-successful move on his part, though relentless spelling and grammar errors (by the time you’re the editor of a paper, you should probably have a good grasp of how to use “your” versus “you’re,” no?) can be a bit distracting.  At times a great guy, bouts of moodiness and hypocrisy made him a frustrating roommate at times, and from all the griping I’ve heard around town, he’s clearly made his share of enemies, business-wise, since establishing what should be a fairly innocuous tourist paper.

I’m far closer with Joe, who finally left the country yesterday after two botched and costly flight attempts; time saved by lax security here is more than lost again by general airport inefficiency.  He’s back in the UK either for a quick break or a long one, depending on visas, savings and the likelihood of getting a job in the less-than-friendly economy back home.  Despite the lingering threat of bodily harm in Quito, there’s no shortage of jobs or opportunities for the entrepreneurial types.  High risk, high reward.  He’s been a great friend and I hope to keep up with him.

From the left: Pete (a friend from home), Kathleen, Joe, Eimear, myself and Chris, an English teacher

Rounding out my group of regulars are Kathleen and Eimear, the latter being both an Irish name and Irish person.  Kathleen’s a Virginian, and so immediately easy to relate to.  We’ve discussed in the past how great it is to meet and connect with people from foreign lands, but you never really click as quickly as with someone from your home turf.  Eimear got accepted to Oxford a few years back, then opted for reasons she hasn’t fully explained, to head down to South America and manage Finn McCool’s (”a wee giant of an Irish pub”) instead.  She’s the regular Quizmaster — “pub quiz” apparently being a huge weekly tradition in the UK, and certainly a big thing at Finn’s each Tuesday — but has recently relinquished the title to me while I’m around.  It’s a fun gig, but my exploits as trivia master probably deserves a post of their own.

Just this past weekend, two men grabbed her a block from Finn’s, taking her money and phone while, for reasons not entirely understood, slicing one of the legs of her pants with a switchblade.  Similar attacks — threatening and costly, but on the whole non-violent — hit four of my friends this past weekend alone.  Another sent a man to the hospital.  Not everyone feels Christmas spirit the same way, apparently…

Apartment Living

The living room, including a great view of Quito's cityscape and surrounding mountains

Using my camera's "panorama" setting to capture said view

I moved into this swanky pad in mid-October, my anticipation for hours of welcoming revelry dashed by a tragic murder.  One of the American owners of the successful club Bungalow 6 had been shot and killed on the street in broad daylight in La Mariscal.  The city’s unsafe, but this went beyond the normal level of FUBAR on pretty much every level, and it understandably devastated the community.  I hadn’t had time to meet the man, but it was clear he was extremely well loved and had a powerful effect on the lives of nearly everyone I met, leaving me quietly commiserating with the somber crew.  There was worry that his passing would break up the local community, but it only seems to have brought everyone closer together — small benefit from such tragedy.

The snazzy shower

As for the apartment itself, the place’s a bit overpriced at $300 a month, but certainly one of the finer apartments I’ve visited down here.  The showers are theoretically nicer than any I’ve ever used, outside of those in my brother’s place in North Carolina.  The stove’s got five burners, including an ovular central one for skilleting and a split-level oven with various defrosting and convection settings that’ve likely never been used.  Both washer and dryer are top of the line, front-loading models with a barrage of possible options listed out in Spanish that it doesn’t seem anyone’s bothered to translate — both have been on the same setting since I’ve arrived, and seem to do the trick just fine.

And the view is among the best in Quito, with Mount Pichincha,  its peak almost perpetually lost in the clouds, in direct line of sight past my laptop.

As much as I talk about La Mariscal and the myriad social opportunities available there, our place is much further north behind Quicentro, one of the biggest malls in Quito.  Cab fare to Mariscal is two to three dollars for the ten minute ride, though during the day it’s safe enough to take the Ecovia (local bus line).  Cars have apparently been stolen from Quicentro’s parking lot from time to time, but in general it’s much safer here than it is in Gringolandia, where most of us tend to congregate.  It’s a fairly high-class mall, which grants access to the best Quito has to offer in clothing, electronics and motorcycles (small appliance stores all seem to sell motorcycles and ATVs here for some reason).  But the prices, especially for the named brand merchandise they sell, are generally higher than what you’d see in the States.  As an added plus, one of the nicest parks in Quito’s just two blocks away.  I even went there once.

A small appliance shop, no featuring ATVs

While the mall hours limit shopping times, nearly every city block in Quito — and in smaller towns as well, for that matter — has at least one tienda for all your basic shopping needs.  They aren’t quite 7-11s, but if you need water at 10 PM or wine at 10 AM, it’s generally the best bet.  A masseuse has set up shop next door and charges twenty bucks for an hour’s services — painfully tempting, though I’ve resisted well since my first visit last month.  Three almuerzo places are within a stone’s throw, and a woman sits on the pavement with her toddler in the exact same spot peddling cheap gum and cigarettes to mall shoppers.  Much of the time, both lay on the pavement sleeping at awkward angles, though when conscious they appear to take turns reaching out with small, shaking hands and slightly tearful eyes.

I don’t really smoke or chew gum though.  Sorry, kid.

A woman selling gum and cigarettes. These women are everywhere and always have exactly one child with them

There’s a security guard at our gate, and this point it should be clear to all that such a thing’s a necessity down here.  Nearly all buildings have a guard of some sort, leading me to believe that with all the crime down here, more adult males are involved in either crime or crime prevention than any other field of work.  The burger place across the way typically has two men in uniform with an attack dog, though in all fairness, they do have some mighty tasty burgers.

Speaking of fast food, nearly every popular variety in the States (from the east coast, at least) is represented here, though they all taste… different.  It’s nearly imperceptible and impossible to define, but something is almost always off.  Burger King’s got far more presence down here than McDonald’s, but the dominant cheap eatery by nearly three-to-one is KFC.  Imagine the ubiquity of Starbucks in Manhattan, translate it to Spanish and apply to poultry and you’ll understand the solid grip that the Colonel has down here.

Lasagna Night

The swankiness of the pad and semi-desirable part of the city to live in are nice perks, but there are inescapable drawbacks to living down here once used to the cushiness of the States.  Like anywhere else in Quito, there are hot and cold water handles on every sink, but both only supply the same frigid water.  The top floor that gives us penthouse cred and helps dissuade all but the most go-getter bandits also has no elevator, leading to a bit more daily exercise than I’d intended on getting — exacerbated greatly by the thin air of Quito’s 9000 plus feet above sea level.  Six flights shouldn’t be much of a strain, but as every gringo has the same breathless reaction to arriving at the top, there’s an unspoken rule of complete silence from the second floor until about two minutes after collapsing, wheezing, on the sofas.

And despite having top-of-the-line appliances, only one tank of propane fuels all of them separately, requiring anyone wanting to shower to wait for whomever might be frying up some breakfast before manually changing the gas hoses over to the proper device.  It’s all a bit convoluted and in stark contrast to the high quality of nearly everything else in the apartment, but it doesn’t take long to fall into a pattern where moving fifty-pound tanks around between doing laundry and making tea (the English really do love the stuff) doesn’t feel terribly unusual at all.  The shower, with eight settings including a detachable head, really is a thing of beauty, though no hot water is possible without both bathroom sinks being turned on first to get the pilot lit.

Our washing machine, along with the propane tank that fuels it, the dryer, the stove and the hot water heater

But how do you get that tremendous propane tank and fresh water up six flights of stairs you can barely get up empty-handed?

A: Luckily, water and propane trucks make their way slowly down every block each morning.  How do I know they’re out there every morning?  Simple.  They announce their presence by repeatedly honking their horns every two seconds as they make their way through.  I call it “morning annoyance #3.”  On the plus side, they carry the fifty pound tanks up themselves and it only costs $2.50 (for the hike up, I pay three) for about a month’s worth of propane.

Morning Annoyances 1 and 2

Number 2: Roosters.  It makes sense to be awakened by them throughout the night in the countryside, but I’m in a city of well over a million people.  It’s a fairly modern city, despite minor inconveniences that US living has spoiled me on.  Who keeps roosters in the middle of a city?

The two black lumps above the bronze car have serious issues with nighttime human unconsciousness, and they're not afraid to be vocal about it

And number 1: Dogs.  Two of them, kept walled in together across the street from my apartment building.  By day, they’re relatively quiet and boring, ignoring all passers-by and loud propane delivery men.  Even now, they lay against one another listlessly.  Something happens to them at night, which causes an incessant pointless barking that goes on at impossible lengths.  Only the soft thud of a potato hitting the concrete seems to silence them for a bit, so we keep them stocked up by the windowsill.  The dark coloring of the throaty monsters makes them impossible to aim at once the sun’s gone down, but none of us are brazen enough to launch our spud assaults by day.

I used to be a dog person, too.

A nation in love with cheap DVDs

The DVD collection. Only a small percentage are mine.

It might sound like a waste of cash to have a decent-sized DVD collection down here, but there’s a bootleg shop on nearly every block selling them for a buck-fifty a disc.  We don’t vegetate around the TV that often, but when you can get all of season 4 of “The Simpsons” for four dollars, why not?  The discs are plain silver — completely unlabeled — but the outside packaging is fairly professional, and generally in Spanish as well, which sometimes leads to extra comedy.  I can understand getting direct copies of most other flicks that’ve been around for a while, but multi-language versions, complete with deleted scenes, etc, are already out for movies still in the theatres like Quantum of Solace and Bolt.  As far as TV shows go, nothing seems to top “Friends” in popularity: every video store has a different selection of shows, but it’s the one you can nearly always count on getting half a shelf.  Conversely, I’ve never once seen Seinfeld for sale down here — maybe the comedy doesn’t translate?

The translated titles are not quite in Engrish, but their Spanglish (interestingly enough, that movie is “Espanglish” here) names can still be amusing.  “Harry es Sucio” — literally “Harry is Dirty” — is easy enough to figure out.  But see if you can guess what these hit movies in our collection are:

1. No es lugar para debiles (not a place for the weak)
2. Fuego Contra Fuego (fire on fire)
3. La Novicia Rebelde (the rebel nun)
4. Identidad Perdida (lost identity)
5. Nacido para matar (born to kill)
6. Infiltrado (the infiltrator)
7. Ahora Son Trece (now there are 13)
8. Supersalidos (super gone)

It should be noted that Megamaxi, Quito’s closest equivalent to a Walmart, sells regular DVDs for 12-20 dollars.  I’ve never actually seen anyone in that section…