Moving to any foreign country can be an exciting adventure. It can also be a major headache when it comes to governmental red tape and following the laws of the land. Ecuador comes in first for giving miraines. Literally.
For any foreigner residing in Ecuador for more than three months you must get your passport registered and a censo card within 30 days of landing. A censo card is like a driver's license. It identifies everything about you and also has your most hideous mugshot in the top left corner, but doesn't allow you to drive. You whip out this baby on almost every occasion- from grocery shopping, to buying a new pair of shoes, to reserving a room at a hotel, to paying rent. For now, I'm using my old censo until I get my new one. I forgot the feeling of power and belonging I feel everytime I reach inside my pink paisley wallet to retrieve it. Without it, you're just a tourist with maybe a week left of your vacation before you have to head back to the rat race in the States. With censo in hand, you're basically an Ecuadorian, and it symbolizes you're here to stay for as long as you want and the country is open to you...as soon as you can hack your way through the red tape to avoid deportation, of course.
So Joe, Carlie and I went to Quito two weeks ago to register our visas and get our censos under the 30 day requirement. Well, as soon as we returned from the 4 hour bus ride back to Tena, our lawyer emails to inform me that I don't have any free passport pages, so it can't be registered. I had to make an appointment, he said, with the American Embassy to get new pages, then bring it back to him to redo the whole process. The registration takes two whole days in which they keep your passport in limbo somewhere between Quito heaven and hell. Afterwards you can finally get your censo. So Joe and Carlie got theirs registered, came back to Tena, went back to Quito without me two days later, had to go to the police station to report their old censos stolen (long story in itself), and finally get their new 2011 censos.
I had to admit, I was jealous. They were done with the whole mess and I couldn't even get an appointment until a week and a half later. Finally it was my turn to return back to Quito. Carlie came with me. We traded in our tank tops and shorts and packed jeans, hoodies, and llama wool scarves. At night it easily dips into the 40s. At 7am Wednesday morning we rode with friends to Quito who were just doing some shopping there for the day. They dropped us off at Andino hotel and later that evening we met up with Jessamyn who was in Quito with her visiting dad and grandma who were leaving the next day from the Quito airport. Her dad treated us all to pizza at a really nice Italian restaurant down the street.
The next morning after the free breakfast at the hotel (coffee, eggs, fruit, juice, and fresh bread) Carlie and I rode the Ecovia (Quito trolley system) to the American Embassy. We had some time to kill and there were some shops nearby, so we hung around for a while at the Ecuadorian version of Bed, Bath, & Beyond. After a hot lunch in a nearby tienda, we went back to the Embassy where we had to wait in a waiting room watching Vampire Diaries for no less than three hours. I had an appointment, but they claimed they were short on staff and I was waiting long enough to start counting the cracks in the wall. Three hours, several VD episodes and $82 later, I walked out of there with about five new pages taped into my passport book. Seriously?! I could have had Juan Valdez de Ambato tape in some note-book paper pages with a hand-drawn U.S. flag for an English lesson and a Fanta. Time to drop off the new-and-improved passport at the lawyer's office, which would close at five. It was four.
Carlie and I spent at least twenty minutes trying to figure out which trolley at the station to take back to the lawyer's office-- a 15 minute ride north. Every person we'd ask help from gave us a different answer in mumbled Spanish but we figured it out. By the time we arrived at the office, it was just about to close and the lawyer (who is a Brother) had already left for the day. Thankfully, his receptionist (who is a Sister) was able to phone him and let him know that I would be leaving my passport there on his desk. He told her to inform me that he'd re-register it tomorrow and it would be ready for pick-up Monday or Tuesday. Yes, folks, if you've paid attention you know that that means I have to come back to Quito AGAIN next week to get my registered passport and my censo. No, folks, I don't have the money to stay at the hotel and eat at restaurants until all that stuff is done next week. And I'm not even sure I'd want to if I had the money. Quito might as well be New York City to me, and I was missing my humble jungle hut, complete with a hammock in the dining room.
By this time it was getting towards the end of a long and very stressful day. The lawyer's office, however, is located just one block from a very huge and fancy mall, Quicentro. So we walked over there and ate the most "American" dinner we could find at the Food Court: Taco Bell. Well, there also was a Sbarro, Burger King, TGIF's to-go, and Pizza Hut, but Carlie was craving stale tacos and cinnomin twists. I figured since I drug her all through this horrible experience with me, the least she deserved was the Taco Bell Socio Pack: 4 tacos, 2 drinks, cinnomin twists and chili cheese fries. Mmm. We shared it and she was thrilled. I was disgusted and got a migraine. Then we spent the next hour or so window shopping. Quicentro Mall is waaaay nicer than any mall I've been to in the States, and on the second floor it had a live band playing all the Christmas hits. When you live in the Amazon and it's 100 degrees every day, you forget it's almost time for fake Santa to return. Anyway, we took a taxi back to the hotel and watched the rest of Dr. Who season 1 on Netflix.
The next morning, (today), we ate breakfast and I went ahead and made my hotel reservations for next week. The owner, Miguel, was very pleased I'd be spending more money at his hotel next week, so he gave me a big discount. Then I took a twenty minute taxi to the bus stop where the Tena bus passes by. Four hours later and two Spanish Disney movies on the bus later, I was stripping off the pants and coat to throw back on the old tank-top and flipflops enssemble.
Carlie and I caught up with Joe over the goings-on of the last two days over lunch at Restaurante Lucy. The restaurant, like the rest of our city, was also out of water so when we got home we still couldn't take a shower or flush the toilets. "Welcome home". See you in Quito again next week!
Here is the long-awaited blog post about our new life here in Tena, Ecuador. And yet the title also signifies finally begining the long-awaited life we've been wanting since our return to the States in 2008. This post is dedicated to the friends and family I miss so much and wish I could fly (and bus) them here to see what all the fuss is about.
Day 1:
Our hostel provided a private van ride from Quito to Tena. It takes four hours to get to Tena because it's downhill, but five back to Quito. We passed through the outskirts of Quito, the capital of the country, and whizzed passed farms and random llamas. Soon we were in the middle of Mars-like terrain passing nothing but silent paramo grasses and an occasional waterfall. Noone in the van talked, as if our passing up and down these mountains was some kind of sacred pilgrimage not to be disgraced by chit-chat. Over the following mountain we arrived at other pueblos, some with one lone stop-light for the 5 people who live there. (none of whom own a car!) At each pueblo, Joe's face read, "I hope this isn't Tena. I hope this isn't Tena..." Carlie slept most of the way. On the decent of the last mountain before Tena, thick fog lay on our van like a velvet cloak. We had to crawl around steep curves and prayed that we were on the correct side of the road. Sometimes bamboo would jut out through a cloud and over the windshield, knocked over by a previous rainstorm, or we'd drive through an impromptu stream. I began to peel off some of the layers I was wearing. The fog lifted. Palm trees and sandal-wearing locals surounded us.We finally made it to Tena. "So this is Tena," Joe said with a hint of delight in his voice.
Week 1:
For the first week we lived with Jessamyn & Aedyn, a friend of mine and her son, in their home. We slept on the bottom bunk, Carlie slept on the top, and all our luggage slept in the third bedroom. Every night that week while getting dressed for bed we'd run across a huge roach the length of a No. 2 pencil and every morning while relaxing in her hammock on the front porch, we'd spot a tarantula in the grass. The "culture shock" really came when we'd help Jessamyn prepare a meal and have to try to keep tiny ant-like spiders out of the pots and pans as we cooked, or the bigger black ants out of the scraps of food left on our plates. But worse than the bugs was the heat. Never in our lives have we experienced such heat and humidity without any relief from some minutes of AC. Even when we've visited places throughout the Carribean and Mexico, at least we've had an air-conditined lair to return to after hanging out all day at the pool or beach. Tena is the Carribean minus the AC for tourists and, of course, the beach. One morning I checked an online weather website. It was 9am and 101 degrees. And just when you think you can't take the heat anymore and you're about to slit your throat in delerium, a violent thunderstorm will swoop down from the surrounding mountains and cool things off by no less than 20 degrees. Still, daily life in "only" 85 degree weather with no AC, having to walk to the grocery store that's a good 3 miles away and carry all your goods back on foot if you don't have the extra money for a taxi is no picnic for someone used to a two minute air-conditioned drive to Trader Joe's. Near the end of week one, we were all often in companionship of Jessamyn's toilet and I was crying myself to sleep from lonliness. I missed my friends, my family, "normal" food and every convenience under the sun. "These locals have no idea how hard they have it", I pondered. "I think I hate it here", I told Joe. At this point, the only positive thing I could name about living here was that we had lost some weight. Then came Sunday.
Sunday:
We were introduced by Jessamyn to Gary and Eleanor, a couple who moved here from Ireland 18 years ago with their four young kids. Now empty-nesters, they invited us to their lovely home for a gourmet meal , complete with orange-liquour poundcake, outside under a grass-thatched roof. It was 96 degrees in the shade, but as I sipped on the lime-flavored tea, I felt myself not caring so much. Afterwards, a few other friends including a couple of children Carlie's age, piled into Gary's van and they drove us to a spot on the river that's clean and paradise-like. There was about 20 of us in all and we swam the rest of the afternoon under waterfalls and in currents so cold it took my breath away. Carlie had fun learning Spanish with her new Ecuadorian friends and jumping off of rocks into her daddy's awaiting arms. At one point I took her aside and we sat on a rock together looking off into the dense green distance. "We live in the Amazon now," I whispered as I held her wet hand. She simply nodded without even looking at me, as if we've lived here her whole life and I'm dumb enough to just now realize that. She dove back into the water to collect rocks with her new friends and left me alone staring at the flaming sunset over the jungle trees. "It's not so bad here," I thought.
Week two:
By the middle of week two we had found our own home, moved in, and had begun to make it our own. Carlie hung a hand-painted poster on her wall, I folded all my new yellow dish-towels, Joe cleaned out and refilled our landlord's above-ground pool. The days were still hot and hard, but the evenings balanced it out with trips to the local public pool (complete with slides and wooden diving boards) with Aedyn and Jessamyn or our new favorite outdoor restaurant, Iguana, for cheeseburgers and a cold beer. I was crying less, missing NC less, and even making more friends. "I love it here," Joe blurted out one morning as we drank coffee on the balcony off our bedroom. (where I'm still sitting now as I type this) Two parrots and a hummingbird flew by. "It's not so bad," I answered.
Week 3:
It's almost week three. It's still crazy hot, bugs still come in and out of our house like they pay the rent, the food in general is still pretty gross and our feet are constantly dirty from walking in the streets thick with river dust and mud. But today, Sunday, we were invited to another lunch with our other new friends Rita and Woody from Florida. Through them, we met 11 other new friends. Among them was Abbey, the daughter of Gary and Eleanor, who is now a 28 year old adult. She speaks perfect Spanish and guides tourists on river rafting trips. She helped Rita serve the chicken over rice as she told Carlie her adventures of growing up as an Irish blonde girl in the Amazon 18 years ago; stories of being pushed off cliffs into the rivers below by her two brothers or how she went to public school here and learned to love lemons stuffed with salt as an after-school snack or about the pet monkey named Elvis they once had but had to give away because he kept eating all the family's food out of the fridge.(Elvis finally kicked the bucket when he accidentally ate poison) Then she told us how she earns extra money, working as a kayak guide in western Canada once a year. Of course this led to more stories about confrontations in her trailor with moose, bear and wild squirrles. Carlie's eyes were wide and she hung on Abbey's every word. "I really like it here, " Carlie finally admitted on the twenty minute walk home, dodging huge cracks in the broken sidewalk and dog poop.
On the corner, I flagged down a taxi and took it to Jessamyn's house. We can't afford a washing machine, so she's been letting me do laundery at her house and I needed to go pick it up. When I arrived, Jessamyn was just awaking from her afternoon siesta and Aedyn was Skyping his grandpa who is coming to visit tomorrow from the States. The afternoon sun was hot, but not unbearable as I gathered my laundry off the line. "I like your capris", Jessamyn said as she handed me a cool glass of water. I looked down and realized I had worn basically pants in 90 degree weather to Rita and Woody's and now, getting my clothes off the line in the sun, I still was not too hot. I guess I'm starting to get accustomed to being baked alive. She handed me her house keys. We'll be house-sitting for her while she's touring her dad around Ecuador next week. Jess is my first really good friend here. She's really helped me to endure these first few hard weeks and I couldn't have done it without her. I picked up my huge laundery basket, about as tall as I am, and walked about a half-mile up the road carrying it in the evening sun so as to catch a taxi on the main road back to our place. My taxi driver was impressed when I told him I was from the States, (just seven hours south of New York City) but that I've now made Tena my home. "Por que?" (why?) he asked with amusement watching me hold my laundry basket in my lap to avoid it tipping out. "Because I love it here", I answered back in his language. The words just popped out before I could help myself! And then I realized I meant it.
And so there it is. We've lived in Tena, Ecuador just three short weeks and we've already fallen in love with a place that has more cons than pros. I'm not sure how that happened, but I feel blessed that it did.
