I'll Have the Usual

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It was a normal sort of afternoon, as common as they get during the Kalamazoo Study Abroad Experience.

I got to school around 11, said hi to about a third of the people I know at the school (25), and went to Casa Tomate, my nth home. Casa Tomate is salmon colored, hard to get to, and is home to the international programs. I know at least three people who have cried there already. Tania is there, and she is the boss. She is German-Ecuadorian, about 6 feet tall, and pregnant. We do what she says.

She took me to the registration office to get my class situation sorted out, and that almost lead to me being the fourth person to cry; there was just too much going on in that office: Pop music, Spanish chatting, three phone calls, and two computers shared between two people, and me being asked to recite numbers in Spanish.

Finished that up, took some deep breaths, and went to have lunch at the Vegetarian Place. You go in, order “el menu” and for $2.80, you get soup, juice, and a plate full of macrobiotic vegetables and brown rice. There’s always some fake meat with peppers, something raw, and something like potatoes in a gelatinous sauce. The juice and soup are usually the best parts.

At one, I had class, improvisation class, which is really awesome, and a great opportunity. Shoutout to my Monkapult foos. We started playing games with words, though, and that was hard. Two kids got up in front of the class and just started talking about nothing. There is no way I can do that! My conversations have clear subjects, questions to answer, vocabulary words to use. They can be about the time of an appointment or weather Amedenijhad has a mental illness, but I need to focus my mind on what I’m going to say at least 25 seconds before I say it. Whoops, this could make spontenaity a little difficult. But its still an awesome class, and the kids in it are funny and nice. One of the other norteamericanos is actually from Chantilly, so we talked about that, and how he was a truck driver for the Girl Scouts (??)

By 2:30 I was sitting on the front steps of the school with my gringos, talking about how much we hate USFQ. Well, not all of it. We just feel like we’re in 9th grade, and feel the glances down rhinoplastied noses. Its made me even more determined not to shave my legs, but even more embarrassed to show it. Most of my friends went home, so I went to the library to do my Drawing homework: drawing lines. Horizontal and vertical lines with a variety of pencils. Did that for an hour and a half. Re-discovered my love of The Squirell Nut Zippers. The Ipod is a pretty important part of my life right now.

I had drawing class at 4. The class is 10 well adjusted, goofy, talented freshmen, and me, who doesn’t know any words for art supplies, and doesn’t have any of them, anyway. Because I didn't have “tinta china” (is that a racially-charged word for “black ink” or what?), he felt the need to draw me a map of the town of Cumbaya, highlighting the way to the art store. Ver Humiliating. The project for the day was cool though, using the ink and brushes or pens (didn’t have those either) to make pointillism drawings with varities of textures of ink. Here’s my drawing, not done at all.




And here’s one of just me, in case you missed that sultry smile. Sunburned? But of course.

Art class done, I took one, two, three buses to the Consultorio, where I met up with madre et al. Its so odd to kiss my uncle hello as he wears a surgical mask and someone’s mouth is open two feet away. Sanitation is not a worry. Kiss my madre’s patient hello, random man hello, etc. Go say hi to Jimmy, who is giving a massage to an anonomous shirtless skinny person. Go say hi to Malcolm, abuela, and Diego, who are eating geletin and watching Hercules dubbed into Spanish. Guess who is also playing online chess? The person who is always playing online chess, Diego! There are also personal ads scrolling across the bottom of the TV screen, which is weird.

My madre has called a taxi driven by her friend Miguelito. We drive across the city to visit her daughter, Gavi. We are bringing her things. We drive forty minutes. We arrive at the house. Items brought: diapers, toothpaste, some tomatoes, and fish food. Are those things not available in the West part of Quito? Maybe there is an embargo. Gavi rules, though, and so do her husband and kids.

We drive back, disussing the best way to make sangria. The car is divided on weather soda is a good addition.

Back at the house, Madre and I stare depressed at the refrigeratior while the cat humps our legs. We decide to make a “tallerin” which means any sort of noodles and a salad. It actually turns out awesome, she cooks all these wilted vegetables in seseme oil and we put these noodles on it….I stick to plain wilted lettuce/squishy tomato salad. Its also pretty good. Madre offers me a drink she calls “geletina tibia” (lukewarm geletin.) I keep the vomit down and politely decline. She shows up at the table with a beer stein filled with acid-green liquid that she is now calling “Jello On the Rocks.”

Hole away in my room, shutting the door from the evil cat. Jimmy and his gf just got home. I’ll probably watch some TV, and then pack for our trip to Otavalo. All the K kids are going one hour north to this market town for the weekend. I’m looking forward to buying woolen goods from industrious indigenous people, taking a really good shower, and not feeling guilty about speaking English.